1979
"Eat dung!" Alice yelled, flinging a curse to suit her words at the nearest Death Eater. When he flicked it back at her, she dived aside, rolling back upright immediately.
Stay on your feet! It was one of Moody's mantras, and damn, she wished he was here now. Her Patronus seemed to have been gone for ages, but there was no sign of help and these Death Eaters were skilful fighters. Shooting a succession of Stunning spells in the direction of her assailant, she risked a glance around at Frank. He was being edged back towards the wall of the house by two Death Eaters. She sent a Furnunculus curse into their midst and whirled back just in time to dodge a blast of green light.
"You bastard!" It wasn't the first time she'd survived an attempt at murder, but it was the closest she'd yet been to that particular curse. Fighting Death Eaters was exhausting, she decided. They had no principles and no rules, except that they were right and anyone else could go to hell.
Please let the others get here soon, she prayed with another anxious glance towards Frank. He was favouring his left side, obviously injured; they couldn't hold them off for much longer. She might only be taking on one Death Eater to Frank's two, but this was not like fighting anyone she'd ever encountered before. He was so fast that he seemed to skim over the ground; either he was Apparating ridiculously quickly or he was flying. She hadn't decided which, but it made him extremely awkward to duel with, and having all her magic turned against her with apparent ease was disconcerting, to say the least.
Her Patronus loped into view, and she realised that her prayer had been answered even before several Order members burst into the garden. The Death Eaters turned away quickly, outnumbered and apparently uninterested in risking their lives - at least, not when the deaths were theirs. They Disapparated before the Prewetts and Sirius Black had done more than shoot off Stunning spells, much to the latter's disdain.
Alice kept watch, smoothing the shaggy mane of her Patronus as it faded, while Sirius reassured the family inside the house. Meanwhile, the Prewetts and Frank set up charms that would deflect attention from the area in case the Death Eaters decided to return on another night.
Only when they were preparing to leave did she turn and vomit into a rosebush at the end of garden. Frank held her hair back and cleaned up while the others kept a sympathetic distance, presumably believing that she'd been overcome by the night's events. She wouldn't have been the first among the Order of the Phoenix to have succumbed in that way.
She kept her counsel until she and Frank arrived home with an hour in which to recover from their night shift with the Order and prepare for work. Frank was making cocoa and offering to report her sick to Moody when she pressed his hand against her stomach.
"I think I might need to give up night shifts for a few months."
His hand tensed on her belly. "D'you mean ...?"
She smiled wearily up at him. He was so comfortable to lean against. "Yeah. Pretty sure, anyway."
"Oh, wow." He kissed her forehead and then her lips. "Oh, wow. Oh, darling." He got down onto his knees and pulled up her blouse, staring from her belly to her face with such elation that she grinned.
"Baby, meet Dad," she instructed.
"Wow," Frank repeated. "Dad's very pleased to meet you, little lion," he murmured, and kissed her stomach. "Was that the right part? I don't even know where it grows, really."
"Feels about right," she said, "and you'll know all about where it is soon enough. I'll probably look like a house before it's out."
"You'll look beautiful," he said, straightening for a proper kiss. "Always."
1997
The mist on platform nine and three-quarters was not all caused by the train that September, and the mood was sombre. Just inside the barrier, a line of officials checked off names as people crossed. Parents clung to students of all ages with a touch of desperation. "Be careful," Neville heard one woman telling a sullen boy of about twelve. "Behave well and everything will be all right."
He turned to Gran, suddenly frantic to find the others and start the new term, however awful it looked like being. "I'd better get on. I've got to be up in the top carriage for a prefects' meeting soon."
The train's whistle drowned out his last words, and she patted his elbow. "All right, dear. Have a good term, and stick to your principles." She squeezed his hand. "Here, have this."
Neville looked down and found a faded red badge embossed with a gold 'P'.
"It was your father's," Gran said.
"Thanks." His fingers closed on it. His father's wand, his prefect's badge, his shoes that he could never fill ... Even now, he'd only been made a prefect to replace Ron and Hermione - Snape's letter had been quite clear about that.
"I was proud of him when he was made a prefect," Gran said, adding abruptly, "It's a real achievement, Neville." She kissed his cheek and was gone in a whirl of black robes, leaving him staring after her.
"Neville!" He turned to find Ginny waving from the door of a carriage. "We've got room in here."
Relieved and pleased, he lugged his trunk up the steps and stowed it in the luggage area, greeting the occupants of the compartment in between puffs of effort. "Hi, Ginny. Hi, Luna. Good holidays?"
There was a brief silence, during which Neville reflected on the thoughtlessness of his question.
"Oh, yes," Ginny said brightly. "Absolutely wonderful, except for the part where my brother's wedding got crashed by Death Eaters looking for Harry."
"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "That was a really stupid thing to say. Wasn't thinking. I heard about the attack - was everyone all right?"
"Most people got away in time," she answered. "I think they might have had a go at Dad, except that the presence of all my hulking brothers put them off." She hunched over, head on one elbow. "One of the few times I've been pleased to have so many older brothers."
"What about Harry?" He lowered his voice on the last word and glanced at the compartment door to check that it was shut properly.
She shrugged, looking even more closed up than usual. "He was fine a week after Bill's wedding. Someone we know saw him. We've heard nothing since then."
"He'll be all right." Neville had thought a lot about Harry since he had been proclaimed a wanted man by the Ministry of Magic. "He's always done amazing things. If anyone can survive, it's Harry."
Ginny's stiff features relaxed. "I agree. He'll be fine. I'm proud of him."
"Oh, yes, Harry will have to be very careful," put in Luna, who had been rummaging in her bag. She placed a copy of The Quibbler on the table and sat opposite Neville. "But he has Ronald and Hermione to help him, and that makes me feel much better."
Ginny's jaw dropped. "Um ... Ron's ... ill. He's got spattergroit."
"Well, I understand that's what you have to tell people," Luna said calmly, "but I doubt he'd let Harry and Hermione go far without him. And my father says Hermione's on the list of Muggle-borns who are unaccounted for."
"She wrote to me," Neville offered, "to say her family was moving to Australia." Both girls looked at him and he lowered his gaze. "But I didn't believe her. Although of course, I'll tell people that - help put the story about."
"All right," Ginny said wearily. "Harry was staying with us until the wedding, and when the Death Eaters attacked, he, Ron and Hermione went on the run. But you can't tell anyone!" She scowled. "If Harry or any of my family suffers because you know, I'll hex you to the back of beyond."
Someone banged on the carriage door and they all jumped. Ernie Macmillan put his head into the compartment. "Hullo, you three. Everything all right? Just wanted to say that the prefects are meeting in the end carriage in half an hour, so you'd better start heading along soon. Had good holidays?" He shut the door without waiting for an answer, leaving them staring after him.
"Yeah, great," Ginny said after a moment. "Er, are we all prefects?"
Neville nodded, and Luna said, "It's exciting, isn't it? Daddy gave me lots of advice about shouldering my responsibilities. He feels it's vital for people to stand up to the tyranny of the Ministry of Magic, and he thinks that being a prefect will give me the chance to influence people at Hogwarts in that respect."
"Well," said Neville when he'd untangled this speech, "it'll give us an excuse to be out of bounds, things like that. And yeah, you're completely right. We need to set an example for everyone else. Remember what Harry was like with Umbridge two years ago? He never accepted her lies, just kept standing up for the truth. And that's what gave people the courage to defy her. I think that's what we've got to do this year if Snape tries anything, or these two new professors he's appointed."
"The Carrows," Ginny said. "We've met them already. At the end of last term." At Neville's blank look, she shrugged. "They were two of those Death Eaters Malfoy let in."
"Yes, Amycus and Alecto," Luna said. "Daddy wrote an article on them in this month's edition - hang on a sec." She flipped the pages over; Neville glimpsed Harry's face at the head of one article. "Here we go. 'Both Amycus and Alecto have unimpressive pasts, although little is known about their professional experience since they left Hogwarts thirty years ago. Amycus has been known to the Ministry of Magic's Auror department for many years, but no connection with the Death Eaters has ever been proven. Nevertheless, an unnamed source in the Auror department told me that both Carrows are believed to have links with Voldemort, and Harry Potter named them as being present during Albus Dumbledore's recent murder. While her brother appears to have subsisted on petty crime, Alecto claims to have been working as a private tutor. However, she declined to provide names of families whose children she has taught.'" Luna looked up. "Daddy thinks they're going to be the worst teachers we've ever had."
"They don't sound like much," Neville said. But then, he thought, Umbridge hadn't been up to much, either, and she had made life miserable for most people at Hogwarts.
"Anyway," Ginny said, "we can worry about those two when we get to school. There's something else I want to talk to you about." She looked excited and a little shy; Neville had the impression that she'd been planning this speech for a while.
"Go on," he said.
She looked around to check that she had their attention. "Harry's got to kill You-Know-Who."
Neville sighed and nodded. It was the sort of thing he expected Harry to do after all this time. Hadn't it been coming to this for most of their lives?
"Yes, I thought he might have to," Luna said.
If Ginny had hoped to drop a bombshell, she wasted no time over it fizzling. "So, I was thinking about things that might help. And what do we have at Hogwarts that can be used as a weapon against V- him?
Weapon? Neville thought for a minute. There were plenty of dangerous plants, but he didn't see how any of them could hurt Voldemort directly. He was thinking back through his school years when Luna provided the answer.
"Gryffindor's sword."
Ginny nodded, eyes gleaming. "Harry's already used it once - it came out of the Sorting Hat when he rescued me from Slytherin's Chamber. He killed the basilisk with it."
"So, you think we should, what, steal it?" asked Neville. "I'm not saying that's impossible, but - what do we do with it after that?"
"We'll work that out later," Ginny said impatiently. "The important thing is to get it. We've got to help Harry!"
1980
Alice lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes. The mediwizards could patch her up physically but they could do nothing about the exhaustion; her body would have to recover from that in its own time.
It was the first time since they'd laid the baby in her arms that she'd put him down - so whole and perfect and real, all that personality wrapped up in pink, wrinkled flesh and blue eyes and a fuzz of hair and the most adorable fingers and toes.
Anyway. She'd only relaxed because Frank was nursing him right beside her, murmuring a litany of endearments. She opened one eye and watched him with weary satisfaction. He wasn't fat, but he was solid in a way that wasn't entirely to do with his shape. She'd felt that he was dependable since their early days at school, and after six years together she knew it. He looked huge with the tiny baby in the crook of his arm, but he was unbelievably gentle. He was going to make a wonderful father.
He saw her watching and grinned. "Hey, Neville," he murmured, "here's Mum keeping an eye on us." He hefted the baby around so that he was blinking at her with those perfect eyes, fringed with perfect eyelashes, in that face unblemished by worldly cares.
Alice drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.
1998
Neville considered Ginny's words as he waited for the Sorting ceremony to start. She was right, of course: if Harry was trying to kill Voldemort, they must do everything they could to help. And the Sword of Gryffindor was surely one of the best weapons to use against the man who called himself Slytherin's heir.
The Gryffindor table was subdued. On Neville's left, Seamus looked lost without Dean, and it was impossible to miss the gap left by Harry, Ron and Hermione. Most of the Muggle-borns had not returned, and it looked as if a few wizarding families had defied the edict requiring all minors to attend Hogwarts. He hoped that they were safely out of the country, and that the Muggle-borns were not languishing in Azkaban. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were similarly depleted, and there was little of the bustle and chatter that usually marked the first night feast. Only the Slytherins seemed completely confident, but Neville noticed gaps there, too.
On his right, Ginny was fiddling with her cutlery, clearly not in the mood for small talk. The prefects' meeting had been frustrating from the outset, when Malfoy had loudly derided Luna's appointment as sixth-form Ravenclaw prefect. Ginny and Neville had leapt to her defence, although Neville privately thought that she was an odd choice. Ernie's subsequent attempt to discuss the upcoming school year had been taken seriously by only about half the people present, most of whom had seemed afraid to say too much. All in all, nothing had been achieved at the meeting by anyone except Malfoy, who had made it clear that he intended to be as obnoxious as ever.
A hush spread through the hall. Professor Snape strode to the head table and took his place between a ramrod-backed McGonagall and Professor Sprout, who turned slightly away from him.
"Welcome," he said, his voice carrying without apparent effort.
A cheer erupted at the Slytherin table, continuing until Snape silenced it with a sickly smile.
"It is time for the new arrivals among us to find their places," he said. "Professor McGonagall, would you bring them in?"
Without looking at him, Professor McGonagall marched towards the entrance and called the first years inside. Neville watched sympathetically as they scurried into the Great Hall and looked around. No doubt the usual rumours had been flying.
As "Anstice, Wilhemina" stumbled towards the Sorting Hat, he wondered if everyone talked to the Hat during their Sorting, the way he had.
"Well, well," it had said when he'd sat down (and Neville had almost dropped his wand in shock), "what have we here?"
"Gryffindor, like Dad," Neville had prayed. "Please put me in Gryffindor, like my dad."
"You want Gryffindor, do you? You could go there, of course - you've plenty of grit. But are you sure you wouldn't prefer Hufflepuff? I sense a strong streak of loyalty in you, and a sensitivity that is rare in Gryffindors."
"I don't know," Neville had answered. "I'm not very brave, and I'm not clever or cunning, either. I probably belong in Hufflepuff, but I have to be in Gryffindor. It's the only house my gran rates, because that's where she was, and my mum and dad." It was a relief to unburden himself, even to a talking hat.
"Oh, well, if it's like that," the Hat had said after an interminable pause. "Gryffindor!" Neville heard cheers in the distance, and began to hurry away before the Hat changed its mind. But it was still speaking. "And remember, young man, it's what's inside you that's important, not what others expect of you. You have the makings of an exemplary Gryffindor."
"Thank you, thank you," Neville had whispered. He'd been halfway to the Gryffindor table before he'd heard the titters and realised that he was still wearing the Hat.
"So Warlock Warwick was beheaded," Malfoy read in a monotone, "and the evil witchfinder moved on to the next village, while those who had feared Warwick celebrated."
"Well?" demanded Professor Carrow, already known informally to the students as 'Alecto'. "What does this tell you?"
There was an awkward silence. Neville gazed at one of the posters that had appeared on the wall of the Muggle Studies classroom: it depicted several ugly, stupid-looking Muggles bowing before a regal witch and wizard.
"That the Muggles were wrong?" ventured Pansy Parkinson.
"Exactly," Alecto said triumphantly.
"But Warwick was a bastard," put in Seamus. "I mean, he made them all his servants, and he kidnapped that girl ..."
Alecto shook her head and her hair flopped over one eye so that she resembled a rather sulky pirate. "Ah, but he wouldn't have done it if they hadn't asked for it. Muggles - they're like house-elves. They don't understand things the way wizards do."
"That's rubbish." Neville was surprised to hear his own voice. "We're all human, aren't we?"
Something hit him hard across the face. When he put up his hand there was nothing there, but Alecto's wand arm was outstretched and there was a challenging glint in her eyes.
"It's you who's talking rubbish, boy. What misguided, Muggle-loving propaganda have you been reading - er, what's your name?"
"Neville Longbottom."
Her smile was ugly. "Did your parents teach you that rubbish? Or no, I suppose they couldn't have."
He waited for her to elaborate, heart beating furiously, but she seemed to be awaiting his reaction with malicious glee.
"My gran taught me," he said loudly, "that just because we have powers that Muggles don't doesn't give us the right to abuse those powers."
"Well, she's wrong." Alecto's wand arm shot out again and he flinched as something flat and heavy cracked against his other cheek. "If I were you ..." She turned to the class as a whole. "I wouldn't be so quick to boast of where you learned all these ideas. There's a lot of work needs to be done both inside and outside Hogwarts. It's high time you were all taught properly - none of this namby pamby making up to Muggles nonsense that Miss Charity Burbage spouted." She made Professor Burbage's name sound like a swear word.
Neville clenched his fist around his wand. Might as well be hung for an Erkling as for an Erumpent. "Why did Professor Burbage leave, anyway? Nobody expected it at the end of last term."
For an instant, he thought she was going to hit him again. Then she grinned. "Saw the error of her ways, didn't she? Decided to go off and repent." Her gaze flicked sideways and took in Malfoy; it was a conspiratorial glance. Neville looked, too. Malfoy looked as if he was about to be sick. He was staring into the distance, apparently unaware of the attention.
Burbage is dead, Neville thought with certainty, and Malfoy's dad's well in with Voldemort - he knows something about it. He shot another curious look at Malfoy, who jumped as the bell rang.
"Homework!" announced Alecto. "Read the next chapter, and I want a foot of parchment on wizarding genetics and how to preserve them. Now get lost, the lot of you. Oh, and Longbottom: you can report your insolence to the headmaster and see what he makes of it."
That night, Neville, Luna and Ginny waited on the spiral staircase that led to Dumbledore's office, leaving a confused gargoyle in their wake. "Luna," Ginny whispered, "sometimes you're really brilliant."
"Well, I am in Ravenclaw," said Luna demurely.
As they approached their goal, Neville's heartbeat seemed to echo around the cramped chamber. If they were caught sneaking into the headmaster's office they might be expelled, and then what would Gran think? He ignored that thought. They were trying to help Harry, and Gran would approve of that.
"Lumos," Ginny muttered, pushing the door open. Neville froze at the sound of multiple snores. Then the light from Ginny's wand caught a familiar face with a long, white beard - so familiar that they all gasped, until Ginny moved her wand to the side and they saw the frame. Dumbledore looked as if he was sleeping deeply. Even though he knew it was only a portrait, Neville ached to see him there. They had needed him so badly over the past few months, and now Snape, his murderer, held sway over this office.
Ginny jogged his arm. "Do you think the portraits might raise the alarm?" she whispered.
He nodded, forgetting that she probably couldn't see the movement of his head. "Best to be on the safe side." He lit the tip of his own wand. "Let's get the sword, and keep our wands away from the portraits if possible."
Having already visited Dumbledore's - Snape's - office once that day, he had a good idea of where the sword should be. He edged around the desk, keeping his weight against it to avoid knocking anything off the wall, heading for a long, thin shadow that loomed against the wall. When he held his wand up, the sword glinted, its ruby-encrusted handle bright despite the dim light. He switched his wand to his other hand and reached up to grasp the hilt.
"I don't think so," said a soft voice in his ear. Neville felt as if his back was made of ice. Then a light came on and he found himself staring into Snape's impassive face.
"Just what," Snape said a few minutes later, "did you three think you were doing?"
It was his serenity that was the most disconcerting, Neville decided. He was used to the barely controlled rage, subverted to sarcasm, that was so familiar from Potions lessons. The validation of being headmaster seemed to have given him an extra measure of control.
"No explanation?" Snape inquired, and Neville had to fight the habit of years not to shrink back from the bite in that voice. "No good reason why you three - all of you prefects - should choose to sneak around your headmaster's office and attempt to make off with one of the most precious artefacts in the history of Hogwarts?"
Even Luna seemed to have been cowed into silence.
He killed Dumbledore, Neville reminded himself. He's a murderer, a coward, a Death Eater, a bastard.
Still the silence stretched, until Snape looked up with an air of finality.
"This ..." His hand skirted the hilt of the sword. "This will be moved to a safer location. You will not find it here again. Nor will you revisit this office looking for other material that you believe may benefit your childish quest."
Neville felt Ginny flinch beside him and wished he could lay a hand on her arm to calm or comfort her. But Snape's presence held him still and quiet.
"You will all serve detention with Hagrid for the rest of the week," Snape continued. "If I find you here again, I assure you the consequences will be much, much worse. I strongly advise you not to provoke them."
"Why shouldn't the sword go to someone who can use it?" Ginny cried. "You can barely stand to touch it - I watched you. Why should it moulder here, when it could be doing some good?"
An unpleasant smile twisted his lips. "In the hands of your erstwhile boyfriend, I suppose?"
"Poor Professor Snape," interposed Luna. Neville jumped. She had a talent, possibly gained from a lifetime of ridicule, of fading into the background, and he had forgotten that she was there.
"Not 'poor'," snapped Ginny and Snape together. They shared a shocked glance, and Snape added, "Enough. Since you cannot be trusted, I will accompany you to your common rooms. If I hear another word, you will all lose five hundred points, which I'm sure you would enjoy explaining to your peers tomorrow. I hope I make myself clear."
He swept past them, his robes casting a huge, wavering shadow in the lamplight. As Neville followed, he glanced up at Dumbledore's portrait in time to see the former headmaster wink at him. It was no comfort.
They saw Luna into the Ravenclaw common room, her small, vague voice answering the admission question without hesitation. Neville trailed back to Gryffindor Tower after Snape and Ginny, all too aware of the angry tears that Ginny was wiping from her eyes.
When they reached the Fat Lady's portrait, she opened one eye and hmphed. "I was wondering when I'd see you two again."
"Yes, your truants," Snape said sweetly, and she froze. "Don't let it happen again, or I shall move you to a dark and very uninteresting corner of the castle."
She glared at them all and the door swung open. Neville stepped gratefully into the common room. He was longing for his bed.
"Longbottom," Snape said, and he turned wearily. "You've been in the headmaster's office twice today. I don't want to see you again this term."
"No, Professor."
Snape hesitated - was he going to demand a 'Headmaster'? - and then strode away. The door shut with a decided thud. Neville and Ginny looked at one another; Ginny was no longer crying, but the devastation in her eyes hurt Neville more than anything else had that night.
"Don't worry," he said. "Maybe we can't help Harry that way, but there's still stuff we can do. At the very least, we can distract all the Death Eaters who have anything to do with Hogwarts."
Her features relaxed slightly. "I can think of a few ways to do that."
"Me, too." He smiled at her. "We'll get these detentions out of the way, and next week - we can create mayhem."
"You're on," said Ginny.
If Muggle Studies had been disturbing, the first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson with Amycus Carrow was stomach-turning. Amycus had the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws practising burning curses; when Neville asked why, the entire class was made to practise on him. Lavender and Seamus refused and were subjected to the same punishment, after which the others followed Amycus's orders as gently as they could. By the end of the lesson, Neville had a row of red welts on his forearm, and one open sore where Padma had cursed him too hard.
"I'm so sorry," she said tearfully at lunch. "I meant to do it as lightly as possible, but my hand slipped. You will go to Pomfrey to get it seen to, won't you?"
"No way," Neville said. He'd been considering this since his bruised cheekbones had drawn comment the previous day. "It's not your fault - it's those Carrows. I'm going to make sure everyone knows what they're like."
On Sunday afternoon, he sneaked up to the tower dormitory, which felt cavernous and draughty now that it wasn't littered with Harry's, Ron's and Dean's possessions. He and Seamus had made an effort: Dean's West Ham poster had pride of place next to Seamus's Modern Wizard pin-ups, and they had scattered their belongings far and wide to fill the space. Neville had even put up a picture of his parents, something he'd never dared to do previously in case he was asked about them. In the photo, his dad smiled and waved, and his mum's eyes held a spark of mischief that he'd never seen in his visits to St Mungo's.
Watching them, Neville smiled despite his sombre mood. They were a good reason to keep fighting.
From his pocket he pulled a golden Galleon, and from his trunk a crumpled note. The Protean Charm was not difficult, but he didn't know what effect botching it would have on the coin, so he worked slowly, following the instructions he'd copied from Hermione's notes long ago. When he was certain that the spell had taken effect, he touched his wand to several numbers around the edge of the coin. Immediately, it grew warm on his palm and the numbers glowed: 08-09-20-00. He'd done it. Now he just had to trust that people would work it out.
Double Herbology on Monday was a huge relief after Muggle Studies and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Only three people took NEWT-level Herbology: Neville, Susan Bones and Terry Boot. Lessons tended to be quite relaxed, since they all had projects on which they were working and Professor Sprout generally let them get on with these, spending time with each of them in turn. That day, she was helping Terry with some toothed orchids that were getting a little too flirty, while Susan and Neville worked side by side, measuring leaves and checking soil content. When Susan nudged him, he looked up to find her staring at him with an intensity that made him wonder if there was something on his nose.
"Is it you who's doing that thing with the coins again?" she whispered, so quietly that he had to more or less lip-read.
He nodded, and a smile lit up her anxious face. "I thought so when I found it. I told some of the others, so you can count on us being there tonight. I can't wait."
One of her fanged geraniums made a bid for freedom and they stopped talking to wrestle it back into the pot. But Neville resumed his work with a lighter heart. They were no longer a resistance of three: Dumbledore's Army was an army again. He was so busy making plans for the evening that he took barely any notice of his Venomous Tentacula for the rest of the lesson - until it revenged itself with a snap at his hand.
We need a secret room, Neville thought when he reached the corridor on which the entrance to the Room of Requirement was situated. A place where it's safe to talk, where no Death Eaters can find us.
When it appeared, the room was similar to the one they had used for the DA meetings, with cushions covering the floor and shelves filled with books, Sneakoscopes and other defensive paraphernalia. A Foe-Glass was mounted by the door, and Neville checked it before making himself comfortable on a cushion.
To stop himself worrying that nobody would come after all, he practised producing his Patronus. It felt almost impossible in his current mood, but that was the point, he supposed. You weren't going to be feeling very cheerful with a horde of Dementors bearing down on you.
The first happy memory he tried was the time when he'd won the house cup for Gryffindor in his first year - but that reminded him of Dumbledore, and a sense of loss spread through him before he could stop it.
Next, he tried the moment when he'd learnt that he really was a wizard, but that was too tied up with worry and uncertainty about living up to his family's expectations. Dancing with Ginny at the Yule Ball was embarrassing now that she and Harry were ... whatever they were. Finally, he focused on the smile his mum had given him the last time he'd visited. She looked so different when she smiled, more like the woman in his photograph. It didn't even matter, at times like those, that she didn't know who he was. He just liked to see her happy.
A huge shape burst from the tip of his wand, mouth open in a silent roar, and dissipated instantly when Ginny walked in.
Her face relaxed when she saw him. "This looks familiar." She flung herself onto a cushion. "Think anyone else'll turn up?"
"According to Susan, some of the Hufflepuffs will," Neville said. "Between us we've got to manage something."
She nodded. "Even if it's just a few of us, yeah, we can think of something."
The door opened again and Luna entered. "Oh, hello," she said. "How are you both?"
"Ready to do something," Ginny said grimly. "You?"
"Yes, I think so." Luna nodded. "I had Defence Against the Dark Arts today, and that Amycus man made us practise some rather disgusting curses. On each other. It's actually pretty hard to concentrate on doing magic if you know it's going to hurt your friend, but he didn't seem to consider that."
"We can't let them get away with this," said Neville angrily. "If no adults are going to stop them, we've got to fight back ourselves."
The door opened once more to admit Susan, Ernie and Hannah, followed by Lavender, Seamus and the Patil twins. Ginny seemed heartened by the additional support; she relaxed her self-control enough to greet them with a genuine smile.
"So what are we going to do?" Susan asked, gazing at Neville.
"Cause mayhem," Ginny said fiercely.
"Yeah!" exclaimed Seamus, and Lavender and Parvati nodded.
"It's all very well saying that," remarked Ernie, "but what can we actually do? I mean, it's obvious that something's got to be done. We can't allow this sort of thing to go on at Hogwarts without protesting. But I've heard ugly rumours about that Carrow pair."
"Everything you've heard about them's true," said Neville, "and you're right, we don't want to antagonise them openly. Or at least, we shouldn't expect everyone to do that." He rubbed his arm, which was still hurting from the previous week, and looked around. The others, even Ginny, were all waiting for him to continue. "Here's what I've been thinking. We organise using the coins. We take it in turns; they can't watch all of us all the time. We practise proper defensive spells to counteract all that crap the Carrows are trying to teach us, and we take our resistance public. We sneak out and write 'Dumbledore's Army' on walls, and stupid stuff about the Death Eaters. We mock You-Know-Who. We make sure The Quibbler gets passed around, so people know the Ministry isn't all that's out there. We publicly proclaim our support for Harry, and we come out in support of Muggle-borns. We stand up to the Carrows in lessons when we can."
There was a brief silence when he stopped for breath. Ginny and Luna were nodding; the others looked thoughtful.
"I agree that we've got to do something," Hannah said, "but what good will writing graffiti on walls do, really? Isn't it a bit pointless? All it's going to do is wind up people like Snape and the Carrows - and make Filch even more bad-tempered."
"No," said Neville, suddenly sure of himself. "We'll be giving people hope."
Interlude
"... and so we're driving the Carrows mental." Augusta hesitated and then continued reading to her silent audience. "They haven't a clue what's coming next, and they can't do a thing about it.
"They're quite open about their Dark Marks now, and even some of the Slytherins aren't happy about that, although they daren't show it. So they're getting what they deserve.
"I'm sending this at night; we've just been preparing some surprises for them. I'd better get to bed now - double Defence Against the Dark Arts in the morning. Not that there's much defence involved these days.
"Please tell Mum and Dad and anyone else you talk to (if it's safe) that Hogwarts isn't bowing down to You-Know-Who, whatever you hear officially. Dumbledore's Army is here and fighting!
"Love, Neville."
Augusta looked up. Frank was staring into space in the armchair across from her, and beside him, Alice played with a wrapper from that gum she was always chewing. She made a mental note to bring some more in.
"You hear that?" she demanded, sharpness overriding the pride in her voice. "Neville's a fighter, just like you. He's keeping the Longbottom tradition going."
It was odd, she supposed, that she had taken on the role of protector of the Longbottom name despite being born a Matthews. Well, her husband had left her far too early, and she'd been inordinately proud of her son, until he had been taken from her, too.
Now it looked as if Neville was continuing the family tradition, and it surprised her how much her pride in him was laced with terror. These were tough times to stand up for what was right. Could she bear it if he was taken away as well?
She shook her head to chase her thoughts away. She would bear it, of course. And she would cherish her pride in him for the rest of her life, just as she did with Frank.
If there was any justice in the world, though, Neville would survive.
1997-1998
Two days later, Professor Snape announced at breakfast that the children who had defaced the Potions corridor would be found and punished. Neville did not dare catch anyone else's eye, but he thought of his parents and wished he could tell them that he was trying to carry on their work. He hoped that Gran had appreciated his letter.
At the next DA meeting, their numbers tripled. Dumbledore's Army was back in business, and thinking up new tricks and other means of resistance became the chief source of entertainment for those who opposed Voldemort.
But despite their efforts, the situation deteriorated both at Hogwarts and beyond. Luna was kidnapped on the way home for Christmas - and Neville and Ginny earned a broken arm apiece and their first experience of the Cruciatus curse in their failed attempt to defend her. This was horrifying enough from a personal point of view, but it also meant losing one of their few sources of information, since Luna's father, presumably terrified for her safety, began toeing the Ministry line along with the mainstream wizarding media. His appeasement seemed to be in vain, because nothing was heard of Luna for months. Nor was there any news of Dean. Seamus was clearly worried for him, despite his assertion that Dean had the wherewithal and common sense to stay out of sight for as long as he needed to. Most depressing of all, there had been no news at all of Harry, Ron and Hermione except for a few stories claiming that Harry had been captured or sighted abroad.
At Hogwarts, the Carrows grew bolder. They had spent their first term seeing how far they could push Snape; by January, enraged by constant defiance and ridicule by the DA, they seemed to have decided that the answer to that was, 'as far as they liked'. Detentions no longer involved other professors, who were expected to send all miscreants to the Carrows for punishment. In reality, school discipline had never been better, since students did their best not to invoke punishment and professors did their best not to hand it out. With a few exceptions, pupils and staff developed a mutually friendly symbiosis.
However, the Carrows found plenty of reasons to impose detentions of their own, and these periods literally became an excuse for torture. Certain students - Crabbe and Goyle in particular - delighted in starting fights so that they ended up in detention with their victims, where the Carrows gave them licence to cast the Cruciatus curse for as long as the detention lasted. Neville and Ginny came in for the worst of it, since they were the readiest to speak out against the new policies - but all the older Gryffindors endured punishment by Cruciatus curse at least once a week, and many Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were not far behind.
Each time his turn came, Neville thought about his parents throughout the torture. Where this would once have made him miserable and silent, it now made him angry, and he used that anger to keep himself going as the world darkened around him. When Ginny went home at Easter and didn't return, he found himself sole leader of the resistance and discovered the responsibilities that others expected him to shoulder: comforting Susan after a session with Crabbe in a particularly vicious mood; encouraging Peakes when he lost his nerve; negotiating the release of two second years from a vengeful Filch.
As the torture grew more indiscriminate, Neville sensed a change in attitude towards him. He had been identified as a ringleader in the resistance to Death Eater control of Hogwarts, and he began to suspect that his pure-blood status would not protect him for much longer.
Interlude
Leaving the unconscious Dawlish to be found whenever someone decided to check on him, Augusta grabbed the bag she'd had ready for weeks, pulled on her hat and Apparated to one of her favourite retreats: a tarn near the top of one of the hills in the Lake District. She spent some time performing Disillusionment and Concealment Charms around the spot where she'd landed before setting up her tent. Some Muggles were camping on the other side of the tarn, but that was all right; they would assume that she was another hiker, and the charms would prevent them from getting close enough to wonder about her attire.
She set up her fishing rod, got the fire going inside the tent and took out a roll of parchment, eyeing her owl speculatively. He was young and reliable, but there were a few different people she wanted to write to, located in various parts of the country.
Neville was most important, she decided, and settled down on a cushion beside her rod. For once, the words came easily and she had no problem filling several inches of parchment. She used her wand to tear it off neatly, rolled it up and affixed it to Wendell's leg before scribbling a few lines for Minerva McGonagall on the remains of the sheet.
"Off you go, then," she ordered. "Keep those safe, and try to deliver them when no one's looking."
He hooted softly and rose into the air.
"And come straight back," she added. "I'll have some food for you, so no hunting, please."
She didn't expect him back before nightfall, but she finished her letters anyway: a note for Algie telling him that she was fine and could he please look in on Frank and Alice once a week until he heard from her again; and a letter to her lawyer instructing him to implement the plan they'd drawn up several months ago. The Longbottom family's assets would remain safe, no matter how perilous the situations of its members.
It was now lunchtime and no fish were biting, so she permitted herself a little magic. Within minutes, she had enough to feed three people and so, judging by their jubilant cries, did the Muggles on the other side of the water.
An hour later, sated and snug in her spare armchair, she made her plans. She'd have to move on as soon as Wendell got back; there was no point sitting and waiting to be caught. She hoped Neville was safe. He was a good boy, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.
Dear Neville,
At six o'clock this morning I was visited by a very rude young man by the name of Dawlish, who claimed to be from the Ministry of Magic. He may well have been, but as you know, that wouldn't reassure me at all these days.
I don't know what he was expecting, but when he pulled out an arrest warrant I decided I couldn't have that. Sadly I had to use force, but I'm sure the Healers will put him back together in the end.
I am safe, and you mustn't worry about me. You stick to your guns - the fuss you've been creating in that school is all over the country, and you're cheering people up left, right and centre. Keep it up. You're your parents' son, and I'm proud of you - as proud as they would be if they knew. Perhaps I haven't told you that often enough over the years.
Keep fighting.
Love,
Gran
Neville seemed to have spent a lot of time being angry over the past few months, but the rage that filled him as he read this missive seemed to have sparked deep inside. So they thought they could get him to behave by targeting a helpless old lady, did they? Well, Gran had shown them what she was made of, and so would he.
His fury sustained him all the way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts room, where he was due for another detention. He was almost angry enough to try an Unforgivable curse, he thought, pushing the door open.
"Ah, Longbottom." The odd, breathy excitement in Alecto's greeting put him on alert; usually she spoke to him as rudely and as infrequently as possible. Her voice deepened as she added, "You're here to give these three some practice with a special project."
Neville looked around. Lined up against the wall, backed by the disgusting posters of Muggles, were Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy didn't meet his eyes; he looked miserable. Goyle appeared nervous but excited, and Crabbe looked positively eager. Neville glanced at Alecto again, and then at the last occupant of the room: her brother. Amycus grinned at him, and Neville saw the hunger of the torturer in his eyes.
His Stunning spells caught Crabbe and Goyle and he dodged two curses before plunging back outside and sprinting the length of the corridor.
"Come back here, you Muggle-loving little shit," Alecto shrieked. Amycus's rougher voice called, "After him! Call yourself a Slytherin - get after him, Malfoy!"
At the sound of quick footsteps in his wake, Neville swore under his breath. He'd taken out Crabbe and Goyle because he had perceived them to be the greatest threats, but at least he could outrun them. He was less sure of Malfoy.
The footsteps grew louder. He risked a glance over his shoulder as he turned a corner; the Carrows had joined the pursuit.
He had to hide somewhere! His first instinct was to head for Gryffindor Tower, but he quickly rejected the idea. They'd only follow him and drag him back. He'd recognised the mood in that room; they had been people about to step over a line. A big line.
It would have to be the Room of Requirement. He dashed up a staircase; Malfoy's boots seemed to be getting closer. He mustn't make his destination too obvious.
"Get him, Draco," called Alecto breathlessly.
Ha! So she didn't like the stairs. He hurtled up the next flight, hurdling the stair he'd always caught his foot in until Hermione had taught him a trick for remembering the castle's traps, and sent a mental 'thank you' her way a few seconds later at Amycus's yell of rage. A single set of footsteps pursued him now; apparently Alecto had stopped to help her brother. Surely he could deal with Malfoy alone?
But halfway along the next corridor, he dived into an alcove and found that his memory had failed him after all. He turned in the dead end as Malfoy advanced on him.
"Stupefy!"
They both dodged, and Malfoy continued advancing, his wand out ready to strike. "I don't understand you," he said. "You were always such a dork. But you're a pure-blood - you could've had it easy this year if you'd just kept quiet."
"Like you?" Neville asked. "How's it feel to be the Carrows' pet torturer?"
Malfoy flushed. "There are worse things," he muttered and his sharp features hardened. "But if I take you down, he'll approve. My parents will be safer. I've got to." His arm stiffened, and Neville stared at the wand he held.
"That's Luna's wand." He couldn't believe that he'd only just recognised it; he'd watched her cast loads of spells with it. "Where's yours? And where's Luna?"
Malfoy didn't even seem to notice; he was still trying to talk himself into his plan. "Yeah. That's it. I just have to ..."
"Malfoy?"
Grey eyes looked at him instead of through him. "What?"
"Stupefy!"
He wanted to grab Luna's wand (what the hell was Malfoy doing with it?) but he could hear the Carrows thundering up the stairs; there wasn't time. So he sprinted off again, ignoring their yells of fury when they reached Malfoy. In another second they would see him.
"Professor Carrow, and Professor Carrow," Snape's called from the other end of the corridor, "a word, if you please."
How on earth hadn't Snape seen him? Neville sprinted around the corner and halted despite himself, aware that his objective was almost in reach and curious to know why his pursuers were being distracted.
"It'll have to wait, Severus," puffed Amycus. "We're disciplining Longbottom."
"This won't take long," Neville heard Snape say. He forced his legs to run the last few metres until he was out of earshot, and there, finally, was the right corridor.
"I need a place to hide from the Carrows," he thought frantically. "I need a safe place to hide from the Carrows, I need a safe-"
The door appeared; he pulled it open and collapsed inside the Room of Requirement.
Now he could think again, and he wondered how close a call it had been; how his gran would have felt if he'd died; what they would have told her. Would they even have let his parents know? His parents had faced Voldemort before - how had they felt, knowing they might be murdered for standing against him? How had they felt when the Lestranges had arrived; when they had realised that they were being tortured for answers they didn't possess? And finally: was this how Harry had felt all those times? Voldemort had tried to kill him, to possess him, to torture him. And still, he fought on.
Or did he? What if what so many people said was true - what if he was simply on the run? They wouldn't blame him.
Would Neville blame him?
He thought again of Amycus's avid expression, and of the lascivious note in Alecto's voice. Of course Harry was fighting; he must be fighting. What else was it all for?
He dragged himself onto the sofa that had materialised beneath a Gryffindor banner, and slept.
1981
Christmas was surprisingly difficult. Alice knew she should be feeling carefree like all of her friends. The shadow of war had been lifted and people were ready to celebrate.
But the price seemed too high. Her own parents had been killed several years previously in an attack at Kings Cross station. Her father-in-law had become an early victim thanks to his outspoken political views. The Prewett twins were dead. Caradoc Dearborn was gone, and the McKinnons. Families had been devastated; people all over the country were coming to terms with what they had done under the influence of the Imperius Curse. Sirius Black, charming and handsome, had turned out to be a traitor. And of course, there were James and Lily Potter, who had been murdered before their son had so mysteriously vanquished Voldemort.
"Think of Neville," Frank urged when she tried to explain her feelings to him. "He won't ever have to go through that, because of what we did, all of us."
She shook her head. "You think there won't be someone else eventually? Either there'll be another dark wizard, or Voldemort'll come back. I don't believe he's gone - not entirely; I'll believe he is when I see a body."
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against him. "Maybe there will be. All that means is that we've got to keep living, and to bring Neville up to be a good kid; a strong kid. Someone who knows how to stand up for what he believes in."
"A true Gryffindor lion, you mean," she said wryly.
His arms tightened. "Why not? The rest of us are."
"I want Neville to be himself," she said. "I don't want him to be a Longbottom, or a Gryffindor, or anything else. I just want him to be him."
They both looked at the cot, where the subject of their conversation slumbered peacefully.
"He will be," Frank said, and tightened his arms around her.
1998
When Neville awoke, he had no idea what the time was. His stomach was hollow and he looked around for food, but it seemed to be the only thing that was missing. To take his mind off things, he used his Galleon to call a meeting of Dumbledore's Army, hoping he hadn't lost track of time too badly. Then he pulled out Gran's letter and reread it, wondering where she was, and full of pride on her behalf. He had a bad few minutes while he panicked that the Death Eaters would take revenge on his parents. Gran hadn't even seemed to consider that, and eventually he realised why.
They don't believe we can possibly care about them, he thought. Well, I do. I'm proud of them.
He slept again, and then occupied himself with planning more attacks. If he could bring some of the others in here, the room would never change as long as one of them stayed inside. That meant they could make sorties into the rest of the castle; they could do as much damage as before, all from inside this room.
When he finally noticed the hammock, he laughed aloud. In terms of amenities, the room was starting to feel like a desert island. He spent some time thinking up more instructions: don't let any of You-Know-Who's supporters in; definitely don't let the Carrows or Snape in; let in any of the DA, or anyone else who needs to find me.
The DA turned up then, as if on cue, and Seamus, sporting a swelling black eye after a confrontation with Amycus, elected to stay. The mood was sombre; Neville felt compelled to tell them that things had changed. He couldn't be responsible for anyone dying in detention.
But if their fear had escalated, so had their determination. At least half of the DA left with a mission that night. Neville would have been buoyant, except that no one had thought to bring food to the meeting, and this seemed to be the one amenity that the room could not provide.
The next time he awoke, he was decidedly famished. He really did need some food soon, he realised dizzily. He wasn't sure exactly how long it was since he'd eaten, but he needed food. He really ...
He caught movement in the corner of his vision, and stared at a door that he was sure hadn't been there before. Disentangling himself from the hammock, he looked at it closely, but there was nothing to distinguish it from any other door in the castle. He sat and watched it for a while, fantasising about the hearty meal that might be on the other side, until Seamus awoke.
It didn't take them long to decide. They were both famished, and taking a look should do no harm. If it led out into the castle, well, they'd just come back inside. If it didn't ... this was an amazing room. They'd trust it. They tossed a coin; Seamus lost, and reluctantly stayed behind to ensure that nobody took advantage of the room being empty.
Behind the door was a tunnel, dimly lit and evenly hewn. Over the past few months, Neville and Seamus had explored some of the other tunnels that laced the Hogwarts walls, such as the one behind the witch's hump. They were overgrown, neglected - and guarded. This had a different feel to it.
When he followed it, Neville half-expected to come out in the Hogwarts kitchens, but it soon became clear that he was walking too far for that. Finally, he saw a light ahead, brighter than the brass lamps that dotted the passage. Between him and the light was a flight of stone steps - and a girl, who turned towards him and smiled. She looked about twelve, and with her long, blonde hair and unfocused gaze, she reminded him of Luna.
"Er, hi," he said. "I'm sorry, I just followed ..." He indicated the tunnel.
She smiled and waved him past. At that moment, a whole chunk of the wall behind her creaked and moved aside, and she melted into the stonework.
"What the ...?" Neville shook himself. She must be a ghost, that was all. He'd seen plenty of them before.
Holding his wand out, alert to any hint of an ambush, he climbed the steps and peered through the gap in the wall. Beyond it was a big room full of old-fashioned furniture - rather like his gran's living room, but a lot dingier. An elderly man sat at a rickety table, eating some kind of pie.
"You'll be from the school." He didn't seem shocked by the intrusion.
"Er, yeah," Neville said. "Where am I, please?" Feeling a little silly, he kept his wand pointing at the man who, while looking rather fierce, appeared more interested in his food than in his visitor.
"I don't know if I want to tell you that," the man said. "Not if it could be tortured out of you by those damn Carrows." He took a large mouthful of pie, and Neville's stomach rumbled. "Watch'ou 'ink?" he asked, and swallowed. "Can you keep a secret?"
"I've been keeping secrets all my life," said Neville, and hesitated. "But under torture ... I don't know. I'd try."
The old man nodded. "Fair enough. Well, sit yourself down." He stood up. "I've got plenty more in the kitchen."
Neville sprang down into the room and sat on the spare chair, still unsure of whether he was making a mistake. He felt as if chocolate frogs were jumping around inside his brain; he was so hungry that he was having trouble thinking straight. But his mouth watered when he smelled the food, and he didn't know where else he'd find anything to eat. When the old man set a full plate in front of him, he wolfed down the steaming chicken pie, mashed potatoes and carrots.
Thankfully, his benefactor did not seem interested in talking, and laid down his knife and fork only when both plates were empty. "You've got a healthy appetite. Or else they've been starving you in that place."
"I'm in hiding," Neville explained.
The man nodded. "Sensible. You've obviously been in the wars with that lot. I'm going to take a guess at your name. You're Neville Longbottom."
"Yeah." Neville reached for his wand, trying to be surreptitious, but the old man's gaze followed his hand. "Er, how'd you know?"
"The entire village is talking about how you're leading the resistance up at the school. You look like you've been doing a bit of resisting. And then, I knew your parents." He had twisted towards a pewter jug on the sideboard; now he turned back bearing two glassfuls of a golden liquid. "You look like your mum."
The last time Neville had heard that, it had been from a disguised Death Eater. He knew he should be wary, especially of someone who was feeding and watering him, but the food hadn't hit his stomach yet and his mind was still fuzzy. Then a memory that had been nagging at him fell into place.
"You're the barman from the Hog's Head." Another realisation hit. "And you're Aberforth Dumbledore."
"That's me." The old man slid a glass across the table. It stopped precisely in front of Neville. "You got it in two. You want pudding? I'll give you the rest of that pie to take back with you for later."
"Pudding would be brilliant," Neville said. "Thanks. Er, I left a friend, back there; he's pretty hungry, too."
"Reckon I can feed a couple of kids." Aberforth nodded at the glass. "That's Firewhisky. Drink it if you like. And no need to worry. I don't fiddle with teenage boys, whatever you might've heard."
"I haven't heard anything," Neville lied. Aberforth's twisted smile implied that he suspected otherwise, but he disappeared into the kitchen without a word.
"Bit draughty in here, isn't it?" he said when he returned with two bowls of apple crumble drowned in custard. "I'll just shut the door."
"Hey," Neville started, but the door through which he had entered swung back to reveal, not a window, but a portrait of the girl he'd encountered.
"Er, hi," he said when she smiled at him.
"This is my Ariana," said Aberforth.
Neville remembered the rumours about Dumbledore's family which had raced through Hogwarts at the beginning of the school year. "It's good to meet you both," he said sincerely. "Our group - we're called Dumbledore's Army."
Ariana clapped her hands and laughed - the first sound he had heard her make.
"I know about that." Aberforth's voice was rough. "My brother always had a knack of inspiring devotion in people. It's why he made a good teacher - and a bloody awful politician."
"He was a great headmaster," Neville said, puzzled by Aberforth's tone. "That's why we're fighting on in his name."
"Yeah, I'm sure it is. Well." Aberforth downed his Firewhisky. "It's maybe too late for you if you're in hiding, but my advice to your 'army' is to lie low. Give it up. The Death Eaters control the Ministry and Hogwarts, and pretty soon they'll control the rest of us, too."
"No way!" Neville said. "We're going to keep fighting. The Death Eaters will never have Hogwarts, not while there's a member of Dumbledore's Army to oppose them."
"Nice rhetoric." Aberforth nodded appreciatively. "And it's going well is it?" He poured himself another drink. "You look like they've been using you for target practice."
"Pretty close," Neville admitted. "But the important thing is, we're still resisting. It's driving them up the wall. And there are people outside Hogwarts, too; there's Potterwatch-"
"Yeah, I've heard 'em," Aberforth said. "Bunch of dreamers. I'm not saying they're not doing some good," he added as Neville opened his mouth. "But apart from helping a few Muggle-borns communicate, what are they doing?"
"They're giving people hope," Neville said.
Aberforth shook his head. "What you ought to do is get out of the country. Maybe you've got some contacts in the Order of the Phoenix that can help; I don't want to know about that-"
"I'm not leaving," Neville interrupted.
"And your family? How do they feel about that?"
Neville glanced at Ariana. He knew now why the innocence that he sensed in her had seemed so familiar. "My parents are in a permanent ward at St Mungo's. If you knew them once, you probably know that." He met Aberforth's gaze, and felt a peculiar sense of recognition in the blue eyes, which until now had been shadowed by the glasses that perched on his long nose. "I don't think the Death Eaters even remember they exist. As for my gran ..." He lifted his head proudly. "She's already on the run. I had a letter this morning - I mean, yesterday." He yawned. "What time is it, by the way?"
Aberforth glanced at the clock. "Midnight. You're lucky I shut the bar early because of the curfew. As for your gran, I see lunacy runs in your family."
You are your parents' son, Neville thought. "I prefer to think of it as honour," he said.
Aberforth nodded. "You would. I see my brother got under your skin, and it's no use arguing with you. Well, I suppose I can help you out with a bit of food. Nobody's eating it downstairs these days - bloody Dementors taking away their appetites."
"Thanks, Aberforth," Neville said. Having his immediate problem solved was a relief. "Er, can I pay you? Gran took me to empty my Gringotts vault before ..."
Aberforth waved a hand. "Call me Ab. And you're too trusting. Some of my punters'd strip you of your cash in no time. No, you keep your Galleons. We can do our bit in our own way, me and Ariana."
"Thanks," Neville repeated. "I really do appreciate it."
"Yeah, well." Aberforth seized his glass. "My brother got you into this mess, so I may as well help out a bit. Eat your pud and drink up, lad."
Neville drank up, and later walked back down the tunnel with his throat burning and a warm sensation in his chest that was not entirely due to the alcohol.
1982
Alice heard the doorbell, but it was only when Frank's exclamation was followed by a thud in the hall that she thought to worry.
For a second, she froze. Then Neville whimpered, and she snapped into the routine. She grabbed her "baby" bag and checked the supplies: nappies, baby food, a change of clothes. Good. Augusta was out tonight, but she'd find him waiting when she got home, and that was safer than trying to send him elsewhere.
Wrapping the straps around Neville's shoulders - the bag was almost as big as he was - she reached inside and found the other item she was seeking.
The Portkey spells were already primed; she just had to complete them. It seemed to take forever, and there was a horrible moment when she heard an unfamiliar laugh downstairs and forgot the incantations. Then she picked up her train of thought again, wrapped Neville's chubby fingers around the stuffed lion, and forced herself to let go.
Fighting the agony of losing him - he's safe, whatever happens - she crept onto the landing, poised to throw everything she had at whoever was downstairs.
1998
Events progressed quickly after that, although to Neville, trapped in the Room of Requirement, time seemed to trickle by. The best thing that happened was that Luna sent a message to say that she and Dean were safe, and that they had also seen Harry, Ron and Hermione. The mood in the room was boisterous that night, and several people suffered from their first hangovers the next morning.
Their population began to grow. Seamus was followed by Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein. Lavender and the Patil twins joined them a few days later and others flocked in, until after a fortnight, almost the whole of Dumbledore's Army was camping out.
The room never felt full; it simply evolved as more people arrived. There were now hangings on three walls representing Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. The hammocks were surprisingly comfortable and the bathroom, as Lavender remarked, always immaculate. The air was never stuffy despite the lack of windows to open. The only thing that wasn't provided was food, but Aberforth kept his promise in that respect.
They spent their days plotting or sleeping and their nights conducting raids: taunting the Carrows and Snape, checking on the younger children, booby-trapping classrooms and anything else they could think of. Once someone recalled the Weasley twins' trick of turning a corridor into a swamp, it took Neville, Susan and Terry only a few hours to work out how to recreate the spell.
Now that they knew the others were safe, they often discussed what to do when they came back. Neville sometimes wondered what would happen if Harry never returned to school. Would they carry on indefinitely? How long before the authorities arrested everyone's families?
One day, the tunnel door opened and Ariana beckoned from the doorway.
Neville hurried over. "What is it?" He had made many trips to the Hog's Head to visit Aberforth and collect supplies, but this was the first time he had been summoned.
When he leaned close - she didn't seem able to leave the passage - she whispered in his ear.
"More of us?" he repeated. "In the Hog's Head? But we're all at school. How could anyone have got there without coming through here?"
Ariana shook her head. "Come," she said. "Ab says. Come and see!"
Neville followed her, puzzled. As the door shut behind him, an idea stopped him dead.
"Harry!" he said. "Ariana, it's not Harry, is it?"
She smiled and beckoned again.
"It is!" he exclaimed. "It's got to be. Ariana, I promise I'll come in one minute. I'll be back. Just give me a minute, OK?"
Her little fingers were already reaching for his sleeve. "Come," she insisted, tears welling in her eyes.
He wished he could hug her; she was the most lifelike portrait he'd ever encountered. But if he tried to touch her, his hand simply passed through her.
"I will in a minute," he promised, and opened the door again. "Listen!" he shouted, and the room fell silent. "It's Harry," he said. "I'm sure of it. 'More of us' out there? Who else would it be? Luna, Ginny and Dean are in hiding, and anyhow, they know how to contact us. It's got to be Harry. And you know what that means."
"Yeah!" yelled Seamus. "Finally we get to do something."
Neville nodded, and the others broke into excited chatter.
"I'll go and get him," Neville said loudly as Ariana whispered beside him once more. "You lot send messages to Ginny and Luna and the rest of the DA. All the old crowd. Tell them to alert anyone else they trust. It's time to make a stand."
The cheers started before he shut the door. Neville sprinted down the passage after Ariana, planning what he would say to Harry.
Interlude
"Well, folks, I'm still laughing about Harry, Ron and Hermione escaping from Gringotts on the back of a ... what? Hang on, sorry, listeners."
Augusta heard whispers and a loud, "Yes!" in the background. Then River's voice came back over the wireless. "Listeners! I have an urgent message for all our listeners. The revolt has started, and it's at Hogwarts. Dumbledore's Army has sent out alerts. Mustering point is the Old Goat's Home. I think we all know where that is. Apparate straight into the building so as not to set off the alarms."
A deeper, slower tone took over. "This is Royal speaking. This is Kingsley Shacklebolt. Our young people have been leading by example for nine months. It's time to show our support. They are our future. Don't let them down. Go now. Dumbledore's Army needs you."
Augusta was already stuffing her belongings into her bag. She left the wireless running, but River merely gave the code word for the next programme and closed out, his voice hoarse with excitement.
She shook her head over the Old Goat's Home; as if any listening Death Eater wouldn't be able to work that out. Still, the time for subterfuge was past. If Hogwarts was revolting and people were rallying to support them, then allegiances must be declared, and she knew where she wanted to be.
When she Apparated, it was Neville's face rather than the Hog's Head that she pictured.
1998
Things moved quickly once Harry, Ron and Hermione arrived, followed by the older members of the DA and the Order of the Phoenix. To Neville, who had spent most of the past fortnight planning, action was a huge relief; he put his ideas to Professor Sprout, who took them up with alacrity and set him to gathering supplies. The next few hours were a blur: attack; take cover; defend; move on; attack again. At first, it wasn't that different from directing the DA, except that secrecy was no longer required. He was scared, yes, but he'd been scared before, and he'd learned that the best way to combat it was to lead by example.
It wasn't his first battle, but it was by far the messiest and ugliest. The Death Eaters were not expecting to be attacked by outraged Puffapods and Mandrakes, which gave the Hogwarts contingent an initial advantage, but they were outnumbered by Voldemort's supporters, and every time Neville glanced beyond the walls, more seemed to be coming: Death Eaters, giants, acromantulae ...
Then Terry groaned and lurched to the ground, blood oozing through his robes.
Neville touched his wand to Terry's side, attempting all the healing spells that they had practised, but the blood continued to spread. "Here," he said urgently as Terry lolled against him, his eyes glazing over. "Terry. Terry! You're OK. Come on, I'm going to get you some help."
Even as he turned to run, he knew he would never get back in time. Susan caught his arm. "We can get him to Pomfrey between us," she yelled, and Neville nodded.
They carried him in a fireman's lift, taking turns to hold their wands to his ribs and mutter the weak countercurse that was the only way they knew to fight Sectumsempra. It was a relief to hand him over to Madam Pomfrey, who somehow maintained a calm air amid the chaos of the Great Hall, which she had transformed into a makeshift hospital.
"All right, you two." She was already unwrapping a Blood-Replenishing Potion. "You've done well. Off you go."
There was nothing more to be done, Neville realised, except to hope that they'd got Terry there in time. He had faced the possibility of people being hurt because of his orders before - but the consequence had been a session with the Carrows, which was horrible but not life-threatening. It was quite a different matter to consider that people might lose their lives in this fight.
Wasn't this what they'd been working towards all year, though? He had decided long ago that he would give his life to help fight Voldemort; his only doubt had been whether he would have the courage to meet death well if it became necessary. But could he ask others to do likewise?
Professor Sprout dashed past. "All right, folks," she called. "You've done your jobs up there. Good work. No point going back - the walls are going." She hurried outside.
Susan looked uncertainly at him. "Does that mean - should we be going out to fight?"
"You should be in your beds, or guarding hostages," said a gruff voice behind them. Aberforth's hair and beard were streaked with blood, and in his filthy robes he resembled a rusty knight. "But you can come with me, if you want. Arthur Weasley needs a hand out there."
"Will do." Neville fell into step behind Aberforth, who hadn't waited. Susan nodded, her jaw trembling, and they marched towards the entrance.
"Oi, Nev!" bawled Seamus from halfway up a staircase. "You don't get to have all the fun without us." He sprinted down the steps, followed by Hannah, Michael and a dozen others.
Neville paused and looked at them. They had buoyed him, trusted him, encouraged him and fought beside him all year, and for a moment his heart was too full for speech. He glanced at Aberforth, who had halted just inside the main doors, and yelled the only words he could think of.
"Dumbledore's Army!"
It came back to him in a roar and they charged out into the darkness.
They hit chaos immediately: a party of defenders had been pushed right back to the steps, and the night was bright with flashes of magic. Neville jinxed, cursed and Stunned without pausing to think, all his senses focused on attacking the masked figures who swarmed over the grass. He saw Seamus fall and charged his attacker, then another, and another, relief registering only vaguely as Seamus rolled into a sitting position in the corner of his vision. He had to keep fighting; he was a Gryffindor, a Longbottom, a wizard who knew what was right, and just now, right was fighting, fighting, fighting despite the hordes of opponents who kept coming ...
Gran found him as a contingent of Death Eaters broke through into the Entrance Hall, and took down the Death Eater he was fighting with a well-placed Stunning spell. Seizing the instant of peace, he hugged her without thinking.
A chill seized him; over her shoulder, he saw three Dementors heading their way, and thrust out his wand. "Expecto Patronum!"
His Patronus burst forth and chased the Dementors towards the forest.
"Gran, are you OK?"
She was straightening her hat and staring after the retreated Dementors, but she turned at his words.
"You've done a good job," she murmured, and he heard the pride behind her words.
He was used to picturing his parents when he needed a spur; now, as he turned back to the fight and shot spells faster and more intricately than he'd ever done before, he pictured Gran's solid, resolute face.
1982
When Alice came to, the agony was mostly in her memory, but there was a noise: a horrible, terrifying, nauseating noise. No, she thought, let me go back; I've had enough. I can't bear any more.
Then she realised that the noise was Frank, yelling hoarsely.
"Frank."
No one took any notice of her, and she rallied all her energy. "Frank!"
Everyone looked at her then. "Ah, Alice," Bellatrix Lestrange said sweetly. "Ready for more?"
"We don't know anything," she croaked, although surely they knew this after the past few hours. They were just having fun.
We're not going to get out of this, she realised. They're not going to let us go.
I got Neville out. She held that thought. Frank's mother would look after him; the Longbottom line went back centuries, and Augusta wouldn't let him go to anyone else.
Neville's all right.
She looked at Frank; made herself look beyond the blood and tears and the dark hair plastered to his sweaty scalp, the dark eyes staring from a skull-like face. She saw the Frank she'd always loved - solid, warm, gentle - and smiled at him.
His eyes flickered in answer and her heart lurched. He was still there.
"I love you." Her voice was so worn out from screaming that she made barely a sound, but she knew that he understood.
We had a good time, didn't we? she thought at him. We had a bloody great time, actually. Think of all those moments: that instant before I knew you were going to kiss me for the first time. The night you dragged me out of your mother's party because you wanted to propose. All those times we made love. You're a wonderful lover, Frank.
And Neville, we made Neville together, our lion, and he's amazing, isn't he? We made Neville, and he's safe. We're here, but don't think of that; think of how happy we've been, darling, and think of Neville, safe at your mother's house. He's going to have a good, long, happy life; I just know he is.
The agony that pierced her then had nothing to do with Bellatrix Lestrange's wand in her face, and everything to do with the fear that she would never see her son again. But she focused on Frank's beautiful, dark eyes, and on talking to him as loudly as she could in her mind.
The pain was back. Alice held Frank's gaze and thought her thoughts, until little by little the world slipped away.
1998
Leaning over another body, Neville sent up a prayer of thanks that it wasn't one of his, and then another prayer because someone had just lost a sister, a daughter, perhaps even a mother.
When Harry said his name, he jumped and squinted up in the darkness. There was something odd about Harry's stillness. "Where are you going alone?" he demanded.
He barely heard Harry's response, too busy wondering what he was planning. Voldemort's deadline was approaching, and then they would have to fight again, unless ... "Harry! Harry, you're not thinking of handing yourself over?"
"No," Harry said easily. "Course not ... this is something else. But I might be out of sight for a while. You know Voldemort's snake, Neville? He's got a huge snake ... calls it Nagini ..."
"I've heard, yeah ... what about it?"
"It's got to be killed. Ron and Hermione know that, but just in case they ... just in case they're - busy - and you get the chance-"
"Kill the snake?" Neville put in, since Harry seemed to have run out of words.
"Kill the snake," Harry answered.
"All right, Harry." Neville hesitated. "You're OK, are you?"
"I'm fine. Thanks, Neville." He turned away, but Neville grabbed his wrist.
"We're all going to keep fighting, Harry. You know that?" It seemed important, suddenly, to make sure that he understood.
"Yeah, I-"
They stared at one another. Neville wished that he could tell Harry how important he was, and how much inspiring. He wished that he could carry part of the burden that weighed on Harry's shoulders. But Voldemort's deadline loomed; there was work to be done, and Harry did not look as if he wanted confidences. Neville patted his shoulder and released him.
In the Great Hall a little later, he was accosted by Ginny.
"Have you seen Harry?"
"I saw him a while ago, just outside the main entrance. Can't you find him?"
She shook her head; her face was pink and tear-stained.
Neville knew, then, but he couldn't tell Ginny, not like that. "He'll be around somewhere," he said uneasily. "Maybe he's with Ron and Hermione."
"They haven't seen him for ages. Nobody's seen him. I think he's gone. To Voldemort."
"No," Neville said. "Harry wouldn't just give up like that."
"He might if he thought it would save everyone else," she said miserably. "You know what he's like."
"Voldemort's coming! The Death Eaters are coming!" The shouts started outside and were taken up by people in the Entrance Hall. Neville and Ginny looked at each other and ran for the main doors.
Death Eaters poured onto the lawn, led by the unlikely pairing of Hagrid and Voldemort. Hagrid's sobs were audible long before he stepped into the light emanating from the castle entrance and his burden was thrown into relief. In his arms, Harry sprawled limply, glasses askew on his bloodstained, expressionless face.
So he'd done it. Neville closed his eyes, trying to comprehend the courage it must have taken. Too late to ask why - they'd all known that handing Harry over wasn't the answer, and surely Harry had, too. It was done. He was gone, and they must fight without him.
Kill the snake. That had been Harry's last request of him. Well, he would have to do it, wouldn't he?
The snake undulated around Voldemort's shoulders; in the darkness, it resembled a huge, pulsating aura of evil.
Kill the snake. But how?
Nearby, Ron, Hermione and Ginny's shouts were silenced by Voldemort's spell, but only briefly. Ron yelled again, and then everyone was shouting and screaming defiance, until Voldemort Silenced them once more. Neville moved forward, heart kicking. He had to try now, while Voldemort was distracted. Kill the snake.
"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds," Voldemort declared.
"That's a lie!" Neville tried to shout, but the Silencing spell was too strong. He edged forward again. Kill the snake. Harry was a mere ten metres away and yet lost. All their hopes - but no. He was going to make sure Harry hadn't died for nothing.
"... killed while trying to save himself-"
Neville threw himself forward, but Voldemort was inhumanly fast. His wand flew from his grasp and he landed on the grass with a thump that knocked all the breath out of him. He looked up just in time to see Voldemort casting his wand aside, the snake still around his shoulders.
Kill the snake. Without a wand?
"And who is this?" Voldemort asked. Neville forced himself to keep looking into those cold, snakelike eyes despite the fear that seized him. "Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"
"It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord!" He didn't have to look to know who the speaker was; Bellatrix Lestrange's voice had curdled his blood for too long. "The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?"
He pulled himself upright. Kill the snake. If he could just reach his wand ...
"Ah, yes, I remember." Voldemort looked at him again, eyes glittering. "But you are a pure-blood, aren't you, my brave boy?"
"So what if I am?" Neville shouted - or tried to, but his voice sounded very small in the darkness, between the two clusters of people.
"You show spirit, and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."
"I'll join you when hell freezes over," Neville yelled. "Dumbledore's Army!"
The cheer from the crowd heartened him despite his situation. Whatever happened, people would carry on the fight. And he wasn't dead yet.
"Very well," Voldemort said, and around his neck the great snake seemed to shiver. "If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head be it." He raised his wand and a battered hat flew into his hand.
"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School. There will be no more houses. The emblem, shield and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone, won't they, Neville Longbottom?"
It was as if invisible ropes had bound him tight. He couldn't speak or move; he could barely breathe as the Sorting Hat was pulled down over his eyes. Just like being Sorted, he thought. It had been too big then, as well, although Malfoy hadn't introduced him to the Body-Bind Curse until several months down the line.
"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me," said Voldemort's soft voice, muted now because of the Hat.
Before Neville had time to react, heat seared his face and the panic that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in front of everyone broke free. The Hat was on fire!
Why did I ever think I could do any good? he wondered frantically. I was never like Harry. I'm not meant to be like Harry.
I'm meant to die here, as an example of what not to do.
He was breathing smoke. Beyond the hat were shouts and screams, and an odd thundering that sounded as if people were charging along the corridor immediately above. Except that they were outside, he remembered, so that couldn't be right. Hopefully reinforcements had arrived, and hopefully they were on the right side.
He choked, and struggled again, but he couldn't move. Some Gryffindor I am, he thought desperately. Harry's voice echoed in his mind again: Kill the snake. He tried to focus, to push the panic down into a tiny ball, to laugh at it like the Boggart that Professor Lupin had once taught them to defeat. This time, his bonds seemed to give slightly.
"That's it," wheezed a voice in his ear. "Ugh, it's uncomfortable like this. Keep trying, won't you?"
"I'm a Gryffindor," he whispered into the mouldy fabric. His ears hurt and the skin on his face burned from the heat; he was terrified that the flames would reach his head any second now. "I'm a Gryffindor, and my parents were Gryffindors, and my Gran. Harry gave me a job to do, and I'm going to keep fighting."
"That's the spirit," the Hat said. "I knew it was the right place for you, you know."
"I'm a Gryffindor," Neville repeated, louder this time. There was an odd heaviness on the crown of his head that he was fairly sure had nothing to do with the flames. "I'm a Gryffindor, and in the name of Godric Gryffindor, Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, I'm going to keep fighting."
His limbs sprang free. Dragging off the hat, he coughed and gulped fresh air even as he realised what the weight on his head had been. He drew out the sword that he had last seen behind Severus Snape's desk and brought it down on the snake that was undulating around Voldemort's neck.
Interlude
Just as Augusta broke into the space around Neville and Voldemort, Neville swung the sword and the snake that coiled around Voldemort's shoulders fell to the ground, twitching but in pieces. Augusta dashed forward to defend him, but a Shield Charm shot up between them and Voldemort, who was staring at the dying snake as if unable to believe what had just happened. Grabbing Neville, who had fallen to his knees, she dragged him away. Voldemort glanced after them but barely seemed to register their presence as he hurried towards the castle.
Pandemonium was all around. Giants battled close by, their punches and footfalls shaking the earth, and centaurs' arrows whizzed past. People were duelling everywhere; Augusta doused the flaming Hat and made a mental note to settle her score with Bellatrix Lestrange. But first ...
"Gran!" Neville engulfed her in a crushing hug that took her breath.
She pushed him back far enough to check the burns on his face and aim her wand at the worst of them.
"You've done so well," she managed. When had her chubby grandson turned into this strapping man? She'd never quite forgiven him for looking more like Alice than Frank, but there was so much of both of them in him that she'd never noticed. "I'm so proud of you."
He grinned. "I'm proud of you, too," he croaked, reaching for the wand that Voldemort had discarded. "All my friends think you're really cool for taking out Dawlish and going on the run."
"Your Patronus," she said hesitantly. "I'd never seen it until today. It's a lion, isn't it?"
He nodded, his face still alight with excitement.
"So was your mother's," she said, and swallowed. "So was Alice's."
He stared at her until red light flashed overhead, missing them by inches. "Thank you," he said hoarsely. Then he whirled away, sword glinting in one hand, wand in the other. Augusta followed him, and together they fought their way through the mêlée.
Epilogue
Neville took his mother's thin, cold fingers in his and glanced at his grandmother. "Shall we go in?"
A Ministry official showed them to seats at the side where they could make a quick exit if his parents became too agitated. Eager to avoid the crowd, they'd missed the beginning: Kingsley Shacklebolt was already talking in his deep voice about the commitment of those who had fought at Hogwarts, and of the sacrifices that some of them had made. As he listened, Neville looked sideways. His mum was picking imaginary lint from her new robes; beside Gran, his dad appeared to be listening raptly, although that meant nothing.
"I would like to remind you all that this was not a new struggle," Shacklebolt said. "Twenty years ago, Voldemort was close to seizing power in wizarding Britain. Brave men and women fought against him, and through their suffering he was vanquished, at least for a while. Please, bow your heads for a moment and think of Dorcas Meadowes, Caradoc Dearborn, Gideon Prewett, Fabian Prewett, Marlene McKinnon ..." The list was long, but Shacklebolt's voice never faltered. When he bowed his head after Lily Potter's name, everyone in the hall, even Neville's parents, followed suit.
Would this be the last time that this kind of event was held? Neville wondered. Probably not. But he was glad he'd fought, anyway, and glad to be here today to remember the dead and celebrate the living.
"We also remember," Shacklebolt said, looking up and directly at the Longbottoms, "those who fought in that first war against Voldemort and survived. Some are with us now: Minerva McGonagall, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Frank and Alice Longbottom. Others, such as Aberforth Dumbledore, are unable to be with us, but their efforts should likewise be acknowledged. Please show them your appreciation."
The applause was loud, and Neville felt his mum twitch. He smiled at her and patted her hand, hoping she wasn't about to panic. She looked around, large-eyed, and then at her husband, who grasped her other hand. Beyond them, Neville spotted his grandmother wiping her eyes and grinned, although his own tears were close to the surface.
When the applause finally ebbed, Shacklebolt began listing those who had died. It was another long list, and if his voice became huskier as he named Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin, nobody begrudged him that. When he named Severus Snape, whispers spread through the hall but nobody protested. Neville remembered the way Snape had intercepted the Carrows during his last, desperate flight to the Room of Requirement. So it had been intentional.
Next came the awards: Order of Merlin, First Class, for Harry, Ron and Hermione. Neville was called up, too; he shook Shacklebolt's hand and grinned at Harry, who rolled his eyes as if he couldn't wait to get away. Neville knew how he felt. Keeping an anxious eye on his parents, he turned to leave, but Professor McGonagall, standing at the edge of the stage, shook her head at him. Shacklebolt held up his hand once more for silence.
"Over the past year," he said, "a group of people has set an extraordinary example for those of us who opposed Voldemort. These people resisted tyranny, stood up to torture and fought when all seemed lost. Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards, please rise for Dumbledore's Army."
The cheers came from the platform as well as the audience: Harry, Ron and Hermione shouted and Ron stamped his feet as they were joined on the stage by Ginny, Luna, Seamus, Susan, Lavender, Hannah, Terry and everyone else, battle-scarred but smiling. Neville hugged everyone in turn, glad that the noise made words impossible, because he couldn't have spoken. He looked at his parents and Gran once more, and grinned.
Dumbledore's Army had won.