Neville paused at the concealed doorway that would only open to him. Only to him, provided there was no sign of a foe on the other side. Only to him, because he wouldn’t bear the weight of one of his friends, classmates, comrades, risking themselves for the weekly expedition to the kitchens for provisions. He didn’t doubt the genius of the magic of the Room of Requirement, but the mere thought of failing when their survival depended on it made his knees weak, his hands sweating as he pressed them against, and then through the brick.
He stepped forward, feeling the uncomfortable sensation of walking through a puddle of jelly before re-emerging in the cavernous space that was the castle kitchens, directly below the great hall.
As always, there were no house elves to be seen. Neville wondered if their magic was connected to the Room somehow, and they just knew it would be safer for all of them not to make direct contact with the army of teens hidden in the walls.
He shrugged the thought away as his tired, swollen eyes found the baskets of food and medicine waiting for him at the end of the nearest table, and as usual a place setting had been left for him, complete with a simple sandwich and tall goblet of warmed milk. He smiled, remembering his barely formed thought of craving the drink as he made his way to the kitchens the week before, only to find it there ready for his complaining stomach.
Just as he was about to touch the cup to his lips, Neville froze, hair raising on the back of his neck. He’d never been much of a duelist at any point in time, and could only hope that the castle's magic hadn’t failed him. He slowly took a sip, willing his wand to slip unnoticed into his fingertips.
“No need for that, Longbottom.” The voice was like honey, seeming to whisper at him from all sides, every shadow taunting him. And out of the shadows, a perfectly manicured hand holding a comically red apple emerged, followed by a decidedly less put together Pansy Parkinson. Her usually-immaculate bob was scrunched up around her ears, pushed back from her forehead by a silk headband. Emerald green silk, of course. Neville had never given much thought on what Slytherin girls, or girls in general, would wear to bed, but he found himself surprised at the lack of shiny satin, and the abundance of chequered cotton in her baggy green sweatpants. A murky, mossy green, he noted.
“Pansy,” he said, his voice low, hoping his tone held a warning that matched his fear. He wondered for half a second if he might it would be best to disarm her, or to silence her first. “A bit past curfew isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t be so concerned for my well-being if I were you, Longbottom,” Pansy said, turning the apple over in her hands, the fairness of her skin stark in contrast. “They wouldn’t think twice about me breaking the curfew. We both know I could just tell those dirty, useless excuses for Death Eaters that thought I saw some blood traitor or other… lurking about…”
She said the last words slowly, and Neville flinched, his nerves twitching and injuries aching. Definitely disarm her first; surely the kitchen has some sort of acoustic insulation in case she tried to shriek for the Carrows. He gripped his wand tighter.
“But anyway,” she continued, as though she were oblivious to his train of thought; as though he wasn’t a wanted blood traitor she’d just caught lurking in the bowels of the castle stealing food. “I’d hate to have them contaminate the place my food is prepared with their sheer ugliness, so I suppose you’re safe for the moment.”
Neville watched her tensely as she sauntered towards him, turning at the end of the table to take the seat opposite. It struck him as odd, the way she tucked her legs underneath her on the bench, kneeling in an unladylike manner that he was certain she would never do in front of her pureblooded parents; parents who undoubtedly spent a fortune teaching her to sit exactly as a lady should. She certainly had never sat that way in the Great Hall above them.
He shook his head, trying to clear it of the reminder that he knew exactly how Pansy sat; back perfectly straight, cutlery held delicately in front of her, ankles crossed at just the right angle. He took a small sip of his milk.
“Thinking of me naked, Longbottom?”
Neville choked on his milk.
“What?!” he gasped out, trying not to cough the hot liquid onto the table in front of him while he held his hand to his heaving chest. “N-no- “
“Then stop staring at me,” Pansy snapped, her voice less like honey and more like vinegar. “And relax your wand hand. I literally watched you merge through a wall, I'm guessing from wherever you and your little Army of children are hiding. If I wanted to turn you in to the Carrows I would have done it then instead of revealing myself to you.”
Her words did nothing to quell the image in Neville’s mind of a Pansy not wearing baggy chequered pyjama trousers. He fought the image from the forefront of his thoughts. It had been a while since his teenage brain had been allowed to dream of such things, and he wouldn’t let it start now. Not of his enemy. His pretty, female enemy, who had somehow managed to get into the kitchen while the castle's magic was supposed to be protecting him. God, war complicated everything.
“What are you doing here Pansy?” His voice was hoarse, both from coughing and from sheer panic that maybe Pansy knew that he was, now at least, thinking of her naked.
“I wanted an apple.” Pansy said it as if it were words she was reading from a book. Bland and obvious. She raised her eyes to his for a moment, before glancing back down, and Neville caught the flash of uncertainty in them.
“Pansy- “
“Do you know where Potter is, Longbottom?” She cut him off and he felt himself blanch.
“No.” Neville wished he did, but was glad he didn’t.
Pansy stared at him, her brow furrowed as she searched his gaze for something.
“Good,” she said finally. She went back to turning the unblemished apple over in her fingers. “I’ve got no interest in you being caught on one of your little hero adventures through the castle and having that information crucio’d out of you.”
Neville snorted in disbelief. “And why would that not interest you, Pansy?”
“Why would it! It’s not all the Slytherins against all the good people you know!” Pansy bristled. “We might share a school house with the Dark Lord, but we’re not all psychopathic, child torturing- “ she snapped her mouth shut, eyes gleaming with rage. “We might be safer than you within these walls because of the colours of our ties, but that doesn't mean we’re safe, or free. Things aren’t going to suddenly get better when the Dark Lord gets his claws on the trauma-attracting boy wonder.”
Neville lowered his eyes to his drink and thought of his parents, and wondered if they had gone to school with Pansy’s. He was sure he’d seen a photo of them somewhere. Had her father had to make a choice, as Neville’s own parents had, on which side to fight on when the first war began? Barely an adult, with a child on the way?
“I suppose you’ve never been given much of a choice,” he said warily. “The decision to fight for Harry, and the future… It seemed easy to me.”
“When you’ve seen first hand what that creature is capable of,” Pansy said, a tiredness behind her eyes that Neville felt in every bone in his body, “It’s not a decision whether to fight or not. It’s choosing to not get in the way while he burns down the world.”
“Surely you must see that fighting is what we have to do!” Neville retorted desperately. He couldn’t hear of how slim their chances were. He wouldn’t; not when he had to return to the Room and raise the spirits of dozens of tortured and bloodied teenagers. Children, who should have been sleeping peacefully in their dorms; their only nightmare being an exploding potion or falling off their broom. “You could come back with me, and anyone else who feels the same! The Greengrass sisters- I know they don’t believe the blood purity rubbish!”
Pansy gave him a look that was almost like pity, a grimace at his sudden need to save her.
“Gryffindors. Always needing to come to the rescue; to be the hero.” Her lips quivered sadly. “It’ll get you killed, you know.”
“Some things are worth the sacrifice, Pansy” Neville replied stubbornly.
“And some things aren’t.” Pansy sighed, shaking her head as though she were talking to a wall. “I hope you’re on the hard stuff there,” she said, gesturing towards the goblet in Neville’s hand and wincing. “I had heard you and a couple of your other runaways had a nastier-than-usual run in with Carrow the Uglier and a few of his favourite students. You look positively dreadful.”
Neville shrugged, trying to conceal from Pansy that the contents of his drink was in fact warmed milk, and not whiskey or some other adult drink he had yet to taste. “It wasn’t the worst scuffle we’ve had. None of us were hit with a crucio this time, but Goyle definitely landed a few good blows.” He touched his cheek gingerly, grateful for Parvati’s sub-par healing skills and wincing at the memory of his fractured cheek bone. “And anyway, I always need a drink to help me sleep before battle,” he added, smiling sarcastically and feeling his faint Gryffindor pride rear its head when she snorted in amusement.
“Battle?” Pansy smiled, teeth glinting as she leaned forward. “I know we’re in dire straights at Hogwarts, Longbottom, but i wouldn’t be expecting the war to find its way into these walls. No, i dont think so.”
It was Neville’s turn to sigh. “I hope you’re right. And if it does, i suppose we just have to get every kid out that we can before the fighting starts.”
“It won’t come to it,” she said, shaking her head.
They both started when Neville’s wand started buzzing between them. He hadn’t even realised he’d put it down. He looked quickly up at her. Their time was up, and he couldn’t help but feel regret.
“I have to go now,” he said quietly, plucking his cherry wood and unicorn hair wand from the table as he stood and moved to the wall that concealed the passageway to the Room of Requirement, knowing she couldn’t get through even if she tried. He knew deep down that while she wasnt his enemy, she wasn’t on his side either. Her sense of self preservation wouldn’t allow it, not while she believed fighting You-Know-Who was a lost cause.
Neville watched as Pansy stood, slowly making her way to stand in front of him, and it struck him how small she was. They had been the same size once, he was sure of it; all those years ago when she had stood right by him while they waited to be sorted and separated. They hadn’t known then how far that separation would take them. Now, she stood not even a foot from him, but couldnt be further out of his reach.
Neville was frozen in place as she placed the apple down beside them and looked up at him through her lashes. He couldn’t make sense of the plea in her eyes as she pressed her palms on his bruised chest so gently that if he wasn’t watching her he might not have felt it at all. He let his eyes flicker shut. Her breath on his face as she stood up on her toes felt like a dream that he wasn’t allowed to have; the tear he felt as she pressed her lips softly to his cheek felt like an apology and a promise all at once.
Then she was gone, and he opened his eyes.
Pansy stood with her hand on the back of the portrait door that led out to the dungeons. She spared him a last glance and whispered, her honey voice surrounding him once more as she stood there in the shadows, “Wherever, whenever the battle, i hope you survive it, Longbottom.”
Neville turned away as she slipped out of the doorway, making his way back to the Room and turning over his conversation with Pansy in his head, trying to make sense of her goodbye.
He knew he wasn’t a genius, but maybe he was more of an idiot than even he thought. He wished it hadn’t been left unspoken that he hoped she would survive too. He sighed, doing his best to push the image of her looking up at him through thick black eyelashes from his mind as he entered the Room with the basket of supplies, raucous noise consuming his senses.
“Neville! Nev!” He heard Seamus shouting above the rest of his classmates. “It’s Ariana! Abe has sent her for you.”
fin