Author's Note: This piece was written for the Fairest of the Rare's Love Fest 2020 as a gift for Frumpologist. I hope you enjoy my take on Theoville! #LF2020 #TeamAphrodite

Alpha love and hearts to Frumpologist, queen of the rare pairs.

Content Warnings: Mild canonical wartime violence; implied torture; mature language and themes.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise and no copyright infringement is intended.

At the recognisable sounds of crying, Theodore Nott froze. The thought that such a sound had become commonplace in his world made his lip curl and his stomach roll.

On an ordinary day, Theo would have turned and retreated. But it had been a bad day; he had received a passive-aggressive, taunting letter from his father that morning, and Theo's blood was set to boil at the slightest provocation.

When he heard a deeper voice, and a snivelling cackle that set fire to his veins, Theo spun on his heel, gritting his teeth as he shoved past two young Hufflepuffs, tears streaming down their cheeks as one swiped at his nose with his tie.

In mild revulsion, Theo side-stepped the pair and rounded the corner to the next corridor, scowling as Amycus and Alecto Carrow came into his view.

His fingers twitched towards his wand, but he straightened his shoulders and quirked a brow as he came up alongside the sibling scum that had taken over control of Hogwarts. Theo never would have imagined despising school—but that was before the Carrows had moved in.

Presently, the pair had a Gryffindor against the opposite wall, steely determination mixed with the resignation in his battered face. Theo knew the boy, but not well. Neville Longbottom.

"What," he drawled, affecting a casual stance, "are you doing?"

He never would have spoken to a professor with such disrespect—but these two weren't educators in any sense of the word. Amycus Carrow visibly shrunk upon noticing Theo's presence, and he allowed a sneer to drag across his face. Alecto blinked dumbly at her brother.

"Never you mind, Nott," Amycus spat, waving a filthy hand towards Longbottom, whose glare drifted momentarily to Theo. "This one's interferin' with a punishment. Says he's takin' it on 'imself."

Since the Carrows had implemented physical torture as a means of punishment, many of the older students had taken to defending the younger—often at the cost of taking the torture themselves. Theo couldn't see it—but he was predisposed to the Slytherin trait of self-preservation. It didn't surprise him that a rash Gryffindor like Longbottom was so self-sacrificing instead, exacerbated by the fact that Longbottom lifted his chin in defiance.

The man looked as if he'd already been through a wood chopper, but that wasn't unusual these days either.

"Leave it—" Theo scoffed, rolling his eyes. Cracking his neck side to side, he drew his wand into steady fingers. "—To me. I've had a bad day."

The Carrows cowered further, and Amycus offered a hasty nod. "As you wish, Mister Nott."

Theo watched in silence as the pair of them shuffled clumsily away. Honestly, the sort that qualified as Death Eaters made him roll his eyes. To think the Dark Lord had considered those two capable enough to control Hogwarts.

At last, when the Carrows' heavy footfalls died into silence, Theo turned back to face Longbottom, who, to his credit, hadn't attempted to flee during the altercation.

Holding the boy's green stare, Theo twirled his wand between his fingers before stowing it in its holster. He muttered, "Fuck outta here, Longbottom."

Surprise flitted across Longbottom's face but he stood his ground. "What was that all about?"

Glancing away and feeling a flush colour his cheeks, Theo said, "Amycus Carrow shits himself over the thought of my father." Looking back up, he added, "Are you injured?"

Longbottom offered a noncommittal shrug in return. "Not badly." He took a step away from the wall and winced as his ankle gave out.

Rolling his eyes, Theo paced a few steps across the hall and gruffly wrapped an arm around Longbottom's waist; something like cautious relief passed the boy's face before Theo looked away, and he went on. "And his bloody simpering, snivelling, simpleton of a sister does whatever he tells her."

"Nice alliteration," Longbottom mused without missing a beat.

Theo froze; the boy's grip came around to rest on his shoulder; his lips twitched. "Thank you. Fortunately for me, neither of them realise I'm nothing like my father." Longbottom took a cautious step, leaning the bulk of his weight onto Theo's frame. With a careful look around, they advanced down the hall. "I'll get you to the hospital wing and then you're on your own."

Through gritted teeth, Longbottom said, "Why are you doing this? You'll get hell for helping me."

Theo rolled his eyes as he swept a glance around the corner. "Say I was feeling fucking charitable."

Luckily they weren't far from the hospital wing at all, and there weren't any stairs to navigate. If he was honest, he probably wouldn't have offered his assistance otherwise. His power over the Carrows only stemmed from their belief that he was as crazy and ruthless as his father.

And thank Merlin, Theo had always taken after his mother—even though she was gone. Maybe it was because of the so-called mysterious circumstances around her death that he had sought to be so unlike his father.

He wasn't keen on the thought of indulging too much conversation with someone he hardly knew, but no one deserved to be tortured for looking out for children. Most days, Theo wondered at the inherent motivations behind such evil.

"Well, Thanks Nott," Longbottom said with a thick swallow when they made it to the hospital corridor. "You'd better go, so no one sees you."

"Right." Releasing the boy, Theo dragged a hand along the back of his neck. "Fucking watch out for yourself, yeah?"

The returning amusement on Longbottom's face set Theo on edge; he wondered whether this was a regular occurrence, and he'd only just been in the right place at the wrong time in this particular instance. It would certainly explain Longbottom's constantly ratty appearance.

But he muttered, "Yeah. You too, Nott."

Without lingering, Theo swept away.

Theo blinked as he paced the hallway leading up from the dungeons, his head swivelling and expression carefully neutral.

"The fuck are you doing?" he asked, lifting a brow. "Crabbe? Goyle?"

"Found this Gryffindor scum lurking down the hall," Crabbe said with a malicious grin; the depths of his eyes shone insanity and Theo forced back a shiver.

Waving a hand, Theo gestured to the unconscious seventh year propped between them. He drawled, "What was he doing?"

Goyle shrugged blankly. "Shouldn't have been down here."

Eyeing the boy, whose face and hair were crusted with what Theo could only assume was his own blood, his lip curled with legitimate revulsion. "Well, leave me some fun, then."

"No," Crabbe hissed, folding his arms as Longbottom fell clumsily from his grasp; Goyle fought to retain his hold and Longbottom's dead weight crumpled the rest of the way to the floor with a thud. "We found him."

Clenching his jaw, Theo drew his wand. "I said, leave him for me. I owe this prick a few good hexes."

Everyone present and conscious knew that Theo could easily out-duel them both, and with matching scowls, Crabbe and Goyle gave up their prize, leaving him in a misshapen heap at Theo's feet.

Clicking his tongue several times, he waited until the pair were gone, arms folded as he leaned back against the stone wall. At last he cast a reviving spell, and Longbottom leapt to his feet with surprising dexterity for the look of him, his stance tense and expression guarded.

Theo rolled his eyes and said, "We have got to stop meeting like this."

"Nott?" Longbottom asked, his eyes darting rapidly the length of the corridor. "Where are the other two?"

"Gone," Theo replied, amusement leaking into his tone as he added a low, "you're stuck with me instead."

For a moment, Theo's gaze caught on the way Longbottom's ears went red, before the boy said, "What do you mean, gone?"

Honestly, he was daft. Theo leaned back against the stone wall, folding his arms across his chest. "I mean I saved your sodding arse—again."

Longbottom's jaw tightened. Finally he bit out, "Thanks." Stiffly, he extended a hand; after a moment, Theo accepted the offering, giving Longbottom's hand a shake.

But he couldn't stop a mirthful laugh from bubbling forth when Longbottom announced, "Neville Longbottom."

"I know your bloody name." Shaking his head, Theo extracted his hand from Longbottom's firm grip. At the boy's lifted brow, Theo felt oddly chastened and his expression sobered. Quietly, he added, "Theo Nott."

Casting a quick glance down the hallway, Longbottom pressed the tips of his fingers to a gash above his eyebrow that had clotted over with a wince. "Theo Nott. That's twice you've stepped in to help me when you didn't need to. I won't forget it."

The boy offered Theo a sort of crooked half-smile, and he found his mouth go dry at the sincerity of the gesture. "Right," he murmured, dragging a hand across the back of his neck. For some reason, Longbottom's gratitude left him feeling disarmed. "Can't say I'm crazy for the idea of students being tortured and all that. You know."

Something genuine and tinged with desperation haunted Longbottom's green stare. "Yeah. I know."

Ducking his chin with a nod, Theo slid his hands into his trouser pockets. "You'd better get out of here. Not really safe for Gryffindors to be in the dungeons with that lot on patrol all the time."

Delicately, Longbottom said, "Noted," with a flicker of his brows. Theo couldn't help the hint of a snicker that broke free. Holding his stare for a moment longer, the boy murmured, "Later, Theo."

As Longbottom rounded the corner, Theo mused under his breath, "Look after yourself, Nev."

It was weeks before Theo ran into Neville Longbottom again. Slytherin and Gryffindor sat a handful of classes together, and it was evident the boy wasn't keeping his nose out of trouble because he routinely showed up to classes with fresh cuts and bruises.

Idly, Theo found himself wondering why he continued to put his own wellbeing behind others. With a flash of irritation, he considered the thought that he'd been putting his own arse on the line trying to help.

It was a discrepancy in fundamental beliefs, he supposed—or was it just a matter of opposing perspectives from different sides? Maybe Theo couldn't put himself in Neville's shoes because he'd never been forced to to make such a decision.

No matter the logic behind it, Theo thought he was unquestionably brave. And every so often he couldn't keep his eyes from drifting across the room when they had class together, or in the Great Hall at mealtimes, wondering at the brightness in Neville's eyes and the perpetual grin on his face.

Merlin knew, if Theo was getting his arse pummelled on a regular basis—both physically and magically—he wouldn't be so upbeat.

Sometimes, for a fleeting instant, Longbottom would glance up at just the right moment and catch Theo's stare. Invariably, his expression would shift, and something would pass between them that Theo didn't dare name.

By mid-winter, it wasn't uncommon to find students passed out in empty classrooms or infrequently used corridors. Sometimes, according to the whispers that chased the hallways, older students would be found in a pool of their own blood.

It was a dreadful thing to consider, and Theo felt a shiver often creep along his spine when he walked alone at night, even though he knew he had nothing to fear from the other Slytherins or the Carrows themselves. He couldn't help but think of the students who lived in constant fear of being caught at the wrong time, doing something that would have otherwise been considered innocuous.

Because Merlin knew, the Carrows were doling out punishments for anything they could think up. And Snape certainly wasn't doing anything to discourage it.

No one was going out of their way to stir up trouble. In fact, the corridors were often stifling in the thick, loaded silence that hung in the gaps. Students rushed between classes, shoulders slumped and heads down. Often, students in the other houses keenly avoided meeting Theo's gaze, as if he were going to draw his wand on them for such an affront.

Even the portraits minded their own business; many had vanished from their Hogwarts frames altogether, unwilling to watch the senseless violence any longer.

Theo wished he could vanish.

The letters from his father had become more frequent, urging him to arrange a date to receive his Dark Mark. He would sooner cut off his own arm with a dull knife and ingest it one swallow at a time.

Every one of the letters remained, unanswered, in a stack at the bottom of his trunk, only because he didn't dare burn or otherwise desecrate them in case the parchment had been hexed against such a thing. It was something his father would do.

Presently, the hallways were already dark with only the vague flicker of torches, curfew growing near, and Theo found himself speeding up his pace in an effort to return to the relative peace and safety of the Slytherin dorms lest he stumble across anything untoward going on.

Rounding a corner on the seventh floor, Theo tripped over something cumbersome on the ground, nearly falling face first into the wall before he got his hands up to steady himself against the stone. With an uncomfortable lurch in his stomach, he froze, his heart stuttering.

Cautiously, he lit his wandtip and glanced towards the ground with a hissed, "Fuck!"

For a flicker of an instant, he considered carrying on, but just as soon as it had come, the thought vanished. Theo wasn't like them. He wasn't like them, and he wasn't willing to leave an injured student to bleed out.

Because he could feel something sticky leaking through the canvas toes of his trainers.

Crouching down, he swept his fringe back from his eyes, waving his wand across the student's face, and his lips thinned into a hard line.

"Seriously, Longbottom," he groaned aloud, pressing his eyes shut for a long moment. He gave a shove to the boy's unconscious form, and something unintelligible was thrown his way. Frustration welling within him at the situation, he rose to his feet and announced, "I'm not carrying you to the hospital wing so you'd better fucking get up."

He couldn't quell the anxious racing of his heart.

Longbottom growled, shifting slightly, and one eye blinked open. Theo realised with a churning in his gut that the other was swollen shut.

Folding his arms, he did his best to steel his countenance, and asked, "Who the fuck did this?"

With significant effort, Longbottom attempted to push off the ground, and Theo ducked down again to help him lean back against the wall. Spitting blood onto the ground, Neville said, "Carrow."

Slowly shaking his head, Theo felt his upper lip curl. "Fucking bastard. Why do you continue to put yourself in these situations, you tosser."

Despite the situation, and that the boy was half unrecognisable due to the blood and swelling, a wry grin spread across his face. "Because," he muttered, "we can't let them think they've taken our hope."

Huffing a breath through his nose, Theo met Neville's stare. "Spoken like a true Gryffindor alright. What am I going to do with you? There's no way I won't get seen hauling you all the way down to the hospital wing. I know some basic healing spells but…"

Neville slumped a little against the wall, his eyelids fluttering. "There's a room the next hallway down. I think I can walk there."

Confusion knit a furrow between his brows, but Theo rose to his feet, helping Neville up, and absently, he wondered if the boy had gone mad. There weren't any rooms in the next hallway that could help him, but they had to walk that way anyways to the nearest staircase. Offering Neville an arm for support, he slowly led the pair of them in the direction Neville had indicated.

"Wait," Neville bit out through a grimace. "Here."

Theo halted, frowning, as he cast a sidelong glance at his companion.

"Just…" Sweeping a hand through his hair, the boy cracked a grin. "Have some faith, alright? And don't you dare tell anyone about this."

Neville released him, and hobbled unsteadily back and forth in front of a bare stretch of wall. As Theo rolled his eyes, about to make a remark, an arched doorway appeared in the stone. With a raised brow, Neville turned back towards him.

Under his breath, Theo muttered, "What the fuck," before following the other boy into the room that had materialised.

As soon as his gaze swept the interior of the room, Theo froze for a moment, before spinning back to see the door close behind them. Gaping, he turned towards Longbottom. "The fuck is this? Has this always been here?"

Before them was a small medical laboratory, complete with a sink, a potions cabinet, and shelving filled with assorted medical supplies.

Peering at himself in a mirror over the pedestal sink, Neville said, "It's called the Room of Requirement. It'll become whatever you need it to be."

"Shite!" Theo exclaimed, forgetting himself and his company for a moment as his mouth hung open. "I've heard of this—always thought it was a myth."

Glancing at Theo, Neville flashed a crooked grin. "It isn't a myth."

Settling back against the wall, possibilities racing through his mind with the newfound knowledge, Theo folded his arms. "Do you need help?"

"Don't think so," Neville said, rummaging through the potions cabinet and selecting several vials. He tossed one back in a quick swig followed by a grimace. "You don't need to stay if you need to get back to your dorm. I don't know how long I was out but I imagine it's close to curfew. I think most of these wounds are superficial."

Theo didn't say anything as he watched Longbottom pick through the supplies, dabbing at the cuts on his face with a wet cloth. He was given the impression this wasn't the first time Longbottom had utilised the room as such.

He merely settled into a straight-backed chair against the wall, watching. "Do you come here often? To escape?"

Expression guarded, he waited for a response, uncertain why he had even asked. They didn't really know one another, and Theo didn't know that Longbottom wouldn't use anything he said against him. Aside from the fact that this was the third time he'd saved the problematic Gryffindor's arse, and quite frankly, it would be a shite thing to do.

Neville froze, eyes swivelling from the mirror to meet his. "Yeah. We've been coming here for years."

It was more of an answer than Theo had expected, and he nodded absently. "Makes sense."

He could feel the boy's stare on him through the reflection in the mirror as he meticulously cleaned the blood from his wounds, and Theo glanced around, feeling on edge. At last Longbottom said, "You aren't like the rest of the Slytherins."

"Observant," Theo quipped, though he felt relief at the words. "My father's always tried so hard to make me into himself—and I think it only accomplished the opposite."

A tense beat. "And your mother?"

"Dead."

"Sorry to hear." Neville's mouth twisted to the side as Theo watched him in the mirror.

Theo gave a bit of a shrug. "I was six. I sort of remember her, but not that well. Wish she was still around, though. Your parents?"

A long silence hung between them, though the boy's expression gave nothing away as he ran the towel under the water; from his vantage point Theo could just see the blood mingle and dilute in the water swirling within the basin. Pure blood, as far as Theo was aware. The entire situation was so fucking convoluted.

At last Longbottom cleared his throat. "They're at St Mungo's. In the closed ward."

Theo managed a thick swallow, rising to his feet for something to do as he leaned against the wall near the sink. The implications of it rattled around his brain and he sought out the boy's stare with a furrow in his brow. "Honestly? That's fucked. How?"

"Cruciatus," Neville said, the word clipped and clinical. "Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Fucking Bellatrix," Theo said through ground teeth. He knew enough about the woman to wish for her to see a shallow grave sooner than later. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Neville ducked his chin with a nod of acknowledgement, wringing out the wet cloth. "My gran raised me, mostly."

For a moment, Theo could only shake his head. Then without warning, Longbottom tugged his bloodstained shirt over his head and tossed it into a laundry basket that materialised on the floor. Theo's stomach rolled at the mottled purple of fresh bruising combined with the rusty red of dried blood along the taut skin of his chest and abdomen.

Even as his mouth went dry at the sight, and his next breath caught in his throat.

Thankfully Longbottom didn't notice his reaction as he peered closer at himself in the mirror, his lips pulled into a grimace.

Clearly, the punishment had been physical as well; the torture curse didn't leave those sorts of wounds.

Quietly, Theo asked, "How can you continue to put yourself in front of the Carrows' wands knowing what that fucking curse can do?"

Neville's chin dropped as he placed a hand on the edge of the sink, as if to hold himself up. He sucked in a long breath before his head turned towards Theo. His brows flickered, his expression uncertain. "All I know is that my parents wouldn't have stood by and allowed these things to happen." His voice dropped, intonation heavy with emotion, and he added, "I just can't turn a blind eye."

Theo's throat felt thick and warm, his eyes hot with the sting of moisture. He felt a sort of kinship with the other boy he never could have explained as he dropped his head back against the wall, forcing the moisture back with a series of rapid blinks. He breathed, "This needs to end."

"You're right," Longbottom said, loosening the buckle of his belt. Theo's eyes widened momentarily, before he noticed an enclosed shower stall had appeared along the next wall of the small room. Against his volition, his eyes flickered to where Neville's trousers were slung on his hips. Divesting himself of the trousers, Neville added, as if it were necessary, "Too much blood. I'll just take a quick shower."

"Right," Theo managed, his eyes drifting to the curve of Neville's arse when he turned around. When he forced his gaze up just in time to avoid being caught ogling, he noticed a dull flush on the other boy's cheeks. "I'll just—" Theo turned on the spot, staring at the wall, his own face burning.

Moments later, at the telltale sounds of running water, Theo released the tension in his shoulders, sinking back into the armchair by the wall. He should go, and leave Neville to his showering and his nudity in peace. By all rights, Theo had no reason to linger, when curfew was probably already past, and clearly Neville didn't need his help.

He leapt to his feet, pacing the small space, before sinking back into the seat. Thick steam emanated from the shower stall, warming the room, and Theo idly looked around. He rose again, sorting through the supplies in the shelving unit.

Even when the water cut off, Theo didn't dare turn around, organising the vials in the potions cabinet. When he felt Neville's presence at his side, he proffered a jar of bruise ointment, eyes sliding sidelong to meet the wry grin of the boy.

"Thanks," Neville quipped, brandishing the jar. His lips were parted as he stared at Theo for an extended moment. "I've run out anyways."

With a stiff nod, Theo retreated to the adjacent wall once more; Neville had donned fresh shorts and trousers, but without a belt, and his trousers sunk a little lower than the waistband of his pants.

He felt lousy for looking, but having washed off all the crusted blood, Neville had a fit body, even through the stark bruising. Idly, Theo tried to recall Neville as the awkward boy he had been years before, and couldn't do it.

Deliberately staring around the room, he did his best to ignore the way Neville slathered the ointment onto his chest, biting down hard on his tongue to keep from saying anything.

With the lingering steam, the room was unbearably hot, and Theo loosened his Slytherin tie. Neville's eyes snapped up to meet his through the reflection in the mirror once more. Setting the jar down, he said, "Thanks for staying, but you didn't need to."

"Yeah," Theo drawled in his best effort at nonchalance. "Suppose I'd better get to the dorms."

Despite the situation and his own brain buzzing with awkward, unnecessary thoughts, Theo couldn't help but marvel at the magic of the room, as Neville shrugged on a fresh shirt that he'd found apparently out of nowhere. Belatedly, Theo rose from his seat just as Neville turned on the spot, nearly walking into him.

Lifting his hands to avoid a collision, Neville caught Theo's arms, his eyes wide as he muttered a hasty, "Sorry about that."

"It's fine," Theo bit out. The room was too warm and he was late back to the dorms and he made towards the door, only for Neville to follow, pocketing the jar of ointment.

Neville paused beside the door, turning towards Theo. "Thanks, again. For your help."

"Of course," Theo said, a frown tugging at his lips. "It's all rubbish, anyways."

"I come here a lot," Neville blurted, his expression bewildered as if he'd caught himself off guard. "Not this version of the room, but another, if you're ever… bored. In the evenings."

For a long, silent moment, Theo merely blinked at him. Then he managed a stiff nod. "I suppose I could come by sometime."

"You just have to…" Neville pantomimed a pair of legs walking with his index and middle finger; Theo snickered. "Three times, and think of what you need to find."

With another somber nod, Theo mimicked the motion with his own fingers. "I will." He swung the door open, shifting out of the way, before adding, "Get back safe, yeah?"

"Yeah." Neville's fingers curled around his shoulder in a brief squeeze. "Thanks, Nott."

They left the room, and as he paused in the hallway to watch Neville head for Gryffindor Tower, Theo carded an anxious hand through his hair with a barely there, "Fuck."

For days, Theo picked apart Neville's offer, toying with it in his mind and ultimately setting it aside each time. Were they friends? Theo didn't have very many friends, but he always saw Neville with Finnigan and a few others from different houses. Maybe Neville felt isolated, given so many of his yearmates were gone. Potter, Weasley, and Granger were off doing something; no one knew. Thomas was gone.

More than once, it occurred to Theo he had taken to watching the boy with far too much intent, and he tried to tell himself it had nothing to do with the last time they'd interacted.

He had known for a few years he was more interested in the male sex than the female, but even if he hadn't, the other night would have confirmed it. Not that it was something he could ever reveal to his father, who was as outdated and backwards thinking as he was maliciously cruel.

Theo was to marry a pureblood princess, produce at least one male heir, and treat his bride like shite. He had no interest in any of it.

And it certainly wasn't something he intended to reveal to Neville, even if the pair of them were to become friends. Which was insane on another level, because they were Slytherin and Gryffindor. The dissonance rode deeper into the fact that Theo's father was a Death Eater and Neville was most assuredly in the Order of the Phoenix.

For all Theo knew, he was in contact with Harry Potter. It would certainly explain his incredible resilience. Theo didn't know if he would still have the will to fight back, if the tables were turned.

Almost without realising it, he had grown to admire the boy, if for no reason other than the fact that they were so wildly contrasting, in personality and motive.

But the part that mattered most—and Theo found himself hoping Neville would agree—was that they shared a mutual opinion on the war, and the goings on in the castle.

For almost a week, he found himself toying with the idea of visiting Neville in the Room of Requirement. Felt his eyes drift towards the boy with increased regularity, and more often than was safe or reasonable, found himself longing for the sort of open honesty with which they had connected the last time.

It was irrational, and maybe he was taunting the beast, but Theo wanted to see him again. And not in a bloody heap on the cold stone floor.

So by the time the Evening Prophet arrived on Friday at dinner, news of death and misery splashed as ever across its front page—as Theo fought the push of hopeless moisture at the backs of his eyes—he found himself seeking out Neville's bright gaze across the Great Hall.

Minutely enough that Theo might have missed it, had Neville not fixed in on his stare in return, his lips twisted to the side, and he gave a nod.

A breath of relief chased from Theo's lungs as he gathered his things and swept from the hall.

Hands shoved firmly in his pockets, Theo sidled into the Room of Requirement, casting a look around. The room had fully transformed from the last time he had seen it; plush armchairs and a sofa surrounded a crackling hearth, bookshelves lined the walls, and a large eight-seater table sat on the far side of the room.

It appeared like Theo had always imagined the Gryffindor common room might look, only there was no specific colour scheme. If anything, it looked an eclectic combination of colours and patterns that all contrasted and yet somehow worked.

Most of all, the room spoke of comfort.

The warmth of the fire seeped into Theo's wrought soul as he stepped cautiously into the room, finding Neville already in an armchair by the fire, a furrow in his brow and a look of contemplation on his face. The setting felt oddly intimate and for a moment, he considered bolting. But Neville glanced up, a hint of a smile spreading across his face.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Theo returned a nod, slipping into a seat and sinking deep into the cushions. "Hey. Funny seeing you not covered in your own blood."

"I'll imagine it is." Neville seemed more introspective than Theo had ever seen him, when the boy had always come across insistently optimistic, even through physical torture. Idly, he wondered if he were intruding, and perhaps Neville hadn't wanted him to come by that evening. But at dinner, he had seemed receptive.

As Theo frowned, interlocking his hands across his middle, Neville's countenance visibly lightened, and he added, "So this is where we usually spend time. When things are bad."

Although curiosity prickled at his skin as to who else Neville referred, Theo nodded and mused, "How does it work, exactly? Can the room fulfill multiple uses at once?"

"Only one." Neville gave a brisk shake of the head. "If someone needed the medical room, for instance, where we were the other day—they would have to first come in here and ask us to vacate. Then the room would be able to transform upon re-entry."

Humming, Theo glanced around, leaning forward in his seat. For whatever reason, being around Neville made him oddly fidgety when he usually was not. "It's fascinating."

"It is." He could feel Neville's stare on him, but gazed into the fire. "We started using it in our fifth year, when Umbridge was in charge, and Harry decided to teach us some more proactive defense spells."

Slowly, cautiously, Theo glanced at Neville, finding a challenge in his eyes. Swallowing, he breathed, "You can trust me. I'm not… like them."

"I know you aren't," Neville said, ducking his chin. "But your father is."

He couldn't deny the fact, and only offered a grimace in turn. "Have you lot heard from Potter at all?"

"No." The moment having passed, Neville sank into his seat once more. "We haven't had any contact with those three since the summer. But whatever it is they're doing is important. Really important."

Theo sensed the words left unsaid. "And you'd know if they were dead."

"Yeah." The word left Neville's lungs in a huff of a breath, and he glanced Theo's direction. Then he offered a bit of a shrug with a wry twitch of his lips. "Feels helpless, a lot of the time. All we can really do here is show that we stand with Harry and make things harder for the Death Eaters. Unfortunately, things here at Hogwarts have been growing worse—as I know you've seen. Some of our group have taken to hiding out here rather than return to the dorms."

Hoarsely, Theo asked, "Why are you telling me all this?"

A long moment of silence hung between them as Neville's green eyes caught his again, their depths sparkling with the reflection of the flames in the grate. At last he said, "You said I could trust you. And I believe you."

Shaking his head, Theo went on, his mouth dry. "I can't help you. I just—there's nothing I can do."

"I'm not asking for your help."

With a sigh, some of the tension seeped from Theo and he twisted his lips to the side, rolling his face along the back of his armchair.

But Neville looked away, digging for something in his pocket. He leaned forward, pressing a small round object into Theo's palm. Blinking, Theo assessed it; it appeared to be a galleon. "What are you paying me for?"

With a bark of laughter, that crooked grin spread across Neville's face that put a flutter in Theo's chest. "It isn't a real galleon, see?" He brandished another in his own hand, and tapped it with his wand. The galleon in Theo's hand warmed for a moment, and then across its face, a tidy inscription read, Hello.

Shrugging, Neville leaned back in his seat as Theo peered closer at the coin. "Just in case you ever need to reach me. Just tap the coin, think of your message, and the recipient. Or, if for some reason you ever need to reach the network of coins, just think of that instead."

"Noted," Theo said carefully, feeling as if he were suddenly involved in something beyond his depth. But he tucked it away all the same, just in case, before adding, "You had better use it if you're in trouble. I don't want to stumble across your half-dead body again."

Snickering, Neville huffed out, "Deal."

Peering across the expanse of the room, Theo asked, "Are there usually more people here?"

"Sometimes," Neville said with a nod. "If the Death Eaters are having a bad day. We can usually tell pretty early on."

The boy had a blunt honesty about him that left Theo both unnerved and anxious.

"It changes, too, if we have need of something," Neville said with a nod towards the far wall; a small kitchenette materialised. "The only thing it can't create is food, but the house-elves have been helpful on that front when we've been in need."

"Well," Theo said quietly, leaning forward in his seat again, "I'm glad you have a safe place to go when you need it."

Neville held his stare for a long time; so long that Theo's heart leapt to life in his chest and his mouth went dry. At last he offered a bit of a nod, and said, "Thanks, Theo." He glanced away, and with a nod across the room, asked, "Want to play some cards?"

A genuine smile tugged at Theo's lips. "That sounds great."