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"What are you doing here, Longbottom?"
Neville had been keeping an eye on the dark corridors, but he turned his head at the sound of that low, caustic voice. Draco stepped out of the Slytherin common room, glancing around, his thin eyebrows furrowed.
Neville straightened up. Draco's eyes glanced off his face before he fixed his gaze to the side, his expression carefully and deliberately neutral. Neville knew his face looked bad, but others had it worse. And some people's scars weren't even visible, he thought, looking at Draco, who was thin and pale and expressionless.
He used to be so full of life, always loud and expressive and bold, and now he was like an ashen shadow of himself.
"I need your help," Neville said, straightforward. "I need a place to hide."
Draco's eyes flicked towards him, catching on the backpack on his shoulder. "Why don't you just leave?" he asked flatly.
"I can't," Neville said. "Harry is coming. I know he is. And when he does, I'm going to be here to help."
He waited with bated breath as Draco stared at him blankly. "What do you want me to do about it?"
Neville exhaled, relieved that he wasn't shutting him down immediately. He hadn't been sure if this was the smartest decision. They hadn't really been friends for seven years, and even when they'd been friends, they hadn't been friends for long. But Draco was nothing if not loyal, even if the people he was loyal to didn't deserve it.
"The Room of Requirement. I don't know what exactly went on last year, but everyone has heard the rumours. You spent a lot of time there, didn't you? Can you show me how to use it?"
"And why should I help you?" Draco asked, his voice cold and colourless like snow.
Neville met his pale grey eyes in the gloom. "Because," he said, strong and steadfast and sure, "we're friends, Draco."
He hadn't called him that since they'd been ten. And when they'd been ten, he hadn't been able to meet Draco's eyes when he'd told him he couldn't be friends with him. But things were different now. Neville was different. He hadn't let the Carrows bully him, and he wouldn't let his gran bully him anymore either.
There wasn't even a flicker of emotion on Draco's face. His eyes glanced off the scars on Neville's face again - and then he turned wordlessly and started walking down the corridor. "If you get us caught, Longbottom, I'm ratting you out."
Neville grinned brightly before he hurried to catch up with him. "Sure," he said, feeling irrepressibly lighthearted.
He followed Draco and then observed, puzzled, when he stopped in front of the portrait of a young girl. He had a short, quiet conversation with her, and she nodded and glided ahead into the next painting. Draco beckoned to Neville, and they followed her up to the seventh floor without incident. The girl smiled sweetly at Draco before she sat down in the painting of a meadow to wait for him. Neville stared at her curiously.
"So you use paintings to sneak around," he said. "I never thought of that."
Draco shrugged. "They're quiet, like to help, and can go basically anywhere in the castle unnoticed." He gestured at the blank wall, opposite a tapestry of trolls. "You walk past it three times while thinking about what you need. The more specific you are, the better it is. I suppose in your case, you'll need a place where the Carrows won't find you."
Neville frowned at the wall. He thought about fifth year when Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad had found the DA, and for the first time, he felt a flicker of unease. Maybe using the Room of Requirement wasn't the best plan after all. "Are you sure it works?" he inquired.
Draco shrugged and touched the wall almost affectionately. "She never betrayed me, even when Potter was stalking me."
She, Neville pondered at his choice of word before looking at the blank wall again. "Okay," he said. "I'll try it."
He walked past the wall three times, thinking as hard as he could. When the door appeared, Draco straightened up off the wall. "I guess you won't need me anymore," he said and moved to leave, but Neville caught his arm.
"Wait. Don't you want to see what it's like inside?"
Draco regarded him for a long, quiet moment - and then glanced at the door over Neville's shoulder. It unnerved Neville slightly - how difficult it was to read his expression - when Draco used to show everything on his face.
"Your grandmother was right, Neville," Draco said, and he hadn't ever called him that, not even seven years ago when they'd been friends. Surprised, Neville's grip loosened, and Draco stepped back out of reach. "Nothing good comes from being friends with a Malfoy."
Neville watched him head down the corridor, almost as soundless and pale as one of the ghosts, the portrait of the girl gliding from painting to painting next to him. He wondered if some things were doomed from the start. If some things would never change.
Then Neville thought about how tired he was of things never changing.
"Gran's not always right, you know," he called out after Draco, his voice low. Draco stopped. He didn't turn around. "When this is over, let's go grab drinks."
Draco didn't answer, but Neville hadn't really expected him to. After a moment, he started walking again. Neville kept watch until he was gone, and it was only then that he turned around and opened the door.