Looking at up at the large fortress, solemn and eerie as it loomed out in the middle of the ocean, Neville Longbottom had to suppress a shudder. He had been brave enough to stand up to Lord Voldemort with death glaring him in the eyes, brave enough to pick up the sword of Godric Gryffindor and lope the head off of that great snake, but he was not sure if he was brave enough to go through with this. "Can I change my mind?" he asked the ferryman weakly, sinking back as the boat docked despite himself. What kind of Gryffindor are you? he berated himself silently as the other man chuckled. Afraid of a fortress where the dementors do not even dwell any longer. Just people who have done terrible, terrible things. But not Bellatrix Lestrange. The memory of her dying at the hands of Molly Weasley gave Neville a tiny thrill.

"I stay until you and the other visitors are done," the man said, spitting at the stone. "Couple of hours at least, and it's probably nicer in there than out here with the howling wind and water. Besides, you made a commitment, boy, and those aren't to be broken."

"I know that," Neville said sourly, wrapping his cloak tightly about him as he climbed up onto the dock. "Just do not leave without me."

The man rolled his eyes. "If I leave anyone behind, then I don't get paid, boy. It's something I try to avoid doing."

"Whatever works," Neville muttered as he hurried up the long steps leading to the single door of Azkaban Prison. He had volunteered to come here to try and see if any of the prisoners could ever be released back into human society, but also because he longed to see the cells where Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange and Barty Crouch Jr. had been kept. In seeing them he was sure that his nightmares, where the dead came back to life to do to him as they had done to his parents, would stop. They had to.

Draco Malfoy wrinkled his nose as he walked through the halls of Azkaban. The smells that drifted out of the occupied smells were absolutely disgusting, to say nothing of the ones that came from the room where all of the waste was kept until it could be taken away. This is not suitable for human beings, he thought to himself, head held high as he ignored the cries and jeers of those who were imprisoned around him. It was not his first visit and he knew that all they wanted was the acknowledgment of another human, something he did not see fit to give any of them. Except for the one he had come to see at his mother's behest. She refused to visit the awful place, saying it held memories she did not want to live through again, but she was not above asking him to go.

"And again I come to see you," he said, stopping before a cell five down the row. The smell coming from this cell was considerably less, the blonde man inside more well-kept than the others. Lucius Malfoy would never live in squalor unless he completely lost his mind, not even in the hell that was the wizard's prison. "I am not sure why this time, you look no different than you did last time. Do you feel contrite or repentant, father?"

"You know better than to ask that, Draco," Lucius sneered, not rising from his position on the wooden frame that served as his bed. "I have never for a moment thought that I was in the wrong and I doubt that I ever will. You should be the one seeking forgiveness for not serving as faithfully as you could have."

"He is dead, father," Draco said simply. "I think that that should be proof enough that your ways were the wrong ways. Mother believes it, I believe it, why can't you?"

"Because I am not so easily led astray as the two of you. The Dark Lord represented ideals that will never die, ideals the existed long before he did, and will stay for centuries to come after his death. I will believe until the day I die. If your aunt Bellatrix was alive, then she too would believe."

"Aunt Bellatrix was insane," came Draco's flat reply. "She lost her mind to this place and to him before that. I almost died following the biddings of the man you believed to be supreme and you were put into a place of shame. Why can you not just renounce all that you have done and swear to never do any of it again? You could leave this place and come back to the manor with me and mother; if you even care about us half as much as my insane aunt did."

Lucius spat at Draco's feet. "I always knew that I should have taken a firmer hand in your upbringing, Draco," he said coldly. "Then you would not have turned into such a weak-willed fool. If all you are going to do is ask me to renounce my beliefs, then I do not want you to visit me again."

Draco bowed stiffly, face a mask of cold fury. "As you wish, father." It was the same thing that he had said during his last visit, and the one before. Both of them knew that Draco would be returning yet again, each hoping that the other would bend a little more to their ways.

Neville stood in the shadows on the far side of the hall, outside of the cell that he had been told had once been home to Barty Crouch Jr. A young man with straw blonde hair and an innocent face, Neville recited silently, Denying even as they dragged him off that he had done the deed, hoping to play on the mercy of his father. Yet the moment he was able he returned to Voldemort and did things for him, tried to send Harry to his death. As cruel as Bellatrix, even though he was far younger. Crouch was not dead, but far worse. He was kept in St. Mungo's, a danger to no one, for the Dementor's Kiss had stolen his soul years ago. A fitting fate for such a cruel murderer.

That was when he heard a familiar voice, one that gave him shivers even as it put his back up in defense. Turning he saw the pale blonde head of Draco Malfoy standing in front of a cell, his voice cold as he bid the occupant farewell. Not wanting to be seen, Neville looked around for a place to hide. Yet before he could dart off Draco had turned, the coldness in his face changing to a smirk when he saw Neville standing there. "Well, well," he muttered, strutting up as he had always done at school. "If isn't Longbottom. What're you doing in Azkaban, Longbottom?"

"That's none of your business, Malfoy," Neville replied, looking directly at Draco for perhaps the third time in his whole life. Things were different now, they were not in the halls of Hogwarts, and he did not need to be afraid of anything this other young man could do to him. Feeling emboldened, perhaps by the paleness of Draco's face, he added, "Know what you're doing though. Visiting that scum excuse of a father of yours. Heard he can't buy his way out of this one and actually has to stay and get what's coming to him."

Draco's face paled more and he stepped forward, glaring up at Neville with those flashing gray eyes. "You shut up about my father," he grated. "I know what he has done, I know why he's here, but you have no right to say anything about him or any of my family."

Once upon a time Neville would have backed down or at least looked away. But that was before he had stood up to Voldemort and before he had accepted a few things about himself. "I have every right in the world to say whatever I want about your family," Neville said quietly, eyes hard. "It was your aunt and uncle who helped to put my parents where they are, and countless others suffered worse. They might not have the nerve to stand up to a little ferret like you, but I've got plenty of it now, and I'm not going to keep my mouth shut just so that you don't have to face the truth about how dirty your blood really is."

The smaller man's face twisted with anger and what Neville thought might have been disgust. "My blood is as pure as yours, Longbottom, just as pure."

Neville sneered. "The blood of my family isn't tainted by that of innocents. Malfoy and Black mixed together... I can't imagine how dirty your blood would be if it was spilled."

"Shut up!" Draco howled, one arm slamming Neville up against the wall while his other pointed his wand at the former Gryffindor's exposed neck. "Shut up." It was quieter the second time, edged and raspy.

Neville did not struggle, his mind flashing to the one other time Draco had had him in this position, chest heaving and eyes wild. They had been in their final year at Hogwarts and no spells had been uttered, but something else had happened. Something that Neville had swore he would never think about again, something that he did not doubt Draco had pushed as far out of his mind as he could. The only thing different now was the location, the outfits and the fact that Neville was almost positive he knew what was going to happen. And he wanted it to. "Do it," he taunted. "Or are you afraid, Draco?"

"I'm not afraid." Draco's tongue darted out to wet his lips, eyes still wild. "I'm not..." His wand clattered to the ground, his other hand grabbing the front of Neville's robes to pull him in for a rough kiss. When they broke apart for a moment, panting, he repeated, "I'm not afraid."

Both of them knew it for a lie.