The Year of the Wallflower

His mantra for the year was, undeniably, "this is what Harry would have wanted." In truth, Neville had absolutely no idea what Harry would have wanted for Dumbledore's Army; given how estranged the Chosen One had been about the organization at first, it was entirely possible that the great Harry Potter would have wanted his friends to stay hidden and safe throughout the duration of the school year. The only problem with that, of course, was that all of Harry's friends and followers—the most loyal, remaining members of Dumbledore's Army—were Gryffindors at heart. Or, in some cases (like Luna's), exceedingly bright individuals with more courage than they were given credit for. Had Draco Malfoy attended school that year, he might have made snide remarks concerning Neville's great cause and how it insinuated that the quiet, bumbling Longbottom boy was trying too hard to fit into the prestigious Golden Trio's ranks; he might have teamed up with Crabbe and Goyle to poke fun at all of Neville's ideas. As it was, though, Malfoy had gone missing the previous summer…and Neville hadn't seen him since.

Not that it particularly mattered, of course…at the end of the day, Neville knew why he was sacrificing his introverted demeanor for the sake of protecting his friends. Maybe he did want to prove himself…just a bit, but…but someone had to stand up and fight; someone had to protect the rights and liberties of every Muggle-born, Half-blood, and "Blood Traitor" who dared to contradict He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

And why couldn't it be him?

Fortunately for Neville, he had fantastic friends on his side; it was, understandably, difficult to coax some of the remaining former members into reviving the group…they were all terrified; the echoes of war had been little more than mere whispers and gossip for most of their lives. But now war was upon them all, and the fear that accompanied Lord Voldemort and his followers destroying every last living creature who opposed him was a very real possibility…one that shook fear into the hearts of so many brave individuals. And Neville, try as he might to break himself out of his shell, couldn't deny that at the beginning, terror tore its way through his frame. It was a difficult decision for many—even himself—to reinstate Dumbledore's Army…but well worth it…

"Absolutely," Ginny Weasley replied immediately, standing up and dusting off her school robes. "When do we start?"

"You don't…have to agree right away, Ginny," Neville stuttered, fidgeting with his hands. "I'll allow you some time to think it over, of course."

"There's no decision to be made, Neville," Ginny said quietly, her eyes flickering back and forth between Neville and Luna. "There was an attack the day of Bill's wedding, Ron is off doing Merlin only knows what with Harry and Hermione, and I just—I'm doing this. I need to help; I need to be proactive."

"It's a good idea, Neville," Luna added quietly, observing them both from her perch across the table. "My father always said it would come to this, you know…he wrote about it in The Quibbler: the oncoming storm of war."

"What about you, Neville? What do you want?" Ginny asked, glancing down at her longtime friend. Neville was quiet for a handful of moments, weighing all of his options. And then he thought of his parents—their bright, shining faces, and what could have been. After that, the answer came rather easily to him.

"I want to get started…now."

"Ginny, you keep a watch on the south end of the corridor; Seamus, you take the north…and Luna, got your wand ready?" Neville commanded, gripping his tool in one clammy hand and meeting the eyes of his friends. Seamus was already stationed behind a tapestry at the end of the hallway…Ginny lurking in the shadows at the other end. They were instructed to use whatever mild means they could to disarm anyone who might be lurking nearby that could potentially pose a threat, though given that it was supposed to be dinnertime, Neville sorely doubted they'd run into anyone. Luna had her wand gripped high in one hand, clearly ready and waiting for Neville's instruction. They stood opposite each other, Neville and Luna, ready to vandalize school property.

"On my mark, then…one, two, three!" Neville whispered, and then he and Luna were turning to face their respective walls, lifting their hands and charming the aged stone foundation of Hogwarts…just as they'd been practicing for the past two weeks. And by the time they'd finished, their brightly-painted advertisements were splattered across Hogwarts' corridors. Neville's read: "Dumbledore's Army is still recruiting…join us while you can!" while Luna's read "Ut Pro Nobis: We Stand as One." It might have been a bit of a rough translation on Luna's part, but it did the trick.

"Brilliant work, Luna," Neville commented, bringing his wand down and tucking it close against his side. Luna was beaming with satisfaction, and after a moment's appraisal, they both motioned for Seamus and Ginny to join them, and together they began to head back to their respective dorms (making sure to drop Luna off at the Ravenclaw Common Room first).

"D'you figure the messages will draw a lot of attention?" Seamus asked finally, his voice barely audible as the remaining three traipsed down the halls.

"It'll attract everyone's attention…including the Carrows'," Ginny said quietly, glancing at Seamus and Neville out of the corner of her eyes. "Are you sure you don't want us to be the ones to write the messages on the walls, Neville? They can trace it back to you, you know, if they dig deep enough."

"No…it was my idea; I'll take the fall," Neville said determinedly, staring straight ahead.

"That's not just a snap decision ya can make, Neville," Seamus cautioned, heaving a jagged sigh and shaking his head. "It's not easy or right, takin' the fall all the time like this."

"And how do you think Harry, Ron, and Hermione must be feeling right now?" Neville said, stopping and turning to face his friends. "Do you think Harry ever stopped to worry about how much trouble he'd be in when he was protecting all of us? Do you?"

Both Seamus and Ginny grew quiet, clearly at a loss for words; whether because they knew Neville was right or because this new side of their once quiet friend was astonishing, Neville didn't quite know.

Either way, it didn't matter: they were listening, and that was the whole point.

In hindsight, attempting to steal the sword hadn't been the brightest of ideas. At the time, though, it was brilliant; ingenious, even. It was simple, really—steal the Sword of Gryffindor and keep anyone else from obtaining it. Ginny came up with the idea herself—she was bound and determined to get her hands on that sword…and Neville was on board right from the very start. Between himself, Ginny, and Luna, it should have been easy enough to slip past any of Snape's patrolling officers and run away with the sword in hand.

The reality, however, had been much different.

They were caught by Snape himself; Ginny and Luna had been closest to the exit door, and Neville had motioned for them to leave him behind. He could try and talk his way out of the damage alone, but without their help…it would be next to impossible.

"Just go," He'd ordered, dropping his hold on the tapestry that kept the sword bound and turning to face Severus Snape, who was gliding towards them with ease. Ginny seemed hesitant; Luna downright uneasy. He understood that they were wary about leaving him behind, but…they couldn't afford to lose together; Snape could take him down alone…let Luna and Ginny run free.

"Neville…" Ginny trailed off, anxious as he gaze darted back and forth from Amycus to her friends.

"I said leave—now; I'll be right behind you," He said again, shoving them away and towards the nearest exit. Stumbling, Ginny and Luna nearly tripped over one another as they ran towards the door. Neville knew that Ginny would never willingly leave his side; more than likely, she was standing just outside the door, ready to dash in and save Neville, should Snape accuse him of far worse than thievery.

It had been a quick, impulsive decision, telling his friends to leave him behind so that he could receive the majority of the punishment…but it was one he wouldn't have changed, not for the world.

Fighting against Voldemort might have been important, but so was protecting the people he cared about. And Ginny and Luna were at the top of that list: they were his very best friends, and no one was to harm them.

In the end, though, it mattered very little…Snape beckoned them over and gave them all detention for their crimes against the school. Neville supposed it could have been worse, though…he could have come face-to-face with one of the Carrows or lingering Death Eaters that patrolled the halls.

He was luckier than he knew.

"Longbottom, you're up next!" Amycus growled, pointing the tip of his wand in Neville's direction and urging the young man to the front of the crowd. They were meant to be practicing defense spells today…in a rough translation of Carrow's disgusting teaching habits, what they were really doing was learning about effective methods of torture. So when Neville was ordered to the front of the room, he grew stiff and rigid from head to toe…torture and curses were a delicate subject for him, given his parents' history, and he was willing to bet every Galleon to his name that Amycus Carrow knew this…and would use it against him, should such an occasion arise.

"Up next for what?" Neville asked, feeling his blood boil and curl beneath his skin. Amycus gave him a yellow-toothed grin, pointing down at a small girl trembling and quivering at the front of the line. She looked very expectant for whatever punishment Amycus had planned for her today, and the sick pallor of the girl's face did nothing to ease Neville's concerns.

"This one here's been brought in from her lessons…got caught misbehaving last week," Amycus explained…to the Carrows, misbehaving filled nearly every explanation for cruelty and treachery, so Neville wasn't quite so willing to believe that this terrified little girl had done anything wrong.

"And?" Neville asked, his throat dry. He felt as though every eye in the room was on him; watching him fixedly.

It made him uncomfortable in ways he couldn't even begin to explain.

"And you're to practice the Cruciatus Curse on her," Amycus explained, as though this was the most obvious assignment in the world. Neville felt his blood run cold and his anger flare; use the Cruciatus Curse? On a little girl? He knew many wouldn't refuse anything a Carrow demanded, but…curses were another sort of territory entirely; no one threatened Neville with cursing someone…not after everything his own family had been through. So, with gritted teeth and hands that were balled into trembling fists, he managed to make an impulsive decision and spit out a short reply.

"No."

The shock that registered on Amycus' features was brief and fleeting, quickly replaced by another emotion entirely: anger. And plenty of it.

"Did you just say no to me, Longbottom?"

"…I did, yes," Neville managed, a trickle of sweat slipping down his neck. He had to pretend he wasn't afraid; that he wasn't fearful of the monster standing before him. He knew small doses of courage—whether rewarded or punished—would strengthen the crowd of terrified students around him. What use were they as a quivering, trembling mob of fear? What good were they if they didn't even try to fight for what was right?

"Then I suppose you're willing to take her place and receive your own punishment for today's lesson?" Amycus asked, clearly convinced Neville would break and beg for mercy.

He didn't, though. Instead…he agreed.

The pain blocked out much of his memory from that afternoon afterwards.

Amycus Carrow might have been a cold, ruthless sort of being…but his sister, Alecto, was just as frightening…and the fact that both taught at and terrorized Hogwarts was nearly too much for anyone to bear. Neville especially, given his particular brand of hatred for them. While Amycus forced his fetish for the Dark Arts upon unwilling students, Alecto taught a mandatory course on Muggle Studies, concerning anything and everything "biased" regarding her opinions towards non-magical folk. Sometimes, her anger was clearly targeted at anyone with a trace of Muggle or Squib blood in their family lines…there were even instances when she'd call out known Blood Traitors or Muggle sympathizers in the hopes of breaking one of her students.

It was vile and inhumane; it was, without a doubt, one of the most disgusting things Neville had been forced to endure yet…and he'd seen quite a great deal of treachery and loathsome behavior since school had started back up in September.

Still, Neville tried to keep his mouth shut as best as he could…but sometimes (more often than not) Amycus and his sister, Alecto, went too far.

It was a rather rainy afternoon, and Alecto had the class trapped inside her abysmal teaching quarters for another hate-fueled sermon about the impracticality of associating with Muggles. Neville had been mentally going over some plans for the next DA meeting when he caught wind of one of Alecto's comments. It was the same load of bull, really—going on and on about the ignorance of the Muggle community, but…it was too much for Neville to handle today. His tolerance was wearing thin and his exhaustion was at an all-time high. Needless to say, he was a bit on edge.

"What do the lot of you know about Muggles?" came Alecto's shrill, demanding voice. As per usual, no one in the class made a peep or movement to suggest they planned on answering her; not that it mattered, of course…most of Alecto's questions were rhetorical, anyway.

"Nothing? Then I suppose it won't come as that great of a shock to any of you just how barbaric and inhumane Muggles are," Alecto explained, glancing around the classroom as though she dared someone to contradict her words. "They're stupid and dirty creatures that behave as little more than rabid animals, which is exactly why we need to lock them up and…domesticate their species, so to speak. As it is, modern day Muggles are barely-functioning imbeciles; it's shocking ,really, realizing that Muggles are capable of doing anything at all. Their wars are little more than frivolous temper tantrums and their daily activities are mundane and tedious. They're useless beasts, Muggles are…and the sooner we as magical folk eradicate their kind, the better."

Understandably, Neville's blood was boiling at such a comment. Being forced to sit here and listen to this rubbish was an outrage, and he refused to tolerate even one more moment of such nonsense. He had a decision to make, then…he could either remain silent and continue to endure the torture that was Alecto Carrow speaking, or he could refuse to sit through another one of her meaningless lectures. It was a relatively difficult decision to make, given the backlash he'd receive, but…all at once, Neville was reminded of Harry, and how he would have acted in such a situation. He thought back on all the times that Harry stood up to Snape during class, or talked back to Umbridge during her reign at Hogwarts. Harry had always been fearless—more so than Neville could have ever dreamed of for himself—and he knew from personal experience that…his courage had given people hope. Neville included.

And if Harry had been able to give a group of teenagers hope two or three years ago, who's to say Neville couldn't try for it now?

After all, somebody had to.

So, it was with a heavy heart and nerves on edge that Neville cleared his throat, narrowed his eyes, and spoke up…

"So…then how much Muggle blood have you and your brother got running through your veins, Ms. Carrow?"

"Your skin's nearly completely chaffed off at the wrists," Neville commented one evening, inspecting Michael Corner's array of bruises and cuts; he'd been caught releasing a first year from detention—upon Neville's request—and had suffered a great deal as a result. And now, inspecting the horrific wounds on one of his comrades, Neville felt himself swell with guilt…he was the leader of Dumbledore's Army in Harry's absence, and so he felt personally guilty for the lives that were gambled with under his care.

Godric, did Harry feel like this all of the time?

"Those bastards tied me up," Michael grunted, wincing as Neville's thumb brushed over one of his wrists. "The torture, Neville, it—it was unlike anything any of us have ever seen. I can't—I don't—"

Michael became little more than a stuttering, quivering mess like that, and Neville allowed Hannah Abbott—who had grown to be quite skilled with healing charms—to tend to their friend's wounds. Michael was by no means the weakest link, but it soon became clear to Neville that his threshold for pain was a great deal lower than it should've been…he knew some of the others would be scared stiff after hearing what happened to poor Michael, and he just hoped that it wouldn't scare them away from fighting for the cause.

"It's not your fault, Neville," Hannah told him later on, long after Michael had been sent to bed for some well-deserved rest. She was cleaning out the rags she'd brought along with her, elbows deep in soapy water. Her blonde hair was pinned back in a tight braid, and although she looked weary and exhausted from the amount of healing and bandaging she'd done this week, Neville swore up and down she'd never looked so beautiful.

"It is, though," He said quietly, his head hanging in his hands. "They follow me without a second thought, Hannah…I dunno why, but they do. We're all a bit desperate, I think, with Harry not being here and all…but that means their lives are on my shoulders." He then heaved a heavy sigh and tore his hands away from his face, watching Hannah as she cleaned her supplies.

"You make people strong, Neville—stronger than you realize," She continued, scrubbing at her fingernails with a bar of soap. "They trust you…and for good reason. You're a leader: our leader."

"I'm just doing what Harry would have wanted," Neville excused, shrugging his shoulders and sagging against the chair he was sitting in. Hannah gave him a curious look, her brows drawn together and her lips screwed up into a strange pout.

"That's not true and we both know it," She said immediately, turning back to the sink of sudsy water in front of her. "You do it because you're braver than you give yourself credit for. Because you know it's right."

"It's not easy, though…I don't think it'll ever get easier."

"War's not meant to be easy," She said simply; crisply. She finished cleaning her materials and dried her hands off with a towel, turning to face her leader and taking a step towards him.

"You gave me something worth fighting for after I lost my mum…don't discredit yourself for that much," She said sternly, kneeling down so that they were at proper eye level. "War isn't made for children, Neville; you've made harder decisions this year than most of us have. But just realize…those of us, the sincere ones, are willing to follow you anywhere…myself included. Myself especially."

"…Hannah…" Neville began awkwardly, unsure of how to thank her for her kind, honest words. She shook her head and placed a comforting hand on his knee.

"You don't have to say anything…just lead, and I'll follow."

Neville,

They thought they could catch me, those slippery Death Eaters! I suspect you've already heard from the horse's mouth that they've sent soldiers after me…well, watch for their surprise when they return home without my body! Some rather large oaf stood in my way, but they sent him alone to fetch me; I suppose they thought one could handle himself against me…fools, all of them. I left him unconscious at my house, and I don't suspect he'll be waking anytime soon. Don't worry about me, though; I've found a way to escape without notice, and I plan on hiding out until this blasted thing is over and done with. You just stay there and keep doing what you can, Neville.

Your mother and father…they'd be proud, you know. I know I am…you really are your father's son. And your mother...Merlin only knows how proud she'd be. Stick with it, Neville—don't let us down.

Gran

He'd read over the letter a total of eight times—twice just to make sure it was, in fact, his grandmother's handwriting…four more to assure himself that he wasn't hallucinating about the content of the letter, and twice more to take a great deal of comfort in the fact that his gran was safe.

Still…he'd already put her in danger; her and so many others. It was only a matter of time before they came after him…and with Neville captured and eliminated, who would lead Dumbledore's Army? Luna had been captured by Death Eaters over the Christmas holidays, and Ginny had been pulled out of school to go into hiding near Easter. They were the leaders; him, Ginny, and Luna…if Neville was the last to go, who would step up to the plate? Who would defend them and keep the younger children safe? There was only one option, really: Neville had to go into hiding.

"What do you mean you're leaving, Neville? You can't leave." Dean urged one evening, pretending to busy himself with some homework that one of the Carrows had set for them.

"I'm not leaving—not leaving Hogwarts, at least—I've just got to go into hiding," Neville explained, a textbook opened in front of him.

"I don't understand…" Seamus pitched in, staring at Neville with a great deal of bemusement. "If ya plan on running away and ya plan on staying…what are ya goin' to do, exactly?"

"I'll stay in the Room of Requirement…I can make it work, and the Carrows will never have to know I'm there."

"Are you sure that's wise, Neville? What if you—" Dean began, but Neville was quick to cut him off.

"I have no choice; unless I want Snape's minions to capture me, then I've got to lay low…and I've got to stay here with the rest of you, too."

"You don't have to, Neville…" Seamus began, but again, Neville cut him off.

"I do…and my decision's been made."

It had been a rough year for Neville Longbottom, and that was putting things lightly. Then again, he supposed that came with the territory or war. He'd been forced to assume a position of power and authority that, at times, he wasn't entirely certain he was cut out for. But, over time, people had started to look up to him…younger students had come to Neville for help during times of distress; times when he would have normally turned to Harry for leadership and advice. Neville had always been a quiet, bumbling sort of boy…but months of independence and forced leadership had transformed him. It was as though the boy who had believed he'd never amount to much of anything was shoved to the side, and in his place bloomed a fierce Gryffindor more than ready and willing to take on any challenge at hand.

And he…was proud of himself. He was no longer Neville the Almost Squib, or Neville the Bumbling Fool. He wasn't that same boy who's Boggart had been a ridiculously sour teacher dressed in moth-eaten clothes. He wasn't the same person he'd been even a year ago…he'd changed. The war had changed Neville Longbottom, plain and simple.

And sometimes, for very fleeting moments of time, he felt almost certain that his parents would have been proud, too.

The date was May 2nd, 1998, and the Wizarding World was in total and complete chaos. Granted, Neville had been rather anxious about this day for months now; he knew the terror instilled in him and his classmates would come to an end only when Harry Potter resurfaced and fought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And although many others had lost faith in Harry weeks ago…Neville hadn't; he knew, he just knew, that somewhere out there, Harry was trying his best to protect and defeat the Darkest Wizard of all time.

He could do anything! He was the Boy Who Lived!

…Until he wasn't.

It felt as though the world had grown still the moment the declaration sang across the Wizarding World: "Harry Potter is dead!" Cries of anguish; of agony and despair and complete helplessness, echoed throughout the crowd. Neville knew many were beaten and exhausted; many of his comrades had lost loved ones earlier on in the day. The news even shook Neville to the core…Neville, who had believed Harry Potter was invincible. So, when the world around him was crumbling down and all hope was lost…it was Neville who spoke up. Injured, exhausted, and trembling with fear, Neville had defied all odds and stood up to the Dark Lord. He thought (or hoped, at the very least) that his speech would be enough to move the remaining supporters of the great Harry Potter to defeat Voldemort at any and all costs.

All it did, though, was cause Voldemort to more or less set him on fire and give Harry Potter the opportunity to escape and later on declare that he, well, wasn't dead.

After that, everything had become a chaotic blur.

Somehow, Neville had been able to release himself from the Body-Bind Curse that had been cast upon him; as a direct result, the scorching hat laced tightly on top of his head flopped to the ground, withering away to charred cloth petals. He had been prepared to search for his wand (just where had he dropped it at?) when a glittering, metallic object shone from within the flame-eaten hat. Confused (and, albeit, curious beyond belief), Neville bent down and gripped what appear to be a ruby-encrusted handle. With one swift yank, he withdrew a long, silver sword from the depths of the hat, revealing…what could only be Godric Gryffindor's sword.

There was a moment of raw astonishment; one moment, Neville had been forced still while a flaming hat burned to pieces atop his head…the next, the bloody sword of Gryffindor had presented itself to him! And…and Neville was holding it!

After that, the world grew very, very still as Neville debated on just what to do with the sword. The scene around him seemed to move in slow motion; the Battle of Hogwarts was raging on….Wizards and Witches all around were dueling as jets of brightly-colored magic shot from the tips of their wands. And Neville was left with a decision…perhaps the greatest to date.

In hindsight, the decision had been simple. At present, though, it was excruciatingly difficult…and Neville knew that, should he fail, Voldemort would have his head for it.

If that wasn't enough to terrify the young Wizard, then nothing was.

He'd grown into a fierce young man, though, Neville Longbottom had…and at the root of it all, he knew what he needed to do. Voldemort's precious snake, Nagini, had perched herself on a high boulder nearby. Though Neville never would have thought so about any animal previously, he swore the creature was intelligent; that she could tell exactly what was going on. Her beady eyes were surveying the crowd around her, and in one swift motion, the snake uncoiled, hurled itself into the crowd, and bore its pointed, venomous fangs.

And all at once, Neville sprang into action.

Gripping the sword tightly in his grimy hands, Neville surged forward, lifted the weapon up high, and sliced through the air sharply…taking off Nagini's head with it. Though the battle was in full force around him, Neville swore he could feel each and every eye locked onto him and the decapitated snake. The silence that fell afterwards was hollow; it rang in his ears and pumped through his veins. Oh, everyone was still fighting, of course, but…to Neville, the war was already won. Harry Potter was alive again, Bellatrix Lestrange was hanging on to life by a single thread, and he—bumbling, babbling, indecisive Neville Longbottom—had just killed Lord Voldemort's snake.

It had been a difficult choice, taking such a leap of faith and displaying such large amounts of courage, but…Neville wouldn't have changed it for the world. Any of the last year, in fact. He might have lost some dear friends tonight; he might not know what was happening tomorrow…or the next day, or within the next ten years.

But Neville Longbottom had learned not to regret a single decision he'd made…in the end, it led to his bravery.

a/N: Hello, everyone! I know it's been a while, and I've still got Shades of Grey to work on, but I decided to go ahead and sign up (a week late, ugh!) for the Harry Potter Endurance Challenge on simplypotterheads! This is from the same account that Ollivander's Challenge springs from, and I had a great deal of fun with that contest, so I figured-why not participate again?! The level of comfort I chose for this round was "hard", which basically means that I had to choose a character I don't normally write for prior to the prompt being released. I chose Neville, because while I never (neeeever) write him, he's one of my favorite characters in the series. With that being said, this is my first time writing a Neville-based fic, so I apologize if his characterization isn't up to die hard Neville stan expectations!

As always, though, please please review! And, of course, enjoy!