"Your Father's son." She said. "He would be so proud. I am so proud." Neville wanted to say something in return. Something about how he was just following the next logical courses of action - or perhaps something about how thankful he was that she'd been able to get into hiding unscathed. But before he could form a thought, her expression changed to a more familiar disapproving one. "Wake up! Get up!" She chastised, "Longbottom!" Longbottom?
"Longbottom!" Someone shook his shoulders and Gran's face dissipated into darkness. He twisted and felt the rough bearings of the hammock around him dig into his side. Remembering where he was he blinked his sleepy eyes open and looked up into the beaming face of Michael Corner.
"A'right, a'right," Neville sat up, wincing at the sharp pain in his rib at the sudden movement. He found himself wishing for possibly the thousandth time that they had a second channel out of The Room that would lead to the hospital wing. They patched each other up the best they could when called for, but there were only so many ways a group of fifteen to seventeen year olds could help, having had next to absolutely no training in healing craft.
"Longbottom, you want to see this." Michael fisted the robes Neville had fallen asleep in the previous night. This habit had come courtesy of the recent arrival of Lavender Brown her sixth year friend, Talaith Bliven, who had inexplicably rendered Neville unable to wander around in pyjamas as he had done previously. Unwilling to sleep fully clothed he had compromised by wearing his robes over his scarlet pinstriped night-clothes. This conflict manifested exclusively within Neville. He doubted, actually, whether anyone had even noticed this abnormal behavior. Presently, Michael began pulling him forcibly out of the hammock.
"What?" Neville stumbled to his feet and followed his peer around the bend of the wall that led to The Room proper. When his eyes adjusted to the sight, he nearly lost his footing anyway and shuddered to a halt, Michael's fingers still clenched around his robes.
No less than two dozen students were milling around, going about their business, taking little or no notice of Neville's presence for the moment. He stared in awe. The room itself had budged outward in every direction, nearly doubling itself in size. When he'd gone to sleep that night, the hammocks that lined the walls had numbered fifteen. This was no longer the case. Three blokes who hadn't been there the previous day sat cross legged on the floor in front of one of the new bed-spaces and looked up at him as he approached. Two of them saluted him lazily. All three met his gaze with something akin to gratitude. But he hadn't even done anything.
"Thank you, Neville!" A familiar voice called from behind him and he whirled away from the boys to see both Parvati and Padma grinning madly at him. Parvati threw her arms around him before he could so much as make eye contact. He patted her gently, a little out of sorts.
"I'm so glad you're okay, after all. The worst sorts of rumors sprang up…" A darkness overcame her eyes momentarily - a darkness which Neville had grown quite accustomed to seeing in the features of his friends in the past few months. "But you're here!" She said quickly, her dazzling smile returning at once, "Lavender managed to get me in here. And Padma, too. She brought us through the portrait from Hogsmeade. I think it'll just look like we took the scheduled outing as a means to apparate out and not return to school. I hope that's alright."
"A-alright?" Neville stammered when he found his voice. "It's - of course it's alright. I'm so glad you're here. Have you gotten that checked?" He nodded toward a welt on Padma's arm, visible only because she had rolled her sleeve up over it.
"Oh, that - it's fine." Padma's voice was soft and a blush crept up on her dark skin. "Just a stinging hex that went a bit overzealous. 'Long as I don't touch it I don't even remember it's there."
"Dare I ask?" Neville asked and felt Michael slip away from his side to sit with the cross-legged group of boys behind him.
"Slytherin Prefect," Padma explained. "The great big ugly one."
Neville sighed, his brow creasing, "You'd think that'd narrow it down. You'd think 'Prefect' would narrow it down."
"Nah' when there's eight and they're all green and snakish," Neville's head shot up in recognition of that voice.
"Seamus!" He practically hollered and engulfed the shorter boy immediately in a bone-splitting hug. Which, considering the banged-up state of his ribs, it may well have been. Not that he cared. Every bone in his body could have disappeared and he wouldn't have cared at that moment.
The last he'd heard of his sole-remaining dorm-mate, Seamus had been banished to the dungeon to await target practice after being snatched up from outside Hagrid's hut at the 'Support Harry Potter' party by Crabbe. He hadn't reappeared with the rest of the detainees of that particular week. That had been somewhere around a month ago. The ever-present uneasy pit in the bottom of Neville's stomach had spurred a hundred utterly horrid - and, unfortunately, entirely plausible - circumstances for Seamus's disappearance. Seamus's blood was only halfway "Pure", and therefore easier spilled than Neville's own. He wondered, now, how many of those scenarios were true. When he finally pulled away he took a good look at his friend. Seamus looked like absolute shite. His face was a mass of purple and sickly-green raised marks. His shirt and trousers were scuffed, torn and stained beyond the help of scurgify and repairo.
"This is quite the operation, ya' got here." Seamus sounded impressed.
"It is," Neville sounded surprised even to himself. A few more recognizable faces were milling around that had hitherto not been present in The Room.
People who had been living with Neville for the last few weeks seemed to be showing the new arrivals around the living-space. With an unexpected squirm of pride in his stomach, he realized that that was exactly what this was now. It wasn't a hideout or bunker. It wasn't just a place to survive anymore. With so many people interacting and making use of the newer features of The Room, it looked a lot like a community. It felt like a cozy weeknight in the common room - maybe just after exams, as no one was bent over textbooks or homework. Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs - some recognizable by the color of the trim on their robes or garments, others only by the fact that Neville had seen them around the castle in such attire in the past - commingled around the large open area in the center of the room, talking in packs. No, not just talking. Laughing. It had been so long since he'd witnessed carefree laughter. There was plenty of derisive laughter; a chuckle at an act of defiance well-pulled; the dark cackle when a hex met its star-crossed mark. But groups of students collecting to socialize and banter was almost a forgotten dream to him.
This is why we do this, he thought to himself, the squirm of pride building into a nearly tangible feeling of puffiness in his chest, this is why we fight. Because this is normal. This is how it should be. For the first time since returning to school in September that year, he felt truly like he was at Hogwarts.
X
Later that evening, all twenty-five (he'd done a head-count when it had come time for meals - Aberforth had been beside himself) occupants of The Room had gathered with plush cushions, pillows and blankets in the center of the room, curling up in a circle around the large, wooden-cased wireless which the room had provided for them. Lavender was sitting in front of the large box, tapping it with her wand and muttering "Sirius" repeatedly as she fiddled with the dials.
"Aha!" She cried, finally, and scurried over to join the Patil twins beside Neville. A hush came over the circle as everyone waited quietly to hear the comforting voices of the outside world.
"- Wonderful evening it is, Everyone!" Lee Jordan's voice came through clear as ever and a sense of serenity washed over Neville. If he closed his eyes and blocked out the world while Lee was speaking, he could almost pretend he was sitting in a scarlet and gold box on the Quidditch pitch, watching the players zoom around above and below him; feel the breeze of autumn on his face; hear the cheering of his classmates around him as Katie Bell put another Quaffel in a hoop and Lee commended her on it - clearly just as excited as the rest of his house.
"River, you'll want to contain yourself, won't you?" Kingsley chastised him, and Neville nearly laughed out loud. He may as well have been McGonagall, telling Lee off for being particularly bias. But something in Shacklebolt's tone held in his merriment.
"How can I contain myself, Royal, when the good news is so thick tonight after how many weeks of good-news-anemia?" There was a thud in the background and Neville could practically see Lee Jordan's fist hitting whatever table they were sitting at.
"Good news?" Someone murmured to his left. The energy in the room shifted from quiet and subdued to attentive instantly.
"Indeed, but before we get into that, perhaps we should -" Kingsley was cut off abruptly.
"Yes, yes, yes. You're quite right," Lee conceded. "Alright, then, on with the show. First things first: You've probably heard about the muggle-homicide outbreak the Bromley area. The candle-light vigil will be held tomorrow evening on the steps of the Bromley courthouse beginning at seven. Remember, this is a muggle event, and you will be expected to dress in muggle attire and blend to the best of your abilities if you do mean to attend. We'd like to take our own moment of silence in recognition of this in just a moment, but we do have one more sad announcement before we do so. Tonight we commiserate the loss of one very important free-elf named Dobby. I know how strange it sounds to most of our listeners to memorialize a house-elf, but bare with me. Dobby was instrumental in the war-effort and considered a personal friend of Our Mr. Potter. So, let's pay the little guy our respect and gratitude for his good work, as well as the sixteen muggles in Bromley, shall we? A moment, if you please."
The room was utterly silent. Looking around the circle, Neville saw that many of his classmates had their heads bowed. One of the fifth year Ravenclaw new-arrivals was crying softly into the cuff of her robe. Nearly everyone else had closed their eyes and Neville was quick to follow suit.
Lee's voice broke the silence after what seemed like ages. "But the forecast isn't all gray!" He declared. For some silver linings, let's hear from Rapier, shall we?"
"Thank you, River!" One of the Weasley twins interjected. Neville had no hope of guessing which one. "First on our list of discussions, this evening, I am very proud to make a special announcement. In these dark times when nearly all of our news comes to us in the form of obituary, it is especially important that we remember to celebrate the bright spots in the dark. Amongst the destruction brought on by the Death-Eaters and associated activities, life and purity prevails. Ladies and Gents, our own Romulus, host of our popular segment, "Pals of Potter", has just welcomed a stunningly handsome baby boy into the world!"
The circle erupted in whoops and cheers. All of the Gryffindors and several Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were clapping, Neville included. He felt his cheeks would split with the force of his grin.
"Romulus?" A new Hufflepuff boy asked.
"Professor Lupin, from Deffense - what was it - four years ago, now?" Lavender explained. Those who hadn't been applauding before began now.
"Shh!" Someone hissed and the ruckus died down so that they could hear either Fred or George's next words.
"And with that, we hand it over to the proud father himself. Congratulations, Romulus!"
"Thank you, Rapier," Professor Lupin sounded genuinely thankful, rather than the usual obligatory thanks that came with being handed-over the newscast. "It has been quite the week. Aside, even, from this happy news, I am fortunate enough to declare that Harry Potter himself is alive and well. Take this as mere rumor if you will, but this time the information comes to you second-hand rather than third or fourth. I have seen and spoken to Mr. Potter myself this past week. To keep a long and potentially dangerously detailed story short: Mr. Potter has been on the warpath as long as we have suspected. Most recently he has had a run in with some Deatheaters in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's inner circle. It was, in fact, a narrow escape but he remains as strong of will as ever, as I am sure he would like the rest of us to do as well. Remember that he has been fighting this war by himself, but not alone. We all have our parts to play however involved we choose to be. The war you are fighting in your own right is no less important than any other."
The room was pin-drop silent again. It was like Professor Lupin was speaking to them directly. Neville knew that many - if not all - of his classmates were wondering if their small efforts in resistance were worth the trouble. Neville never allowed himself the luxury of doubt. It had not even occurred to him since the very beginning. N0w Professor Lupin was telling them, in that moment, what everyone in that room needed to hear. They may have been students, rather than soldiers, but they were no less fighting this war.
"Thank you for your invaluable information, Romulus," Lee Jordan had regained possession of the show, "We have a lot to be thankful for this evening, and not a little to be sad for as well. So on this note, we will leave for now, but our next show will be very soon and much more speculative than this one. The next password will be Dobby. So, keep turning those dials, and in the meantime: stay safe, friends."
The radio had gone to static again and Lavender crawled forward to switch it off. With that exception, nobody moved. Everyone stayed huddled around the radio like it was a glowing source of heat.
For a long time, nobody spoke. Then: "He's alive." Seamus's voice broke the silence, softer than Neville had ever heard it before.
"Do you think it's true?" Terry Boot asked, seated directly across from Neville in the circle.
"Of course it's true," Neville said without hesitation. "Why shouldn't it be? Professor Lupin is a source we can trust. Why wouldn't Harry be alive, why wouldn't he be fighting?"
The argument that 'of course Harry Potter was still out there somewhere fighting the fight' was rather a hot-button topic in the castle all that year. Fear spurred doubt and lack of knowledge of Harry's whereabouts didn't help. Many people argued that he was probably in hiding himself or else dead already. His classmates had learned early on not to broach such a conversation with Neville, as his vehemence on the subject was quite a force to be reckoned with. He felt his jaw jut even at this slight instance.
"I don't think there's anyone here who needs convincing of that," Lavender said, still sitting next to the radio. "This calls for Butterbeer," she declared. "Someone wanna run through Arianna with me?" She asked and the Patil twins stood up to join her.
Neville lay back on the ground, his skeleton no longer suitable for holding his body upright. The wave of tangible relief that washed over him was making him physically weak. For all of his arguing on the subject of Harry's (and Ron and Hermione's, but he didn't ever mention them because he knew they were supposed to be elsewhere and refused to put them in danger by associating them, even though he just knew they were with Harry) whereabouts and plans for action, a small and silent part of him had been worried about his friends. But they were okay. They were alive, Professor Lupin had spoken to them - well, at least Harry, but presumably the others as well.
The Room of Requirement was filled to bursting with brave, safe students. Harry, Ron and Hermione were okay. Seamus wasn't dead. His Gran was Proud of him. Neville hadn't felt this close to true happiness since before the war. It was a good day at Hogwarts.