In the Lap of the Gods

(Summary: When the Room of Consequence shows two Hogwarts students their destinies, they both attempt to deny what they've seen. Can they deny fate?

Disclaimers: Oh, I forgot to mention, I don't own any of the crew that JK Rowling created. *whistles innocently* Did I fool you?

Pairing: Harry/Draco, perhaps others

Author's Thanks: AnaRae, Your Silencer, blade-princess, Kimmy, Tramill De Laxson, KittenBabyGirl, Lanevaly, chibidark angel, and MAD_Clown for reviewing.

Author's Notes: To answer several reviewers' question, yes, it was a bit odd for Lucius and Draco to discuss the Dark Mark and being Death Eaters in front of Albus. However, you must remember that Draco was in a bit of a shock, and Lucius is, well, Lucius. From what I know about the character, it seems to me that he's overconfident. There's no way that Albus can have him arrested for being a Death Eater because the Ministry is ruled by Cornelius Fudge, who is under Lucius' thumb. Needless to say, Lucius knew that Albus would know that he was one of Voldemort's major supporters because Voldemort named him at his restoration and Harry Potter survived to tell the tale, and thusly Lucius enjoyed the ability to flaunt that fact when Albus couldn't arrest him. He also didn't consider Seamus much of a threat, so there was no harm done there either. I mean, who's Seamus gonna tell? No one important, in the Malfoy's eyes.

I hope that explanation did my reasoning justice. Please, remember to review!

~Cinaed)

In the Lap of the Gods

Chapter Two: My heart is stone, yet still it trembles

Seamus winced slightly as (or at least it seemed to him) a needle pierced through his skull and burrowed into his brain. The agonized waves pulsated within his head. Meanwhile, Neville's relatives bellowed and waved their hands in the air. Seamus closed his eyes and ignored the migraine, intent on keeping calm the boy who still clutched him.

"Mrs. Longbottom-" Dumbledore's voice rose above the clamor. His serene tone eased the Irish lad's headache even as Seamus began to murmur to Neville about which Quidditch team he thought would win this year. (How could the Gryffindor team not, with Harry Potter as Seeker?) The prattling distraction didn't seem to work, however, for Seamus felt the other boy's hands become fists as the latter grasped at the Irish Gryffindor's robe.

A quick glance at Neville's face revealed that the round-faced boy was overwhelmed at the mass of family that now crowded the infirmary. Hazel eyes were filled with confusion and alarm at the racket, and a soft moan ghosted from between his lips while the plump boy gazed at the Irish boy. There was a pleading expression in his eyes, as if Neville expected his companion to instantly silence the large group.

"It'll be okay, Neville," Seamus found himself assuring the trembling boy. "These people all care about you. They're just worried-"

The elder Mrs. Longbottom, unfortunately, chose that moment to cry, "Don't send him to St. Mungo's, Headmaster!"

The room fell silent at the beseeching shout. Their eyes flickered in Neville's direction, and the forgetful Gryffindor pressed his frame closer to Seamus. Quick, sharp bursts of warmth hit his neck as the Irish boy let Neville bury his face there once more. Curls of dirty blond tickled Seamus' chin, and he had to fight to keep from wiggling away.

Warmth flooded his visage as countless relatives glared at him. It wasn't his fault that Neville was now partially in his lap! In an effort to get even closer to the Irish wizard, the Longbottom had snuggled near and even draped a leg across his thighs. Neville was apparently unaware of what /that/ looked like to the crowd. Seamus stayed perfectly still despite his scarlet face. He couldn't move, not wanting to startle the other boy.

"Neville will not go to St. Mungo's, madam. He will recuperate here and continue to attend class." Dumbledore's tone was firm. "It is the only way he'll regain his memory and return to normal. He /must/ continue his daily routine." He glanced at Seamus and Neville, and there was a definite twinkle of mirth in his blue eyes when he noticed the position the Irish lad was trapped in. "I trust you won't mind staying with Neville until he regains his memory, Seamus? He seems to have formed an attachment to you."

Seamus attempted to ignore the glares many of Neville's relatives directed his way, and defiantly wrapped his arms around the other boy's waist when the latter shifted into a more comfortable position. "Certainly, sir. Neville's my friend. Just tell me how to help him."

"Just stay close to him. Since you were the first person to talk to him after he came out of the Room of Consequence, he basically latched onto you as the only one he can trust." His eyes still twinkling, the headmaster turned back towards Neville's relations. "Now, Mrs. Longbottom, if you and your family would accompany me to my office, I'd like to discuss what happened."

The entire group glanced towards Neville's grandmother; obviously, she ran the show for the Longbottom clan. For a moment, the old woman looked indecisive, her beady eyes flickering between Dumbledore and her grandson. Then resolve sharpened the lines on her weathered face, and she snapped commandingly, "Well, Headmaster, let's go!"

"If you or Neville need anything, Madam Pomfrey is in a private room with Professor Trelawney," the headmaster stated, turning his gaze back upon Seamus for a moment. "Just call for her." His eyes flickered towards Malfoy, and he added mildly, "The same goes for you, Mister Malfoy."

"Malfoy, eh?" Mrs. Longbottom repeated, a bitter note twisting her words as she glared in the Slytherin's direction. The Irish boy noted that Malfoy's lips were threatening to twitch into a smirk.

"Yes, ma'am, I'm Draco Malfoy." The statement was made in such an innocent tone that Seamus knew the blonde was faking it. Mrs. Longbottom, however, was fooled by Malfoy's pseudo-sincerity.

"Your mother must have taught you manners, young man, because your father certainly doesn't have any." The old woman favored the Slytherin with a thin smile. "Then again, my Frank was friends with Narcissa back in school."

"My mother /was/ the one to teach me my manners, ma'am." Malfoy returned the smile, looking for the moment quite charming. If Seamus hadn't known the Slytherin for five years, he would have thought that the blonde was actually being sincere.

Mrs. Longbottom, meanwhile, raised an eyebrow towards Dumbledore. "Well?" Judging by her tone, she seemed to think the headmaster was stalling for time, though Seamus had no idea why Dumbledore would be dithering.

"Of course, Mrs. Longbottom, I was simply making certain that my students would be all right," stated the headmaster in a docile manner, his blue eyes twinkling. Something had apparently amused him, but the Irish boy couldn't tell quite what.

One by one, the adults reluctantly left the infirmary. Most offered concerned looks in Neville's direction (and scowls in Seamus'), but some simply shook his or her head in despair before vanishing from view. Neville kept his head buried in the curve of the other Gryffindor's neck the entire time, his trembling frame easing slightly as the sound of footsteps faded from his hearing.

For a long moment, Seamus was content with the warmth pooling against him and the faint sensation of curly locks caressing his ticklish neck. This was reminiscent of holding his numerous cousins when they had exhausted themselves by being little hellions. The major difference, naturally, was that Neville wasn't a demonic child, but the Irish lad smiled slightly at the idea that the round-faced boy might have been.

His smile faltered when he noticed a pair of gray eyes surveying him. The Gryffindor arched an eyebrow towards Malfoy in a silent question, staying perfectly still. If he got angry, he'd upset Neville, so it was better just to see what was going through the Slytherin's head than get irritated at the Malfoy for no reason.

The blonde wore an odd look on his face, as if he was reliving some distant memory. A faint smirk had tugged his lips into a sneer, but it wasn't filled with malice. Instead, it was tinged with something akin to roguish amusement.

"Something amusing, Malfoy?" The accented words filled the air, Seamus' tone as light as always.

At the question, those gray eyes flickered with a foreign emotion before the smirk contorted into a look of scorn. His response dripped with sarcasm. "Just thinking of what an /adorable/ couple you and Longbottom make."

Seamus grinned affably even while he fought back a blush. By Merlin, if any of the Gryffindor House students came in, he would never hear the end of this. "Somehow, I don't think his family shares your sentiments, Malfoy," he retorted dryly, a strand of sandy brown falling in front his eyes. He couldn't move to brush it away without disturbing Neville, and so he pursed his lips in aggravation, attempting to blow the annoyance out of his face.

* * *

Draco watched as Finnigan made a face and began attempting to blow a stray lock away from his grayish-green eyes. At any other point in his life, the Slytherin would have mentally snickered at the comical display, but at this moment, he had more important things to think about.

"Just keep your wand by your bed, Finnigan, and maybe they won't kill you in your sleep." Pleased with having had the final say, the blonde reclined against his pillow and pulled the blankets closer to him. The chill of the Room was still making his bones ache, and he reminded himself to yell at Pomfrey for more blankets.

In the meanwhile, Draco Malfoy needed to do some serious reevaluating of his future. Letting his visage smooth out into an emotionless mask, he slipped deeper into his musings, running over the facts. First, every memory of the Room pricked his Malfoy pride, and he would have to make certain that what he had seen never came to pass. Next, his father had disowned him, which was not helpful if he wanted to change both of their fates. Subsequently, he'd have to make certain that Albus never found out everything he had seen, which meant he would have to keep Longbottom quiet. While the first part of that fact would be a problem (the headmaster was a meddlesome old man who was too smart for his own good), the second part would be relatively easy. From what the Room had shown him of his interactions with the pudgy Gryffindor, Longbottom wouldn't want to discuss his future. With those three major facts firmly implanted in his mind, the Malfoy began to plot.

To keep the Room's predictions from coming to pass, the first thing he would have to do was stay as far away from Potter as possible. If he went near Harry- Potter, just Potter, damn it! The Room's memories kept slipping in at the worst times. He'd just have to keep away from the dark-haired Gryffindor.

Now, how to get his father to take him back? Well, he'd have to prove his worth as a Death Eater, wouldn't he? His eyes flickered shut as he began to entertain several ideas, most of which involved kidnapping numerous Weasleys (there were just so many to get rid of) and sacrificing them to the Dark Lord. He would figure out which plan to use later.

The third detail he put aside for a moment. He'd have a private conversation with Longbottom once the fool learned to talk again. Until then, he was safe. Well, as safe as anyone with a secret could be within Hogwarts.

* * *

Seamus couldn't keep himself from studying Malfoy's visage. The blonde's face was completely devoid of any emotion. With his eyes closed and the long golden lashes brushing against smooth flesh, the Slytherin looked like an empty porcelain doll. He couldn't be asleep, the Gryffindor decided after a few minutes, because people were supposed to look younger when they were dreaming, not lifeless.

His musings were interrupted as the boy compressed against him began to shiver, the tremors light but nevertheless they shook the bed. The Irish lad glanced down and pulled his companion closer. "Neville, do you want me to get Madam Pomfrey?"

The round-faced boy lifted his face from the curve of Seamus' neck, and shook his head in a negative gesture. His mouth opened and closed for a few seconds, and then the Longbottom mumbled something that sounded like, 'Old.'

Okay, Seamus had never been good at Charades (or any /actual/ game that had to do with translating garbled words), but he understood that at least. Offering the other boy a warm smile, he declared cheerfully, "Great job, Neville! I bet that consonant is a bugger to have to say. So you're cold?" When the plump teen nodded, Seamus added, "I'll steal some blankets from the next bed."

Unfortunately, that's where the Irish boy came to a quandary. When he attempted to pull away from the other boy and go to grab some more blankets, Neville's face drained of color and he tightened his grip on the Finnigan. Seamus sighed as the other Gryffindor began to mumble something in a desperate tone, his look one of anxiety.

"Neville, I can't get you more blankets when you pin me to the bed," he commented, which only made the other boy cling even tighter and frown up at him. "How about I get Madam Pomfrey to get you some blankets?"

Neville shook his head and frowned a little more, his facial expression one of deliberation. After a moment, the boy opened his mouth and said, in a faltering, uncertain tone, "S'ay n' kee' me wa'm." Consonants seemed to be the major problem in the boy's speech, and it took Seamus a moment to translate. 'Stay and keep me warm.'

"I don't think my body heat can warm you-" The Gryffindor halted in mid-sentence as Neville ignored him and grabbed for the blankets while one arm kept Seamus close to him. If he didn't know better, Seamus would have sworn that his dorm mate was pinning him to his side. "All right, but if Madam Pomfrey comes out, I'm asking her for blankets." Sensing that he was being totally ignored, the Irish lad fell silent and shook his head a little. He wasn't certain whether or not to be amused by Neville's actions. After all, it was all due to the Room..

Neville awkwardly draped the blankets over them so that they were both covered up to their chins, and then shifted so that he was spread face- down. His head pressed against Seamus' neck once more, the youth began to relax. One arm remained loosely arrayed across the Irish boy's chest, while the other one rested beneath the pillow.

Seamus bit back a sigh, and shifted a little to get comfortable. The movement pressed the sides of their hips together, and the Irish boy couldn't help but venture a cautious glance in Malfoy's direction. Luckily, the blonde was still wearing his vacant façade, so he didn't notice the flush that had stolen upon Seamus' cheeks.

Neville sighed and mumbled something under his breath is a drowsy tone, his head slipping from the curve of the other boy's neck to rest against Seamus' chest. After a few minutes, his breathing evened out, and soon the hazel-eyed Gryffindor was sound asleep.

Grayish-green eyes rested upon the dreaming boy's crown of dirty blond curls, and Seamus couldn't help but smile. Neville had always seemed so innocent to the Irish lad, with his wide, bewildered eyes and forgetful manner. His free hand rose to gently twine fingers in the silky tresses. How many times had he wondered if Neville minded being a near-Squib? His smile faded slightly. How many times had he berated himself after forgetting to bring Neville into the lives of the other Gryffindor?

If only the fifth-year wasn't so bloody quiet. Either he was apologizing profusely over something he had botched or fading into the shadows. It was if he wanted to be ignored..

.Which Seamus didn't understand at all. How could the Longbottom not want to be surrounded by friends, by life? Sounds and warmth were what the Irish Gryffindor lived for, and he couldn't comprehend someone wanting to escape the eyes of the crowd.

His fingers stroked the other boy's curls, and as his mind absently took in the way that a nearby light turned strands of Neville's mane glittering gold, Seamus vowed that he would not leave his fellow fifth-year in the shadows ever again.

* * *

A small smirk toyed with full lips as pale gray eyes watched the scene. Did Finnigan even realize how sensual that gesture was? Draco watched the Gryffindor stroke Longbottom's curls for another moment before the by-now familiar chill of the Room swept over him. Golden lashes fluttered, and the blonde was thrown back into a disjointed flashback. (Was that even what someone would call a memory from the Room?)

// The image of delicate fingers brushing away a lock of sandy brown, and the sound of a bright, cheerful voice exclaiming in a teasing tone, "Seamus, how on earth will you impress my grandmother if you're twitching?"

The sound of a brogue that had an uncertain lilt to it, even with warm laughter following his guess. "I-I'll amaze her with my Irish charms?"

"Come on, love, stop being so nervous. She'll adore you, I promise. So will my great-uncles and great-aunts."

"Either that, or keep your wand by your bed, Finnigan. Maybe then they won't get you during the night."

An image of three frowns being directed towards an amused smirk.

"Draco!" //

The Slytherin shivered, shaking himself from the recollections. When had that happened? All the memories had become scattered, and even now they fled like startled fowl when the blonde tried to actually understand them.

Draco's eyes opened, and he raised a hand towards his forehead as an ache began right between his eyes. What was he thinking? He didn't /want/ to understand what the Room had shown him! He wouldn't believe that he'd become such a goody-good! A damned, simpering git..

The very idea made his stomach twist unpleasantly. No, he refused to become such a useless fool. He refused to believe that his father would die by Harry-Potter's-hand. And most of all, he refused to believe that he would ever press his lips against the mouth of the Boy Who Lived.

And yet, there was an odd pressure in his chest, as if icy fingers had wrapped around his heart and clenched the hand into a fist. The heaviness increased with every passing moment, but Draco bit his lower lip and ignored the sensation. If this was the Room protesting over his decision to fight against 'fate', it could be blasted to Muggle Hell for all he cared.

Ignoring the weight of a stone heart in his chest, the Malfoy glanced in the direction of Finnigan and Longbottom. The former had an odd look on his face as he glanced down at the sleeping boy, as if he was mystified by something. Probably wondering what Longbottom had seen, Draco decided, shifting a little on his bed in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

If only this pressure would go away. Maybe then he'd get some sleep-

// Shouts for help. Screams of pain. Cries of the Killing Curse. Where's Harry, Severus? Damn Albus! He was supposed to be here! We have to protect Harry, Severus! He's going to be a damn fool and get himself killed! //

Draco felt a sheen of sweat break out on his forehead, and he drew his hand away from his forehead to grab desperately at his upper body. Fingers scrabbled against the thick robe as he fought against the agony. Damn the Room! His heart was no longer stone and unmovable, but shaken and bloody as an invisible knife twisted deeper.

// You know where he is? Come on, we have to hurry, Severus! He could be fighting Voldemort even now, the bloody fool! We have to help him keep his arse intact! Hurry! //

"Malfoy!" The harsh whisper sent the phantom thoughts fleeing away, away from the forefront of the blonde's throbbing mind, and he blinked before his eyes focused across the room to meet familiar grayish-green eyes. Grayish-green eyes that were now filled with concern.

"S-Seamus, what the bloody hell-" The words faltered on his lips as Draco regained full control of himself. His eyes narrowed to slits and he attempted a sneer. The pain had receded to a dull ache at the cry of his given name. "What do you want, /Finnigan/?"

Finnigan seemed to ignore the tone, and instead the Irish boy looked solemn and worried. Mentally, the blonde snorted. Yet another example of why he would defy the Room at all costs: he didn't want to end up as a fool, like Finnigan. "Are you all right? You looked like you were having a- a heart attack or something."

* * *

Seamus watched Malfoy carefully as the Slytherin sneered, looking like his normal, haughty self. Cold gray hid any other emotion besides contempt. Only the wan tinge to the blonde's porcelain cheeks reminded the Gryffindor why he had been so nervous before.

"A heart attack, Finnigan? Your imagination must be running wild. I'm perfectly fine." The drawled words held only a slight tremor. Of course, Seamus only noticed the tremble because he listened for it.

"Well, excuse me," and the Gryffindor's response dripped with sarcasm, "but when I see a bloke grabbing at his chest and going as white as a sheet, I tend to assume something's wrong."

"I'm fine, Finnigan! Stop acting like such a bloody Gryffindor and leave me alone!"

Seamus opened his mouth to angrily retort that Malfoy needed to stop acting like such an idiotic Slytherin, but then Neville stirred beneath his hand. The Irish lad focused his attention on his roommate, ignoring the stubborn Malfoy. "Neville, go back to sleep." Compared to his sardonic words to the blonde, Seamus' tone was almost a soothing lullaby. After a moment, the curly-haired youth sighed and settled back into peaceful dreams.

"If only Creevy was here. He'd be taking photos of this picture- perfect moment."

Seamus ignored the taunt, and stared at the Slytherin for a long, silent moment. He took in the fact that Malfoy's thin, pointed visage was still damp with sweat, and realized what the blonde was trying to do. When he spoke, his voice was calm. "Stop it, Malfoy. Just tell me if you need Madam Pomfrey or not."

"No." The defiant answer received a bold glare in return, but Malfoy remained tenacious, and after a long moment, Seamus sighed. Right now, he felt extremely irritated. Why did the blonde have to be so bloody pompous?

* * *

Meanwhile, Albus tilted his face towards the skies, wishing for even more patience than he had been gifted with. Neville's grandmother reminded him of one of his childhood dogs who had been obsessed with a particular bone. Mrs. Constance Longbottom's bone seemed to be the idea that the headmaster had failed in his duty.

"Mrs. Longbottom, I assure you that there was no way to prevent this," he murmured for perhaps the sixth time that afternoon. "If you would calm down- "

"Calm down? My grandson went into the /Room of Consequence/!" Several relatives nodded in agreement, ignoring the phoenix who glowered at them from his perch. Fawkes didn't seem to like anyone in the horde at the moment, much to Albus' amusement.

"I am very much aware of that, ma'am, but if you'd let me-"

"Let you ruin my grandson's life even more? It's not enough for anyone that he's a near-Squib!" The elderly woman waved her cane around, and a few relatives ducked while she continued her tirade. "No, no, he has to be put through hell time and time again, having to see my dear Frank in St. Mungo's during the holidays, and now he has had to see his own fate!"

"Mrs. Longbottom." The normally genteel headmaster acquired a cold, commanding tone. "I am perfectly aware of what Neville's home life is like, and I can guarantee that I know more about the Room of Consequence than anyone else in the world, except perhaps the person who cast the Imperius Curse on my Divinations teacher. If you would be silent, I'd be able to tell you how I plan to help your grandson recover."

Constance's thin face turned an interesting shade of puce as she sputtered for a moment, her cane trembling in her fist. After her original spluttering, however, the old woman fell silent. Her beady eyes remained focused on the headmaster, demanding that he speak.

Albus cleared his throat, and offered the assembled a serene smile, hoping that they'd remain calm. He absently wondered how the other teachers would handle it, and decided to have a meeting with the professors before announcing what had occurred to the students. He realized that everyone was watching him anxiously, so he cleared his throat once more, and began. "As you all know, the Room of Consequence was created by one of Salazar Slytherin's most devoted students. It is-or rather, was-one of the most powerful Dark Arts object in the world."

"Was?" One of Neville's great-uncles interjected, and the wizened man ignored the glares his family directed his way.

"Yes, I destroyed it." Ignoring the startled looks, Albus continued. "One of the main reasons the Room of Consequence was so dangerous was because whatever a person saw could not be erased by Memory Spells. Another reason was, naturally, that people are never supposed to know their fates. They'll always try to change it. I do not know yet what Neville saw, but I can only assume it was something that meant a great sacrifice on his part."

He didn't add that the Longbottom had probably lost his life in the upcoming battles with Voldemort. Somehow, he thought that would bring more of Constance's wrath upon him. "However, from my experiences with the Room, there are only a few ways to keep young Neville from going insane from all the memories he's experienced. First off, we must keep him at Hogwarts. He spends most of the year at the school, so it will be the best place to remind him of reality. Secondly, we must not ask Neville what he saw. That will only cause terrible flashbacks." He knew that asking Draco what had happened to him had been a risky gamble, but at the moment the boy had been so out of it, nothing could have affected him.

"Will he be able to come home on the holidays?"

"No. Not for Christmas, at least. We shall have to see how he's faring by the end of the school year."

Constance didn't look pleased with that, but the old woman seemed to yield for the moment. "You'll update me weekly." The tone made it clear that the statement wasn't a question.

Albus nodded, watching Fawkes from the corners of his eyes. The phoenix was still glaring at Neville's grandmother, disgruntled by her lack of respect. Luckily, the majestic creature had kept his temper for the moment.

"What about us?" The same great-uncle that had spoken up before once again ignored the sharp look his sister directed towards him. "Don't glare at me. Neville's my great-nephew, and I want to know what's going on. You'll have to send us all copies of the letter, my dear Constance." The rest of the family nodded in agreement, and Albus fought the urge to smile at the mild revolution.

"Fine," snapped Constance in a peevish tone, her cane rapping against the floor of the office. "I'll send you all copies of the letters when I receive them."

Albus pressed his fingers together and glanced at the great-uncle in approval. Theobald Longbottom had been a respected Auror before old age had forced him into retirement. He had been the one to teach Frank the way to survive the life of an Auror, but unfortunately, he had lived longer than his protégé.

"Now, if you all have ways to get to your homes, I need to discuss the students' experiences with the staff," he informed them, his tone calm and resolute. Minerva was probably distraught, and he had no doubt Severus would be worrying about one of his favorite students.

"Thank you for your time. If you need any resources to help Neville and the other boy, just owl me. I still have /some/ connections." With that, Theobald heaved himself to his feet, his weathered face serious. Hazel eyes met pale blue as the two old men surveyed each other, and soon Albus smiled, remembering earlier days.

"Thank you, Theobald. I'll be certain to keep that offer in mind."

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry Potter wondered. Intense green blazed from his pale, unmarred visage as he gazed up towards the ceiling of the dormitory. A thousand questions filled his head, and the Gryffindor suspected that soon he'd begin to babble if he didn't get at least one answered.

What had Malfoy seen? Would Neville be all right? Would Malfoy tell him what had happened in the Room of Consequence? What had /Neville/ seen?

A sudden thought occurred to him, and the Boy Who Lived jerked upright. His chest heaved for a quick, exhilarated moment. A soundless gasp escaped his lips while his eyes widened. Maybe Neville would be able to tell him what Malfoy had seen!

The thought made him grin excitedly, looking for a moment like the mischievous, carefree teenage his father had been. Once the Longbottom was feeling better from being in the Room of Consequence, Harry would ask him about what had made Malfoy react that way.

Even as he grinned, Ron Weasley burst into the room, his cerise locks falling haphazardly around his long, solemn visage. Every inch of the coltish, lanky Gryffindor's frame was trembling with impatience. "Dean, Harry, didn't you hear? Dumbledore called everyone to the Dining Hall. He's finally going to explain what happened!"

Harry didn't realize he had leapt to his feet until the blood drained from his head and he blinked. The dizzy moment passed just in time for his eyes to watch a disheveled Hermione Granger stalk into the boys' dormitory. The light glittered off her silver prefect's badge, momentarily blinding the brunet.

"Hermione!" Ron and Dean squawked at the same time, both sounding scandalized. The latter lurched to his feet, looking oddly exhausted, as if he had been drained by every passing moment, even while the aforementioned Gryffindor sniffed and ignored them.

"Come on, Harry!" The bushy-haired girl overlooked the other boys for a moment as she smiled in her normal, anxious way towards her best friend. "We'll get into trouble if we're late."

"McGonagall would have a field day," agreed Ron, and shuddered slightly at the thought of imagined punishments. "Let's go."

"Are you okay?" Harry blinked before he realized that Hermione had directed her abrupt question towards Dean. Her hazel eyes regarded her fellow Muggle- born in an alert, thoughtful way.

The dark-skinned boy frowned. "I'm fine." The clipped words held no truth, but Dean stuck to his statement. Determination was etched upon his weary face as he frowned in Hermione's direction.

Hermione, unfortunately for Dean, was Hermione, and the boy's negative glance was pitiful when compared to one of Ron's fierce glares. "What's wrong? I know you're worried about Neville, we all are, but-"

"Just leave me alone, Hermione!" Not seeming to care that he had harshly interrupted the prefect, the Muggle-born began to storm from the dormitory. Every gesture was jerky and slow with fatigue.

"Dean!"

Ignoring the girl's shocked tone, the football-loving boy reached for the door handle, intent on leaving. He might have opened the door without another word, had Ron not lunged at him. Large hands that the Weasley would someday grow into forced Dean to turn and face the trio.

"Don't talk to Hermione like that," Ron warned, his tone cold and furious as cerulean eyes flashed amidst freckles and a deep, dark flush.

Feeling stunned at Dean's transformation, Harry noticed Hermione's mystified expression, and couldn't help but silently agree. Ron was being more than somewhat hypocritical. How many times had he yelled at Hermione, and had been shrieked at in return? How many times had he interrupted the prefect and ignored what she'd been saying? How many times-

"Get. Off. Me." Dean's dark eyes blazed while he answered Ron. He towered over the Weasley, but didn't move to brush the redhead's hands away. Instead, he leveled a glare at the other boy.

"Not until you apologize."

"Why should I?" Dean challenged, seemingly oblivious that he was causing a scene and that the twins had opened the door and were at the moment poking their heads inside to gaze at the boy in unfeigned surprise. "I don't have to explain myself to Hermione, and I don't have to follow your orders!" Frustration roughened his tone, and Harry couldn't help but notice the trembling of Dean's shoulders against Ron's hands.

"What's /wrong/, Dean?" Hermione demanded, having gazed wide-eyed at her fellow Muggle-born while he and Ron argued.

"None of your business!" snapped their fellow Gryffindor, and now he rivaled Ron with his glaring as he glowered at them all. His mocha flesh had blanched to a dry, pale dusty color, and the Boy Who Lived was startled to realize that Dean was distraught and close to something akin to hysteria. Over Neville? He hadn't realized that Dean was that close to the Longbottom..

* * *

The fury that threatened to overwhelm him surged through his veins like adrenaline, burning its path through his tall frame. Dean Thomas bit down on the insides of his cheeks to keep from adding something that would shock Hermione Granger and earn a punch from Ron Weasley. Why did the Inseparable Trio have to fix their eyes upon him at the worst possible moment? He couldn't think clearly, couldn't concentrate on acting calm, couldn't-

"Look, Dean, we're your friends-" Hermione began, her light sepia waves falling in front of her serious, studious face. Her tone was almost patronizing; within him, the anger intensified in one mighty rush.

A harsh, bitter laugh escaped him before he could help it. He wanted to smirk at the startled looks he received, but instead struggled to keep from howling out what boiled within his chest. When he thought he could speak with reasonable poise, the teen began. Despite his attempts, he heard the hostility in his words.

"My friends, Hermione, my friends? Apparently we don't have the same definition of friendship. You three are acquaintances, no more, no less." He scoffed at their shocked expressions. "You, Harry, and Ron are the Inseparable Trio. How could the rest of us /dare/ to intrude upon your threesome?" He bit his lower lip and fought the pain in his chest. That ache wasn't about them. He shouldn't unleash that upon the three best friends, despite the fact that they were being annoying gits. "The rest of your fellow Gryffindor year mates, your friends? Don't be stupid."

"Dean?" For the first time in quite some time, Harry Potter spoke, and his incredulous and slightly hurt tone cooled some of the boy's antagonism.

The dark boy sighed and glanced around at the threesome, this time managing to keep his voice calm. If a hint of weariness slipped in, he paid it no heed. "Think about it. What do you know about me? About Neville? About Lavender or Parvati? About-" His throat compressed suddenly, and betrayed him when he managed to croak, "About Seamus? You three don't know anything about us."

"Oh-oh and you do?" Ron challenged, his expression one of shock and dawning comprehension that Dean was right. He barely knew anything about his fellow Gryffindor.

A wry smile flickered upon the Thomas' lips, and for a moment, he felt amused. The mirth quickly vanished, and he shook his head, the anger diminished enough so that he felt weary. "No, but I know Seamus, and Seamus knows you all."

"Seamus?" Harry's skeptic tone made the agony in his chest increase.

"Yes, Seamus!" The retort was almost a snarl, and Dean saw the Potter visibly flinch before a slight frown defaced his pale features. "You all don't know the Seamus I know!" The pain built up in his chest, and Dean couldn't quite catch his breath as he continued to rant. "No, he has to be an unneeded /hero/, doesn't he? He smiles, he teases, he acts like he hasn't got a damn care in the world, but meanwhile, he watching you all, worrying, wondering what he can do to make you all smile because he considers /you/ his friends! He puts on that jovial Irish mask to make sure his friends are happy, but he doesn't realize that you all don't really give a damn about him. /He/ knows Hermione's favorite breakfast. /He/ knows the exact schedule Ron wants to follow when you all go to Hogsmeade. /He/ knows Neville's favorite plant out of all the things we've seen in Herbology. /He/ knows Harry's-" The Thomas finally cut himself off, struggling to catch his breath. It felt like someone had punched him through the chest, and one hand unconsciously reached up to press against his robe. "For-forget it."

Ron's hands were still on his shoulders, but the Weasley's fingers were limp and unclenched as the redhead looked thunderstruck. Dean took that opportunity to brush the limbs away from his shoulders before he whirled and headed for the safest destination: the exit. He paused briefly to scowl at the Weasley twins, who silently got out of the way.

It was almost satisfying, in a bitter, twisted sort of way, the Thomas mused to himself, that it had taken a single outburst of most of his rage to get what he thought of the trio out into the open. As he stalked down the stairs and ignored the buzzing in his ears and the lump in his throat, a vague thought began that promised contrition and apologies later, but right now Dean wanted to know if Neville was going to be all right. If the forgetful Gryffindor was, then Seamus would be.

And if they weren't going to be all right, then Dean promised himself that hell would break loose.

* * *

There was a long, stunned silence as Hermione, Harry, and the Weasley brothers gazed at each other, too stunned to speak. Harry glanced at Ron and noted that the redhead was speechless, his cerulean eyes filled with astonishment.

"Well, that was-" began George (or was it Fred?), his tone almost humble.

"-interesting," finished the other twin, sounding slightly uncertain.

"He-he's right though. We really don't know that much about our year mates. Not that I want to be friends with Parvati and Lavender, but I should know more about them than the fact that Parvati has a twin and that she and Lavender both adore Trelawney." Hermione's voice was quiet but pensive. "I just wish he hadn't yelled like that." The hurt note in her words was obvious.

"Well, I think he was just upset over Neville, and couldn't help but take it out on you three," offered one of the twins, uncharacteristically introspective. Naturally, his look-alike spoiled the affect by adding, "It's exactly as I said, Feorge; never trust the quiet ones. In the end, they always stick the Stink Bomb in your bag and get you caught."

"Oh, naturally, Gred." Both Fred and George seemed back to normal as they grinned at each other. "Now, let's be off to hear Dumbledore!" The group exited the room at a much slower pace than a certain football-lover had, each lost to their own thoughts as they walked towards the Dining Hall.

The silence was only broken by Ron mumbling to himself, "What /is/ Herm's favorite breakfast?"

* * *

Seamus opened his mouth to argue with Malfoy for a few more minutes, when Madam Pomfrey bustled out from one of the private rooms. The nurse glanced around and immediately caught sight of the Gryffindor and the Slytherin. A sharp, quick pair of eyes took in the sheen of Malfoy's flesh, and she marched over to the two beds. "Need anything, Malfoy?" Her voice was quiet, not wanting to wake the dreaming Longbottom.

"Yes," drawled the blonde, offering her one of his famous smirks. "A few more blankets."

Seamus raised an incredulous eyebrow, and noticed that even Madam Pomfrey looked disbelievingly at the mound of blankets already swathed around the pale boy's lithe frame.

"More blankets?" Her inquiry held a hint of skepticism, and earned another smirk as Malfoy nodded. "Well, all right.." Intelligent eyes flickered over to Seamus. "Do you need anything, Finnigan?"

"Well, Neville was shivering a little while ago," the Irish lad admitted, glancing down at the tousled head that rested on his chest. "Maybe another blanket for us too?"

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and marched off to get the needed cloths, muttering something about side effects of the Room. She returned quickly, with about five blankets in her arms. "Are either of you thirsty?" was asked as she set to work settling the blankets atop them. While she did so, Neville shifted against his bed companion, but otherwise remained fast asleep.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seamus saw Malfoy blink and then rub his throat as if just realizing how sore he was. Within a moment however, the flicker of discomfort vanished, and the Slytherin drawled, "A glass of water would be cracking."

As the nurse nodded and bustled away to get a pitcher of cold water, Seamus glanced down at Neville once more, and found himself attempting to untangle several strands of dirty blond. When the Longbottom woke up, the Irish Gryffindor would have to ask him if he wanted to have his locks combed. Not that Seamus doubted for one second that he needed one himself, but he was content to ignore the fact that he looked like a mess.

* * *

Albus glanced around at the assembled students, hoping that they would react calmer than most of the adults had. Pomona Sprout had immediately burst into tears over her favorite student and had hexed Severus Snape when he had commented about how now the boy would melt even more cauldrons in his class. Albus had also feared that Minerva would have a hysterical act when her face had drained of color and she had muttered wildly about the boy always getting into trouble.

The Dining Room was filled with the clamor of dozens of students whispering at once. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables looked confused, all glancing towards their Heads of Houses. Meanwhile, the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables seemed to be talking nervously with one another. However, two gazes seemed to almost burn right through the headmaster's forehead, and he glanced towards the Gryffindor table first.

Dean Thomas met his eyes, his dark brown eyes smoldering with uncountable emotions. The boy wore a look of determination, as if decided upon a certain action depending on what Albus informed the school. Remembering that the fifth-year was a close friend of Seamus, he offered the boy a quick smile that was unreturned. Instead, the color of his flesh seemed to turn an even unhealthier color of dusty brown. The boy's eyes narrowed briefly before he scowled, impatience obvious in the way his long fingers drummed upon the table.

Knowing he'd be unable to calm the Gryffindor, his blue eyes flickered towards the Slytherin table, and clashed gazes with another fifth- year. It took a moment to recall a name. Oh yes, he was Blaise Zabini. The Italian was ordinarily quiet, and today was no exception. The antisocial youth was silent as he glared at Albus with his unusually-colored eyes. His warning was clear: if Draco Malfoy wasn't all right, Blaise was going to make the Hogwarts staff's lives torture. The headmaster frowned a little. He didn't remember seeing the studious Slytherin following the blonde around..

Shrugging it off, he swept his stare around the room and cleared his throat, putting on a solemn visage as the room quickly fell silent. "As some of you know, an unfortunate incident occurred during one of Professor Trelawney's classes. Unbeknownst to the rest of the Hogwarts staff, Professor Trelawney had been attacked by a Death Eater-" He paused as the whispers began, and waited for the students to finish before he continued. "-and put under an Imperius Curse." He quickly outlined the events, explaining what the Room of Consequence was, and ended with Draco and Neville being forced into the cursed place.

A dumbfounded silence met his ears when he finally fell silent. Most students had stunned looks on their faces, and several were shaking their heads in disbelief. Pansy Parkinson had dissolved into tears and Vincent Crabbe was awkwardly trying to console her. He noted that both Dean and Blaise had impatient expressions on their countenances.

"Are they going to be all right?" The loud, clear voice made everyone jump, and all eyes focused upon the speaker: Blaise Zabini. His eyes flashed golden at them all as he awaited Albus' answer.

"That is precisely what I was coming to, Mr. Zabini." Albus straightened to his full height and looked stern. "Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Malfoy will be all right as long as everyone follows a few rules. First, /no one/ is to ask them what they saw in the Room. The flashbacks are painful both mentally and physically, and asking them questions will only hinder their recuperation. Second, everyone to act normally around them. Settling them back into their normal routine will help the recoveries immensely."

He frowned at them all. "Anyone who asks them about the Room of Consequence will have twenty points taken from their House and given a week of detention with Filch, no matter what the excuse. If Mr. Longbottom or Mr. Malfoy decides to tell someone about their experiences, then that person must hold it in strictest confidences. Now, I'm afraid classes are cancelled for the rest of the day. If anyone has any questions, see your Head of House or another professor." With a wave of a hand, he dismissed them, and winced slightly as the silent Hall suddenly roared to life.

Everyone was talking, chattering about what had happened. Most of the Hufflepuff students glanced over at Pomona once or twice, since it was well- known that Neville Longbottom was one of her favorite students. Pomona, however, wore a neutral expression on her face. Only her reddened eyes betrayed the fact that she had wept earlier.

Albus felt the two burning gazes on his forehead once more, and mentally sighed. Somehow, he thought that Blaise and Dean weren't pleased with his answers.

* * *

Harry dared to glance over at Dean, and noticed that his fellow Gryffindor was staring at someone sitting at the staff table. He followed the boy's gaze and felt his brow wrinkle in bewilderment. Why was Dean glaring at Dumbledore of all people?

The Boy Who Lived shook his head and turned as Ron tugged on his sleeve. Somehow, he didn't think he wanted to guess what was going on in the Muggle-born Gryffindor's head. He stood up and noticed that Hermione had already vanished.

"Hey, where'd Herm go?"

Ron shot him an incredulous look. "She had never heard of the Room of Consequence before, so she dashed off to the-"

"-Library. Right. Well, do you think we can go visit Neville tonight?" In the back of his mind, Harry wondered if Seamus was in the infirmary watching over the Longbottom. Somehow, after hearing Dean's rant about how much the Irish boy cared for them all, the brunet hoped so.

"I guess we can go ask McGonagall."

"Can-can we come too?" The hesitant inquiry caught him by surprise, and he turned to see Lavender Brown hovering beside his chair. She looked slightly self-conscious, as did Parvati. "Parvati and I borrowed one of his Herbology books, and he'd probably like that to read.." She trailed off, seeming uncertain.

"Headmaster Dumbledore didn't say how long he'd be in the infirmary. Neville might get bored," Parvati added quickly, her pretty face revealing her own discomfort.

Harry glanced at Ron, and found the redhead gawking incredulously at the two. Slightly amused at the Weasley's shock, he elbowed the taller boy. Ron blinked, and finally mumbled, "Um, sure. We'll ask McGonagall. Er, we'll ask her later."

At the moment, the Transfiguration professor was being bombarded with questions by anxious first years. The expression on her face suggested that she would rather have them all bother some other professor, but she assured them that everyone was safe nonetheless. Even as the Potter watched, she snapped something towards a smirking Snape. A smirking Snape who seemed to have the faintest hint of the impression that purple spots had been dotting his pale flesh recently.. Harry blinked and stared at the Potions Master for a moment before he decided that he was seeing things. There was no way that Snape could have had purple spots.

As the brunet and his redheaded best friend were swept along with the crowd in the direction of the corridors, the Boy Who Lived mentally frowned. Dumbledore had really made it tough for him, hadn't he? He'd just have to figure out a way for Neville to confide in him about the Room. Maybe then he'd let something slip about Malfoy.

* * *

Draco sipped at the water as Pomfrey fussed with the blankets. The ice cold liquid soothed his sore throat even as warmth spread through the rest of his body. The chill of the Room was gone for the moment, unable to torment the blonde as he basked in the heat. When he was out of Hogwarts, he'd definitely have to travel to a tropical paradise like Hawaii.

"Do you need anything else?" A smirk curved his lips once more as he glanced at the nurse. The mental thought that she must be desperate for something to do flickered through his brain, and his smirk widened, a touch of cruelness souring his expression.

"I'm going to sleep. If anyone needs me, tell me when I wake up." Without bothering to gauge her reaction, Draco closed his eyes and sank into the warm embrace of the blankets. Now, to sleep and not dream.. Yes, that would be a wonderful thing.

* * *

And meanwhile, Neville Longbottom dreamed. Warmth draped its gentle arms around his plump form, emanating from the Gryffindor pressed against him and the fleece blankets. His entire frame was relaxed, even while the Room of Consequence's memories surged through his mind. The dreams came as fragmented memories, of which he would forget as soon as he opened his eyes until another time.

// He laughed softly as he watched Harry and Malfoy glare at each other from across the Divinations classroom. It was amusing how much they detested each other. Not that Neville blamed the Boy Who Lived. Draco Malfoy was a cruel, selfish bastard who was going to grow up to be just like his father.

Lucius Malfoy. Unconsciously, the quill he'd been using trembled in his grip. Somehow, some way, that man had been involved in the torture of his parents, and when Neville had proof, the unproven Death Eater was going to pay---- //

// ----The snow spiraled down towards the Quidditch field, and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself in a vain attempt to warm his trembling frame. The field was filled with laughing students as most made snowmen. He smiled and waved at Ginny while she grinned in triumph. Her flaming locks were sprinkled with snow as she put the finishing touches on a snowman that looked suspiciously like a certain Harry Potter.

"Neville, look out-"Neville never had a chance. One moment he was waving shyly back at his friend; the next, he was face-first in the snow as a snowball began to melt on the back of his head.

"Oomph," he muttered into the snow, gazing into the whiteness. The snow stung his already freezing cheeks as he raised himself up by one arm. Shaking his head and watching as whiteness fell from his dirty blond locks, he heard his name cried again.

"Neville, I'm sorry! Are you all right?" The Irish accent thickened with Seamus' worry, and the round-faced boy discolored with embarrassment as he raised his hazel eyes to meet greenish-gray.

"It's not your fault, Seamus," he murmured bashfully, gazing up- //

// ----The Potions classroom was freezing, and Neville shivered, folding his arms across his chest and glancing anxiously towards the door. What would Professor Snape yell at him about now? The Longbottom had managed to keep his cauldron intact this lesson.

"Longbottom?" The detached call jerked the Gryffindor's attention back towards the professor's desk. The dark-haired Head of House glowered at him. Menace and disapproval seemed to radiate from the man, and Neville suddenly longed to be in the Gryffindor Common Room, where he could listen to Dean and Seamus talk about Muggle life and bask in the unfamiliar happiness that seemed to spill from their frames and soak into his heart.

"Y-Yes, sir?"

For a moment, Snape looked vaguely uneasy, which surprised Neville to no end. In all the six years he had been taught by the Potions Master, Professor Snape had never once seemed uncertain about anything. The brunet cleared his throat. "Dumbledore has asked me to-" //

// The only sounds in the remote, white corridor were the sound of his own breathing and the quiet sound of his boots tapping against the tiled floor. Nervous sweat streaked his face as he marched down the hall. He was so very frightened about what he was going to do, but it was for the best.

The tiny vial trembled in his grip as he forced himself to quicken his pace. The sooner he reached his destination, the sooner this, everything, would be over. After all, what did he really have to live for? Taking a deep breath as he turned the corner and saw the grim, masked figures awaiting him, he whispered, surprised at the steadiness of his words, "This is for you, Mum, Dad." Without another word- //

And so Neville slept, dreaming of numerous memories that were pleasant, embarrassing, heartrending, or even magnificent. His physical frame embraced the warmth even as the Room of Consequence chilled his soul.

* * *

Dean watched as most of the students vanished, off to discuss in private what Dumbledore had told them. As the Hall emptied, the Gryffindor suddenly wondered how many students actually resided within the school. Musing that the number was probably around three hundred, he stalked in the direction of the teachers' table, where Dumbledore spoke in low tones to an upset-looking Hagrid.

Ignoring the fact that they were obviously in the middle of a conversation, the Muggle-born demanded, "Now will you tell where Seamus is? He's watching over Neville, isn't he?" Thinly veined accusations thickened his words, and he frowned at the headmaster.

Stern blue eyes regarded him carefully for a moment before Dumbledore replied. His tone was so calm that it was infuriating. "Do you understand the term 'imprinting,' Mr. Thomas?"

Caught off-guard by the seemingly random question, Dean snapped, "Yes, sir. That's when a duckling hatches and thinks whatever he sees first is his mother. What's that to do with Seamus?"

"The only person Neville trusts at the moment is Seamus, since Seamus was the first person to speak to him when he came out of the Room. If your friend leaves Neville's sight, I don't know what might happen." The headmaster's calm explanation eased some of the pain in Dean's chest. So Seamus hadn't gone to someone else to spill out his uncertainties about whether or not Neville would be all right.

Nevertheless, he couldn't help but grumble, "You could have told me that earlier."

"Shouldn't Draco have a Slytherin year mate with him, Headmaster? Since Longbottom has a friend with him, wouldn't it make sense to have Draco have one with him as well?" The clear voice was familiar to Dean only because that same voice had called out to Dumbledore a few minutes earlier. He turned slightly to see Zabini standing a little ways away, a serious expression on his tanned visage.

"I'll ask Draco if he's inclined to that idea, Mr. Zabini," Dumbledore commented, sounding slightly amused at something.

Dean found himself watching Zabini, waiting for his reaction. The Italian's visage didn't alter from its original solemn expression, but his eyes revealed his inner thoughts. The dark brown orbs, flecked with gold, clearly showed that the quiet Slytherin was relieved.

"Thank you, Headmaster." The soft, accented words filled the air as Zabini turned on heel and began to march towards the doors of the Dining Hall. His sable tendrils flowed down his back in a ponytail, and Dean found himself wondering why the girls weren't after the Slytherin. Maybe it was because he was so quiet and scholarly that people overlooked him. Come to think of it, the Gryffindor also wondered why Zabini hadn't been put into Ravenclaw.

Well, he could always blame the Sorting Hat.

(Author's Notes: The chapter title was inspired by a line from Les Miserables. *grins* Javert is great. Everyone has to love the fanatical police officer! We just won't mention that Javert killed himself at the end of the song. *looks innocent* Say, does anyone know some good Irish songs? *looks even more innocent* ~Cinaed)