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Dean caught Neville as the other boy slumped forward in the chair, nearly boneless as the last of his energy left him with the completion of Anne’s oath. She scrambled out of the way, deeply shaken by the magical ritual she’d just partaken of. Dean understood - some sleep had helped, but he could still feel his magic extending out of himself in a thin line connecting him to Neville, and it was… raw. Some fundamental part of him had been exposed, stretched out, and then fused to another person permanently. It had been less than twelve hours since his connection to Neville had been forged by an oath, but he’d already noticed how hyper-aware he was of where Neville was, what he was doing, how he was doing. He’d felt some of that anxiety-driven awareness before the oath, too (how could he not, when it often seemed as if Neville being there was the only thing keeping Dean from getting cursed in the halls) but the oath had intensified it. Neville was like a sun, and Dean had trapped himself in orbit.
Only time would show him how far that orbit might extend. At least Dean could count on it keeping him from falling into a black hole, instead. He was safe, and so were the other muggleborns. As safe as they could be, thanks to Neville’s willingness to stick his neck out for the rest of them.
Now, Neville needed them.
A few others had come down in the last few minutes, drawn by the sounds of others awake in the common room. Dean was relieved to see the Creevey brothers among them, and a jerk of his head brought them over.
“There’s no way Neville’s going to even get to breakfast like this,” he told them.
Neville mumbled something, but it was unintelligible. He’d been slurring when he’d responded to Anne’s oath, too, but it was already worse. Dean doubted he’d be able to stand on his own.
“If we can get him to the Hospital Wing, Madame Pomfrey would cover for him,” Dennis said.
“Problem is, we need an excuse to take him there that isn’t magical exhaustion for when we’re seen in the halls,” Dean said. “One of the Weasley’s sweets would have been ideal.”
“There are a few curses we could use instead,” Colin tentatively suggested.
Dean grimaced at the idea of intentionally hurting Neville in any way, but the Hospital Wing was the only place Neville was going to be able to get the rest he so desperately needed. Almost reluctantly, he looked down to shake Neville’s shoulder, trying to get his attention.
“Nev,” he said. Neville’s eyes tried to focus on him but didn’t stay there, drifting away and then fluttering closed. He was too out of it to make a decision himself. Or to give them permission.
“What do you think?” Colin asked hesitantly, looking down at their newly-dubbed lord.
“Boils,” Dennis said. “They’re visible enough that no one will bother questioning us.”
Gross. But true.
Dean did it himself. Neville groaned and stirred enough to scratch at his arms, mumbling, but Dean and Colin grabbed his arms and pulled him up between them before he could scratch any of the pustules open.
Dean’s stomach fluttered with nerves as they awkwardly maneuvered out of the portrait hole. What if they ran into the Carrows? An unfriendly prefect, even? Dean had stopped going out without a (conscious) Neville to ward away the muggleborn hatred only a week or two into the school year.
“What do we say if someone asks how he got cursed?” Colin hissed out on the stairs.
“Said something insensitive to a girl,” Dean grunted, pulling Neville’s dead weight up higher on his shoulder.
“That’ll work?”
Dean scoffed, thinking about Ginny’s bat-bogey hex. His bed still had protective spells layered over it, put up when they’d been dating (fighting).
“Oh yeah. It’s believable. Besides, the teachers don’t care much about those kinds of things.”
“Guess I’ll take your word for it. I’ve never had a girlfriend,” Colin said wistfully.
“That’s probably for the best at the moment,” Dean muttered. “Can’t imagine anybody’s feeling very romantic these days.”
Colin didn’t answer, and they focused entirely on safely getting Neville down another flight of stairs. He’d passed out completely by now.
Half an hour later they arrived at the Hospital Wing. Dean was grateful that it had been early enough that they hadn’t run into anybody besides a yawning Ernie MacMillan on patrol. Both Dean and Colin were sweating and exhausted from dragging Neville’s unreasonably heavy weight across the school (they really needed to learn that person-levitating spell he’d seen teachers use on injured students).
Madame Pomfrey got Neville straight into a cot.
“Was he attacked?” she asked brusquely.
“Yeah, by a girl,” Colin said quickly, smiling awkwardly at the lie which just made him look a little bit too interested in the fictional drama.
The mediwitch’s eyebrow shot up. Dean watched as she cast her diagnostic charms and the eyebrow sank back down into a frown - likely realizing that it was highly unlikely an ex-girlfriend would result in Neville’s magical core being so depleted.
She didn’t call them on their lie, though, as Dean had hoped.
“I’d best keep him here until tomorrow,” she said. “Let me write you both a note to explain your tardiness to breakfast.”
Dean’s shoulders slumped in relief at that.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely, Colin echoing him.
As she handed the note over to them, she caught Dean's hand in hers, getting his attention.
"You take care of each other," she said.
She knew what had happened, then. The link to Neville seemed to burn more brightly in Dean's magical senses, like it knew it was being talked about.
Dean looked to Neville - his lord, but most importantly, his friend. He had full confidence to speak for both of them, even though Neville was still dead to the world.
"We will."