Title: Cause and Effect
Author: Narcissus
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, so don't sue me.
Pairing: NL/HA, NL/DM
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Kindness can bring its own rewards.

Cause and Effect

It had been a hard session, his instructor pushing him until he'd all but collapsed under the strain; but it had been worth it to see the look of satisfaction on the battle worn face when Neville had managed to surpass his previous record. He turned in the direction of the Bell Jar, gingerly rotating the shoulder of his wand arm; he was just pushing the salon doors open, when he changed his mind, and instead turned away from the drunken chatter of his fellow trainees.

Right at that particular moment he wanted nothing more than a nice hot shower, and a nice long sleep.

Something scurried passed him on the dark street and he just caught a glimpse of fur and scampering paws before it disappeared into the alley ahead of him - too small to be a dog, too big to be a rat. As he passed the alley entrance he glanced curiously into the darkness, and small beady eyes stared back out at him; the animal cowered against the side of the dumpster, caught in the act of trying to dig its way round back.

Neville took a frowning step forward, instantly noting the blood and dirt matted into the animal's fur, the way it tucked its left paw into its body, and he sighed, knowing that he wouldn't be able to simply walk away and leave it. It shrank away from him, expectant of further pain.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he muttered softly, but it lunged out and attempted to bite him. He caught it by the scruff of the neck and it screamed, legs cycling painfully at his wrist; Neville gritted his teeth, deciding to see this as a further test of his endurance - if he could put up with hours of Auror training, he could certainly deal with the frantic antics of this little, he peered at it closer, ferret – and apparated to his flat.

The moment his feet landed on firm ground, he dashed into the kitchen, grabbed the steel dish rack from the draining board and transfigured it into a sturdy cage – he pulled open the door and shoved the screaming, biting fur-ball inside, fastening the latch before it could get out. For the next few minutes he watched it race around the small space, throwing itself against the sides in an attempt to escape; and then, when it realised it couldn't, cower into a corner and stare at him with large fearful eyes.

He sighed again and turned to the sink, running his cut hand under the cool water; a quick healing spell later and he was as good as new.

"What am I going to do with you, eh?" he said in the direction of the caged animal. A quick inspection of his cupboards proved what he already knew, there was nothing he could give the furry little menace; in the end he resorted to milk and bread, placing both on separate saucers, with a flick of his wand he banished them to the confines of the cage.

The ferret sniffed at both plates cautiously, whiskers twitching, and then backed away. Neville turned towards the bathroom; he'd decide what to do with it later, but now he had an important date with his shower.

The next few days were taken up almost exclusively with training, but the weekend was only a few hours away, and he clung to that idea as he underwent yet another spate of dueling. He had plans for Saturday that included nothing more than over-excessive rest and relaxation.

He might take Harry up on the offer to join him and Ginny for dinner, or he might drop by the Leaky for that long overdue drink with Seamus and Dean, or he might even help Hermione with her little herb garden, something he'd been promising to do for the passed few months, and it would be good to get his hands dirty again.

Neville was just a fraction of a second too late to deflect the curse that sent him crashing to the floor, and it was as he lay staring up at the ceiling, that he remembered what he would really be doing that weekend. And so, at nine thirty on Saturday morning he picked up the cage, along with agitated ferret, and stepped into the green fire, stepping out mere moments later into the waiting area of the ani-healers office.

His ears were instantly assaulted by a menagerie of noise, and his eyes roamed the area looking for an empty chair; he sat down next to a boy of around seven holding in the palm of his hand a rather silent and gray looking puffskein, the boy looked up at him and he smiled, putting the cage down at his feet.

The woman opposite him held a pet basket on her lap, an angry and snarling kneazel glaring out at him from its whickered sides; he nodded a greeting to her and she frowned back at him. The door to the healers' office opened and a crub barked as a man holding a bejeweled fire crab exited, thanking the healer profusely.

It seemed that they waited an eternity and if not, then at least the best part of his day, before the healer called out his name and Neville followed him into the examination room. The last time he'd been in one of these rooms was to have Trevor put down, and his eyes lingered a little too long on the metal table before he placed the cage on top of it and took a step back.

"Well, what seems to be the trouble?"

Neville explained briefly how he'd found the ferret, how he'd attempted to look after it, fed and cleaned it, healed its wounds, but that it still held its left paw close to its body, and he thought that there might be other things the matter with it.

"First of all, It is a He," the healer said with a smile. "And I have to say he is a rather fine looking hob. Now let's see what's wrong with you, eh?"

Neville watched as the healer pulled on dragon hide gloves and reached into the cage, pulling out a screaming and biting ferret; an overpowering stink filled the room, and Neville reached up to cover his nose; the healer cast a gentle calming spell, waited for the ferret to become still, its body quivering against the cold table top, and then began his examination.

"What are you going to call him?" the healer asked conversationally.

"Oh, I'm not going to keep it," Neville answered lightly, and then frowned at the disapproving look he received. "I'm a trainee Auror," he tried to explain. "I really don't have time to look after a pet," but the healer continued to scowl at him. Neville shrugged and looked out the window instead.

After a few more minutes the healer picked the ferret up and put it carefully back in the cage; he turned to Neville.

"You were right to worry,"

"What's the matter with it?"

It was true that he really didn't have time to look after a pet, but the healer had made him feel decidedly guilty.

"Spell damage mostly; a few fractures, internal bruising – if I was going to take a guess I'd say that whoever did this, wanted to kill him." They were silent for a moment and then the healer added: "I really don't understand how anyone could do this to an animal."

Neville stared at the cowering creature in the bottom of the cage and then sighed: "What do I have to do?"

The healer smiled at him widely and clapped a hand on his back before going on to explain the necessary procedure: some extensive use of healing spells, as well as a liberal dose of skele-grow. Neville would be required to come back in two days to pick up his ferret.

The healer also explained that ferrets were carnivorous so feeding him bread and milk was a bad idea; he directed Neville to a Muggle pet shop to buy several bags of something called Companions Choice Ferret Food. And before Neville left to dutifully complete this task, added that ferrets also sometimes liked to be taken for walks, and went on to sell Neville a very fetching harness.

Forty-five minutes later he was once again standing in his kitchen, wondering just how he had managed to get himself into this situation.

It was early the following week that his instructor informed him he would be moving on to the next level of training: Search and Detain. He was given a manila folder and instructed to find and bring the enclosed individual in for questioning. Neville felt the flutter in the pit of his stomach, but held his excitement in check until after his brief was completed and he'd thanked his instructor.

Once in the corridor, however, he flipped open the folder and sifted quickly through the information within: personal details and last known location; the individual in question had been a Death Eater informant who had disappeared shortly after the war had ended, and the Ministry thought it about time they found out exactly what he was now up to - he was unimportant and classified code green, but an excellent starting ground for Neville.

The next few hours he spent enthusiastically reading through the files, trying to get a clear picture of his quarry: work; family, friends, colleagues; hobbies. It was only when his stomach grumbled that he stopped and glanced at his watch; the minute hand was wavering precariously over the line between 'Work' and 'Bell Jar'.

He stuffed the papers back into the folder and tucked it into his satchel.

Tonight he intended to celebrate.

And celebrate he did.

From what he could remember Harry and Ron had festooned him with congratulatory drinks, and commiserated with him on reaching the next level, bombarding him with their tales of woe at not yet having been able to locate their targets – but then, from what Neville knew, they had only just been given their assignments the previous week.

His head hurt, his body hurt, and the room span away from him; he was in no fit state for work. Dragging himself to his feet he staggered into the kitchen, giving the cage a cursory: "Good morning, Mr. Ferret." and proceeded to the medicine cabinet. Sifting through the bottles he picked up the one labeled 'for hangovers' and knocked it back in one, sighing as the potion took almost immediately effect.

He turned round to face the kitchen and smiled as the ferret stood up to stare at him, his left paw resting against the cage and his nose twitching at the air.

"I'll take you for a walk later, if you're good and promise not to bite me."

The first thing Neville did that morning was refresh himself with the Ministry procedure for cases such as his, and then decide how he was going to use it to begin his investigation. He knew that his quarry was last seen at the Bison in Cheshire, and decided that that was probably the best place to start.

Informing his instructor of where he was going, he picked up the relevant papers and apparated directly to the pub in question. His investigation that day took him from Cheshire to Strathclyde and finally to Kent. And he returned to his desk with a wealth of possibly useful, but then again probably worthless, information which would take him another few hours to read through and make sense of.

There was a note on his desk, and he picked it with a smile; it was from Hannah confirming that she would most definitely still be coming to dinner that evening, and was looking forward to celebrating his success with him. He sat down with a sigh, and pulled the paperwork towards him; he still had a long way to go before home time.

When he got home his ferret was waiting for him and, as if remembering Neville's words from that morning, ran excitedly from one side of its cage to the other, stopping to nudge the latch of the door; Neville watched it for a moment, waiting to see if it'd do it again, and when it did, he nodded:

"So, you want out…" It stopped with its paw on the latch, sniffing the air. "Ok, but I warn you, if you bite me, you're going straight back in."

Tentatively he reached over and pulled the door open; and the second the ferret was free it tore off and around the room faster than Neville could react; all he could do was stand and listen while things crashed and fell in what seemed like every corner of the flat, and wait.

When it finally fell silent he stepped out of the kitchen to assess the damage, and swore quietly under his breath – Hannah would be there within an hour and the place looked like he'd just been burgled. And to make matters worse there was no sign of the ferret; after a quick look under the furniture and on top of the book case, he concluded that he'd have to leave a proper search till later.

With a sigh he flicked his wand in the direction of the mess and watched distractedly as things began to return to their proper places; then he turned back to kitchen and began to prepare dinner. What felt like only a few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the front door, and he put the fork down and went to open it.

Hannah stood there with a bottle of wine in her hand and a smile on her face; he returned her smile, gave her a light kiss on the cheek, and then followed her into the living room, keeping his eye out for the ferret; but there was still no sign of it. It was after they had finished dinner, and relocated to the sofa that Hannah gave a small cry of surprise: "What is that?"

Neville reacted quickly, catching the ferret by the scruff of the neck before it could once again disappear, and within a few steps he was in the kitchen, and the ferret was once again in its cage; it standing up on its hind legs to stare at them both: "Hannah, I'd like you to meet my ferret." He gave her a lopsided smile.

"Oh, it's so cute." She cooed, leaning down to look at it closer; Neville raised both eyebrows in disagreement. "Do you remember in fourth year when Professor Moody turned Malfoy into a ferret?" there was laughter in her voice, and Neville nodded. "He reminds me a bit of Malfoy,"

"I thought that at first, but then decided it was mean,"

"You're probably right," she answered, looking suitably chastised. They laughed and then she picked up her wine glass and returned to the living room. Neville turned back to the ferret and muttered quietly. "Don't you ruin my evening, ok? This could be the deal-breaker."

It twitched its whiskers at him, and he turned back towards Hannah, leaving the kitchen door open so that he could keep an eye on it.

It was always nice to wake up in the morning with Hannah beside him, and he whistled softly as he wondering into the kitchen to make tea and crumpets. He stopped at the cage and peered down at the sleeping ferret, curled in a small ball; it opened one eye and stared back up at him: "How're you doing today, little Ifrit?"

He paused and thought for a moment, deciding that that was probably a very apt name for the destructive little beast. Neville was just swiping the butter over the crumpets when Hannah appeared in the doorway, her hair tussled and eyes still bleary from sleep. He placed the tea mug down on the table and she sat down and took a sip.

"So, what did you want to do today?" She looked out the window, and smiled absently at the sun. "Perhaps we could try and take Ifrit for a walk…?"

"Ifrit…?" She yawned; and he inclined his head towards the ferret cage. "Ok, sure; that would be nice. But, I have to be back at the Leaky by seven thirty."

"Not a problem," He kissed her lightly on the nape of her neck, and then summoned the ferret harness to him. This time when he opened the cage door he was ready to catch the little bugger if it made a run for it, but to his surprise it did no more than wait patiently to be picked up. He reached in and pulled it out, running his hand gently over the fur, before looking at the harness and wondering just how he was supposed to get it on the ferret.

In the end he resorted to using a spell, and then watched in amusement as Ifrit rolled around on the kitchen floor, tugging and biting playfully at the harness; it seemed the ferret was happy at the idea of getting out of the house for the first time in over a month. Hannah also watched its antics, smiling and laughing; while she showered, he walked the ferret around the living room, making sure to keep it away from anything it could destroy.

It turned out to be a very enjoyable walk even if, or especially because, they were yelled at repeatedly by angry by-passers who where unaccustomed to having a frenetic ferret nip at their ankles. Hannah thought it was all very funny, and laughed quietly against his shoulder as he apologized for his ferret's behaviour.

In the end, he'd decided he'd be better off carrying it; which Hannah thought even more amusing, making quips about him being the hardcore Auror with his cute little fluffy pet ferret. And it was true that at first he had felt a little embarrassed by people's glances, but that passed rather quickly when he realised that this'd probably be a staple part of his evening routine.

They got back to the flat in enough time for Hannah to pick up her stuff, say a quick goodbye and floo back to the Leaky Cauldron.

And he settled down to work for the rest of the evening.

A week later and he still hadn't caught the clue; his interviews with the quarries family had been no more than a series of noncommittal and monosyllabic responses which had left him with nothing more than he'd arrived with, and his reading of the Death Eater files had thrown up very little.

He was still required to meet with his instructor once a day, and after two hours of flicking through endless paperwork, he got up and made his way to the practice room. His instructor was waiting for him, and smiled slightly at Neville's obvious fatigue.

"And people think it's the physical stuff that drains us," Neville responded with a vague nod, his mind still on his case. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Are we allowed to discuss my investigation?"

"Of course, I have to know you're on the right track and not just wondering around aimlessly,"

That made perfect sense, and so Neville detailed what he'd found out so far, and what he intended to do next. His instructor listened while he went about creating their dueling environment, and when Neville stopped talking, said: "Well, it sounds like you're doing everything you should be."

And that was it.

Neville inhaled deeply, and took out his wand.

That night when he collapsed into his seat at the Bell Jar, he joined Harry and Ron in their dissatisfaction, all of them disappointed in their lack of progress so far. They had one drink and then went home to their respective partners; Neville went home to his ferret.

Over the course of the week, Ifrit had been starting to do something rather strange when let out of his cage and Neville wasn't entirely sure if it was normal ferret behaviour or if Ifrit was threatening him. Rather than leave it to chance he decided to firecall the ani-healer that had been responsible for Ifrit's treatment.

The healer's characteristically cheerful face came into view: "Ah, Mr. Longbottom, how goes it with your new pet?"

"Actually, I'm not sure,"

The healer moved closer to the fire and sat down on the table edge: "What is it?"

"Well, he's started to bound at me, twisting from side to side, with his mouth open; it looks quite menacing to be honest."

The healer laughed, and then stood back up: "Oh, that's quite normal; they do that when they're happy or excited. Nothing to be afraid of, I assure you."

And so rather than shy away, Neville started to play with Ifrit, tumbling and rolling him until he got so excited he'd run and hide under the bed; it never failed to put a smile on his face, even after a long day at the office. It was on one such evening while he sat stroking Ifrit's fur that it came to him, the final piece of the jigsaw fitting into place; and he smiled, taking another sip of tea.

That had been his first case solved, and shortly after they came in a quick succession. It was a continuous stream of work, an ongoing test of his overall perseverance – stress. Hannah started to complain that she wasn't seeing him enough, and he made a concerted effort to spend more of his free time with her, even if that meant sitting together and reading quietly on the sofa.

She had recently lent him a book that she'd picked up at a fair, and it hadn't taken him long to become completely immersed in it, taking any opportunity to slip back into that world, and escape from his own. He was alone when he reached the end, and he was pleased of that fact; his overpowering emotional reaction to it taking him completely by surprise; he felt the lump in his throat and instantly put the book down.

Ifrit, who had been absently exploring the room, paused and stared up at him, nose twitching.

"Yes, I know, I'm a big softy; hardly fit to be called an Auror."

Ifrit went on with his exploration of the room, and Neville went to the bathroom to blow his nose. When he returned there was a Ministry owl knocking impatiently at the window; he quickly opened it, took the parchment, and closed it again before Ifrit could make any sudden moves.

"Ok, so let's see my new assignment…"

He wondered over to the desk and lit the lantern, flipped back the cover and stopped; staring back at him were a pair of gray eyes he hadn't seen since Hogwarts, and had hoped never to see again – Draco Malfoy. He sat down heavily and sighed, reaching for the decanter to refill his glass.

It was only when Ifrit clambered onto the desk in front of him, that Neville decided it was time to go to bed; with the end of his book and the beginning of his new assignment it had been an altogether miserable evening. Ifrit sniffed at the photograph, and Neville ran a hand over his back, before picking him up and bringing him back into the kitchen.

"Good night, Ifrit."

He didn't know why but from the very start this case felt different from all the others, maybe because he'd known the quarry or maybe because of the crush he'd once had on his quarry. It felt more like a trespass, like he was rummaging around somewhere he had no right to rummage.

The file said Malfoy had disappeared over a month ago, in what the Ministry considered suspicious circumstances. Last known location: his apartment just off of Nocturne Alley; and as per usual, Neville decided to begin the investigation there. Apparating directly to Nocturne Alley, he took the relevant turning, stopping short outside the ramshackle building that had become Malfoy's home.

He'd been instructed to talk to the landlady and so knocked on the door of the lower-floor apartment; a middle-aged woman answered, and he smiled, showing her his Auror badge, making it clear, by law, that he was still in training. She studied his badge for a long moment and then stepped back and let him pass inside.

"You here about Draco…?"

He nodded.

"Well, it's about time someone showed up; I reported him missing weeks ago."

Neville glanced around his surroundings, took a deep breath and then turned around to face her.

"The Ministry is a very busy place, Ms. Aldridge; I'm sure it wasn't deliberate."

"Bollocks," was her only response, and Neville had to agree that yes, it certainly was. He asked for the master key to Malfoy's apartment, and she poked around in a battered old bureau, before turning back to him and insisting that she accompany him. They made there way up the rickety stairs, and stopped outside a door on the fourth floor.

"Can you tell me anything about the night Mr. Malfoy went missing?"

"I already told the Law Enforcement Officer everything." She replied belligerently.

"I understand that, Ms. Aldridge; and I have read the file, but I find it helps to hear the information from the horse's mouth, as it were."

She shrugged: "I don't know much; I guess it must have been about eleven thirty, I was just returning from the Black Cat, when a man bowled passed me, nearly knocked me into the gutter; he was holding something in his arms but I couldn't see what it was. When I got back here, the front door was open, and Mrs. McGivney upstairs was in the hallway," she motioned back down the stairs. "She was in a right state, saying that she'd heard shouting and cursing in Draco's apartment, there'd been a right thump on her ceiling; she has the apartment directly under Draco's; and when she'd gone up to see if he was alright, the door was open and she found the place like this,"

At that point she unlocked the door, and let it swing inwards; Neville took a step inside and paused – the place was indeed a mess, books and papers scattered everywhere, furniture overturned.

"Thank you, Ms. Aldridge; I'll just take a quick look around and come find you when I'm done."

She frowned at him but didn't argue, disappearing back down the dark passageway. He closed the door behind him, and took in the scene before him; it seemed that whoever had been here, had been looking for something, and there was evidence of spell damage on one of the walls and door.

Neville reached down and picked up a photo frame at his feet; it was a picture of the Malfoy family in much happier times, drinking ice tea on a large open lawn, with an impressive house in the background. Neville placed the photo on a shelf, and removed his wand, beginning his investigation in earnest.

An hour later he packed up, and headed back down stairs.

"Thank you, Ms. Aldridge; I've got everything I need now." He stood in the doorway to her apartment. "Do you know if Mr. Malfoy had many visitors?"

"Nobody came to see him really, apart for this one girl,"

He opened his satchel and pulled a photo from the folder: "Is this the girl?"

"Yes, that's her."

He put the photo back in his bag, thanked Ms. Aldridge once more and made his exit. First things first, he'd drop his paperwork off at the Ministry and then he'd head back out for his next interview.

Pansy Parkinson, however, was harder to track down then he'd expected; he eventually found her at an address in Hertfordshire.

She opened the door, looking very much the same as she had the last time he'd seen her: "What do you want?"

"Good afternoon to you too, Pansy…" He gave her a small smile and showed her his Auror badge.

At this her whole demeanor changed, and her mild frown became a full bodied scowl. "What do you want?" she repeated.

"I'm sure you know that Draco Malfoy has disappeared; I just want to ask you a few questions about the last time you saw him."

Pansy took a step forward and pulled the door out behind her; they were both now standing on the doorstep.

"I don't know anything about Draco's disappearance," she said.

"Did he seem worried to you, the last time you saw him; did he say anything unusual, or out of character?"

She stared at him long and hard, before shaking her head – no.

"Do you know anyone that might have something against Draco?"

"You're kidding, right?"

Neville thought about that for a moment and then concluded that it probably was a silly question; it was just part of the arsenal.

"Look, Longbottom, this has been nice, but I really have to be getting back to things, so if you don't mind…" she stepped back into the house, and gave him a look that spoke volumes.

Neville could tell that she was agitated and eager to get rid of him, she was hiding something, but under the circumstances he thought it best to not push it just now.

"Just one more quick question and then I'll leave you to your business," when she didn't close the door in his face he continued: "Was there a particular place Draco liked to hang out, a specific bar or restaurant?"

"We used to go to the Crows Foot," she muttered and then did close the door.

He turned for home.

Neville canceled his plans with Hannah, and settled down to read Malfoy's file from cover to cover. Ifrit was oddly subdued that evening and even though Neville had tried to coax him into playing, he wasn't the slightest bit interested; when Neville retired to the bedroom, Ifrit followed him, burrowing down under the covers at the end of the bed.

It seemed that all the Malfoy assets had been frozen pending the outcome of the trial, which kept being pushed back to later and later dates and the Malfoy Manor had been repossessed and searched from ghoul infested attic to ghost infesting dungeon. With both parents in custody, Draco had been left with very few options - taking a job and residency in Nocturne Alley.

He had kept his head below the radar until the point he had disappeared.

Neville put the file down beside him and leaned over to blow out the lantern. In the darkness he whispered: "Where is he, Ifrit, where on earth is he?"

He rose early the next morning to find Ifrit still curled up at the end of the bed; he ran a finger gently between his ears, and then carried him back to his cage, promising that he'd take him for a walk later on, when he got home. His first stop of the day was to the Crows Foot; a seedy and cheap little pub on the intersection between Nocturne and Horizont Alleys.

Neville had decided against wearing his Auror robes for this visit and instead wore a pair of simple black trousers, and matching black pullover. Nobody looked up as he entered, and he made his way over to the bar, ordering a straight firewhiskey over ice. The barman looked at him with interest as he placed the drink down on the bar.

"You seen this man recently?" Neville asked showing him a photo of Draco. The bar man asked him why he wanted to know; Neville implied that the people he worked for wanted to know, leaving it completely open to interpretation.

"You're not the first one to come in here looking for that one," the barman offered. "Another man, long fiery red hair, came in the other month, offered money for information."

"I could offer money," Neville muttered; the barman laughed.

"I told him to fuck off, mate; you want the same?"

Neville smiled and raised his hands in peace: "Do you know if anyone did take him up on his offer?"

The barman thought for a short time and when he did speak, it was with a tinge of regret in his voice: "That kid was alright, kept himself to himself mostly and always paid the bill,"

Neville waited.

"That guy over there, the one sitting in the last booth," Neville turned round, looked and nodded. "Go talk to him."

The man in the final booth turned out to be a right piece of work, the kind of man who would sell his own mother for a few extra pennies. He told Neville what he'd told the man with the fiery red hair, and Neville handed over two galleons for the trouble. As he was about to walk away he said: "He ever come in here with a girl?"

"Sure," the man replied lecherously. "A pretty little blonde thing,"

Neville had expected him to say a dark haired girl – Pansy. "Do you know this girls' name, where she lives?"

The man held out his hand for more money, and Neville placed another galleon on his palm. "Don't know her name, but she lives on Michelson Street, number 11."

Neville walked away quickly, eager to escape the lingering smell of greed.

Number Eleven Michelson Street was just around the corner from Draco's apartment on Nocturne, and Neville made his way there directly. He was just turning the corner, when a door opened on to the street and Pansy Parkinson stepped out, looking worn and anxious; her gaze darted up and down the street and Neville ducked back into the alley.

He waited until she was gone, before making his way to number eleven, the very same house Pansy had exited. He reached for his wand, and knocked once on the door, it opened a fraction and a pinched face stared out at him, a shock of blonde hair. When she saw that he wasn't anyone she knew, she immediately tried to slam it shut but he put his shoulder behind it and pushed it open; stepping inside, he closed the door behind him.

Before she could react he pulled out his Auror badge and asked her to remain calm, he only wanted some information about Draco Malfoy. This did not seem to put her any more at ease, and she stood there in the hallway staring at him with large eyes.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," he began. "As I said, I only want to ask a few questions about Draco."

"So, ask your questions."

There were a number of things he needed to know, namely: who she was and what relation she was to Draco; when the last time was she'd seen him; what they'd talked about; if she had any idea where he was. When she wasn't forth coming he offered her a night in a Ministry cell, and that freed her lips.

Her name was Lizzie Grantham, and she worked with Draco. She'd seen him a few days before his disappearance, and yes he had been preoccupied and restless. He wouldn't tell her what was wrong, said that it was too dangerous for her to know, that if anything happened to him, than she should just keep her head down. When Neville pushed her, she offered him one final piece of information.

"He said the name Lestrange, if that means anything to you."

Yes, indeed that name did mean something to him; it meant growing up with no parents. But the real question was what it meant to Draco.

That evening, as promised, he took Ifrit for a walk; heading first in the direction of the park, he soon changed his mind and headed instead for the Ministry building. Pansy Parkinson had gone to ground and with no way of finding her, he intended to pull the files on both Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange.

Ifrit walked at his side, sniffing at the odd bit of rubbish, oblivious to Neville's woes. It was as they were nearing the inner courtyard that Ron called out to him, and he wondered over to where he and Harry were sitting outside one of the small cafes, amused looks on their faces.

"What?" he asked self-consciously.

"And that is?" Ron replied, nudging his head in Ifrit's direction.

Neville smiled and was about to answer when Ifrit's attention was suddenly caught by something and he tore off after it, the lead magically extending the further he went: "That was my ferret, Ifrit." They watched as Ifrit bound across the courtyard, only to bound back down again a few moments later after a terrified squirrel. Neville laughed quietly and shook his head, turning back to the others: "What are you two still doing here?"

"Extra credit," Ron moaned.

Neville looked at him in sympathy; they'd all had to put in extra hours over the course of their training. Ron's instructor, Auror Cartwright, walked into the courtyard, and Ron reluctantly said his goodbyes and went to greet him. Ifrit ran across their path and Auror Cartwright trailed the ferret for a moment before continuing on his way into the building.

"I'm just waiting for Gin," Harry added, and Neville took Ron's empty chair. Over the next few minutes they exchanged progress reports, with Neville deliberately omitting the name of his quarry, and then Ginny sidled over; they hugged and she playfully wrangled him about not coming round for dinner, and then they left, arm in arm.

Neville muttered the spell that slowly reeled Ifrit back into him, and he picked the ferret up before heading into the office. It didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for and they were soon heading back home. Once again he canceled his date with Hannah; unbeknownst to him that it would be last time he did so, and settled into bed, with a glass of firewhiskey at his side, and a sleeping ferret at his feet.

As was Ministry custom all prisoners, on entry to Azkaban, had their heads shaved, and Neville sat for a long moment staring at the gaunt face of Rabastan Lestrange, trying to imagine what he would look like with hair. After a short time he put the file down and turned to look out the window. For all his reading, the Lestrange files had thrown up no new leads.

Neville sighed and turned back to his desk, only then noticing a second set of eyes staring out at him from the mess of papers; sifting quickly through them, he pulled out the file marked 'known associates', and sure enough there was the image of Lucius Malfoy, glowering back at him.

His heartbeat quickened and, reaching for a parchment and quill, he quickly wrote out a request for an interview with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, both of whom where still being held under top security, and sent it on its way - wondering all the time why he hadn't thought to do so earlier in his investigation.

Neville knew that the clearance would take a week, possibly more, to come through and was prepared for the wait. He was just wondering into the kitchen to start arranging dinner, when a knock came at the front door, and he answered it with a slight twinge of apprehension, knowing that he wasn't expecting visitors.

It was Hannah. He smiled warmly, and leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek, but she pulled back ever so slightly, and refused to meet his eyes. With the first fluttering of unease in the pit of his stomach, he turned and led her into the living room.

Ifrit was curled up in a corner of the sofa and Neville reached down to brush him off, giving him a warning flick on the nose, when the ferret nipped at him irritably; Ifrit sneezed and turned in a tight circle, before dashing under the bookshelf where Neville couldn't reach him. Hannah laughed, almost despite herself, and perched on the edge of the recently vacated sofa.

"It's good to see you, Han," Neville said after a moment of awkward silence.

She looked up to meet his gaze and he knew then what was coming.

"I'm really sorry, Neville, but…"

He cut her off: "Don't, Han. Don't do this. I'm sorry; I shouldn't have cancelled on you all those times. I should have been there more. But I'll sort it out,"

Hannah stared at him, her eyes glinting, and then she looked away: "I've met someone else," Neville's head span and he sat down heavily on the sofa beside her. "I just can't be with someone who's never there, Nev." She continued. "I need more than that. I deserve more than that."

Now she sounded angry. And Neville couldn't honestly blame her.

"Who is he?"

Her cheeks flushed, and once again she wouldn't meet his eyes. "He works at the Leaky too, in the kitchen."

Neville nodded.

"I'm really sorry, Neville," she said again, and when he didn't respond: "I really hope we can still be friends,"

Then he looked up, and gave her a small smile of reassurance; as she was leaving she hugged him, her eyes filling with tears: "You take care of yourself, okay?"

"Don't worry about me, Han, I'll be just fine."

Even though, right at that particular moment, he thought he'd probably be anything but.

A few days later and his clearance to see the Malfoy's came through.

It always surprised him just how chill Azkaban could be, the cold seeping out of the stone and into your bones. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around him as he followed the guard down the dimly lit corridor; every so often he glanced at the cells as they passed and then wished that he hadn't. There was no hope in this place, even without the Dementors.

The interview room was sparse, a table and four chairs, the two facing the door were occupied, and he felt his discomfort grow as he took the first empty seat in front of him. The guard hovered in the doorway and then at a sign from Neville, left the room, locking the door once again behind him.

Neville stared at Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy and they stared back at him; nobody spoke, and in the candlelight Neville thought they both looked far older than their years. But, despite the obvious bad treatment and living conditions they both still held an air of superiority that made Neville feel oddly inadequate.

He cleared his throat and said: "Do you know why I'm here?"

"You want information on the Lestranges'," Lucius all but purred, an undertone of danger.

"That's correct; anything you could tell me would greatly help my investigation."

Lucius turned away from him and determined to stare at the wall rather than say another word. Narcissa was just as unforthcoming.

"I'm not sure that you do completely understand why I'm here," Neville said after a short moment, unable to except that both parents would care so little about the welfare of their only son. "Your son is missing, and without your help I have no way of finding him." He was vaguely aware of the desperation in his voice, but refused to give into it.

Lucius looked back at him, his eyes now alert and face pinched with worry, after a prolonged moment of silence, he said: "I'm not sure what we can tell you, as far as we were concerned, both Rodolphus and Rabastan died during the battle."

Neville nodded, that was just as the Ministry files had said. He stared at them both for a minute longer, deep in thought: "There has to be more to it; the last name Draco mentioned before disappearing was Lestrange - he was afraid."

Lucius met his eyes with a steady gaze, but it was Narcissa who spoke: "Rodolphus sometimes went by the name Cartwright."

The name buzzed around Neville's head for a moment and then his mind lighted on the appropriate association: "You couldn't possibly mean Auror Instructor Cartwright…" Neville left the thought hanging; he jumped a little when Lucius gave a short burst of laughter.

"Roddy always was a clever son of a bitch."

Neville was nearer to home than he was to the office, so he headed there directly, intent on sending a message to his own Instructor detailing what he had discovered. He knew that the evidence was compelling but also knew he couldn't simply go to the Ministry and accuse a senior officer of being a Death Eater. He knew that that was a job for the big-guns, and he was only small-fry.

It was now late in the afternoon and the sun was low in the sky, the streets busy with people on their way home from work, and he dodged his way through them, his frustration growing each time his path was blocked. Eventually he made it back to his flat, dropping the wards before he even reached the front door, and made straight for his desk.

His mind still racing at the possibility that Ron's Instructor could be Rodolphus Lestrange, he scribbled a hasty note, his quill dripping large blots of ink on the parchment. It was just too large to accept, and yet explained in startling clarity Draco's fear and subsequent disappearance – Aurors had carte blanche, if Cartwright had wanted Draco gone, he could very easily have made him gone.

There was a noise behind him, and Neville thought back to that morning, unsure for a moment whether he had remembered to put Ifrit back in his cage. Slowly, he reached for his wand, and placed it on the desk in front of him. The noise came again, and Neville spun around, wand in hand, ducking just as the curse whizzed by his head.

Shit.

Neville threw a counter curse, and watched as his assailant dodged behind the sofa. For a few frenzied minutes they exchanged blazing curses and then one of Neville's struck home and he watched as the others wand flew through the air and rattled off the wall; there was a soft thump and then nothing.

After a short time, in which he regained his breath and his composure, he rose from his place of safety behind the desk and carefully made his way over to the sofa, the closer he got the more certain he became that his assailant was unconscious, a pale and motionless hand just visible. Wand still at the ready, he stepped around and into the main part of the living room, glancing round quickly for Ifrit.

It was as he was leaning down to check for a pulse, that his assailant rose up onto his haunches and hit Neville with a curse from a concealed wand. And, as he flew through the air, his body racked with pain, he chided himself for his own utter stupidity. His assailant – Lestrange, no longer disguised by his glamour - stood up slowly and loomed over him, a slight smile playing over his lips.

"And no matter how many times we try to teach you, the one thing trainees seem incapable of learning without first hand experience, is the feint."

Neville stared up at him, unable to understand how he'd known; how he'd realised that Neville knew who he was; how he'd known to come here, to Neville's flat. His gaze darted the room, coming to rest on his wand, no more than a foot away from him, leaning against a plant pot.

Lestrange followed his gaze, and then cast another curse; Neville's body contorted off the floor, and he bit down on the scream that almost escaped his lips. "Where is he?"

"Who…?" Neville croaked, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Don't play games with me, Longbottom." Lestrange warned. "Tell me where he is."

And it was then that he realised Lestrange thought he knew where Draco was: "I don't know; why don't you tell me?"

Lestrange thought for a moment and then crouched down beside him: "Where is the ferret?"

Ifrit.

Neville's mind reeled.

Draco.

"What ferret?"

Lestrange cast another curse, and once again Neville's body twisted unnaturally off of the floor. But this time Lestrange held the curse, and Neville found it near impossible not to scream, a tremulous and near silent cry erupting from his mouth. He saw the colours flash before his eyes and knew that unconscious was close; biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood he fought it back, his vision crashed back with startling clarity.

Lestrange was still crouched at his side; he reached out a gentle hand and cradled Neville's chin, bringing his head round to face him. "I wonder how long it would take for you to break, Neville. I wonder if you'd last as long as your parents." Neville yanked his head away. "Perhaps we should find out, eh?"

The curse hit him again, and didn't let up.

"Scream," Lestrange purred. "Scream like your mother screamed."

Neville felt the bile rise in his throat, and would have choked on his own vomit, if Lestrange hadn't kicked him over onto his side. The remains of his lunch spattered the living room carpet, and Neville blinked back the tears, trying to push himself up onto his knees. A strategically placed foot, and Lestrange pushed him back down, flat on his stomach.

Even though he expected the curse, it still reduced his world to no more than quivering nerve-endings, fire filled veins. A silent and prolonged scream issued from his mouth, and he gasped for air.

"Scream," Lestrange whispered in his ear, and Neville said the only thing that ever came to his mind:

"When hell freezes over,"

The curse lifted, and Lestrange stood up.

Neville gasped in much needed air, and once again looked for his wand.

"Oh, yes; how could I possibly forget?" Lestrange growled, drawing Neville's attention instantly back to him. "The great hero, the hope bringer – that's you isn't it, Neville?"

And Neville wished in that moment that he hadn't just connected both events in the Death Eaters mind.

"You fucking, little, wanker."

The kick connected with his ribs, and lifted him up off the floor; he landed again with a soft oof, certain of broken bones; rising painfully to his knees, he inched closer to his wand; Lestrange landed another kick to his ribs, and Neville collapsed back to the floor, his chest wheezing and breath laboured.

"Let me promise you, you won't make it out of this one alive."

Neville reached out for his wand, and Lestrange stepped down on his hand, grinding his foot twice; the fine bones crushed and snapped, and this time Neville did scream. The colours flashed back before his eyes, accompanied this time by a ringing in his ears; the prolonged and compounded pain finally combining to beat him.

Lestrange stood over him, wand in hand, curse ready on his lips, and Neville slowly closed and reopened his eyes; his head felt heavy and he rested his left cheek against the soft pile of the carpet, noting abstractly the circle of blood radiating out from him; he closed his eyes again, and this time did not reopen them.

There was the sound of a scuffle and then a thump and then silence.

With the last vestiges of his strength, Neville forced his eyes open; Lestrange lay unconscious at his feet, and Draco Malfoy now stood over him, hands resting calmly at his sides.

Neville frowned and then finally succumbed to the darkness that dragged him under.

He opened his eyes, his gaze slowly drifting around the room; it took a moment for his brain to register that he was in the serious injuries ward at St Mungo's (a ward specifically reserved for Aurors), and a moment longer to notice the man standing next to him. He gave his Instructor a small, apologetic smile, and pushed himself up against the pillows, wincing a little as his back protested.

"Take it slow, trainee; the Medi-wizards say you'll make a full recovery but you're not fixed yet."

Neville glanced down at the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso and his hand, the memory of pain.

"What happened…?" he croaked, only then remembering Draco standing over him and Lestrange unconscious at his feet. "Draco…?"

His Instructor gave a small laugh, and shook his head: "Yes, well there's a story."

And he went on to explain as much as he knew, which at that point wasn't very much: his Instructor had received an owl from Neville, detailing his suspicions about Lestrange, a message they later learned was sent by, as his Instructor called him, young mister Malfoy; he'd arrived at Neville's flat to find him close to death and Lestrange bound and insensible, Malfoy waiting patiently for him. He'd taken both men into custody and called St Mungo's.

"Did you know that Draco Malfoy was an animagus?" Neville shook his head, his Instructor nodded. "Yes, it seems he was laying low in your flat."

Neville swallowed, suddenly recalling every word he'd spoken to Ifrit, every light and gentle touch; the flush crept up his cheeks and burned brightly. He also recalled how afraid the ferret had been when Neville had first found him, bloodied and broken in the alleyway.

He looked up at his Instructor: "And Lestrange…?"

"You don't have to worry about him now; he'll be taken care of."

Neville leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes, when he opened them again his Instructor was gone, and Hannah was smiling down at him, a frail and fleeting thing: "So much for taking care of yourself."

"I had a guardian angel," he muttered, still befuddled from sleep. She gave him an odd look and then took his unhurt hand, brushing her thumb lightly over his wrist.

He closed his eyes again.

A week later he was discharged from St Mungo's with instructions that he weren't to return to work for at least another week – enforced leave, they called it. His flat was still in a shambolic state, his wand still propped uselessly against the plant pot; he picked it up, rotating it slowly in his hand, getting a feel for it once more, before tucking it back into his belt.

He wondered into the kitchen, noting with a pang of both loss and embarrassment the empty ferret cage, he picked it up and moved it to a dark corner of the room, then made himself a cup of tea, returning to the living room. It felt cold and empty, the first time in months that he'd truly been alone.

Neville strolled over to the desk, avoiding the rust coloured stain on the carpet; he sat down heavily.

He'd seen Draco twice since the incident, but both times they'd exchanged no more than pleasantries; the awkwardness between them almost a tangible thing with a life of its own. Neville thought that Draco had wanted to say something, but somehow couldn't make the words come, and so they'd made their excuses and parted.

There was a knock at the front door and he opened it to Harry and Ron.

Ron handed him a large bottle of firewhiskey: "Just a little something to celebrate you still being alive,"

"Thanks, guys." Neville said, his voice full of emotion.

And he meant it; it meant a lot to him that he wasn't alone right now. Harry cuffed him on the shoulder and then pushed passed and into the kitchen: "Where are the glasses, Nev?" Ron, a laugh on his lips, wondered into the living room and then stopped, looking briefly around at the mess, his expression suddenly guarded and tense; he glanced at Neville, and then reached into his pocket for his wand.

"Shouldn't take long to get this sorted,"

And with the three of them, it took no more than a few minutes, the blood in the carpet being the hardest thing to remove. They then collapsed on the sofa and slowly began to drink themselves into a stupor; at some point Neville stopped talking, but Harry and Ron continued to chatter, filling the flat with laughter, and Neville knew, in that instant, that that was exactly what friends were for.

He'd been back at work for a few days and hadn't yet been given a new assignment; he knew that they were giving him time to acclimatize to being back in the office, but he was starting to go mad from the tedium; he wanted to immerse himself once more in work, the excitement and challenge of finding his next quarry.

He tried to find his Instructor but after fifteen minutes concluded that he must be deliberately avoiding him and so Neville left the office early and went home. There was someone outside his front door, he could see the shadow on the wall of the stairwell; wrapping his hand around his wand, he slowly took the last few steps up.

Candlelight danced off silver, and Neville knew instantly who it was waiting for him; his heart leapt into his throat, and he loosened his grip on his wand.

"Draco," he said in greeting. "This is unexpected."

Draco looked at him for a long moment, and then looked away, a slight smile lingering on his lips: "I wanted to give you something," Neville didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. "In exchange for the one you lost."

Neville blinked in confusion, and was about to ask what Draco was talking about, when Draco indicated the cage at his feet. Neville glanced down and then laughed, the sound bubbling out of him, taking him almost by surprise – it was a ferret, a black-eyed white, staring up at him, nose twitching at the air. He wasn't as pretty as Ifrit, but he'd do just fine.

At the thought of Ifrit, he looked back at Draco, to find Draco staring at him with an intensity that made his feel weak. "I didn't lose my last one; I know exactly where he is." Neville muttered, for want of something to say. Draco smiled, a small, sad, half-lived smile: "His name's Alphabyte; I didn't name him."

"Does he bite…?" Neville asked uncertainly, recalling clearly just how sharp those little teeth could be.

"No," Draco replied, turning slightly towards the stairs.

"Do you want to come in…?" Neville asked quickly before Draco could make another move towards leaving and was greeted by stunned silence. "You don't have to, of course, I just thought…" Neville let his voice trail away, Draco no doubt knew him far better by now then probably any other living person; the thought made him blush, and he refused to look at Draco.

"If you're sure," Draco said quietly, and when Neville let the wards drop, followed him into the flat. They stood in silence for a moment and then Neville offered him a drink. "Do you have any milk left?" Draco asked speculatively, and then it was his cheeks that flushed – it had become a habit of Neville's to share his milk with Ifrit in the mornings.

Neville hid his smile as he walked into the kitchen, coming out a few moments later with two glasses. He handed one to Draco, who was now sitting in his customary place on the sofa, and put his on the end table, before leaning down and flipping open the latch on the ferret cage; Alphabyte sniffed uncertainly at the air, and then at Neville's hand, but made no attempt to escape when Neville picked him up.

"I thought you might prefer some company," Draco muttered, the look in his eyes telling Neville everything he needed to know.

"Thank you, Draco."

"How long have you liked me, Neville?" Draco asked, breaking the comfortable silence. They were sitting outside the café in the park, watching Alpha dig up the grass, drinking lukewarm cups of tea. Neville thought about ignoring his question and changing the subject, knowing that Draco would no doubt let him.

Slowly he dragged his gaze away from Alpha and looked at Draco, he shrugged a little: "I don't know really, a while; since school I guess."

Draco held his eyes for a prolonged moment and then nodded and looked away, back out over the park. "Y'know, when you found me, I didn't know who you were," Neville knew he was talking about the cold, dark alleyway. "I recognized your smell, I knew you were a Gryffindor and was afraid that you'd hurt me too. Ferret brains don't really work the same way human brains do," Draco added as an afterthought, and Neville nodded. "But you took the pain away, and you looked after me; nobody's looked after me since my parents…" he let the thought slip, with a sigh. "And then that girl, Hannah, mentioned your name and I knew then who you were, and I knew that I'd be safe with you – you were an Auror. So, I stayed." Draco fell silent, a thoughtful look on his face. "Lestrange saw me that day at the Ministry, with you; he knew to look for me at your flat." And Neville instantly recalled that day; the way Cartwright's eyes had followed Ifrit, the way he'd glanced quickly at Neville before going inside. "I like you too, Neville."

Neville's stomach did a back-flip and his head suddenly felt light: "Are you sure you're not just confusing…?"

Draco cut him off: "I'm not confused."

He reached out and took Neville's hand in his; it felt soft and warm and Neville closed his fingers around it, holding on tightly. Draco smiled reassurance and then returned his gaze to Alpha.

Neville watched him for a short time longer noting, with a twinge of unease, the way the bones of Draco's shoulder stood out through his t-shirt, and how pronounced his cheekbones now were. He sighed and then said: "It doesn't make sense for you to stay in that place anymore; it's not doing you any good. I could always tidy the spare room and you could stay there, if you liked."

Draco tensed, and continued to watch Alpha, Neville all but held his breath; when Draco did speak it was low and Neville had to strain to hear him: "I'd happily take the guest room, Neville…" Draco looked up quickly and caught his eyes; Neville swallowed. "…if I'm not welcome in your bed; I'd actually grown quite partial to your bed."

Neville's heart stood still for two beats, and then sped up. "Now that you mention it, my bed does feel strange without you."

Draco eyes were intense, his pupils dilated. They both stared at each other for an infinite moment, knowing that everything was about to change and both a little afraid.

Then Draco smiled and Neville returned his smile.