They crept silently through the halls, Michael felt like they would be discovered at any moment, but Neville seemed relatively at ease. It made him wonder just how often the boy made this trip. Every night? Every other night? This couldn't just be a one-off.
"What are we doing?" he whispered lowly.
"Lending some morale."
Michael's inquisitive look seemed to somehow pierce the darkness. Neville sighed. "We can't rescue them, because the Carrows would just punish them worse. We can't heal them completely, because the Carrows would just punish them worse. We can't sneak them food or water, because if they got caught, the Carrows would just punish them worse. So we go, and we give them as much comfort as we can, to get them through the night, through tomorrow, through next week, until it wears off." There was a resounding weariness in his voice, like he only barely believed any of this was making a difference, like his own faith was waning. Michael searched desperately for something comforting to say, but what comfort there was to be found in such a place, he didn't know.
"Any word of Harry?"
A small smile crept on to Neville's face. "Not a single one."
They walked and waited in silence until finally they spied Alecto and Amycus leaving the chamber together. Michael rose to cross the hall, but Neville pulled him back, and left Michael's question unanswered. The time passed slowly, minute by tense minute. What felt like hours later, but was probably only about 30 minutes, Neville stood, and motioned for Michael to follow him.
It was a third year Hufflepuff boy. Michael didn't know his name. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know it, somehow positive that it would add substantially to the weight in his stomach. Every surface of his skin was covered in lacerations the most dangerous of which Neville was steadily healing with his wand. The arm and fingers that were broken were already taken care of. But in his eyes was the haunted tortured look that every student level the Carrows' dungeon with. It was a look that would fade only slightly and would never disappear; no spell could heal that. Michael could think of no comfort to give the boy. He knew no spells to heal the boy. And so he stood, useless, in the doorway, playing lookout as though it were a respectable duty.
He snarled at himself in his mind. For being squeamish, for having left off the acts of defiance when Neville disappeared, for not knowing what to do—now, ever—, for being the most utterly stupid Ravenclaw to have ever graced the halls of Hogwarts. Neville lowered his wand, leaving bruises, abrasions, and other surface injuries, and handed the boy a bit of chocolate, still speaking in undertones. His voice was made soothing, but efficient.
When they left, he turned to Michael, seeming to perceive what he was thinking. "It takes time, Mate. You're no use if you're going to mope around beating yourself up."
"It's all true though, isn't it? There's a war going on, and I've been sitting around furious with myself for doing nothing, and have still done nothing about anything."
A hand rested on his shoulder. "So do something."
A spark lit in Michael's chest, and they walked in silence until they reached the Room of Requirement.
"Michael, my man! Not you, too!"
"Nah, Ernie, we just bumped into each other."
"Excellent," he pronounced, striding forward to clap him on the back.
Seamus Finnegan came through a portrait in the adjacent wall, laden down with food, which Lavender Brown promptly began dishing out. They'd disappeared about a month ago, but not together. Seamus had gone after "accidentally" blowing up the Muggle Studies room. Lavender had disappeared shortly thereafter, a frantic mess at Seamus' departure—her fellow Gryffindors were dwindling. Dennis and Colin Creevey were sitting in the corner playing Wizard's chess. Everyone had heard about their disappearance after following the Carrows around and bewitching their robes different and ridiculous patterns. Hannah Abbot came over to rest a concerned hand on Neville's shoulder. Michael didn't know what she'd done, but she'd been gone about a month and a half. There were only a few other students there whom he didn't recognize or know well—students whose lives had been threatened or at risk, he presumed.
The tone was strange. There was an easy amicability between everyone, just as there had been in the DA, but beyond that there was a clashing of hope, and of despair, and in it Michael saw his chance. He would set their hope aflame, and maybe, just maybe, it could seep through the stones and into the remainder of the student body.
"Neville, mate, I think we need to plan."