Again, Harry Potter and everything related belong to Rowling and the others who hold rights, not to me.


I flopped down on the tone bench and immediately regretted it. I was getting too old for flopping bone-lessly anywhere. At least the garden is beautiful, even in the midst of winter, and it allowed me a few minutes to collect myself. Most of the world would think it strange to have a blooming garden, complete with spring microclimate on any random Tuesday in December, even in the wizarding community. Then again most people weren't Harry Potter. He had explained how it worked to me, but he lost me somewhere between ward schemes and geothermal energy. Suffice it to say, he gave me an area, designed the climate to my specifications, and gave me free reign. I designed most of Harry's gardens, but this one, this one is his favorite. It was small, just a grassy area with a moat (if you will) of wildflowers, and surrounded by a four foot tall hedge. If sitting on the grass, or on the bench, where I was still trying to will the pain away, it gave the illusion of complete privacy.

Harry had noticed me immediately, of course. The garden wasn't big enough not to notice. But he gave me a moment to compose myself while he stopped rolling around on the grass and came over to me with a ball. I threw it lightly to the other end of the garden. He chased it and immediately trotted back to me to have me throw it again.

Most of the British wizarding world knew Harry wasn't normal. If he was anyone but Harry Potter Boy-Who-Lived, his other titles wouldn't have become so widespread. Harry Potter, Psychotic Freak, or Harry Potter, Why-Isn't-He-In-St. Mungoes? Even I have a title since I've associated with him since our first year of Hogwarts, Neville Longbottom Harry's-Best-Friend. Most people say that title with pity, especially when talking with their friends, as if I couldn't hear them. In fact most people speak about me with pity too. It seems that my student days at Hogwarts will haunt me forever. Whenever I get something right, people treated me with surprise and congratulations. Whenever I get anything wrong the first thing anyone would say is "Well, of course, he's Neville Longbottom." This was especially true during fifth year. Harry didn't come back to Hogwarts after fourth year, and I hate to sound selfish, but the loss of the one person that had any confidence in my abilities put a serious downturn in my development.

In that respect Harry and I are similar. No one gives us credit for what we are. Upon meeting me, students and parents alike are less than impressed with my reputation – and so, they seriously underestimate me. Upon meeting Harry, most people would smile politely and quickly walk away. They don't try to get to know him. Not that he would let them. Even as his supposed 'best friend' all that I knew about him is because I experienced it with him, or second-hand accounts from other people. The credible stories come from people that knew us in Hogwarts, the students in our year, and from the professors themselves. Of course, I only heard from the professors after I became the instructor for Herbology myself. In my youth I never would have guessed that my professors gossiped like little old ladies at a knitting circle.

"Sometimes I envy you Harry." I said throwing the ball again. "Not to worry about human stuff. To be a dog or a cat as the mood takes you." Pick up ball, throw. I sighed, "Hey, I visited my parents yesterday. Merlin, since Gram died it's like they don't even know me." I threw the ball again. "There was no recognition, no reaction. Mum doesn't even give me gum wrappers anymore." I picked up the ball, threw it again, but this time Harry did not give chase.

"It hurts you know." Harry said. I was a little shocked, usually when Harry was in his 'happy dog mood' he didn't communicate verbally. Since I didn't know what to say in response I looked at him carefully, hoping for a clue. He was acting like a cat – a sure sign to act as if everything was normal, and not to push him. He must have read the confusion on my face because he continued. "The cruciatus curse, it hurts quite a bit."

"I know" I said, trying to place the voice he was using, it wasn't one I had heard him use before. "That's what it's designed to do."

If Harry had been normal, he would have rolled his eyes, as it were, his cat posture clearly conveyed that I was missing the point entirely. "You say that without experience."

"You've experienced the cruciatus curse? I'll kill them." I couldn't help it. I know Harry was more than capable of taking care of himself. He proved it again and again during his Hogwarts years. It didn't stop me from wanting to protect him.

"Too late." He said with a lopsided smile that didn't quite succeed, nor did it reassure me. "But that's not what I'm trying to tell you. What I'm saying is that the curse hurts." Harry continued matter-of-factly. But then his voice faltered as he whispered "It hurts so much."

"He greeted me," Harry started to say, "Voldemort greeted me." He clarified, in a voice that was a little more confident and a lot more detached, as if he wanted to dissociate himself from the memory. "He was being held by the rat, and he greeted me when I arrived. And then he cursed me. It hurt Neville, it hurt so much and all I could think was 'this is what it's like to be human.' So I stopped. As a human I couldn't think, as an animal I didn't need to. I saw he was the cause of my pain, and I stopped it." Throughout the speech – the longest I had heard since fourth year at Hogwarts – Harry kept his eyes on a wildflower on my left. But he kept shooting glances at me, as if checking if I was still listening. But now that he was finished, he didn't look at me at all.

Say the wrong thing Neville, and he'll never talk to you again. But all I could think to say was "I see that you've lost your problem with speaking in the first person." And before I could stop myself, that's exactly what came out of my mouth.

Harry gave me a glare out of the corner of his eye. But to my relief there was a fair bit of amusement there. "I never had a problem with the first person," Harry said haughtily, "I had a problem using the first person when I was using someone else's voice."

The import of this statement blew me away. "That's your voice?" I nearly whispered. Harry merely fixed his hair, but I could see the tension in his body. "But why?" I couldn't articulate my question. Thankfully Harry took pity on me and came over to me, sitting on the bench beside me. He gave me a crooked half smile before rubbing his head on my arm.

"Because you're Neville."