“Neville!”
Behind him, Hermione’s shriek echoed through the Hall and Harry’s knees suddenly felt as though they had turned to water.
Neville Longbottom was standing silently in the Entrance Chamber of the Ministry, right outside the door Harry had just come through. A tall woman and a plump, bald man with a bushy brown beard stood beside him, and at hearing Neville’s name they looked up.
“Neville, what--we thought--” Harry began weakly, staring at Neville in shock and disbelief. How--how?
“Hi,” said Neville quietly. His eyes were blank and dull and he seemed smaller somehow, diminished. “They killed my gran, Harry.”
“Neville, I--I'm sorry about that… but how did you--?”
“Yes, we heard, in the Prophet--you were missing, Neville! We thought you were dead!” Tears were suddenly sparkling in Hermione’s eyes as she went over and embraced their friend.
Harry still couldn’t believe Neville was here, now, in the flesh. Scrimgeour was looking quizzically from Harry to Neville, and seemed about to speak when Ron and Ginny pushed through the door. They gasped in shock to see Neville standing before them, alive and uninjured apart from a large bruise over one cheek.
“Oh, I don’t believe it,” said Ginny breathlessly, while Ron simply gaped, speechless with amazement and relief.
“I take it you are Neville Longbottom, Frank and Alice’s son?” Scrimgeour asked Neville, one tawny eyebrow raised questioningly. Neville nodded.
“Good Aurors, those two. And Augusta was a fine old lady… pity, pity. So you are the boy reported missing this morning? How did you survive?”
“I think we all want to know that,” said Hermione faintly.
Neville just shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he said simply. “All I remember is the Death Eaters killing my gran….” He paused, breathing deeply. “And then I woke up on the ground. The investigators found me under a load of rubble later that morning. Our house is in ruins.”
The tall woman with him stepped forward at this point.
“Minister, we came to find you,” she said, her voice clipped and precise. “My name is Enid Longbottom, and this is my husband Algernon. We are Neville’s aunt and uncle.” The man with the bushy brown beard nodded affably at Scrimgeour, who just leant on his cane, watching them shrewdly.
“Neville is now homeless, Minister, and we need your advice. We would take him in but we have suspicions that You-Know-Who might be after him.” Scrimgeour raised his eyebrows and waited for her to continue.
“We need somewhere safe for him to live, somewhere protected by strong charms,” Enid finished, looking at Scrimgeour almost challengingly.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, immediately flashed into Harry’s mind and he exchanged a quick glance with Hermione; he could see she had thought of exactly the same thing.
Scrimgeour appeared to be thinking hard.
“Why do you think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is after the boy?” he said finally, without looking at Neville who stood silently by, eyes cast downward.
“Why?” Enid cast her palms upward. “We just don’t see what the Death Eaters would have wanted with Augusta--harmless old lady, always kept herself to herself--but Neville is Frank and Alice’s son, and they were both Aurors. I don’t know, Minister, I just think Neville was more probably their target than Augusta,”
“And yet Augusta was killed and Neville is alive--and appears remarkably well considering he was their ‘target.’”
“He was very lucky,” boomed Algernon Longbottom, clapping his hand on his nephew’s shoulder.
Suddenly, to Harry’s puzzlement, Scrimgeour’s eyes widened and he gave a strange, forced laugh. “What am I doing, discussing this here, especially after Neville’s ordeal this morning! Let’s all sit down and talk about this.”
He started limping quickly across the Hall as he spoke, and the group followed him. Passing witches and wizards were staring at them, and there was a lot of pointing and whispering going on. Most stares seemed to be directed at Neville--it seemed his face had been recognised from the morning Prophet. Just then, Harry saw Percy Weasley hurrying along the room, coming from behind them, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder at the Minister as he passed. For some reason Scrimgeour glared at his assistant, and Percy’s neck went slightly pink as he walked off. Harry watched this little scenario curiously; what was going on?
Neville was trailing behind, and Hermione went to put her arm comfortingly round his shoulders. Harry had never seen Neville look so forlorn. He felt a rush of sympathy for his friend, who had already lost his parents to madness at a young age and was now going through such hell.
“You four can get home without any problems?” said Scrimgeour, looking at them over his shoulder.
“Wait, I’m not going home ‘till I find out what’s going to happen to Neville!” said Harry indignantly, stopping dead in the middle of the Hall. “We’re his friends!”
“I really don’t think it’s necess--”
“I can help,” Harry added firmly.
“Oh, you can, can you?” said Enid, looking at him directly. Her eyes gleamed oddly as she stared at him, and her eyebrows lifted just the tiniest bit when she saw his scar. “And how can you help--ah, Harry?”
“I mean, I know somewhere safe for him to stay.”
“Where?” said Enid and Scrimgeour together. Neville suddenly looked up, and Harry thought he saw a shadow of interest flicker behind his eyes.
“It’s--it’s the place Dumbledore told me to stay at when I'm not at school, and it’s protected by the Fidelius Charm. I’m not the Secret Keeper so can’t tell you where, sorry. Neville can stay there--I have to live there to be safe. You know Voldemort’s after me too, yeah?” Harry spoke slightly sarcastically to Scrimgeour, ignoring the flinch that shivered through half the group at the mention of Voldemort’s name.
“I had guessed as much,” said Scrimgeour dryly.
“And this place is very safe, very hidden?” added Enid, almost off-handedly.
“Yes, I told you, it’s got the Fidelius Charm on it,” said Harry impatiently.
Enid and Algernon looked at each other. Then--
“Well, that sounds good to me!” said Algernon, beaming at Harry, and Enid nodded. “Yes, that should be perfect. Thank you, Harry.”
“You’d better come with us now, Neville,” said Harry, and Neville nodded. He gave his aunt and uncle a quick, automatic hug before turning away and waiting for Harry to leave. Harry found Neville’s withdrawn manner vaguely disconcerting, and he hoped fervently that Neville would recover sooner rather than later from the shock of his grandmother’s death.
“Goodbye, Neville--stay safe,” said Enid, watching her nephew turn away.
“Bye, Auntie Enid. Bye, Uncle Algie,” said Neville dispassionately.
“See you again, Harry,” said Scrimgeour, tapping his cane on the ground.
“Yeah, whatever,” said Harry bluntly. And with that, he turned and left the building with Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville close behind. “Neville, have you passed your Apparition test?”
“No,” said Neville. “I splinched myself.”
“Oh, er--okay,” said Harry, wincing. Splinching, or the splitting of random body parts from the body, was a particularly nasty effect of badly-performed Apparition. “Well, never mind, I’ll take you. Hang on to my arm.”
And with Neville gripping his wrist, Harry turned on the spot, concentrating on his destination: Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry felt the familiar squeezing sensation and then a sudden, violent jerk that left his arm feeling numb. He staggered into the hall of Sirius’ old house and found Ron, Hermione and Ginny beside him, but there was no sign of Neville.
“What happened to Neville?” said Hermione, surprised.
“I dunno!” said Harry, horrified, wheeling around to look behind him. “He was holding on to me--then he let go, I suppose.”
Hermione suddenly clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no! I forgot, he hasn’t been told by the Secret Keeper where Grimmauld Place is!”
“Oh, yeah,” said Ron, anxiously. “Where d’you reckon he is now?”
Harry went hastily to look out of the window, praying that Neville had only been forced to let go when they came close to the destination. And to his profound relief, he saw Neville lying on the ground, seemingly knocked unconscious by the sudden separation.
Hermione opened the door and rushed out to help him. As Harry watched her kneel down beside Neville’s prone figure, Ginny asked, “Who’s the Secret Keeper now Dumbledore’s gone?”
“McGonagall, probably,” said Ron. “We’re going to have to get her to tell Neville, somehow. Anyone know where she is?”
“What’s going on?” Mrs Weasley had appeared in the doorway.
“Mum, Neville’s alive and we’re bringing him back here but he can’t get in, who’s the Secret Keeper?” said Ron in one breath. Mrs Weasley looked bewildered and gasped in shock as she saw Neville lying on the ground.
“Oh, my goodness, the poor boy!”
“Is McGonagall the Secret Keeper?” said Ron impatiently.
“Oh--yes, yes, I’ll call her,” said Mrs Weasley, still looking wonderingly at Neville. She pulled out her wand, muttered ‘Expecto Patronum!’ and a streak of silver shot out of the tip and disappeared into an alleyway.
“She should be here soon; she’s in central London, I think.” At that moment Neville groaned and his eyes flickered open. He stared up at them all but didn’t speak. Harry was just wondering how to explain to Neville why he was lying on a cold stone pavement in front of a house he couldn’t see when there was a popping sound and Professor McGonagall appeared, looking white, shaken, and completely astounded.
“Mr Longbottom! How in the name of heaven did you survive? Well, never mind that now.” She lowered her voice. “The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix are here, at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.”
Neville stared beyond Harry at the house that had suddenly appeared, and he slowly got to his feet. Mrs Weasley chivvied him quickly inside after glancing round slightly nervously, checking for curious Muggles.
Neville was ordered straight into bed by Mrs Weasley and stayed there for the rest of the day. Harry was so relieved Neville was safe that he walked around the house that day in a sort of bubble of happiness. But he had learnt something: he was not going to hang around any longer while his friends were injured or killed--he was going to get out there and start finding those Horcruxes. Every day he delayed, Voldemort gained strength, gained followers, and destroyed more innocent lives.
But there was one thing he wanted to do first, and that was to visit his parents’ graves and the village where they had lived.
“When are you planning on going?” said Hermione when he mentioned this to her and Ron and Ginny. They were sitting in Harry’s bedroom talking in low voices so as not to disturb Neville, who was sleeping next door.
“As soon as Lupin gets back,” said Harry. “Which should be the day after tomorrow, if the whole ‘two days to persuade the werewolf’ thing works.”
“Why when Lupin gets back?” asked Ginny, frowning. “How can he help?”
“Well, he knew the house, and the village. He can guide us there,” said Harry. “And I think he’d like to go back.”
“How do you know he hasn’t already been back? What about your parents’ funeral? Surely he was there?” said Hermione sensibly.
“I dunno--but anyway, I’ll ask him. And in the meantime, maybe you could teach us some of those spells you’ve been learning from the Hogwarts books?”
Hermione beamed. “Oh, yes, I’ve found some really unusual stuff! Wait, I’ll find the books, there’s one really good one…”
She disappeared from the room and was back in less than a minute, her arms piled so high with dusty old books that only her forehead was visible over the top. She dumped them on Ron’s bed and started pushing them aside, searching for one in particular.
“This is it,” she murmured, carefully lifting a thin green book from the pile. Harry, Ron and Ginny sat down on the bed and peered over her shoulder at it. The peeling silver letters on the front read, ‘The Hidden Magicke’.
“Not very hidden if they stick it in a book and put it on display in a library,” commented Ron, earning himself a glare from Hermione as she placed the book on her lap. The old leather creaked as Hermione opened it, and the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck suddenly prickled. A strange tingling feeling of ancient magic emanated from the book’s yellow pages, and Harry sensed that the magic was not necessarily good.
“Right,” said Hermione briskly, flicking through the pages. “I’ve found some really different spells and curses in here. This Pyratus Curse could be useful, look--sends a wave of fire toward attackers. Might be good if we ever meet a load of Death Eaters--though it’s a really powerful spell so we might not actually be able to do it. And this Aveuglius Hex--ouch, it’ll blind the person you use it on. I think it’s only temporary, though,” she added as Harry raised his eyebrows.
“How about this one?” suggested Ron, indicating a line drawing in which a man lay on the floor with what appeared to be his insides spilling out.
“No thanks,” said Harry, turning the page hastily. “I need to get rid of Voldemort, not learn how to wrench people’s stomachs out of their bodies.”
“Well, this looks good,” said Ginny, her finger tracing the lines of the pages as she read the spell she had spotted. “Wow, I’m surprised this isn’t famous--see, it’s a charm that freezes whatever spell your opponent throws at you.”
“That could be worth learning,” said Hermione. “It might not work for the Unforgivables but for smaller curses, minor jinxes….”
“Yeah, that looks good,” Harry said approvingly. “Could come in really handy sometime. Inertus Incantatem… damn, it’s non-verbal… well, let’s try it.”
“I’ll hex you,” said Ginny, with an impish smile, pulling out her wand.
“Hang on,” said Harry hurriedly, getting up off the bed. “It’s non-verbal, I’m not very good at those!” He ran over the words in his head. Inertus Incantatem…Inertus Incantatem… Hermione ran out to put a Silencing Charm on Neville’s door, and when she came back in, closing the door with a snap, Harry steeled himself.
“Um, all right, you can try now,” he said apprehensively.
Ginny raised her wand before he could think. “Aurikulis!” she cried, and from the end of her wand exploded several huge, slimy greyish-yellow things that shot straight towards him, flapping dripping wings and baring small gooey fangs.
Harry was so revolted that he almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing. “Ginny!” he cried in revulsion. “That’s disgusting--I mean--” and just as the bat-shaped bogies reached him he thought quickly, Inertus Incantatem!
And the bogies stopped dead, flopping to the ground in a large, squelchy mass. Ginny looked slightly disappointed.
“That’s the first time my Bat-Bogey Hex hasn’t worked,” she said as she stepped delicately over the slimy heap on the floor and reached the bed.
“It’s great!” Hermione beamed. Wordlessly she Vanished the mess with a wave of her wand. “Now, if that works for darker spells, it’ll be really useful.”
They spent the next quarter of an hour practising the Inertia Charm. Harry was reminded strongly of Dumbledore’s Army, the defence club he had set up in his fifth year, as he hurled hex after hex at Hermione and she froze them easily.
“Hey, Harry,” she panted as she stopped a Slingshot Jinx in midair. “If we want really unusual spells, you should have a look through Snape’s old potions book, find some more he invented--”
Harry stared at her in disbelief. “I’m not touching that thing again!” he said vehemently. “Snape killed Dumbledore, remember?”
“But if it helps--” said Hermione reasonably, flinging a Jellylegs Jinx at Ginny, who froze it wordlessly and wandlessly.
“No,” said Harry flatly. “I’m not using any of Snape’s spells.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Harry--they’re just spells, and some of them are really good!”
“You weren’t saying that last year!”
“Last year you used Sectum Sempra on Malfoy, Harry, it nearly got you expelled--what was I supposed to do? Encourage you to try them on Crabbe and Goyle and everyone else who annoyed you?” She was looking impatient now. “Come on, Harry--what if one of them saved your life one day?”
“You can use them,” shrugged Harry, lowering his wand. “But I’m not using anything that Severus Snape invented, Hermione. Not unless it’s on him.” He raised his voice and shouted to Ron and Ginny before Hermione could protest. “I think we’ve got that one now, you two. Let’s try the Pyratus Charm.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Not inside the house, Harry, we’ll burn the place down. Let’s do this one instead…”
So they spent the rest of the day looking up new spells and trying them out. And as Harry practised hexing and blocking and all sorts of new things, he suddenly found he was feeling very happy. Now that he was actually doing something, learning things that could, perhaps, help him survive the last duel with Voldemort, he was glad. And if by the end of this week they had found Aberforth and got the locket… Harry tried not to feel too hopeful but he couldn’t help it. He was grinning broadly as he ducked and blocked spell after spell from Ron, and they only stopped the training session when Mrs Weasley poked her head round the door.
“Are you all right, dears? You’re making rather a lot of noise!” Her gaze travelled from Ginny, who was hastily putting out a small fire that was burning the ends of her hair, to Ron, who had thrown himself behind the dressing table to avoid a rain of icy shards that Hermione had sent flying at him, to Harry, who was laughing and shooting a thick chain from his wand around Hermione’s ankles, bringing her crashing to the floor.
“Harry, dear!” Mrs Weasley looked shocked.
“Oh--sorry, Mrs Weasley,” said Harry, helping Hermione up. “We’re just practising. It’s okay, really. Ginny’s healing us if we get hurt.” Mrs Weasley pursed her lips but seemed to decide not to pursue the matter, evidently resigned to the fact that they were not doing this for fun.
“Well, if you’re sure. Tea is on the table so you’d better come downstairs soon, anyway. Clear this mess up first,” she said, indicating the broken chairs and singed wood that were strewn over the floor, the result of that afternoon’s practice. The soft padding of her footsteps faded down the hall and then suddenly returned. Mrs Weasley popped her head back into the room.
“Oh, you might like to know that Remus is back earlier than he expected! And he’s brought a guest,” she added, smiling.
“Oh, good,” said Hermione. “He persuaded the other werewolf to leave?”
“Yes,” nodded Mrs Weasley. “His name’s Sullius, Sullius Rune--we’ve all met him before, actually.”
“We have?” said Harry and Ron together in surprise.
“Yes--you remember when Arthur was attacked by the snake? Sullius is the man who was bitten by the werewolf around the same time. he was in the same ward.”
Harry vaguely remembered seeing the man in St Mungo’s. The werewolf had had no visitors and Lupin had gone over to have a chat. Interested in meeting this Sullius, Harry performed the counter-curse that made the chains still tightly binding Hermione’s ankles disappear in a puff of brownish-grey smoke, and the four of them followed Mrs Weasley downstairs and into the kitchen.
When he entered, Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn to the stranger that sat at the kitchen table. Harry could not remember from St Mungo’s what Sullius had looked like, but he wasn't prepared to see such a grizzled, mournful-looking figure sitting before him. Sullius broke off the conversation he’d been having with Lupin and Tonks (who seemed to be happy and bubbly again) and glanced up at them as they entered the kitchen. His gaze remained on Harry rather longer than anyone else and he gave a friendly, if rather wary nod, standing up to shake their hands.
“Evening. The name’s Sullius--we’ve met before.” His voice was rough and gravelly.
“Erm--yeah, sort of,” said Harry, awkwardly, looking into Sullius’ deep-set eyes. Only two years as a werewolf seemed to have taken their toll on the man--his face was drawn and haggard, and a long scar ran from his left cheek across his mouth and down his chin. Sullius evidently saw Harry staring at it and turned away abruptly, back to Lupin.
“Remus is a good man,” Sullius said over his shoulder to them all. “Saved me from a nasty fate, he did. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d still be with Greyback and that lot.”
Lupin smiled. “I am glad you decided to come with me,” he said sincerely, as Harry and the rest of the sat down.
At that moment Mr Weasley entered the kitchen and held the door open for Neville who, despite his day in bed, had dark shadows under his eyes and was still quiet and lifeless. He silently took his place at the table next to Charlie and Flavia and started eating the steaming chicken and potatoes that a worried-looking Mrs Weasley handed him.
“Are you sure you’re well enough, dear?” Mrs Weasley said, watching Neville anxiously. “You can go back to bed if you like, I’ll bring you your meal on a tray.”
“No, ‘m all right,” mumbled Neville.
“He wanted to come down,” explained Mr Weasley to his wife in a low voice, and after a moment’s hesitation she shrugged helplessly and sat down. Harry guessed that she didn’t want to force Neville to do anything he didn’t want to do after what he had already been through today.
Harry had been waiting for this chance to talk to Lupin, but he waited until the meal was in full flow and Tonks, Charlie, Flavia, Sullius and Mr and Mrs Weasley were deep in conversation before leaning over to Lupin and muttering, “Professor? Can I ask you something?”
“Of course, Harry,” said Lupin, smiling.
“I'm going to go to Godric’s Hollow tomorrow. Will you come with me?” As soon as the words left his mouth Harry wished he hadn’t said anything; the smile had left Lupin’s face and a strange look flickered in his eyes for a brief moment. He took a while to reply.
“Harry, I--there is really nothing much there. The house was ruined, you know.” Lupin had laid his knife and fork down on his plate and was regarding Harry with a troubled expression. Neville had also looked up and was watching Harry.
“I know,” Harry said awkwardly, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m going to visit my Mum and Dad’s graves. Sorry--I shouldn’t’ve asked--”
But then Lupin interrupted him. “No--of course I will come, Harry. I’ll show you where they are buried. Are Ron and the others coming with you?”
Harry nodded. “And--you’re sure you don’t mind?” he said carefully.
Lupin just gave him a small smile and shook his head before picking up his knife and fork again and turning to join in the conversation with Sullius.
That night Harry went to bed feeling strangely excited; tomorrow he would see his parents’ graves--he would be closer to them than he had been since he was a very young boy. Harry put out the candles lighting his bedroom much earlier than usual, hoping that he would fall asleep quickly and the morning would come before he knew it.
Reviews would be extremely cool :)