Neville Longbottom sat on his bed, his head in his hands. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there, and he didn’t care. He had done little else for days now, ever since the Dementor incident. He didn’t know what to do, what to think or how to react, so he just stared down at the carpet, intently studying the specks of dust or dirt on it, trying to train his mind that that patch of floor was all that existed in the world, and to let no other thoughts enter his head.
It didn’t work, of course. He had to sleep sometime, and when he did, his dreams were plagued by the image of a boy standing motionless, inert, until a wand was waved in his direction. Then, for an instant, there was a look of such terrible shock and horror on the boy’s face, before the green light came and the boy fell. Each time, Neville would yell out, “Cedric!” but the boy heard him no more in the dreams than he had in reality, on the night when everything had changed.
Though he had escaped, Neville felt that in some way he had died that night, and now he was living a new, second life, darker and emptier than the first. The boy he was had vanished, and had been replaced with nothing, a hollow shell. It had been his fault that Cedric had died in that graveyard, and he could never atone for that, never, no matter how long his body continued to live.
He knew too that this was only the start. He remembered the words of Professor Trelawney’s prophecy, made a little over a year earlier, just before he discovered the truth about Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew: A second darkness shall fall and the end of the beginning shall be at hand. Well, now darkness had fallen. Dumbledore had said the beginning referred to Neville. But the beginning of what? It was terrifying to even consider.
He looked up for a moment and glanced out of the window of his bedroom. It was just going dark outside. Even though it was still very warm outside, Neville felt cold, as if the Dementors were still circling around him. It had been nearly a week since the attack, since the one moment of peace he’d enjoyed all summer had turned into another horrific scar on his memory.
All summer, since he returned from Hogwarts, he had been expecting, dreading that something would happen. Yet still the Dementors had come out of nowhere, and he had been unable to fight them off himself. Despite what had happened at the end of his third year, the Patronus Charm remained a spell largely beyond him. He simply wasn’t strong enough or powerful enough. It was his incompetence that had cost Cedric his life, and would no doubt cost him his own eventually. It was only a matter of waiting for the inevitable.
But with each day that passed, the waiting became more and more unbearable, especially as he had no idea what was happening in the world beyond Huddlesby. His Gran had said nothing about Voldemort’s return all summer, and Neville had not asked. It was as if a wall of silence had been thrown up between them, neither of them daring to mention the subject that hung over their lives, afraid that to say anything might break the uneasy apparent calm.
Gran had also kept all editions of the Daily Prophet delivered to the house away from Neville’s eyes, so Neville had received no news about what was going on either. He doubted whether he would even want to read it anyway, the no doubt endless stories of fear and suffering which would be flooding its pages would only serve to blacken his mood further.
He was alone, but alone was good. Alone was safe; no one could hurt him, and he could hurt no one else. After the attack, he had thought of writing to Hermione, his best friend, or Ginny, his girlfriend, letting them know what had happened, but he could not bring himself to put quill to parchment. Somewhere out there he imagined they were happy, safe, away from him. There was no need to burden them with his troubles. Besides, they had not written to him all summer, not even a note on his birthday. Ginny had promised to write to him regularly, obviously she had changed her mind. Neville didn’t blame her; he was sure she had better things to do. Who would want to be associated with a criminal, anyway?
A criminal, that’s what he was now. He had broken the cardinal law of wizarding society: he had used magic in front of a Muggle. Would they really throw him in Azkaban? Gran seemed determined that they wouldn’t, but what could she do? Neville didn’t think Azkaban was the worst place he could be right now, anyway. He would be protected from Voldemort, and it wasn’t as if he had any happiness left for the Dementors to take. They could not make him feel any worse than he did already.
He took out his wand and twirled it between his fingers. This was something he would certainly miss if it was taken away from him; the wand almost felt a part of him now, after four years. He owed it his life, as it had saved him in the graveyard. It had done so because it was the brother to Voldemort’s wand, something Neville had never given much thought to until Dumbledore had reminded him. The wand chooses the wizard, as the strange Mr Ollivander was fond of saying. Was this wand destined to fight Voldemort? If so, it had chosen poorly. Still, the wand had been good to him; it was a better wand than he deserved.
He glanced over at the pile of schoolwork on his desk. He hadn’t touched it all summer. There didn’t seem to be any point; he might not even be returning to Hogwarts anyway. What was the point of doing anything any more? He turned his head to the patch of floor again.
The sound of loud knocking broke the silence. Neville leapt to his feet, clutching his wand, his body trembling for a moment. It’s only the door, he told himself, to try and calm down. Death Eaters don’t announce themselves by knocking at the front door. But he was still nervous and confused. Who was calling at this time of night? He and Gran almost never got visitors.
He went out onto the landing and leaned over the banister to peer down the stairs at the front door. He saw Gran come out of the living room and approach the door cautiously. “Who is it?” she called in a firm voice.
In answer came a gruff voice that immediately turned Neville’s fear to relief and delight. “It is Alastor Moody, Mrs Longbottom. We last met on the grounds of Hogwarts, on the day of You-Know-Who’s return. I’m sure you recognise my voice by now. May we come in? And tell Neville to stop loitering at the top of the stairs and come down.”
Neville twitched slightly. He was used by now to Moody’s magical eye which could see through walls and around corners, but it was still disconcerting to suddenly discover he could be seen. He moved tentatively down onto the stairs as Gran opened the door to reveal the tall, broad-shouldered and unkempt figure of Moody standing behind it. His magical eye flitted this way and that in its socket. Behind him, Neville could just make out a large group of other individuals gathered on the front path.
Not one to stand on ceremony, Moody lumbered into the house without so much as a word to Gran, and passed on into the kitchen. Those that followed him in did each offer a polite “Good evening,” to Gran in turn, but with each that passed, Neville could see Gran’s increasing concern at how many others were going to be invading her house.
Six others filed in behind Moody: a young woman with bright pink hair, who nearly tripped over Gran’s hatstand, an elderly man with silver hair, a smartly dressed woman, a tall black man with a bald head, a woman with long black hair and finally none other than Sirius Black, who grinned at Neville and sauntered into the house as if he owned the place.
Neville came downstairs and followed Gran into the kitchen. The motley crowd of witches and wizards were sitting or standing around the kitchen table. “Is it all right if I make us all a cup of tea, Mrs Longbottom?” asked Sirius, tapping the kettle with his wand, before pointing it at a cupboard, causing it to open. Seven mugs floated out and arranged themselves on the table.
“Good to see you again and in one piece, Neville,” said Moody, seating himself in one of the wooden chairs to take the weight off his one good leg.
“And you, Professor,” replied Neville. Of all the people that could have shown up, he was glad it was Moody. Neville owed the ex-Auror his life thanks to his work helping Neville through the Triwizard Tournament, and plus he looked on Moody as one of the few links he had to the parents he never knew. Most thought of him as half-crazed, but to Neville he had been the best teacher he’d ever had.
“Not Professor any more,” Moody pointed out. “You can call me just Moody from now on.”
“Or you can call him Mad-Eye like the rest of us do,” said the pink-haired witch with a grin.
Gran, looking as if she didn’t know whether to be pleased or angry at this horde of interlopers, forced her way through from the door to the table. “Would someone care to tell me what on earth is going on?” she demanded. “Who are you all?”
“Shall I do the introductions, Mad-Eye?” asked Sirius. Moody gave a non-committal grunt, so Sirius continued, “Well, Mad-Eye and myself you know. Our follicly-challenged friend here is Kingsley Shacklebolt. The elderly gentleman is Elphias Doge, and the two fine ladies to your left are Emmeline Vance and Hestia Jones. And last, but by no means least,” he indicated the pink-haired witch, “this is my relative Nym-” he stopped for a moment, catching sight of a dark glare the witch was giving him, “I mean, this is Tonks, who under no circumstances should be referred to by her first name, Nymphadora. That’s Nymphadora, by the way, if you didn’t catch that. Ow!” Tonks had just jabbed him in the side with the point of her wand.
“Can we get to the serious business at hand?” asked Moody wearily. Sirius flashed a semi-apologetic smile at Tonks and busied himself with making and passing around the mugs of tea. “Right,” continued Moody. “Mrs Longbottom, the Order of the Phoenix has been re-formed.”
“Has it indeed?” said Gran. “And about time too, if you ask me. I was wondering when we were going to stop sitting around waiting for You-Know-Who to make his next move. I suppose you lot are it, then?”
“Us and a few others,” replied Moody. “Dumbledore is in charge as before, but in his absence I am responsible for day-to-day operations.”
“Sorry,” interrupted Neville, “but what is the Order of the Phoenix?” He had a vague feeling he’d heard the name before.
“It is a secret organisation dedicated to combating the Death Eaters and all other supporters of You-Know-Who,” explained Moody. “Dumbledore formed it at the height of the last war when things were getting really ugly. Our job was to stem the tide, and we did our best. Your parents were members, Neville, as were Black and I, and others. Now we are needed again.”
“So it was you who organised the watch on Neville over the last few weeks?” said Gran. “So which of you thought it would be a good idea to have Mundungus Fletcher on guard duty?”
Moody looked grave. “My apologies about that, Mrs Longbottom. We are few in number, and have other things we are needed for.”
“More important than Neville?” Gran exclaimed. “What other things?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Mrs Longbottom. Orders.” Gran looked suspicious, but did not argue. “Anyway, we are here because it has been decided that for his own safety it is best if Neville is moved from this house to a secure location. Tonight. I am sorry to spring this on you, but in these times the less people that know our plans beforehand the better. Neville, how soon can you be packed?”
“Just a minute,” said Gran. “Dumbledore has always given me to understand that Neville is under the strongest protection as long as he remains in this house. Are you telling me that is not the case, or if not, why does he need to leave?” Gran’s interruption confused Neville. He’d never heard about any “protection” connected with the house before, and wondered what Gran meant.
“Yes, it is the case, Mrs Longbottom,” replied Moody. “However, that protection does not apply beyond the limits of this property, as recent events have demonstrated. In five days time Neville is required to report to the Ministry in London for his hearing. To avoid any danger of his being attacked en route, we will move him to London tonight and deliver him safely to the Ministry ourselves on Tuesday. He can then spend the remainder of the school holidays with us.”
“But we were just going to Floo to the Ministry.”
Moody shook his head. “Too risky. We have reason to believe the Floo Network may not be secure. We cannot take any chances.”
“Where are you taking him?”
“I can’t tell you.” Seeing Gran’s expression, Moody added, “I genuinely can’t. Fidelius Charm.” Neville had never heard of the charm before, but Gran just nodded. “Dumbledore asked me to say that you are welcome to come with us if you wish, but if you choose to remain then the secret will only be divulged to Neville. We are keeping security as tight as possible.”
“You may thank Dumbledore for his offer, but I have not been moved from this house in over sixty years, and I don’t intend to start now,” said Gran firmly. “I am not too happy about letting Neville leave either, but it seems I have no choice. Neville, you had better go and pack.”
“I’ll help,” said Sirius, gulping down his mug of tea.
As Neville and Sirius left the kitchen and made their way upstairs, Neville overheard Gran say, “Moody, you should know, I haven’t told him about the Ministry. I didn’t want to give him anything else to worry about.” Neville stopped from the stairs and looked up at Sirius, but it seemed he hadn’t heard. He was about to ask Sirius what Gran had meant, but changed his mind. At this stage, whatever they were talking about, he didn’t want to know. For once, he was quite happy to be ignorant.
With Sirius’ help, Neville quickly packed up his possessions into his school trunk and coaxed his pet toad Trevor into his travelling box. Sirius did his best to make light conversation, but Neville wasn’t listening. He was wondering how much of his stuff would ever come out of the trunk again. It was like packing up his whole life. Out of habit, he slipped his Remembrall into the inside pocket of his travelling robe, where he usually kept it, although there was nothing he wanted to remember.
When they’d finished, Sirius levitated the trunk and directed it downstairs. Neville followed, carrying Trevor’s box. Everyone was still gathered in the kitchen. “Right, good, let’s get going,” said Moody when he saw Neville enter. “The faster we get you there, the happier I’ll be.”
“How are we getting there?” asked Neville.
“We had a lot of trouble deciding on a method,” answered Moody, “seeing as how you’re too young to Apparate and Portkeys and the Floo Network are too traceable. The only safe option is to fly there.”
“But I…”
“Relax, Neville. I know you’re uncomfortable on a broom and it’s nearly a four hour flight from here. Fortunately we’ve come up with a solution. I’ve borrowed something from Arthur Weasley. It’s sitting outside. Come on.”
Moody led the way out through the hall to the front door. Gesturing for the others to stop, he carefully opened the door, waited a couple of seconds and then slowly walked out onto the front path. Once he had ascertained the coast was clear, he beckoned the rest to follow.
Neville, leaving the house last, saw that there was a car parked on the road outside the front gate. It was a small, light blue coloured car and, with Neville’s limited knowledge of Muggle vehicles from what he’d seen, seemed rather old-fashioned. Moody hurriedly opened up the boot of the car and put Neville’s trunk inside, whilst the others collected their broomsticks, which they’d propped up against the front wall of the house. “Come on, Neville, get in,” said Moody.
Gran gave him a quick hug. “Do everything Mr Moody says,” she told him. “I’ll see you at the Ministry. Mind you dress smartly for the hearing.” Without saying anything in reply, Neville turned and got into the front passenger seat of the car. Remembering what Hermione had told him about Muggle cars, he buckled his seatbelt.
The various members of the Order of the Phoenix, including Moody, climbed onto their brooms and took off, hovering high above the house. Sirius climbed into the driver’s seat of the car. “You’re driving?” asked Neville.
“Let’s just say I’m more familiar than most with enchanted Muggle vehicles like this,” replied Sirius.
“Enchanted? To do what?”
“Watch this,” said Sirius with a grin. He started the car, reversed up a bit to give himself some room, then accelerated the car forwards rapidly. For a moment, Neville was sure they were going to crash into the hedge in front of them, where the road bent round to the left, but at the last moment the car lifted up off the ground, cleared the hedge by inches and rose up into the night sky. Sirius laughed. “What do you think of that, eh Neville?”
Neville did not reply. At any other time perhaps, the experience of being in a flying car would have thrilled him, but not now. As the car banked round to face south and the Order members on their broomsticks gathered in formation around it, with Moody at the head, Neville took one last look back towards his home below them. Gran was standing on the front porch watching them go.
The formation set off southwards into the night. As they sped away, Neville kept his eyes on his home as it disappeared into the darkness. He wondered whether he would ever see it again.
Neville Longbottom and the Order of the Phoenix by Sonorus
Chapter Notes:In which Neville is alone and depressed, before his home receives a number of unexpected visitors.
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