As usual, Harry Potter was wide awake, counting down the minutes until his birthday. He had been laying in the dark for the past hour and a half, since his aunt turned into bed and he turned off the light to avoid a lecture from either of his relatives. But Harry didn't let the usual dread of the Dursleys bring him down: he had so much to look forward to this year.

Sirius had made arrangements (with quite a lot of money from the Black vaults to grease the wheels of bureaucracy) so that once Harry was of age, they could have him legally emancipated from the muggles! Dumbledore still wouldn't hear of Harry moving permanently to Grimmauld Place due to the "protection of the blood wards," but this handily removed any say Dumbledore had in the matter of how or where Harry spent his own time.

With another glance at the clock, Harry felt a thrill. In less than twenty-two minutes he would be of age in the Wizarding World. He would be free.

Harry stretched just for the hell of it, raising his hands as far as he could reach (which was now pretty far, since his growth spurt finally hit) towards the ceiling before settling them across his chest. He didn't feel any different, but he imagined there was a tension in the air. As if the universe waited on the edge of its seat much as he was. Eighteen minutes and thirty-one seconds to go.

SLAM!

Like a bullet Harry was off his bed and his holly wand was aimed unerringly at the door to Dudley's second bedroom, which had just been slammed open. His entire body was tense as he aimed about chest height from where he was crouched on one knee, keeping the bed between him and the intruder. He squinted hard and scrambled with his free hand for his glasses on the bedside table, a number of curses on the tip of his tongue.

"Harry!" came a terrible stage whisper, carrying clearly across the distance to Harry and probably even to his aunt behind her bedroom door. "Harry?" tried the voice again, now at a true whisper.

For a second Harry scoured his mind to identify the voice in the dark, something holding his hand from issuing a challenge. When he realizedthe identity of the very familiar voice Harry yelped, "Neville!" He was surprised enough that he dropped his wand arm to fall the bed before realizing the mistake and whipping it up again. With his glasses finally on and settled properly, Harry was able to confirm that Neville Longbottom really was standing in his bedroom doorway. "Merlin, what you doing, Nev!?"

"Ow! Oops! Damn it—mate, don't you ever clean?" Neville demanded, ignoring the harshly whispered demand from Harry for the moment.

He'd stumbled into the room and found a minefield of discarded clothes and belongings as he tried to wade through the mess on the floor. Even through his boots, he felt it as he almost crushed something pointed yet delicate on the ground. Neville turned around after clearing a swath of floor space with his foot and closed the door, pressing his palm against it for a few seconds and leaning in with his head as if was muttering although Harry didn't hear a single word.

Harry sensed something change, but he had no idea what. Since when did Neville use wandless magic? Since when did Neville even know where he lived? By the time Harry's brain got over being severely boggled, Neville had turned away from the door and was facing Harry again.

"Sorry about all this, Harr." Neville apologized brightly, his voice remarkably chipper for a midnight intruder. "I meant to get here with more time to spare, but Dumbledore really did a number on those wards! Took twice as long as I'd planned. Anyway-" Neville broke off when he looked up from trying to navigate the piles of laundry, books, shoes, electronics, and children's toys to get closer to Harry's bed and found Harry looking hard at him, the familiar holly and phoenix wand aimed directly at Neville's heart.

"Tell me something only I would know." Harry asked, his voice calm and deadly serious.

"I..." Neville seemed briefly stunned but rallied once he latched onto something both personal and memorable enough, "You saw me visiting my parents three years ago; my mom gave me a gum wrapper..." Neville trailed off and they both acknowledged what neither had mentioned then and didn't bring up now, that Neville'd not only taken the token as pathetic as it might have seemed to someone else but secreted it away and treasured it even when his Gran demanded he dispose of it.

Slowly Harry bent his arm at the elbow, pointing his wand towards the ceiling, but still ready just in case. "Ok. Now, ask me something."

"What's my boggart and how did I defeat it?"

"A whole room of people saw that, Ne-"

"Forget about it." Neville sounded much less amused and very matter-of-fact as he cut Harry off. "I already know you're you and I'm me."

Harry forced himself to visibly calm down and Neville took it as an ok to take a seat on the twin. He jumped up as soon as he had started to sit down, as if he'd been prodded sharply, and he shook off his coat. He handled the coat much more gently this time, spreading it out at the foot of the bed before taking a seat properly.

"Now, tell me why you're here. How'd you even get here? Ron w-"

"We don't have time for all that, Harry. Not right now." Neville held up a hand to forestall the objection Harry would have made, "After. After, I promise. But right now, I'm here to give you a bit of warning and prepare you for what's about to happen."

"What's about-" Harry was only getting more worked up, as Neville continued to cut him off before he could finish any one of his questions.

"Harry. Seriously, mate. Just let me get through this in one go. We're pressed for time, as it is."

They both looked at the glowing readout on the digital clock next to Harry's bed and Harry finally sat down at his "desk" of mismatched crates and an old sideboard. Neville, meanwhile, rummaged through the pockets of his coat before taking out three unusual objects. First came a cup—well, really, it was more of a goblet. It looked like beaten silver and was old enough that it could have passed for pewter at a glance. Harry'd learned even more about metals and antiques than he ever did having to take care of his aunt's few prized pieces by living in an ancient, magically preserved castle ten months out the year. Then, Neville produced a long box that reminded Harry of the wand boxes at Ollivander's though this was wider enough to hold several wands. And, finally, a heavy stone bowl. The was decorated on the inside and the outside and was obviously ceremonial—Harry wondered if it was a particularly old pensieve that had yet to be filled.

"Ok. First things, first: We should switch seats."

Neville gave a slight grin and stacked the goblet and box on top of the bowl and stood up, motioning impatiently for Harry to come to the bed so Neville could sit at the desk. Once he did, Neville grabbed Harry's trunk and dragged it to the side of the bed so that he was facing Harry over the trunk.

"Lay down, Harry,"

Neville said absentmindedly, opening the box to reveal four tapered candles and their holders—which looked like they were part of a set, with the goblet.

Looking up, Neville was surprised to see Harry still sitting up and repeated himself slowly, "Lay. Down. Harry."

The Boy-Who-Lived jerked, his eyes jumping guiltily from the objects Neville was setting up on his trunk and laid down. He stretched out upside down on the bed, so that his head was closer to whatever Neville was up to, and he could keep an eye on him.

Neville was silent for the next few moments, placing the yellow, green, purple, and brown candles in their holders before moving everything off the trunk again. He pulled a gray silk square out of one of the obviously charmed pockets of his coat and positioned it like a diamond over the trunk, so all the corners were left bare, before replacing everything on top of the drunk and smoothing down the silk with his palms.

A candle at each corner, the bowl in the center, and the chalice before it, on Harry's side. Quite casually, Neville leaned over to his boot and pulled out a dagger half as long as his forearm. He hefted it confidently before turning the hilt until he was comfortable and moved towards Harry, who understandably, darted away and began raising his wand again.

"Neville," Harry croaked, "what do you think you're doing?"

"Oh. Right, sorry." Neville immediately relinquished the knife, placing it on the trunk next to the bowl. "I just wanted to be sure I didn't forget any of the steps, while they're still fresh...but you're still clueless."

Neville glanced over his shoulder at the clock and grimaced to see that there were only three minutes until the top of the hour.

"It goes like this: my mum and your mum were closer than you know. They weren't related, but they might as well have been sisters. They were different, Harry, they and a few other witches and wizards are different from the rest. We inherited the same...gifts they had. But it can be hidden or repressed for us until we reach sixteen. In about two minutes, you're going to undergo something we call the "Offering Ceremony." It's what will determine what jewels you're going to wear. I'm sorry, I know this is terribly rushed and really unfair, but my Gran and I were afraid your mom didn't have a chance to leave anything that would warn you about this. It's better to be as prepared as you can be, before it happens."

"Before WHAT happens? Offering to what? Offering of what? Jewels? Nevile, you're not making sense." Harry was nearly frantic, obviously worried and more than a bit frustrated.

Neville looked apologetic and only said, "We're out of time. Here, give me your wrist." He grabbed Harry's left hand with a firm grip before Harry could answer and raised the dagger, bringing it down so quickly that blood had welled up before Harry even realized he was cut.

"AAAAAHHHHHH!"

Harry screamed and his body went rigid as Neville leaned forward and fell to his knees in front of the trunk. The experience was not unlike being under the Cruciatus as far as overwhelming pain flooding his mind and seeming to course through every part of his body. Meanwhile the four candles seemingly lit themselves as Neville positioned Harry's arm over the bowl, palm facing downward so the free flowing blood pooled in the carvings marking the inside.

Neville's eyelids dropped down to half-lidded slits as he fell into a trance, chanting under his breath in a rhythm that matched the jerks and spasms as Harry's muscles seized and his body bucked in place on the bed. Several minutes passed and although his hands shook with fine tremors, Neville's voice was strong and determined as he began to trace sigils on Harry's skin going up to his shoulder.

At some point his shirt had disappeared and where Neville traced, blood beaded on the skin like sweat. Harry seemed to calm the further Nevile got in his designs and finally as Neville made the last arc over his shoulder joint, the pain receded and Harry was swept away in a fog also kind of similar to the Imperius. There was no battle of wills this time, though, and Harry couldn't have spared a thought to try to resist it like he did the mind control Unforgivable curse.

Turning his friend's arm over, Neville took up the dagger again and pressed it against the initial slice that fed Harry's lifeblood into the bowl. The skin knit itself back together until there wasn't even a scar. Neville gently placed Harry's arm back at on the bed and took his seat again.

There was no telling how long his vigil would be, so Neville had come prepared to wait a full day if he had to. Leaning back in his chair he summoned a book and a thin, dusty bottle of what looked to be red wine out of his coat. He set the bottle on the desk behind him and the book he opened on his lap. There was a new moon that night so no natural light but with a snap of his fingers Neville created a ball of witch-light to light the room as he turned the pages to his bookmark.