Author's note: The Knights of Knit are true heroes who find courage in danger and comfort in cardigans. Rory and Neville are the first to join the ranks of this illustrious clan. This is a brief demonstration of their overwhelming worthiness.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. JKR and Steven Moffat, on the other hand, deserve statues in their honor.

Neville had no idea how long he'd been sitting there staring dejectedly at that same damn wall. He'd been in this room, this remarkable room, more than anyone else over the past two years. He knew this room. No matter how much it changed, or who it was serving, this room was his friend. And that is how he knew that this was the same damn wall that always appeared no matter what form the room took. He had been sitting in the same spot ever since Voldemort had called off his army and allowed them an hour to collect their dead. Neville wanted to scoff. He wanted to believe that they would be victorious. He wanted to believe that Harry would never give up, that the light would never give up, that HE would never give up. He wanted to believe that there were no dead to collect. For the first time, he doubted all of this. He had seen the bodies strewn across the castle with his own eyes. He saw the defeated faces of his classmates as they fell. He felt the pain in his own heart that threatened to overwhelm any wisps of courage that had possibly survived the onslaught. He watched as Harry walked into the forbidden forest. Neville, trusting as he may be, foolish as he may seem, knew when his friend was lying to him. Harry was walking to his death. The last hope of the wizarding world was offering himself up. But not before he asked Neville to do the same. Kill the fucking snake? Fat chance. Maybe if Neville was lucky, he would die quickly by Voldemort's hand, and not be massacred by a giant sentient snake. I need help. I need strength. I need hope. I need a fucking sword or something.

203 years, 6 days, 2 hours, several universes, and 2 dimensions away…

"Doctor! Your phone's ringing!"

The last time Rory answered the TARDIS phone, he'd been verbally assaulted by a rather upset Marilyn Monroe, and as that one had four mouths, it took quite a toll on the poor Roman. At the moment, that is what he was. Sometimes he was a nurse, and sometimes he was Mr. Pond, and sometimes he was dead, but that one never lasted very long. Today they'd had to fight their way through a jungle rife with robotic monkeys, because Amy got it into the Doctor's head that they were never in any real danger anymore. He could murder that woman sometimes. At least he'd had some warning this time, and as such, today he decided to be a Roman.

When the Doctor didn't answer him, Rory called for Amy to answer the phone, as he was now well aware of the Doctor's tendency to propose marriage to any and all of the Marilyn Monroes he came across during his travels. Rory was secretly convinced that he had simply gotten rather pissed one night and sought them all out one by one in his drunken state.

"Amy! Phone!"

"I'm busy you lazy sod! Don't tell me you're still worried about the Marilyns! That's the beauty of telephones you know. You're allowed to hang up!"

Grumbling under his breath, Rory warily picked up the seemingly innocent phone.

"Hello?"

That's when things got complicated.

Neville was still drowning himself in his own misery when the unthinkable happened. A Roman appeared! Now Neville may have been a delicate soul in his youth, but over the past few years, he had matured into quite the admirable man, as many of the older Hogwartian females could attest. And indeed, as a good friend of Harry Potter, licensed trouble magnet, Neville had gained a certain degree of unflappability over the years. As such, when faced with a random Roman, he was able to be rational and take the only sensible action.

"What?" He managed to squeak out in a high pitched voice very reminiscent of his youth.

"Tell me about it mate" the Roman huffed as he staggered unsteadily toward the chair Neville had recently occupied.

"I- I- I- You- hat" Neville said now pointing to the Roman's rather impressive helmet. It had caught the rather dumbfounded man's eye and he felt the need to grasp onto anything that made sense. That was a hat. It belonged on a head. A Roman head to be specific. Thank goodness there was a Roman in the room. That made sense. And it was this that allowed Neville to regain his bearings enough to ask,

"Who are you? How are you here? Why are you here?"

Rory, who was glad that the strange man in the strange room finally seemed to be speaking English, decided to answer to the best of his ability.

"I'm Rory. I answered the phone and then I popped. Popped here to be specific. As to why, I have no idea. As I was well, um, popping, I heard a voice. Help, strength, hope it said. And there might have been something about a sword. Got kind of fuzzy at the end. Anyways, I think it's possible, maybe, um that I might be here to help." He felt rather foolish saying this, because he had no idea why he said this. But at the same time, he thought it was true. No, he felt it was true. Somehow. "And I do happen to have a sword, you know, in case it's needed" he added awkwardly when he realized that his explanation sounded insane at best. He was surprised, then, when the man in the cardigan seemed to understand all of a sudden. He thought that this bloke must be rather brilliant as he himself could not be more confused.

"I require help" Neville said as though he had just discovered something wonderful and unexpected.

"Well that's good then! Because apparently that's what I'm here for. Here to help. That's me. Glad you seem to get it, because honestly this whole thing's a bit barmy from where I'm standing."

"No, no don't you see!" Neville said excitedly, "I require help and this is the room of requirement!" Seeing that this still did not seem to make sense to the Roman, and why should it you dolt? Neville asked himself, he strove to clarify further.

"The room brought you here. It knew I needed help, and apparently in its opinion you are exactly what I need. That's how the room works. And, incidentally, I did ask for a sword as well, so that's rather convenient. Though I'm sure the room took that into account now that I think about it. So are you a wizard then?"

"A wizard?" Rory asked incredulously "No, no I'm just, you know, a man. Well I guess I'm actually a Roman right now if you want to be specific. Wait just a second now!" Rory interrupted himself, "are you a wizard?" Neville nodded. "Blimey, right then. A wizard. With magic and… things." Neville nodded again. "Right" Rory said again, nodding his head a bit more than necessary. "Well alright then, now that that's cleared up, what kind of help do you need exactly?" he asked nervously as his whole Roman thing seemed a bit pale next to wizards and magic. Still, he was willing to try. It's not like he ever stayed dead anyways.

"There's an evil wizard trying to take over our world and my friend is the only one who can stop him, but he just went to sacrifice himself to save the rest of us, which is pretty stupid, since that won't stop him from killing us, but my friend said I have to kill his pet snake and I'd really like to do that or at least die trying." Neville said this all in one breath and realized only after he'd said it that his situation was a whole lot crazier than he'd ever thought possible.

"Right then" Rory said, "so what exactly do you want from me?"

"Well the room brought you here, so I assume you can help me in some way. To be perfectly honest, the "die trying" bit is actually pretty likely if I do this alone. I was sort of hoping that maybe you could help me actually pull this off."

Rory looked thoughtful and just a bit dizzy. "I'll tell you what…" he began and then realized "I don't actually know your name."

"Neville Longbottom"

"Oh that's rough mate," he said sympathetically. "Anyways, you seem like a nice chap Neville, and as I haven't got a clue how to get out of here and I don't really fancy sitting around in this gettup, armor chafes you know," Rory knew, he'd spent 2,000 years in the damn suit "I think I'd like to try and help you. Who knows, me being a Roman. Might add an element of surprise or… something."

Neville beamed at him. He quite liked this Roman. He was a bit awkward, but quite friendly, and rather helpful. It didn't occur to Neville just then that the same description could easily be applied to himself as well. He took the time to marvel once again at the magic of the Room of Requirement. It had been a safe a haven for him since fifth year. First it was a place to fight in a controlled environment without cruel teachers or judgmental bullies. Just him and his friends. And for the past month it had been his home, always making sure he was well cared for. It was more than magic. This room was alive. Because somehow it knew to bring him this Roman. It knew he didn't need some magical object or a book of spells. Neville needed a friend, and the room had brought him Rory. If it had ever crossed Neville's mind that he would never feel true affection for a room he would have been proven wrong right then. After a few moments of his silent pondering, Neville realized that Rory was staring at him expectantly.

"Right! Sorry then, shall we go?"

"Sure why not? Shouldn't be too difficult." Rory said, "Nice sweater by the way. Debenham's?"

"Nah, my gran made it" Neville said with a smile.

"Nice mate"

"Thanks"

And off they went. A nurse in his armor and a soldier in his cardigan. And they were perfect. As they ran through the castle together they could each feel certain camaraderie in the other borne of more than a five minute conversation. They understood so little of each other, and that would likely never change, but at the same time, they recognized themselves in each other. Both friendly, both loyal, both deceptively strong, both incredibly brave, both often overlooked, both heroes.

Both men swung their swords at the same time; Neville's having recognized him as a true Gryffindor and Rory's having been by his side for 2,000 years. Nagini was dead, and in the next moment, Rory was gone. Neville did not have time to contemplate this in the chaos that ensued. However, once Voldemort fell and the threat was gone, he took the time to reflect on the man he knew for little more than ten minutes. Somehow he knew that he may never see him again, yet if asked about the friends he cherished, Neville would never fail to mention Rory the Roman: the friend that appeared when he most required him.

Later that evening two old friends had a silent conversation. As the Room thanked the TARDIS for letting her borrow her Roman, the TARDIS reminded her that there may come a time when her Thief might be in need of a bit of magic. The Room thought affectionately of her brave Boy, and knew just who she would send should that need arise.