Neville stopped in front of the closed door to McGonagall office and took a deep breath to steady himself.
Before he could make up his mind knock, McGonagall's voice called from within. "Come in, Mr Longbottom!"
Neville felt a little shiver run down his back. McGonagall had always made him nervous. Besides, for the life of him he couldn't figure out why she asked him to meet with her. He hadn't heard from any of his former professors since leaving Hogwarts.
He pushed open the door and went in. "Hello, Professor."
McGonagall motioned him toward the visitor's chair. "Have a seat."
Neville sat down, smoothing his robes nervously.
"I called you in because the Order needs your assistance," McGonagall said, peering at him over her glasses. "You understand that what we speak of now can't leave this room?"
Neville nodded vigorously. His heart was beginning to pound with excitement at the thought of working for the Order. "Yes, Professor. I understand."
McGonagall held his gaze for a long moment before clearing her throat and shuffling a few papers. "Let me explain what we need from you. I understand you recently took possession of your Grandmother's house?"
"Yes," Neville said. "The Ministry finally turned it over to me just last week."
"Would you be willing to share your home with a former classmate? Someone who needs to disappear from view for a while?"
Neville hesitated for just a moment. He had never made many friends while at Hogwarts, except a few who had been part of Dumbledore's Army. He had always been seen as an outsider and rarely included in activities. Whomever the person was, he or she would be a virtual stranger to him.
On the other hand, this person obviously needed to be hidden, or Neville wouldn't have been asked. The fact that the Order was asking Neville for help in the matter was incredible in itself. Neville had always tried to help, but he knew he was never truly trusted not to mess up.
"I would be glad to do it," he said resolutely, pushing aside any further hesitation.
McGonagall frowned. "Think hard, Neville. You will be solely responsible for his well-being for as long as he stays in your home. You will also be his only contact with the outside world. This is a lot of responsibility we are asking you to shoulder. Are you certain you are up for it?"
Neville nodded. He hated how everyone always doubted him. "Yes, I'm sure."
Finally. McGonagall seemed satisfied. "Very well. His train will arrive tomorrow night at six. You are to meet him at the station, then take the Muggle bus home. The Floo Network is still being monitored." She held out several crisp slips of thin paper. "This is Muggle money. It is enough for two bus tickets."
Neville accepted it. "To whom should I report?"
"Your contact will be Hermione Granger. There is no need to make regular reports. Get in touch with her only if you need anything. You should continue all normal activities, and change your routine as little as possible. It is very unlikely that you are under watch, but exercise caution nonetheless."
Neville nodded. "I will."
McGonagall rose and offered him her hand. "Thank you, Neville. You can't imagine what a great help this will be. The Order is under a lot of pressure, and we simply cannot take on extra work."
"I'm just happy I can help," Neville said, blushing a little. "It's nothing, really. I was a bit lonely in that big old house anyway."
That was a slight exaggeration. It had been a change, moving from the rooming house in London to the large, empty house on the moor. He had wondered a few times whether he would have been happier renting a flat, or possibly sharing one with someone, so that he wouldn't be so isolated and alone. But then, things hadn't been very different when he had lived in the city. As far as everyone was concerned, he was still an outcast, just as he'd been at Hogwarts. The idea that someone would want to rent a flat with him was rather laughable.
McGonagall saw him to the door. "I'm certain everything will work out. Don't hesitate to contact Ms Granger if you need anything."
Neville shook her hand again, and sighed deeply when she shut the door, leaving him alone in the empty corridor.
The long walk to Hogsmeade gave him time to think, as well as to begin feeling nervous about his mission.
It did help to think of it as a mission. He didn't have to enjoy having a house guest, after all. This wasn't something he was doing for pleasure. The Order needed him, and Neville wasn't going to let any of his personal feelings get in the way of doing what he could to help.
McGonagall had said his, and him, so that meant his house guest was male. Neville wished he had asked for a name. It was harder not knowing.
He'd know soon enough though. There wasn't much time to get ready, and Neville certainly wasn't going to welcome anyone into his home without cleaning it top to bottom and getting a guest room ready. His Gran had taught him that much.
Neville reached Hogsmeade and the barbershop at the end of the main street. He knocked on the side door. After a moment an old witch answered it, and with a quick glance around him, Neville went inside.
He counted out a galleon and five sickles, dropping the coins into a large glass bottle on the counter. The witch held out a bowl of Floo powder.
A minute later Neville stepped out of the fireplace of his own house, shaking soot out of his hair.
He looked around the gloomy front room, still filled with half-unpacked crates and mountains of packing paper. It looked like it was going to be a long night.
He had a quick dinner before getting to work. By the time he had stowed away the last of the crates and closed the storage room door, it was past midnight.
Before going to bed, Neville chose one of the guest rooms and opened up the windows to let it air out. He didn't know how else to get rid of the musty odor. The room had been shut up for as long as Neville could remember. It had always been just him and his Gran in the old house, and they had never been wealthy enough to afford hired help or a house-elf.
Neville climbed into bed, exhausted and emotionally drained. He comforted himself with the thought that rooms at Order headquarters were musty and gloomy, too. His house could hardly be worse.
In the morning he was slightly more optimistic. With clean bedding and new drapes, the room was much more cheery. Besides, it had a nice view of the garden, even if just then the garden wasn't a particularly pretty sight. Neville spent a few minutes lost in thought, imagining what it would look like someday. He imagined red poppies, tall Foxglove, and blue Lungwort crowding the beds that now lay barren under a thin layer of morning frost. He imagined strawberry plants and berry bushes, cherry trees thick with red fruit, a vegetable garden that provided enough to eat and preserve, and a greenhouse filled with herbs he could sell to the shopkeepers in Diagon Alley. It had always been his dream to have all this and more, and now that he had the house, he thought maybe he could begin making some of those dreams come true.
Neville turned away from the window abruptly. Now wasn't the time for that. He had something more important to think about.
He looked around the room critically. It was clean, and had a comfortable bed and a sturdy desk in the corner, but it was barren and impersonal. Even without knowing anything about the person who would be living there, Neville thought he could make the room more welcoming.
He found a rug and a picture of a small ship in the middle of a vast ocean. The flapping white sails and the foam-capped waves added a bit of life to the dull, graying walls, and the blue squares on the rug matched the quilt on the bed.
He finally admitted to himself that he'd done all he could. Now all he could do was wait.
He prepared dinner, but left it on the stove. He hadn't eaten much at lunch, but he was too nervous to be hungry.
At five, unable to wait any longer, Neville left the house for the train station. He had often walked the distance, despite availability of both wizard and Muggle transportation, and he arrived with a quarter hour to spare.
The train was late.
Neville sat nervously on the bench at the end of the platform, twisting the hem of his robes in his hands and checking the clock every few minutes. Terrible things flashed through his mind.
He had almost made up his mind to call Hermione when he saw a wisp of white smoke appear on the horizon, just above the tracks.
The train rolled in ten minutes later, steam billowing as the wheels grated to a halt. Neville stood up nervously, craning his neck to better see the passengers exiting the two cars.
Not that there were many. This was, after all, a small country station with hardly anything of interest save for a post office and a general store. First, a wizard with a long beard and bushy mustache jumped to the platform. Ignoring everyone, he stalked away toward a waiting horse and buggy. A witch with two small children was met by a tall wizard in a bowler hat. Then an old witch in a white shawl came down, almost hidden behind the parcels she carried. Finally, two young ladies threw themselves into the arms of two young men holding bouquets of flowers.
Neville's heart began to beat faster as he waited. He was almost starting to think he had mixed something up, or misheard McGonagall. Maybe this wasn't the right train.
Then he saw him.
He was thin, and about as tall as Neville. He was completely hidden in a hooded cloak much too large for him. In his hands were a battered suitcase and a carpet bag.
"Hello!" Neville called, trying both not to attract undue attention and to be heard over the voices of the other people on the platform. "Over here!"
The young man turned toward him, the sun catching his face and illuminating wide gray eyes and hair that was almost white.
Neville froze in disbelief.
There had to be some mistake -- everything in him cried that there had to be.
But the young man hitched his carpet bag more firmly in the crook of his arm and headed toward him, his steps dragging and his shoulders slightly slumped. Even before he reached the end of the platform where Neville was standing, Neville could discern the familiar scowl on his face.
"Longbottom."
Neville sighed. "Malfoy."