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arielgobuss · 8 months ago

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62.The Truth

I'm a liar It's my secret no one knows I'm a liar Yeah, I know it doesn't show No, I don't miss you anymore No, I don't think of you It's such a game to seem adored No, I don't love you anymore

Part1

It went dark for a split second, and then Harry felt as if he was in the middle of a hurricane. Thousands of images, thousands of thoughts surrounded him, layered on top of each other in an endless cacophony, but before he could realize it, he felt himself falling, being sucked into the vortex of a random memory, and as he regained his balance, his ears were filled with desperate screams and cries.

The image sharpened and - despite the darkness - Harry saw several silhouettes huddled against the wall. They were teenage boys no older than thirteen. The fierceness on their faces was definitely outweighed by the fear. But they weren't the ones screaming. The sounds of screaming and crying were coming from the next room, which was accessed by a wide open door hanging on one hinge. The glow of a lamp swinging from the ceiling was the only illumination, gliding across the blood-covered floor and splattered walls. For a split second, broken and overturned furniture and... bodies lying on the floor emerged from the darkness. Blood was seeping from still open wounds, limbs twisted at strange angles looked as if something had broken them like matches. The wailing and sobbing of several children's voices were coming from the dark place under one of the walls, but the light did not reach there. However, it slipped over the table placed in the middle of the room and over the fair hair of the young boy pinned to it... and over the powerful silhouette of a man with a thick mane of tousled hair leaning over him, who was tearing into this small, naked body with quick, ruthless thrusts, causing spasmodic screams of endless pain.

Severus raised his wand, pointing it at the door, which rose, fixed, and slammed shut, muffling the screams. Without hesitation, he cast another spell on the door, causing it to glow red. His previously motionless face changed. A look of disgust appeared on his face, and something... terrifying lit up in the black eyes. He slowly turned to the boys, giving them an icy glare. In his left hand he held a white mask covered with red drops. His dark green robe was covered with many dark stains, and even if it was impossible to see their color, it was obvious where they came from.

He casually tossed the mask into the corner and took a step toward the boys. His lips pressed into a pale, thin line. The black eyes turned into the dark slits. He raised his wand, pointing it at the oldest boy.

Severus frowned and after a moment a rough voice came out of his mouth:

"Imperio."

The boy's face changed. A slightly surprised, dispassionate expression appeared on his face.

"Scream," Severus said, staring at him intently. "Scream and beg for mercy as loud as you can."

The boy complied. The screams, moans and begging began to escape from his mouth. The rest of the boys moved as far away from him as possible, looking at him with fear and a certain amount of intrigue.

"No no no! Please! No!"

"Severus," a happy voice came from behind the door. "I hear you're having even more fun there than I am. You know, if you'd let me in, the two of us could teach those little brats a lesson. After some time, playing alone starts to get boring. What do you think?"

Snape didn't move, didn't even turn his head. Only in his eyes there was a flame that froze everything.

"You know I value my privacy, Blackwood," he replied icily. He frowned even more.

The boy let out a spine-chilling scream "Nooo! It hurts!"

A hoarse laughter came from behind the door - the laugh that began to recede, as if something was trying to push Harry out of the memory. However, before it disappeared completely, he heard a quiet, distant voice:

"Avada Kedavra."

The scream stopped. Everything went quiet. Darkness surrounded him. He felt like he was in a locked room, but he knew it wasn't true; that it was just an illusion. Severus tried to fight back.

Harry remembered what he had read about this spell. Visualization. He must choose some visualization. Otherwise he'll never get out of here.

He remembered the dream... and the windows... The windows through which Severus had peered into his memories... He had to imagine something similar, something that would guide him, that would allow him to cross the threshold.

Door! Yes. That was it.

The moment he thought about it, a corridor appeared before him. An endless corridor filled with doors on both sides. The same doors that led to the Potions Master's chambers. Thousands of doors. No, millions of doors. He saw them all together and each separately. They overlapped and interpenetrated each other like an extremely sophisticated kaleidoscope, creating an endless maze of passages.

Key. He must find the key to them. The password. Otherwise, he will be left searching in the darkness, and the chance that he will find the right one is one in a million.

He closed his eyes.

The password... No, it should be two passwords. One indicating the range of memories, and the other - their topic.

Where did it all start? He knew perfectly well. But it wasn't about the potion, it was about... desire. Snape's desire.

Desiderium Intimum

The number of doors has decreased. He felt less and less of them left.

Now the topic - he was the one.

Pott...

No.

He opened his eyes.

Harry

He watched with satisfaction as part of the door disappeared and the rest became much more real.

He knew it was all just an illusion, lasting no more than a few seconds. And that he had as much time as he wanted before Severus found him again. Because here time was a relative value and he was the only one that could determine it.

He looked at the long row of doors. He approached the first of them and raised his hand, brushing his fingers against the dark wood. The door began to open, revealing to Harry a world that had always remained one big mystery filled with lies.

The world of Severus Snape.

***

Severus was sitting in the privacy of his chambers, examining the remnant of amber liquid remaining at the bottom of the glass. From time to time he moved his wrist, slightly stirring the drink and watching the play of light reflecting in the glass and the flames falling from the crackling fire in the fireplace.

He didn't think he would be so angry about the information provided by McGonagall. Potter dared to ask permission to leave his classes? Now, when Severus finally had him in his grasp? Now, that he was gifted with such... power? The power that allowed him to do anything to him? Oh no, he definitely won't agree to that.

He still remembered the taste of that moment - the moment when those green eyes had stared at him with the utmost adoration. A moment that tasted like... victory. For as long as he could remember, Potter had always looked at him with nothing but hatred, defiance, or fear. Sometimes he could almost feel that hatred, feel it burning his skin, clinging to it, almost turning into something physical. He liked to fuel it, leaning over him and insulting him in every possible way, pressing on his most sensitive spots and watching his tensed face while Potter pretended not to care. And then Severus walked over to the desk, sat down, and watched him... watched those anger-filled eyes, clenched fists, trembling jaw, and he knew he had nailed it again. Once again he managed to ignite that burning hatred and make it burn even more. And he reveled in it.

Sometimes he even managed to break him. He managed to break through the boy's defenses and force him to lose control, to bark back at him... and then, oh, only then did he triumph, either by giving him a detention or deducting points. No other student in his dozen years of teaching had looked at him the way Potter did - with hatred as pure and sharp as a dagger carved from ice. No other student turned into a burning torch of loathing and hostility... just at the sight of him. It was... intriguing.

And now he found out that this same student... desired him. That what he always took for an aversion turned out to be a deeply hidden, uncontrollable desire. A desire so strong, so unimaginable, that the only way to deal with it was to transform it into an equally intense emotion, but at the opposite extreme. He'd be a fool to try to tell himself he wasn't flattered. Even if he thought it only proved one thing - that Potter was crazy.

Severus lifted the glass to his lips, drank the rest of the whiskey, and set it down on the table with a crash. He leaned back in his chair, frowned, and stared into the flames.

He felt the hint of change coming. It wasn't something that could be ignored. No, this was definitely something that was begging to be used... and he was sure that would be the case soon. But whatever happens, he will be the one who reaps the biggest harvest and will get everything he wants from this opportunity.

***

Snape paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. There was a terrifying smile on his face, a storm raging in his eyes.

At last! His chance had finally come.

He didn't expect that the meeting with the Dark Lord would turn out to be so... fruitful. That the information he would give him - the information that young Potter had a weakness for his Professor - would open a passage for him and show him the path to freedom. He suspected that the Dark Lord would want to use it in some way, but... using Admorsusexcetra? One of the most powerful potions of sacrifice, created dozens of centuries ago, before Hogwarts was even built? What an extravagance of the Dark Lord... and what a great chance to get rid of him once and for all...

In a lightning-fast movement, he rolled up his sleeve and looked with hatred at the Dark Mark on his forearm. A mark that was cut by a deep furrow, like a knife cut, as if someone wanted to cut it out.

He still remembered how he almost cut off his hand after drinking Desideria Intima. And now he finally has a chance to fulfill his greatest desire - he can finally make the Dark Lord die. And it's all thanks to Potter... thanks to this suddenly awakened, incomprehensible fascination. He knew perfectly well that this irresponsible little brat would never be able to defeat the Dark Lord. There's no chance against him. And Dumbledore is too stupid to understand it. It's the only way. He has no other choice, he will have to sacrifice Potter. He would sacrifice anything just to kill the Dark Lord. He had waited too long for this opportunity to slip through his fingers now. The Dark Lord will disappear from his life once and for all. And if he's lucky, he'll get rid of Dumbledore, too. No one will give him orders anymore. Never again.

Snape stopped and sank heavily into his chair.

He will have to play on two fronts... Dumbledore is an excellent Legilimens, and he cannot find out about this plan. His "trusted servant" plans to destroy his secret weapon and the hope of the entire Wizarding World? He probably wouldn't like it.

Snape sneered.

He will have to use Legilimens Evocis. He will have to hide all his thoughts in the Pensieve, even the smallest ones, because any detail, even the slightest one, can reveal him. He will have to manipulate them, change them, distort them and replace them with different ones; to shuffle them like the cards, then pull out the right ones and show both sides what they want to see. It's the only way he can hide it; the only way to hide everything from both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. He didn't think it would be an easy task, but he was willing to pay any price. Of course, he was well aware of the danger of constantly juggling memories and thoughts, but after all, he was one of the best Occlumens among living wizards. He had been training his mind for thirty years, filing and sharpening it until it became like a razor. And he was very good at using it...

Something dangerous appeared in Snape's eyes. For a while he just sat motionless, staring into space.

Seducing Potter... It shouldn't be difficult since he was his "greatest desire". But it certainly won't make it easy for him. He had no intention of suddenly becoming "nice" or even "approachable" to him. He had no intention of having any more contact with him than necessary. Potter was just a tool. A tool that he will have to train well to achieve his intended goal. He certainly won't show him any mercy. He will be hurting him if the boy tries to disobey. He will be tormenting and hurting him for any sign of insubordination, and then pulling him back if he tries to move away. For a moment he even thought about how wonderful it would be to take revenge on him for all the humiliations he had suffered at the hands of his father, but he quickly got rid of such thoughts. He will have to tame his nature and keep the boy by his side. Not too close, though - on a leash long enough for the boy to feel free, and at the same time short enough so that he won't lose the sight of him and can pull it at any time and call him to order. It really shouldn't be difficult...

The only drawback is that he will have to report to the Dark Lord, show him everything...

A look of disgust appeared on the man's face.

But this price was worth paying if in return he'd gain his freedom back.

And Potter--

A crooked smile appeared on Snape's lips.

--He would be able to force the boy to do anything. He could force him to serve himself on the knees if he desired. He's going to humiliate him as much as possible. Too bad, he'll have to show him a little... hmm... 'commitment' from time to time. Not too much, though. Only as much as needed. The bare minimum. Yes, he was perfectly aware that Potter would expect much more, that - like every teenager - he dreams of the tenderness, of... the closeness.

But he won't get it. Certainly not from him.

He will only allow him to enter his chambers once in a while. That should be enough for him. He had never invited any student to his private chambers before. But he wasn't going to tolerate the intrusion. From the very beginning, he will have to show him his place and set the rules for this... deal. He can't let anything get in the way of his plan. Let anything cover it for him. He will have to cut down every branch, decisively trample and break every shoot that may appear in his path. That's why he knew that at the very beginning of the expedition he would have to equip himself with something sharp, something that would be able to cut and hurt perfectly before any stray thorns of these weak shoots could catch on his robe and stop him. And since he was a Death Eater and a Legiliments... he knew he had the ultimate arsenal of weapons that could cut through absolutely anything.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

Admorsusexcetra... It's fiendishly complicated to brew, and to modify... It'll take months. But there is no way that he could fail. Potter will be a walking poison. A walking venom. The potion will drain not only his power, but the Dark Lord's power as well. And it will kill them both.

Snape opened his eyes. An icy fire burned within them.

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#snarry #ariel gobuss #desiderium intimum #harry potter #severus snape #snape/harry #snarry fanfic #hp fic #slash #yaoi #Youtube

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camelliacats · 2 years ago

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closed minds, open hearts

Always with the soft love during wartime. :'3 Done for the Harry Potter Rare Pair Fest III~

Fic: "closed minds, open hearts" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: eventual!Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy, Seamus Finnigan, Ginny Weasley, Alecto Carrow, Amycus Carrow, & Myrtle Warren, with cameos from Lavender Brown, Padma Patil, Parvati Patil, & Fay Dunbar, as well as mentions of other D.A. members & Hogwarts students

Rating: T

Words: ~12,365

Additional info: romance, slash, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, Dark magic, AU fic, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Neville knew what it was like, to be weak, to feel weak. But daring to reach out to Draco, of all people, during seventh year…surprises them both.

They're barely a month into the new school year, and already Neville wonders how many of them will last.

That was his first thought, before the Hogwarts Express even reached the castle, when the Carrows and their fellows Death Eaters stopped the train midway through its journey, just to inspect and ascertain whether Harry and the others stowed away in the end. Not too bright, those Carrows, Neville knows, but they're still deadly and happy to aim their wands anywhere—it doesn't matter if it's at another adult or at a first-year student. There was no escaping Amycus and Alecto on the train, and there's barely any escaping them here at school.

But, still, Neville tries. He and—well, he's heard through the grapevine that Ginny and Luna have, too—more of the D.A. have been a little outspoken, usually in classes, just when a sneering Slytherin gloats about the regime change around here. But Neville dared to give Amycus a hint of lip during "Dark Arts" about the things they're being taught now, and "Professor Carrow" was having none of it.

Neville knows how to play this game, though. The Burn Curse on his arm ached badly through the rest of class, but he kept his mouth shut and he knows they're keeping Death Eaters posted by the Hospital Wing to turn away most students (really, the ones who've received the Carrows' punishments).

But his arm still hurts, and he's got to take a look at it, and—

Seamus tugs him to one side of the Transfiguration courtyard between classes and flags Lavender and the Patils over. "Neville, if you won't see Pomfrey, then it's got ter be McGonagall or Sprout—even Slughorn might 'ave somethin' ter 'elp!"

Neville grits his teeth and tugs on his jumper's sleeve. "It—It's nothing, Seamus, really. It…itches, is all." He musters a grin for the four pairs of eyes that stare back unconvincingly.

Lavender and Parvati exchange a look, with the blonde chewing on her lower lip. "We could always provide a distraction if you need to see Pomfrey," she begins.

He opens his mouth to protest, but Padma shakes her head and starts to turn her fellow witches away. "Too risky, Lavender. But, Neville, I'll talk with Terry and Lisa. Last I knew, they were planning on becoming Healers after Hogwarts, so they might know something already to help." Her smile is strained. "Best I can do is to have Terry meet you during Study Hall in a bit?"

Neville is torn. He wants to thank her…but, more importantly, he senses all the problems with that plan. "It's honestly not that big a deal, you lot. No distractions," he aims at his fellow lions. "And, Padma, no Healing…yet. If they're studying, then good for them. But let's keep the Carrows' attention off Terry and Lisa for as long as possible." Especially because we might need Terry and Lisa further down the road, he notes to himself.

The girls relent and part after that. Seamus idles for another moment, unhappy to head to Potions while Neville's meant to go to Herbology. He's been like this all month, and Neville doesn't exactly blame him. With just the two of them, the seventh-year boys' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower feels awfully large this year.

That's why he pats Seamus' shoulder, half turning his friend in the direction of Slughorn's classroom with the same motion. "I'll be all right, Seamus. I'll mention something to Sprout," he proposes, which makes logical sense, having Herbology next.

Seamus' frown lingers, but he concedes with a nod before jogging after the girls, his rucksack smacking him in the back with every step.

…and yet, despite his words, Neville takes two steps in the direction of the greenhouses and freezes, his stomach lurching as the Burn Curse intensifies the longer he leaves it be. He turns heel and dashes back inside the castle.

He darts up the stairs, retracing his steps up to the second floor. His mind races. Thoughts of Madam Pomfrey's cooling salves are tempting…but his fears loom larger, both for him and for Pomfrey if he seeks her help. So Neville does the next best thing and ducks into the nearest boys' lavatory, knowing Sprout won't mark him tardy and understanding he's got to, at the very least, try running his arm under some cold water.

Neville swallows a yelp when the door bumps his bad arm, but he doesn't want to risk another student's concern or worse (curiosity). He goes to the nearest tap and finally yanks up his sleeve and—

He's relieved he didn't let his friends see. The Burn Curse is bad, makes his skin red with tiny blisters and raw to the touch, makes Neville wonder just how much worse this year will get as tears come to his eyes and he freezes the water from the faucet as it flows over his skin to give him the tiniest relief…

Somewhere, elsewhere in the lavatory, in one of the cubicles, someone sniffles.

Neville freezes. He blinks the unshed tears from his eyes…no, he's definitely not the one crying…

They try to stifle it, but they sniffle again. There's a rustle of fabric and the heel of one's foot hitting the floor, too.

Neville catches his reflection in the mirror; his cheeks are red from trying to calm himself, but he's otherwise all right. His arm's cool now, so he can have a go of checking in on someone, because he's quite assuredly not the only Hogwartian having a rough year. So Neville snaps the frozen cast free from the tap and, cradling his quickly numbing arm to his middle, shuffles towards the cubicles.

Only one door is shut. If this were Moaning Myrtle having some fun, surely she would've made herself known by now.

Neville knocks on the closed door. "Hey, you all right?"

Stillness. Then, another sniffle.

Neville clears his throat. "You, um, don't have to show your face if you don't want to." He pauses and smiles sadly, briefly, at the door. "I understand that, actually. But if you need an ear—"

Without warning, the person inside throws the door open, and he stands nose-to-nose with a red-eyed and glaring Draco Malfoy. "I don't need anyone's ear, Longbottom, least of all yours."

Clearly his arm's not numb yet, because Neville feels a chill, encountering Malfoy in this manner. He grimaces.

Malfoy pushes past him and walks towards the nearest sink. He turns the tap up to full blast, making conversation difficult to have over the din.

Not that Neville thinks conversation is much of an option. Of all the things he imagined happening today, the Carrows punishing him was high on the list. But seeing Malfoy in the least bit fragile? Never. In fact, Seamus and Ginny have said a few times while griping in the common room that Malfoy and his cohort must have it easy this year, considering all their Death Eater connections.

But that's not the only thing that has Neville ignoring Malfoy's rudeness and returning to his things at the sink by the door. It's their families' histories. Everything Malfoy's ever done to Neville, everything Malfoy's family has done to take Neville's family away from him…

Neville doesn't owe Draco Malfoy a damn thing.

Despite having the water blasting, Malfoy sniffles again. When Neville glances his way, there's a slight tremble to his shoulders.

…sighing, Neville stays put and waits for Malfoy to shut the water off. He watches him for a bit, and he recognizes that body language as if he were looking in the mirror still. "…I know what it's like," he mumbles into the quiet.

Malfoy hesitates. He turns his head partly Neville's way, just to better hear him. "What what's like?"

Well, this would be presumptuous if he hadn't spent all those years playing something less than a sidekick to the Golden Trio or a target to Malfoy and his bunch. "To feel weak."

Silence. A droplet falls from the faucet into the puddle of water that remains in Malfoy's sink, and the tiny splash echoes in the room. Then Malfoy inspects his own reflection and starts straightening things about his uniform. "I never said I was weak."

Neville sighs again and frowns as the blond bully makes to march past him, never sparing even a glance at the ice cast on Neville's right arm. "You also never answered me when I asked if you were all right," he points out.

This time, Malfoy pauses. But it's nothing more than that, and he doesn't spare Neville another word or glance before he exits ahead of the other wizard. It's as if nothing ever happened.

And, Neville admits to himself as the ice melts on his way to Herbology, he's not sure how he feels about that.

Days later, when it's October proper, Neville encounters Malfoy yet again. Same lavatory, different day, while taking a break from revising in the library.

This encounter runs shorter, though. The boys lock eyes, freeze as if caught by Full-Body Binds, and go their separate ways seconds later.

Neville notes that Malfoy's eyes are as red as last time, but there's no use in pointing it out, especially when the person in question vanishes from sight.

…and the next time they run into each other isn't the time to bring it up either, Neville muses, just three days after that on Sunday, in the lavatory by the Hospital Wing on the fourth floor. This was supposed to be a literal pit stop on his way to the Clock Tower, a shortcut to the Stone Circle or perhaps the Owlery (he hasn't decided yet where he wants to get his fresh air this afternoon).

Stunningly, instead of lashing out or ignoring him altogether, Malfoy heaves quite the exasperated sigh at the sight of Neville and simply washes his hands.

He knows Draco Malfoy's not a good bloke. Even if he weren't born into it, history proves Malfoy's not good through practice alone. But…no one who's all bad looks that hurt and so often. Or that's what Neville tells himself when he chooses to risk a tiny joke. "Fancy meeting you here," he says with the slightest chuckle, as if it's never happened before.

Malfoy's deadpan stare says it all: I cannot believe you're talking to me. But…his lips quirk, and he doesn't look so mad this time. He sighs again and doesn't entice Neville's humor, just leaves without a word.

But that smells of improvement, yeah?

The common rooms for now are the safest place for students to be themselves. Dinner's not quite as lively as it used to be, and the faculty—having let the Carrows be deputy headmasters—enforce students remaining at their respective House tables during meals.

"They can't be in charge forever," Ginny mutters under her breath from beside Neville as she eats with him and Seamus one evening.

Seamus squints at her from across the table while Neville shoots her a look of concern. Then Ginny seems to catch on that she said that aloud and rolls her eyes as if she's dealing with yet another pair of brothers in that large family of hers.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, you two! I'm just—letting off steam."

"You're not about to run off and try to join Harry in whatever he's doing, are you?" Neville asks in undertones.

Ginny purses her lips. "…no." She leaves it at that.

Neville and Seamus don't need further explanation. Given Ron's exploits with Harry alone, the Weasleys are under heightened scrutiny from a Dark Ministry. Neville's surprised his grandmother hasn't faced much yet, considering what he's done to aid Harry in the past, as well, but…then again, perhaps the new Ministry simply hasn't gotten around to bothering Augusta Longbottom yet.

But where their and Luna's families are on a list of Potter allies and either watched or to be watched, the same cannot be said for other families. This is most readily apparent when Neville glances across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table and spies several familiar and eerily easygoing faces in his and Seamus' year.

Crabbe and Goyle concern him the most, and not because they cackle so openly and play keep-away with a first- or second-year student's plate without a teacher intervening. These two have never been so bold before this year; some people are just like that, Neville supposes, when one's father is outed as a Death Eater. Might as well use it to their advantage.

Parkinson and Nott give Neville mixed feelings, as well. Parkinson's family has often been on the wrong side of history and Parkinson herself doesn't have a kind bone in her own body. Neville's never heard of Nott entertaining interest in Dark matters—in fact, he vaguely recalls some of the Ravenclaws gossiping about Nott having a dislike for Malfoy—but there's still the matter of Nott's father being one of Voldemort's most loyal. These two don't need to come out and cheer for the Death Eaters for Neville to be wary of them.

The remaining seventh-year snakes Neville knows too little about; at best, Daphne Greengrass is a pureblood same as him, but that's it. Zabini, Davis, Runcorn—again, a trace of a rumor about Zabini's mother tickles the back of Neville's brain but can't be caught, and nothing comes to mind on the other witches.

His eyes scan their eclectic den of snakes, not quite sitting together, not a family the way the others are in the other Houses… Then Neville pauses his musing and blinks, surprised by the carefree attitude of Crabbe, Goyle, and even Parkinson when one detail strikes him:

Malfoy's absent from the table.

Neville freezes, his goblet halfway to his lips as the scene at the Slytherin table comes into focus. How striking the picture is now, with one particular seat vacant.

"I'm finished," he announces, abruptly, all but dropping his goblet on the table (a bit of water splashes up the sides) as he hurries to gather his bag and cloak. "See you two back in the common room."

And he hastens from the Great Hall, missing the quizzical look Seamus and Ginny share, ignoring Seamus trying to call him back and keep Neville with them.

The absurdity of looking for a weeping, snappish Draco Malfoy hits Neville as if he'd run into Hagrid out in the Entrance Hall. But—he's got to try. He meant what he said to Malfoy, their first encounter this year.

He knows what it's like.

He's been there.

The difference is that Neville had courage enough to believe in himself…plus, of course, he has Augusta at home, and he's got Trevor (and, right, he's got to look for that little bugger later tonight before bed or Seamus will throttle him), and he eventually befriended Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and everyone in the D.A.

Thinking back on the Slytherin table, Neville wonders what, if perhaps more than his parents, Malfoy's got.

His curiosity and empathy acknowledged, Neville faces his next task: choosing where to start. He's not thrilled with the idea of traipsing across the castle at this time of night on the off chance Malfoy's back where they started by Transfiguration, but he'll do it if he must. But—first things first, so Neville tries the boys' lavatory close by.

No dice. When Neville pushes the door open, it smacks the wall with a little too much force, and the sound echoes in the empty room.

From the ground floor, he's got two options: proceed upstairs or bother with the dungeons. …the latter is definitely the worse choice. And if Malfoy's avoiding fellow snakes at dinner, then Neville can't picture him back in the dorms just yet, since he might not be the only student not eating.

Neville climbs the stairs and wishes he knew some spell to put him in touch with the touchy bloke. He's not fond of the idea of a tracking spell (if it'd even work within the castle walls, that is), but Neville muses on what else might come in handy while he waits for the staircase to shift and lock into place.

He's out of luck on the first floor, too, it turns out. Neville frowns to himself and notes that he can't search all night, otherwise he'll only get put on the Carrows' problem list permanently.

He sighs and drags a hand over his face as he turns back for the stairwell.

Up ahead, a ghostly, pigtailed form emerges through the floor and hovers, blocking the way to the stairs. "You're doing a lot of running around at an odd hour, ducking into loos here and there."

"Myrtle, hullo." Neville swallows a lump of apprehension. He's not had many run-ins with her, but the trio's stories immediately come to mind, and those are a mixed bag.

"Do you really need to go that badly?" Moaning Myrtle asks with a grin, snickering and twirling in lazy loops towards him. "Haven't found the perfect toilet yet?"

Neville reddens. "Myrtle, please! I'm—I'm looking for someone."

Myrtle's mood shifts. She disappears behind him and reappears by his shoulder, causing him to jolt. "…a crying someone?"

"Yes. Why, have you—?"

A sigh escapes her, half like a sob. But she's not crying right now. "It's a familiar sight." She floats around to place herself in front of Neville, once more barring his way. Myrtle stares him down over the edge of her large spectacles.

Neville blinks nervously under her inspection.

Myrtle glances up at the ceiling. "…second floor, boys' lavatory. Not my toilet, obviously, though I've offered to share loads of times before. He's not as bad tonight, but he could still use some company." She peers at him some more. "And you seem an all right sort…"

"Neville Longbottom," he reminds her.

"Oh, I remember you, Longbottom. One of Potter's mates." She smiles dreamily, but that smile fades just as quickly. "Things aren't the same without Harry here…"

"You can say that again. Thank you, Myrtle," Neville tacks on, realizing the ghost is lost in thought since he moves past her without further conversation.

With a destination in mind, Neville hurries. They don't have much of dinner left to squander before they're due back at their respective dorms. He slows and catches his breath as he pulls up on the lavatory, and he mulls over how to explain his presence. Telling the truth is the first thing that pops to mind, but he can't imagine that going well…

Neville enters, as yet undecided. It's quiet here like the other floors, but he hears soft footsteps at the back and a familiar sigh. Neville lets the door shut quietly behind him and politely clears his throat.

The soft footsteps freeze in their pacing. The next second, Malfoy stomps from the rows of cubicles. He halts when he sees Neville. His shoulders drop. "You've got to be joking."

Neville musters as friendly a smile he can for the Malfoy heir.

Malfoy tries to sneer, but he's too irritated for the full effect. He glares as he gripes, "Stalking me now, Longbottom? I was willing to write it off as coincidence a few times before, but—"

Neville holds up a placating hand. "That's definitely not it. I—" Uh-oh. "Well, I can see how it comes across that way, because I noticed you weren't at dinner."

Malfoy blinks and stares at him, drawing his head back slightly.

"I had a tip from Myrtle, though."

Now the blond sighs. "Bloody ghosts never keep to their own business…" Malfoy runs a hand through his hair. "I am fine and you really ought to pretend not to see me, Longbottom."

Neville frowns and watches Malfoy dampen his fingers at the nearest faucet and smooth his coif back as though he's prepping to join people again, despite what his body language says. "I'm not here to make fun of you, if that's what you think."

"Not that you'd come up with anything that'd stick."

Neville purses his lips and stares at Malfoy's back. "I mean it. You seem to be here half the time when not in class—" He stops short, though, because something in his words snares Malfoy's attention.

Malfoy turns around. He faces Neville now, his jaw clenched and eyes shiny and glaring. "You wouldn't know."

But Neville stands his ground. His grip tightens around his bag's strap on his shoulder. "I don't see you around much, but you're here when I do."

"No, you"—his tone turns hard as stone—"wouldn't know."

Neville swallows a new lump, of nervousness, in his throat.

"You know nothing of my comings and goings. You know nothing of my absences—at meals, from classes. You know nothing of what I do outside this castle."

…oh. It had been hard to ignore Harry's suspicions last year, discussing them as quietly as he could with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny around the common room; sometimes it came up when Ron was trying to help Harry calm his mind when they tried to sleep. But Neville's never wanted to think of anyone their age taking the Dark Mark, willingly or not. "…unlikely," Neville quietly concedes.

Malfoy takes a steadying breath.

"Even so—" Neville replays the scene at the Slytherin table in his mind and counts the number of times he and Malfoy keep crossing paths like this. "Something doesn't add up, Malfoy. Your mates and Housemates appear quite cozy with this new Hogwarts. One might've expected a victorious Draco Malfoy to be at their sides, but that's not the case. I don't have experience with what goes on outside the castle," he adds before Malfoy can interrupt, "but I understand shouldering burden, feeling vulnerable. Not living up to expectations."

He expects Malfoy to snarl or to sigh at him. Instead, this time Neville's words strike a chord with Malfoy, because Malfoy's face falls, his ire vanishing, replaced by the fear of being discovered.

Yes, Neville knows that part, too, but he knows it gets better once you have someone in on the secret. That's why he refuses to walk away.

Malfoy lowers his gaze. "…certain expectations I never could've imagined," he mumbles.

Neville tenses. Sharing burdens is always better, but he hadn't thought this far ahead, hadn't prepared for the possibility that Malfoy might divulge any details of his crimes.

But, no, the same must occur to Malfoy, because he settles Neville with a resigned look. "You're…being oddly kind," he says.

"Is it that odd, to be kind?"

"You're not going to gloat to your mates about 'poor Malfoy'?" There's that stony edge in his tone again. The same hardness reaches his silver eyes.

Neville's shoulders sag. "It never occurred to me, honest."

Malfoy twists his lips around and then nods. He walks past Neville but pauses by the door. "…thanks," he says this time. He doesn't stay to continue their conversation.

But, Neville realizes when he reaches the Fat Lady's portrait several minutes later, it actually was a conversation. And he wonders if perhaps, despite their families' entwined histories…despite their history, this means there's some hope for Malfoy yet.

He doesn't cross paths with Malfoy the next day in any loos, though he does spy the blond looking quite peaky and pushing his food around his plate at breakfast. In the end, the only exchange the two wizards have occurs during Charms, when Malfoy does a double-take and happens to catch Neville's eye.

Neville tries to avert his gaze. He doesn't want to get yelled at later when they next meet.

But surprisingly Malfoy doesn't look away. He gives Neville the tiniest of nods, almost as if he doesn't move his head at all or perhaps he's reacting to Flitwick's instructions.

Neville smiles in spite of himself. Remarkable! It only took seven years of school together and their world surely crumbling around them, but Draco Malfoy is acting…polite. The notion is so absurd, it's hard to stop smiling, really.

That catches Seamus' attention, however. He stops copying Flitwick's lecture notes on Plottable versus Unplottable Charms and elbows Neville in the side. He jerks his head forward, aiming across the classroom floor. "What was that?" he asks.

"What was what?" Neville asks. He scribbles down the last line on Flitwick's chalkboard before their tiny professor erases it clean and a new smatter of points magically appear: Unplottable Charms (Theory Only).

Seamus huffs. "Malfoy. Could've sworn 'e looked over 'ere."

Neville grips his quill tightly in his left hand but forces himself to shrug his friend's observation off. "I'm sure it's nothing, Seamus."

The Irish lad grumps to himself but doesn't push the subject further, so Neville considers that Bludger dodged.

"You know, I think Finnigan was giving me the stink eye during Charms yesterday," Malfoy says. No "hello" or "Oh, you're here" or anything resembling a greeting.

Neville practically jumps out of his skin, washing his hands at the sink and getting water everywhere, when he hears Malfoy's voice. He gawks at him over his shoulder. "How did you know I was in here?"

Malfoy quirks one eyebrow. "Not Myrtle, if you were worried." He throws a thumb over his shoulder. "Study hall, you numpty. I saw you walk out of the library with my own two eyes, so I decided to join you."

Neville reddens. "…oh." He waits a beat.

Malfoy scowls. "Not for a cry or some shit like that." He runs a hand through his hair before smoothing the locks down right after. "But I rather this than have you trying to track me down again like earlier this week."

Neville uses a Heating Charm to dry himself and the mess he made by the sink. But he faces Malfoy with a frown. "You have a lot of attitude for someone who wanted to join me," he points out.

Pink dusts Malfoy's fair cheeks. His scowl lessens to a glare and he flusters. "Don't get—ahead of yourself. Longbottom," he tacks on, although there's little heat in his words tonight.

Neville offers him a friendly, nonjudgmental smile. "I'm not, Malfoy. So, you were saying about Seamus?"

Malfoy settles him with a dry stare now, but he makes a wide circle around the sinks, pausing by Neville before marching past the cubicles and ensuring yes, they're alone. "Finnigan pissy about something? I've not done or said anything to him in ages. Haven't the time for that."

Neville sighs and ignores the Dark implications at the end there. "No, he just caught your polite nod, I think. I convinced him it wasn't anything." That sounds harsh, so he adds, "Since I reckon you prefer to choose who gets into your business."

Malfoy nods. "Wisely played, Longbottom." He walks back towards Neville and leans against the wall. There's enough space to fit a desk between them, but it's strangely intimate, being this close inside each other's personal bubbles. "The fewer people who pry, the better."

Neville scratches his cheek. "That include your mates, then? Crabbe and Goyle? Parkinson, too?"

Malfoy smiles, but it's a brittle, bittersweet sight. "…it includes them, yes. Some things slip out, so they know a little. Blaise, too, even." He shakes his head. "But I don't think it wise for them to know more."

"Then why tell me anything?" Something new occurs to him, and Neville grits his teeth when he asks, "It's not because I've got no one left at the Ministry to tell, is it?"

His parents are well-known Aurors, so Neville knows Malfoy either has to rub salt in the wound or… Malfoy shakes his head, though. "That's…not it at all."

"Then why?"

Malfoy purses his lips while he mulls the idea over. "…because you're either stupid or stupidly good, but you seem stunningly earnest in your empathy." He shrugs it off as if it's no big matter. "And I imagine you wouldn't be fascinated with the details of my…outside duties."

Huh. The latter remark brings Crabbe and Goyle to mind, so that explains those two. But Neville wonders about Parkinson. He wants to ask but supposes asking in this instance would earn him another glare and another conversation cut short. So instead he turns around, leaning against the edge of the sink. If anyone came in right now, they might assume he and Malfoy were two old mates, palling around. "No," he finally agrees. "I don't find such things fascinating."

Malfoy exhales and nods.

"Besides, if you haven't noticed, a lot of us already have our hands full with the Carrows." He glances at Malfoy.

The Malfoy heir pulls a face. "They're strong," he says.

Neville rubs his arm even though the Burn Curse faded weeks ago.

"But they're just Death Eaters, Longbottom."

Neville turns and holds that gray gaze. Funny—he could almost swear that's Malfoy's way of reminding him that he's fought Death Eaters before and won (although, of course, it was more like standing on his own—the Order of the Phoenix did the winning in the end). Or perhaps this is Malfoy's roundabout way of encouraging people? Hmm.

Malfoy pushes off the wall then. "Can't be gone from study hall for too long, and I'd suggest you return to the library shortly, too." He leaves. Just as he offered no greeting, he has no parting for Neville, either.

But their interaction gives him so much to unpack, so Neville doesn't really hold the spot of rudeness against him.

Carrows and covert conversations carry Neville and his classmates through October as it stumbles along. And stumble it does.

It's not just Amycus' fondness for reinventing Defense into a Dark indoctrination for the unwilling. Alecto's in charge of the Muggle Studies class this year, which became mandatory at all levels and also bastardizes the original subject.

Due to class schedules, Muggle Studies is slotted in wherever it fits on a student's timetable, so Neville and Seamus have a rare class with most of the Ravenclaws and even Ernie. And, of the Ravenclaws, Neville knows four of them quite well. There's something empowering about sitting in Alecto Carrow's class with six other fellow Dumbledore's Army members.

That's partly from where Neville takes his courage each and every time he interrupts Alecto's classes. "You're wrong," he says the first time Alecto goes on a tirade about inbreeding with Muggles causing Squibs and all sorts of wonky magic.

Alecto sneers at him. "And how would you know, Longbottom?"

He stands up in his seat. "Some of our dearest, brightest friends are Muggle-borns," he says with a quick look to Ernie, who gives him a tight smile at the nod to Justin's absence in the same breath as Hermione's. "The only proof of inbreeding I see before me is you and your brother, professor."

Gasps scatter around the room, and Seamus does his best to stifle what normally would be his hearty guffaw.

Neville waits patiently while Alecto turns all shades of red and even orange in the terrible lighting in the classroom.

At least he expects what comes next, for defiance isn't tolerated by the Carrows. Alecto's wand is quick like a viper, her spell silent and vicious.

Neville freezes for a second—he's all too familiar with a Full-Body Bind—and the next second his body is heavy, heavier than possible, and he drops like a rucksack overloaded with texts. The binding spell is gone, but the weight he feels makes it damn near impossible to move.

So he doesn't see Alecto's foot coming for his face.

Someone screams—Padma? Anthony, maybe—but Alecto snarls at his classmates to shut up before she doles it out to all of them or before she changes her mind about which punishment to give Neville.

Neville takes the punishment as best he can, never regretting what he said and happy everyone else stays put. The only thought to cross his mind is that he hopes he doesn't pass out, because he rather has someone depending on him now, doesn't he? So he's got an unscheduled appointment to keep…

Malfoy's traded his glares for furrowed brows and frowns before the week's out and October's half gone. "Again, Longbottom?"

Neville prods his fresh black eye without glancing in the mirror after he arrives in the prefects' bathroom that Friday evening, before supper. "It's just the usual."

"You're deliberately bringing it upon yourself, though," Malfoy comments. In the lavish room, there's more room to move around, with benches lining the wall opposite the tubs and shower stalls, small luxuries to sit on and laze about. He drops onto the bench beside where Neville sits and stretches out lengthwise, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaving one leg dangling down.

Neville lifts his right eyebrow (it doesn't hurt as much as the left one right now). "Any chance to remind them that they've not gotten through to us, that they haven't won, is worth it."

Malfoy's expression turns flat. "I take it all the graffiti across the castle is worth it, too?"

At that, Neville shrugs. He's not had a chance to do any painting yet himself, even though Ginny and Luna met him in the Gryffindor common room and the three developed the plan together. He's seen their fellow D.A. members smiling at the pro-Harry and anti-Carrow and -Snape messages in the corridors—Michael's even taken up the pastime of brazenly flipping his coin in the corridors despite Terry's and Anthony's attempts to make him put it away—so he's got a few bigger plans bubbling than just mouthing off or defacing Hogwarts.

"They won't stop at black eyes, you realize," Malfoy adds, drawing Neville's mind back to the present.

"No, I do," he mutters. He sucks in a hissing breath while scooting back more on the bench. The motion aggravates his middle, which feels like softened butter after Alecto's kicks this afternoon. Compared to this, his black eye feels like nothing.

Malfoy pauses, eyeing him, before shaking his head. "I don't know how you do it."

"As I said: It's to prove they haven't gotten to us." Neville tilts his head Malfoy's way. His smile is weak and barely there but friendly nevertheless.

He's always leaving Malfoy these openings. So far, despite meeting on a near daily basis, all Malfoy's shared is ominous words about tasks he's "required to do outside the castle," and the mere thought of them makes him go pale, but he's otherwise shut tight as the Monster Book of Monsters when it slumbers. Malfoy doesn't take this opening either.

Neville drops his eyes to his hands in his lap and twiddles his thumbs. "It does hurt, so it's not as though I enjoy this," he mentions.

"Didn't say you did." Malfoy sighs. "…but I suppose we all do things we don't enjoy sometimes, out of necessity."

Neville picks his head up and waits.

"I'm not a fan of bringing things upon myself." Malfoy frowns. "Nor of following through and continuing with orders. It—It makes me sick of myself, actually. Sick of the things I've done."

Perhaps even truly sick, Neville muses, since Malfoy's unusually pale in the lavish lights of the prefects' bathroom. He wonders if Dark magic turns every user ill eventually, or if Malfoy's just so beside himself with regret. But a fresh concern occurs to him before Malfoy opens up further. "Wouldn't it be bad for you, if…?"

"I told you too much?"

The Gryffindor wizard nods. He's not the only one in jeopardy if Malfoy says something he shouldn't to an outsider. But Neville is glad Malfoy finished the thought for him, because he can't decide which is worse: Malfoy's parents or infamous aunt learning or Voldemort discovering Malfoy fraternizing with the enemy.

Malfoy leans forward, a cunning twinkle in his silver eyes. "I don't worry that much."

Neville gawps at him. Had he heard him correctly?! "You don't?"

"Not since Mum's been giving me Occlumency lessons."

That makes him blink in surprise. He knows of the magic. He's come across it in texts…well, no, that's a lie. After Harry's odd behavior last year and hearing the word and "Legilimency" in the same breath at different times from him and Hermione primarily, Neville sated his own curiosity to look up the magic. That's powerful magic—and not something used lightly.

Malfoy raises his eyebrows, as if waiting for a comment.

"Er…sounds useful," Neville answers, his mind spinning.

Malfoy smirks, a ghost of the cocky boy of years past. "It's more than useful." Just as quickly, his smirk fades to nothing. "It's a good defense when you have no offense."

Neville's ideas for his fellow D.A. members to learn such magic and brush up on other advanced spells fall to the sidelines when he catches Malfoy's expression. "We've all got to start somewhere…but that doesn't mean we stay at the start line," he encourages.

That night, Draco Malfoy smiles. It's a tiny thing and might be a trick of the bathroom lights, but nevertheless—he smiles.

They meet usually every other day, often during study blocks or when Malfoy's caught his eye during Charms or Dark Arts and signaled him. The signal took Neville two tries to discern, unfortunately, and Malfoy had a right laugh when Neville mistook him holding up two fingers as intending to meet in two minutes, not as meaning to meet in the lavatory on the second floor during the next break.

Ginny's and Luna's artistic antics continue, and Neville is late meeting Malfoy one evening because he forgoes a spot of graffiti to assist Ginny in setting up a Portable Swamp the twins managed to smuggle to her somehow. Her target? Amycus' classroom.

But when they reach the Dark Arts classroom, the door is more than Sealed shut. "Son of a hag," the redhead growls under her breath.

Neville prods the door with his wand, but he wishes for a bit of Hermione's cleverness right about now—hell, even Malfoy's might be a help. He glances behind them up the hallway. "We don't have much time, Ginny," he warns.

"This is all because of the Dungbombs in Alecto's office earlier in the week," she huffs. "I didn't expect the siblings to be on high alert."

He stares at Ginny while she sets up the Wheeze in front of the door anyway. "You didn't expect—?! Ginny, that's—" But he catches himself, because there's little use in reminding a hardheaded Weasley about certain obvious things. "All right, are we good to go?"

"We would be if you'd give me a hand with making sure that corner folds down there, Neville."

"Right, sorry."

Once the swamp lies flat and they can step back to admire their handiwork, Ginny peers at her friend. "What's with the rush? Luna and Padma are busy leading Amycus on a wild goose chase by the boathouse, so we've got a few minutes."

Neville tugs on his necktie. "Nothing! I just— You know me. I don't want to stick around, especially if Alecto's doing her rounds early in this part of the castle. Best not to linger, Ginny."

She shrugs.

By the time he meets Malfoy in the lavatory on the fifth floor, Malfoy's shouldering his bag and on his way out. His glare doesn't carry its previous heat, but the blond is grumpy nevertheless.

"SorryI'mlate," Neville blurts in one breath.

Malfoy rolls his eyes. "Not as though we set a time, Longbottom." He tries to walk past.

But Neville catches his arm. "No, Malfoy, we didn't." He waits for Malfoy to meet his eyes, to see his frown but also the sincerity in his gaze. "But I've still got time tonight, if you have any to spare. I'm sorry, for not juggling my priorities better."

Neville releases him, but Malfoy stays put. He furrows his brow, thoroughly confused as he asks, "I'm…a priority?"

"Huh? Yeah, of course." He smiles, a heartbeat away from pointing out that he doesn't make a habit of meeting just anyone in the loo on a regular basis.

This time, his expression isn't one Neville can pinpoint. He's still got that confused pinch between his eyebrows, and he narrows his eyes, but Malfoy's lips twitch, as if he can't make up his mind whether to smirk or grin or pout. There's a little color in his cheeks tonight, though. He doesn't look so sickly tonight, which is a relief. He backs away from the exit. "…I s'pose I could stay a little longer then…."

The weeks grow colder, but Malfoy warms up in contrast. He never prods Neville about the obvious D.A. hijinks, but sometimes he comments about them after the fact. A time or two he even seems to approve. "The whole school's talking about your attempt on the headmaster's office. Stupid and sloppy for getting caught, but bold move," he says with a smirk.

Neville pulls a face at the remark, an insult and compliment all rolled together. "The point wasn't getting caught."

"Something of value in there, I take it?"

Neville opens his mouth but stops short. So not every detail was known… "It'd take a bit to explain the what and why," he concludes.

Malfoy narrows his eyes at Neville and cocks his head in half a shrug. "Whatever it was, I hope it was worth it. Detention in the Forest this year—can't imagine it's been improved from past years."

"No… There are sounds and shadows there that weren't there before." Neville musters a fleeting smile. "But the girls and I got to spend it with Hagrid, so it's not all bad."

Stunningly, Malfoy either withholds his derogatory commentary on the beloved half-giant groundskeeper or perhaps he doesn't have one to offer.

That's not the first time Malfoy's shift in attitude catches Neville's notice. In fact, the next time the boys meet after Alecto's gone about tenderizing the lion for speaking against her in class, Malfoy doesn't bother to hide his frown when Neville limps into the lavatory during their study hall.

Instead, the Malfoy heir waves him close and does it a second time, impatiently, when Neville shuffles forward. Malfoy motions for Neville to lift up his jumper.

Neville does.

"No, you daft—your shirt. She kicked you before and I presume she did it again?"

Reluctance slows his hands, but Neville untucks his Oxford, lifting it half an inch up. Moving the fabric at all makes the spot hurt. He can only imagine what color the bruises are.

Malfoy produces his wand, which makes Neville flinch, but the blond stills him with a hand on his arm. His spells are nonverbal, and the pain recedes. After two minutes, he tears his eyes from the damage and peers up at Neville. "Better?"

Neville nods. To think Padma thought only Terry and Lisa had any Healer knowledge in their year—yet here Malfoy is, practicing a spell as well as Pomfrey.

Malfoy tucks his wand back into his waistband. "I recommend a Cushioning Charm before class with her. Then fake it."

He nods again, dumbly, and amazes at another rare, small Malfoy smile.

Malfoy's not around every weekend, and sometimes he seems to disappear partway through the school day. But Neville does his best to take the bits of advice he imparts, and he muses on that smile when his newfound…friend? companion, he decides, isn't around.

But nobody's smiling when Amycus orders a practical pop quiz.

The Gryffindors and Slytherins share his class, and everyone's present this particular day. Amycus grumbles about Snape's "stupid orders not letting children learn the Killing Curse" and waffles between having them try the Imperius or the Cruciatus Curse first.

He walks around the room of five lions and ten snakes, smirking towards the back, where star students Crabbe and Goyle sit. But Amycus turns his attention to Fay and Seamus sitting up front.

Neville swallows a cold lump that tries to lodge itself in his throat. Beside him, Daphne Greengrass pushes herself against the back of her seat, as if she'd like to be anywhere but here.

"Miss Dunbar," Amycus announces. "Come to the front."

Neville catches Parvati's eye across the aisle. Not that the Carrows have a list of D.A. members (and Fay stuck her nose up at the notion originally in fifth year), but singling out any of the Gryffindors… Before this year, Fay used to talk about becoming an Auror. This year, no one's heard a peep of any such dream from her.

Amycus flicks his wand, a door behind him unlocks, and a young Hufflepuff girl stumbles into their classroom. "The Imperius, Dunbar."

Fay shakes her head no, but she shivers, as well.

So Amycus inflicts the Cruciatus on her for thirty seconds.

Next goes Lavender, then Seamus, then Parvati. They each experience the same fate, so Neville sees it coming when Amycus spits, "Longbottom."

Neville stands. He glimpses the fear on Greengrass' face, but more importantly he locks eyes with Malfoy as he leaves his chair. It's bad if there's obvious fear on Malfoy's features.

"You're stuck-up here, but you're quite the handful in my sister's class… Cruciatus," he orders. His beady little eyes bore holes into Neville.

"No," Neville says, grateful his voice doesn't waver.

But his punishment doesn't immediately follow. Instead, Amycus gestures with his finger, and two sets of heavy footfall troop up front. His sneer is all the signal Crabbe and Goyle need.

Being hit by an Unforgivable is one thing.

But the power of it times three?

Neville passes out.

"…come to. Just get him some food from the kitchen," is the next thing Neville hears when he stirs.

"I'm not runnin' some errand when 'e's out cold, Parvati!"

"There is nothing else to do," she tells Seamus, her voice growing louder. "We have to wait, so go be useful, Seamus."

"Hush, you two! Look, he's awake. Neville?"

He attempts to sit up, but multiple hands rush him, pushing him…ah, against the cushions on the couch in front of the fireplace in the common room. "I'm all right, you lot."

"Hardly!" Lavender says, the word shrill. "Dark Arts wasn't the last class of the day and you missed supper, Neville."

He peeks at his friends gathered around and notices Fay hovering on the edge of their circle. "Fay, are you all right?"

Her pale cheeks flood with color at being addressed. "Oh! Y-Yes, I am, thanks." She frowns. "You…really took a lot today."

Malfoy's words—about bringing this upon himself—echo in his head, but Neville smiles lazily. "I'll be fine."

"Not without food you won't," Parvati says, and her dark face hovers over his. "Will you please tell Seamus you've got to eat?"

"I'm still not goin'—" Seamus interjects.

"I'll do it," Fay volunteers, surprising her fellow seventh years. She gives them a smile more reminiscent of her fiery self. "I'll see what the house-elves have left over and be right back."

Neville blinks in surprise. "Thank you, Fay," he calls out as she leaves his line of sight.

Right as she exits the portrait hole, Ginny and Demelza enter, and the Quidditch players join the group by the fire. "My Godric! Neville, I just heard—how the hell did you survive that?!"

"Willpower." He pauses. "Do I want to know where you've been?"

She exchanges a look with her friend, and Demelza pipes up, "I was lookout while she met with Luna in Ravenclaw Tower."

Neville furrows his brow, and the others seem just as curious, but there remain a few stragglers in the common room, so nothing much can be said quite yet.

Ginny sighs. "…honestly, they've gone too far. We can't be the only ones appalled by what they do."

The frightened face of Daphne Greengrass pops up in his mind, not to mention Malfoy's. "…no, no, we can't," Neville agrees.

"I'd stay inside if I were you, though," Demelza states.

That grabs his attention. Ignoring Lavender's and Parvati's warnings, Neville sits up and meets the sixth year's eyes. "Why's that?"

She and Ginny share another look, this one more concerned. "On our way here, we saw Malfoy up the corridor, pacing outside the loos. And where he goes, Crabbe and Goyle can't be far behind." Demelza offers a commiserating half smile, her cheek dimpling. "Thought you ought to know."

It takes everything he has not to go running out of Gryffindor Tower. In fact, he knows Crabbe and Goyle haven't shadowed Malfoy once this year, and he's—he's curious to know what's on that mind. To come all the way up to the seventh floor…

"Neville?" Ginny asks. "You feeling all right?"

Ah, of course. He's still got everyone's attention. He beams at them. "Yeah, yeah. I'm good. Loads better than before."

"Neville, you passed out," Parvati reminds him.

"I won't budge until I've eaten and had something to drink. Don't worry so much about me. Honest!"

Parvati and Lavender hesitate but head upstairs shortly after that. A minute later, Demelza exchanges words with Ginny and then goes up alone. That leaves Ginny and Seamus with Neville.

"I can wait for Fay to return on my own, you two."

Ginny plops down beside him. "Sure, you can, but should you have to?" She grins that cheeky Ginny Weasley grin of hers.

Seamus tries to grin, too, but he crosses his arms in front of his chest. He can't hold on to the mood. "Nev… Next time might not go so well."

"They're barred from using the Killing Curse, Seamus."

"Yes, sure, they might be, but—" He shakes his head and scratches the back of his close crop. "There are so many other ways to 'urt us, Neville. An' what if you could withstand the power of three spells but not four or more? What then?"

That…hadn't occurred to him. Neville drops his eyes from Seamus' frightened stare.

Fay returns with two sandwiches five minutes later. It turns out she's rather good with Conjuring Spells, producing a mug and pumpkin cider to go with the quick dinner. "Let me know if you need anything else," she says, but that must be an extended offer for in the future, since she also heads up to bed, and Ginny follows her.

Seamus mills about even after Neville's done. He offers his friend and roommate a hand up.

But Neville shakes him off. "I'll, uh, be up shortly."

Seamus narrows his eyes. "D'you 'ave somewhere ter be?"

"Just, uh, a quick errand."

"It'll be quicker wit' both of us, then."

Dammit, Seamus…! "I haven't seen Trevor in the common room tonight, so I want to double-check that he didn't make it out into the corridor with everyone coming and going," Neville fibs.

Seamus pulls a face at the mention of the toad. "Just make it quick, Nev."

He nods, and he hurries out the portrait hole. But, of course, out on the seventh floor, he scans the corridor for someone of the human variety.

The corridor's empty.

Neville frowns and checks the boys' lavatory anyway.

Malfoy's inside, leaning against a far sink, his arms crossed and his thumbnail caught between his teeth while he's lost in thought. He lifts his head at the sound and, realizing it's Neville, pushes off the sink, taking his steps quickly.

Neville freezes, his collar suddenly quite warm despite the castle's late autumn chill. Malfoy's body language reminds him of—of his friends. In particular, of the girls, as if he wants to hug Neville right about now.

But Malfoy screeches to a halt half a foot away. The wizards lock eyes, and it's as though the same comparison strikes Malfoy. He clears his throat. "You're all right," he notes.

"Yeah," Neville confirms.

"You weren't at dinner."

Neville shakes his head…which is a bad idea, because things swim slightly before his eyes. He touches his temple and winces. "No, they tell me I was still out cold even then."

Malfoy reaches up as if to touch him but stops and sticks his hands in his pockets, keeping them to himself. "Damn it. I had no idea that would happen in class."

Neville frowns. "Crabbe and Goyle have exacted punishments before. Not in class, but on other students, yes." He takes a shaky breath. "It's as if the Inquisitorial Squad never disbanded."

Malfoy grits his teeth at the fair jab. "I snapped at them, you know. That I never permitted them to do that."

Neville quirks an eyebrow. "How did that go?"

"Not well, I'm afraid. Goyle seemed contrite for a beat before Crabbe reminded him that I'm not present half the time. They're not— They don't listen to me anymore."

Neville frowns. It's one thing to know you've lost your cronies. But it's another thing to understand they were only ever cronies and not your friends. "In good news, I think my attack inspired something," he pipes up, changing the subject.

Malfoy tilts his head up, waiting.

"Even I don't have details not to share this time," Neville says with a chuckle, "so I suppose we'll both have to wait and see.”

Malfoy shares in the chuckle. "Yes, well… Whether you know or not, you're bound to keep up doing what you've been doing."

Neville leans back against the door. "If I inspire others to hold on to hope, then that's something," he says, not looking away.

Malfoy smirks at the reference; he hasn't cried or moped in a long time even though he's not shared more of himself in a while. But a friendlier Malfoy, one who seeks refuge in an unlikely friend…it's a plus. He shakes his head while smirking. "You really ought to learn Occlumency, Neville."

"Agh, I know," Neville groans, although his ears prick up. Was that a "Neville" and not a "Longbottom" from Malfoy's mouth? No, it must've been a fluke.

Malfoy's…no, Draco's smirk dims. "I mean it, though. It's difficult magic and requires practice." He licks his lips and takes a breath. "But we can try a few lessons, if you'll have me."

Months ago, Neville would've been scared, apprehensive, and called this a trick.

But now? He answers in a heartbeat:

"Yeah, let's."

Ginny's "gone too far" comment culminates in an open application for any interested student when she, Luna, Parvati, Padma, and Michael target the Great Hall's doors. The message, "DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY—STILL RECRUITING," is emblazoned in nearly indelible paint on Halloween, and it breathes life into the student body in a way nothing has since the start of the year.

But the fact that Neville knows who did it is something he keeps close to his chest yet at the forefront of his mind, so it comes up while he and Draco work, little by little, daily, practicing both Occlumency and Legilimency.

When the information is shared, Neville pales and shoots Draco an imploring look.

Draco quirks an eyebrow. "More than a week later and Filch is still scrubbing some of that off. Clever magic," he remarks.

Neville releases his breath.

"Your turn, then."

"Ah, yeah…" This is the only thing Neville can't get used to… They've been at it for nearly two weeks, but they trade these spells back and forth, so Neville never carries the burden of only defending his thoughts. Not to mention— "Legilimens!"

Draco's concentration is thorough. He's quite good at this, but sometimes his attention falters, letting Neville slip past his barriers. And Neville learns things about the Malfoy heir.

The first time it happened, Neville saw something on the surface level, something more recent, of Draco lurking in the Slytherin common room and Crabbe and Goyle sneering at him. Zabini and Parkinson looked on with some concern, though, tinged with wariness.

The second time, Neville caught a glimpse of a past…holiday, he presumed, with Lucius and Narcissa. How odd, to see the Death Eater and his wife so happy when with their son. It didn't fit, to see those who did evil be so joyous…

Tonight, Neville sinks deeper, and he marvels at the power of his spell (because surely Draco's not letting him in this way—that's too private, especially for a proud bloke like Draco). In this memory, Draco's quite young, not yet old enough for Hogwarts, and Narcissa's got hold of his hand as they walk up a cozy street.

"Where are we going?" younger Draco asks.

Narcissa squeezes his hand. "Hush, Draco. We're— We might meet…the rest of the family."

The tiny heir's eyes light up. "More Malfoys? Is there someone to play with?"

His mother's ruby-painted smile is brittle. "Your cousin is older than you, dear. She's…" Her voice catches, and they stop in the middle of the pavement. She kneels down and tugs him to her. "Sweet Salazar, I can't. I can't do this. I'm not ready to see her again. I want to, but I can't."

Young Draco hugs Narcissa. "Are you hurt, Mum?"

She pulls away to give him a teary smile. "Not really, Draco, darling. Let's go home."

He starts to whine, but she whisks him away for his second experience ever with Side-Along Apparition and—

Neville pops out of Draco's memory as the nausea from the Disapparition hits him, as if he experienced it himself. "Side-Along definitely stinks," Neville says.

Draco grimaces. He hadn't been looking for commentary, but… "You've suffered plenty. I can't believe you've never blocked all the times your great-uncle dropped you while testing for your magic."

"Great-Uncle Algie's done a lot to make up for it since," Neville explains, though he rather sides with Draco on this one. If he decides to augment his memories one day, Algie's testing process will be the first thing to go.

They exchange spells a few more times before calling it a night, but Draco drags his feet by the door. Still he grimaces.

Neville decides to ask one of the million questions on his mind. "…so…did you ever meet the family your mum tried to introduce you to back then?"

Draco hesitates but answers, "In a manner. She never meant Malfoys. She meant her side, the Black side of the family. But they're not Blacks anymore. They're—" He shakes his head. "Well, they're not really family, just names once on the family tree."

At the late hour, they exit the lavatory together, since students are expected to be in their dorms, nowhere near the library. Neville notes that Draco keeps pace with him as they head towards the main staircase. "They say we can't choose our family, but we choose our friends. Like found family. Something more."

"Something more," Draco echoes. "…I like that."

Silence settles comfortably between them, and Neville grins and waves before heading upstairs. He pauses while one staircase moves and catches a glimpse far below, chuckling when Draco is discovered peeking up at him, too, before darting to the dungeons.

But, one flight above, Neville runs into Seamus on their way to the Fat Lady. "You were out late, Neville," the Irish lad says.

Neville internally sighs. "The same could be said of you, Seamus."

"Yeah, well—" He leans in close. "That's D.A. business, or so you've forgotten. What I don't understand," he continues as the enter Gryffindor Tower, "is why you'd be chummy wit' Malfoy of all people."

On the inside, he panics. Outwardly, Neville fakes a casual calm and frowns at his friend. "I'm not 'chummy' with Malfoy. I bumped into him, is all. There are scarier things around the castle these days, Seamus."

Seamus opens his mouth to protest, but there's no good comeback for Death Eaters patrolling the castle.

Without delay, Neville heads upstairs, tired of Seamus' correct suspicions and exhausted from Draco's lessons.

Given the shift in direction of their clandestine meetings nowadays, Draco discovers Seamus' hunch rather quickly after that. Funnily enough, it makes him smirk. "I'm not scary?" he asks Neville, amusement lacing his tone.

"No, Draco, you're not scary," Neville replies. He pauses before taking his turn with Legilimency, though, because that smirk softens to a smile.

Unfortunately, November is not all about softening smiles and practical magic. No, because the open defiance of Dumbledore's Army and the renewed vigor in the student body makes the Carrows' appetite for harm and humiliation more voracious than ever. Word quickly traveled at the start of the month, about how they began chaining students up again even though that part of Hogwarts' history has been generations' in its past.

So when Michael, against Terry's and Anthony's advice, tries to rescue a first-year boy by himself, he pays the price.

The torture he survives lands him in the Hospital Wing for four days. And, of course, no visitors are allowed.

When Neville meets Draco in the prefects' bathroom after Michael's torture, both boys are quiet. While Neville agrees with the notion that Occlumency would be an invaluable skill to possess this year…it's hard to sit here with Draco looking so guilty, as though he partook in the Carrows' activities himself.

Draco, for what it's worth, doesn't force eye contact. He clears his throat twice. "…the holidays are almost here."

Neville hums in agreement. He can't think of anything to celebrate right now.

"Corner—he'll be able to go home and recuperate more, soon," Draco says. His words come out slow and cautious.

Neville settles him with an unimpressed stare…but he can't hold the look long, because he knows Draco's not to blame. "You didn't do it to him, Draco."

"So I didn't, but I do those things," Draco spits. He glares at Neville, sitting a bench apart as usual but this time at the nearer end.

Neville reaches a hand out. He hesitates but then follows through, rubbing soothing circles on the same gray jumper he wears (so what that Draco's got green-and-silver stripes while his are maroon and gold?). When Draco crumples, his face flushing, his glare clearly meant for himself and not Neville, Neville chooses to scoot closer and half tuck the slighter boy against him.

Draco says nothing. He's busy pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. Eventually, the action or its repetition calms him, and he takes a shuddering breath and then a second, calmer one. He stands and glances down at Neville. "We shouldn't waste tonight."

"Are you sure you still want to practice tonight?"

Draco nods. "Your barriers need to be strong, even during intense emotion."

Neville gets to his feet. "You take the first turn, then."

Draco does, and Neville fights him well, although uncomfortable memories summoned by their conversation topic come tumbling forward.

Standing up to the trio in first year only to have Hermione cast a spell on him.

His fear when the Basilisk was running rampant in second year.

Third year, before they knew Sirius was no murderer but was loose on castle grounds.

Fourth year and the tragedy of the Triwizard Tournament…

His guilt from not answering the call last year is overcome, though, with memories from the Battle of the Department of Mysteries the year before that. Seeing all the Death Eaters—and unmasked—makes Neville flinch, especially now. He opens his eyes.

Draco drops his to the floor. It's clear as day he's got his father's and aunt's faces playing vividly in his mind, but he says nothing except, "Your turn."

"Draco—"

"Neville, practice."

Neville bits his lower lip. "Legilimens!"

He is not the only one with weak barriers tonight.

Draco's memories are like a giant wave, threatening to overtake Neville, so Neville slips in and out of them. It's hard to choose on his own, so he goes where the magic takes him.

Strangely, the first memory is more recent, of their meeting in the seventh-floor boys' lavatory, after Neville passed out during Dark Arts. Neville sees that Draco spent his entire dinner alternating between eating two micro-bites and searching for a certain face with a giant grin, in the end deciding to sprint upstairs and pace quite conspicuously while running through scenarios with Crabbe and Goyle. All that nervousness fades for a few seconds when Draco sees Neville, though, sees that he's all right, and he almost rushes him.

The next memories are more fleeting, like a little flipbook of their interactions, showing the current, smiling, amused Draco all the way back to the annoyed Draco who hated that they'd crossed paths.

Those moments shine but slip underneath larger, darker memories that loom, and Neville cautiously steps into one. Suddenly, he understands Draco's guilt.

There's Draco, at what Neville supposes is Malfoy Manor (based on what little he's peeked in Draco's childhood memories). He's outside when a group of Snatchers arrive, towing someone behind them. But they've got Fenrir Greyback with them, so it's not as though Draco could intervene.

In another memory, darker in hues, Neville hears that evil, rasping voice, even though Voldemort walks behind him. "They must pay the price for their mistakes," he tells his youngest Death Eater.

Before Draco kneel two faces Neville remembers from the last few years, both in person and from their Wanted posters in the newspaper: Antonin Dolohov and Thorfinn Rowle. Dolohov hides his fear well, but Rowle's blue eyes are too wide.

"Do it, Draco."

He doesn't, at first.

"I will kill you, Draco. You and your mother and your father. Not a single Malfoy left."

It's the right motivation, and even the Unforgivables Draco manages to cast nonverbally. The grown men, veteran Death Eaters, scream and cry before him, contorting under the power of his Cruciatus Curse.

Neville feels Draco fighting him, but he gets sucked in one more time, and it's the last thing he wants to see. The place in this memory is like Malfoy Manor but not—perhaps another in the family's?—and it's just him and Bellatrix.

"You've got to toughen up, Draco," Bellatrix intones. She snaps her fingers, and Rodolphus appears with a couple, throwing them on the floor before he makes himself scarce. "You won't last long in this organization if you can't be as good as me."

Neville doesn't want to see this, doesn't want to see Bellatrix do what she knows best, doesn't want to think about the possible child the couple's left at home, orphaned unless a willing grandparent resigns to taking him in—

Before the scene divulges the last of Draco's secrets, Draco severs their link, and he gasps for air. He turns away, marching towards a sink far from Neville.

Neville doesn't budge. The last memory was too much. He knows this to be true, because he swipes at his eyes automatically, repeatedly. The tears don't stop coming.

The couple in the memory looks nothing like his parents, but the scenario might as well be the same.

Strong barriers during intense emotion are more important than Draco expressed.

After what feels like half an hour but is likelier five minutes, Draco clears his throat once more. "There's nothing good about her," he confesses. "She's the vilest."

Neville nods—which might be pointless, unless Draco's looking his way. "Tonight was a bad idea," he declares. He tucks his wand up his sleeve and grabs his cloak and bag.

The announcement catches Draco off-guard, and he turns, crestfallen, though Neville tries not to look him in the eye. "…oh. Yeah, of course."

Neville pauses, not entirely blinded by his distress. He notes Draco's tone being off, how readily he agrees. "I really do just mean tonight, Draco." Neville closes his eyes, steels himself, and meets Draco's wavering gaze. "But not this," he clarifies, gesturing between them. "It is not a bad idea, fighting, not letting them get to you, not all of you."

Draco purses his lips. "Neville—"

He offers him a broken smile. "Sorry, but not right now, Draco. Next time." And, for once, Neville's the first to leave.

Coming back to the dorms so shaken wasn't a wise decision, because of course that sparks Seamus' concern. But he presumes Draco has something to do with it and huffs, "Well, if you're done meetin' wit' snakes then," thinking Neville's learned his lesson. He kindly plays a round of Exploding Snap to help take Neville's mind off things, but it's still a little bit before Neville can get to sleep.

Though he does his best to push the details out of mind…and purge the entire Bellatrix memory entirely from his knowledge…Neville can't help replaying them the next several days. He and Draco don't meet, a few times because Draco's absent but mostly because Draco signals him and Neville turns him down.

Neville's in the middle of processing everything, and it's a lot to take in. There's suspecting Draco's a Death Eater and then seeing it in action, in that very person's memories.

…but stunningly, Neville muses as the days spent apart turn into a week, he does not hold any of this against Draco. Even knowing the bully Draco used to be, Neville doesn't see a lick of that same character in the Draco he knows now.

He knows why. The clue lies in the Voldemort memory and the Dark wizard's threat. The pressure of a father's failed legacy…the pressure to keep oneself and one's entire family alive… It makes sense.

Few people want to harm others. But under duress? At the threat of loss of their loved ones? It makes sense.

And it also paints the rest of the picture for Neville. Draco's softer now, having someone to rely on and confide in, but Neville better understands now the wizard he found crying in the lavatory at the start of term. There's no respect and little concern for Draco in Slytherin House, and home is no refuge.

Draco's got nothing.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't have anyone.

Still, Neville can't fathom the idea of another Occlumency lesson right now, so he brushes off several more meetings with Draco. It's not until the week before Christmas…really, just a few days before students are supposed to leave for the holidays…that Neville realizes they've had long enough a break from each other.

When they next have study hall, Neville abandons his Herbology notes with Hannah (they'll be safe in her hands, of course) and makes a beeline for Draco in the stacks by the Transfiguration texts. He passes by the blond but turns and catches his eye. Then he jerks his head towards the door.

Draco's eyes widen, but he nods.

Neville heads to the lavatory, and he heaves a sigh of relief when the door opens and shuts behind him a minute later. He's not terrified someone else came in, though; he'd recognize those footsteps anywhere, he likes to think.

Draco's apologetic pout is at war with the annoyed glare he wears. He crosses his arms in front of him.

Neville approaches him and touches one of his elbows. "Sorry for staying away. I was…trying to wrap my head around it all."

With a little tug, his pulls Draco's arms free, unfurling the blond's angry pose so Draco relaxes. Draco exhales. "I didn't want that memory in your head, Neville. I don't want it in mine."

He nods. "I get that, I do. I've wanted to say that for weeks, actually."

Draco scowls. "Then why wait until now?!"

"Because things take time, Draco." Neville frowns. "But I knew I didn't want to go home with us not having said another word to each other."

Draco scoffs and pulls away. He marches back towards the cubicles and paces. "Got to have a clear conscience, then. Consider it cleared."

"That's not what I meant." Neville falls into step with him, pacing until Draco slows and stops the absurd sight. "This year is turning out to be…quite unexpected," he says, eyebrows raised.

That pink dusts the apples of Draco's cheeks again. He runs a hand through his hair. "Unexpected, but not wholly unpleasant."

"No," Neville agrees with a large smile for him, "not wholly unpleasant."

"But? There's always a 'but.'"

Neville takes a long breath and bumps Draco in the process, since they're standing so close (but, huh, Draco doesn't mind). "I'm still worried about the rest of the year. How much worse the Carrows will get."

Even Draco pales at their mention. "You've got better defenses now. You can withstand more of what they dole out."

"I do. Thank you, by the way."

Draco nods, that color returning to his face. He begins pacing again, but he stops and leans against the back wall between cubicle rows when Neville paces with him once more. "The rest of the year… I hope I'll be back after the break."

The good atmosphere all but vanishes with those words, which speed up Neville's pulse. "Sorry, what?"

"Nothing's set in stone, Neville. I don't know what…missions…I might be assigned. Over the break or at the start of term."

Neville's heart sinks. He pushes off the wall and looms over Draco. "But—you've got to return." He adds after an odd beat, "Attendance is mandatory."

Draco's smile is small, amused, and brief. "That doesn't quite apply to Death Eaters, Neville."

He waits for Draco to look at him again. "You can't let them get to you, Draco. You're Marked, but you're no Death Eater. Not really."

They stare at each other for one, two, three…seven heartbeats.

Ah, one for each year they've known each other, as if making up for lost time.

Draco jabs Neville in the chest with his index finger, pointing. "You're the only one who thinks so," he states.

Neville catches his finger in one hand and rubs the sore spot with the heel of his other. He doesn't let Draco go. "I'm the only one who knows so," he corrects.

Another smile—this one bashful, Neville decides. "So you do." He tugs his arm back, forcing Neville to take up that spot close beside him. Draco rests his head on Neville's nearer shoulder. "Then, after the start of the new year, let's meet each other back here. And keep strengthening our Occlumency in the meantime."

Neville chuckles and, catching the rest of Draco's hand in his, gives it a squeeze. "Yeah, let's," he promises.

Also done for the If You Dare Challenge (for prompt #34: public opinion) in the HPFC forum on FFN, this was yet another story that had numerous, multiplying plot bunnies, OOF. I did borrow/rehash a few class schedule/arrangement ideas from a v old oneshot of mine, "Zugzwang," but writing any segment of this school year from Nev's POV was new for me. :D Still, when I saw the prompt for the fest ("Neville finds Draco crying the bathroom"), my mind just went…here. Add in a lot of nods to canon, some Easter eggs for fans of my older works (such as Terry and Lisa being Healers-in-training), and just fun discovering how/why Dreville would or could develop budding feelings at this early point in their lives, and we have this final result! -w- This story got me to think a lot about how their lives have intersected before and yet they do have things in common. I also just like the idea of Neville's sweet old self melting even the coldest heart. :'3 (Altho, ngl, the Occlumency lessons caught even me off-guard, *lol*—but how fun and heart-wrenching??? GAH.) Final thoughts: It amuses me to write the Carrows in their usual negative light, considering I've written quite a bit for them in the past yr (more rarepairs ofc ;P). I also liked that this was a ship fic with no smooching (not a first for me); it feels nice, having Dreville grow close with other forms of intimacy. -w- And, lastly, the good-lion-rescues-a-Death-Eater trope reminds me so much of Regulus/Gideon (Regideon), a ship I've written quite a bit, and yet I find Dreville to be a much more hopeful take? Idk. The parallels struck me as quite compelling as I drafted this, so I thought I'd share. A big THANK YOU to my sis, @let-your-demons-dance, for a lovely beta job! Been a while since I had a request, but I appreciate your hard work, luv~

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

#hp #harry potter #dreville #neville longbottom #draco malfoy #<15k #romance #slash #angst #hurt/comfort #violence #dark magic #au fic #rated: PG13 #trio era #3rd POV

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