The Stranger in the Tower
DISCLAIMER: Everything related to Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made from this fic and no infringement is intended.
"Argh! Eew!" Neville sputtered and sprayed the table in front of him with pumpkin juice, causing the others to scramble out of their seats.
"Neville!" Ron growled, holding a splattered piece of parchment at arm's length. "What's wrong with you?"
Neville reddened, but looking back at the offending glass, now almost empty, he said, "Me? It's this juice. There's something wrong with it."
From behind him came two identical snickers.
"Fred, George," Hermione said as she turned on them, her eyes narrowing, "what did you do to Neville's drink?"
The two tried to look innocent for a minute, until Fred burst into a fit of giggles.
"Watch, everyone," he said between hoots of laughter. "This will be something!"
Everyone stared at Neville, who had gone from scarlet to pale, awaiting whatever humiliation was coming.
He stood still, but inside he was shaking with anger. Why did Fred and George have to pick him to play all their tricks on? It was only the first week of the school year, and he could see that nothing had changed.
They shouldn't even be in school this year. It was all because Hogwarts was offering extended courses to make up for the mess that was the previous year. The twins were attending Hogwarts for their eighth year, taking advance charms and transfiguration.
Why did Neville's luck have to be so abysmally bad? Thinking that two of the people who had made him miserable for so many years had finally left was the only happy thought he'd had as he sat alone in his Hogwarts Express compartment on the way back to school after a blissful summer away from the teasing and the nights of hopeless tears shed over books that might as well have been written in Parseltongue for all the sense he could make of them.
Suddenly he realized that a few minutes had passed without anything happening. He hadn't changed into a worm, he hadn't grown antlers on his head or green warts all over his skin. In fact, some of the people at his table were now turning away, looking slightly disappointed. The expression on Fred's face was definitely a pout, while George was frowning.
"You're losing your touch," Seamus said to the two, taking his seat and turning his attention back to his soup.
One by one, everyone lost interest, and Neville was left standing in the isle, entertaining the tentative hope that whatever Fred and George had planned had failed to have the desired effect.
Finally, when he realized that no one was paying him any further attention, Neville turned on his heel and headed for the door. He wasn't hungry anymore.
Not going to cry, he repeated to himself as he practically ran up the staircase. Not going to cry...
He almost ran into a black-robed figure coming the other way.
"Mr. Longbottom," a spine-chilling voice said as Neville slowly raised his head. "Is it too much to ask that you watch where you're going?"
Neville tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Just say you're sorry, he thought frantically. Just say something -- anything. But all that came out was a small squeak.
With a withering look, Snape pushed past him and continued down the stairs. Apparently Neville wasn't worth his time that evening.
Neville walked the rest of the way to the seventh floor on leaden feet.
The password. He had forgotten it again, he realized as he stared blankly at the portrait of the fat lady. After a few minutes he knew that it was no use and turned away.
Having nowhere else to go, he followed one of the narrow corridors leading away from Gryffindor Tower. Soon he was walking through a part of the seventh floor that was unfamiliar to him. It didn't matter. He just wanted to be alone, and the deserted hallway was as good as any other place.
He was feeling calmer now, and was even able to enjoy looking at the portraits that lined each wall. He stopped in front of a particularly lovely one, showing an elf preening in front of a mirror. Neville had always been fascinated by elves. He stopped to stare.
The elf-girl whirled around, as though startled to find someone watching her. She dropped her hairbrush, and muttering angrily she jumped from her seat and disappeared from sight below the bottom edge of the frame.
"Sorry --" Neville began apologetically, but the rest of his words froze on his lips.
The elf was no longer blocking the mirror from view, and Neville could see his own reflection in the smooth surface. What he saw made his blood run cold.
No wonder the elf had been startled. There was something wrong with his face.
Neville reached up to touch his skin gingerly. It felt gritty under his fingers.
It looked almost as though he had walked into a spider web. Thin, translucent blue lines crisscrossed his face, forming swirling patterns.
"Oh, no..."
It looked like the twins' joke had not been a dud after all.
He couldn't let anyone see him like this, he decided after fighting down his initial urge to go running back to the Grand Hall in search of a teacher who could help him. And anyway, the twins' pranks were rarely easy to undo; in most cases the victim was forced to wait until the effect wore off. No, a teacher would not be able to help him, and he would just humiliate himself in front of the entire school.
Not that I'm not used to that, he thought glumly, but once is enough for the day.
He went on. He would find a room where he could sit and wait this out. Somewhere no one would think of looking for him.
He started trying the various doors, but each one was locked. The only one that opened led to a closet, and an old broom fell out and landed painfully across his foot.
It didn't occur to Neville to use his wand until he had passed at least two dozen doors. He felt like smacking himself on the forehead for forgetting that he was, in fact, a sixth-year student at a highly regarded school of witchcraft and wizardry. Not a good student, granted, but he could at least work a simple spell to unlock a door.
"Alohomora," Neville said, pointing his wand at a doorknob, and immediately there was a metallic click.
He pushed the door open slowly. There was nothing but blackness of the other side.
"Lumos."
Now he could see a narrow, winding staircase.
Shrugging his shoulders in resignation, he stepped inside the door, closed it behind him, and began to climb.
He was out of breath by the time he emerged in a small circular room. He looked around curiously.
Bookshelves lined the walls. The only window was covered by a heavy drape. An armchair faced the large fireplace -- though there was no fire. There were two doors facing the one through which Neville had entered; one slightly open and revealing a large bathtub, the other closed.
It seemed like the perfect place to hide out for a while. He could read. Maybe he could even figure out how to light a fire in the fireplace. And there was a bathroom...
Several candles flickered into life as soon as he pushed the bathroom door open. Neville went in with a sense of dread, and looked himself over in the large mirror above the sink.
It was worse than before. Now the blue lines had turned a violent shade of purple, and his skin looked lumpy and swollen.
Neville turned on the water and made a half-hearted attempt to scrub the discoloration from his arms.
He didn't hear the door open over the sound of running water, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a man burst in, wand pointed straight at Neville's chest.
The soap went flying out of Neville's hands, making a long arch over his head and exploding in a blast of yellow light before it hit the floor. Neville looked in horror at the stranger, whose wand was once again pointed at him.
"What in bloody hell are you?" the man demanded. There was a mad sort of glint in his eyes that somehow reminded Neville of Mad-Eye Moody, and made his knees tremble.
"N-Neville L-L-Longbottom..." he squeaked.
The man blinked. A crease appeared between his eyebrows. "Neville Longbottom?" he repeated in disbelief.
Then Neville remembered that at present he looked less like a Hogwarts student and more like something one might meet in the Forbidden Forest... if one was foolish enough to go there.
"My... my classmates played a... a prank..."
"Fred and George Weasley, I presume?" The stranger actually grinned at Neville, and his wand disappeared into his robes.
"Yes," Neville said in surprise. "How did you know?"
"Lucky guess," the man said. He smirked. Then his face sobered. "I'm sorry I frightened you. I was sleeping, and wasn't expecting any company."
"Oh!" Neville exclaimed. "You live here? I didn't know. I was just looking for a place to hide until this wears off," he motioned toward his reflection in the mirror. "I'll leave now," he added, and was unable to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice.
"You're welcome to stay," the man said, turning to leave the bathroom.
"Oh," Neville said, feeling rather as though it would be best to decline. "Thank you, but..."
"I can make some tea," the man called out from the other room, "would you like some?"
Neville thought it best not to anger the man by refusing. Besides, he thought as he turned off the tap with hands that were still shaking, he could use some tea just then. "Yes, thank you, if it isn't too much trouble."
"No trouble."
By the time Neville had managed to calm himself enough to come out of the bathroom, there was a fire blazing in the fireplace and the stranger had filled a tray with food.
Suddenly Neville remembered that he had been forced to skip dinner. He eyed the tray hungrily.
"Sit down," then man said, motioning toward the armchair by the fireplace. Then he placed the tray on a small table -- though Neville would have sworn there hadn't been one there before -- and sat down on a stool.
Neville sat, and took the teacup that was offered to him.
They ate in silence. Neville couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to say, and the stranger seemed content just to enjoy his tea and biscuits.
Neville couldn't help snatching furtive glances at the man in front of him over the rim of his teacup.
He was dressed more like a Muggle than a wizard; his jeans torn at the knees and his white shirt buttoned only half way. His robes were left open, and he had a piece of cloth tied tightly around his head. A few wavy strands of long black hair poked out haphazardly over his ears. When he smiled, he didn't look scary at all.
In fact, Neville thought, he's very handsome. His face flushed slightly at the thought, and he averted his eyes.
When they finished their tea, the man looked Neville over critically.
"How long have you looked like this, Neville?"
"Since dinner," Neville told him. "We had just sat down, and I took a sip of my pumpkin juice, and..." Neville finished with a helpless shrug.
"I see. That was... a good two hours ago." The man seemed perplexed. "That's very strange."
Neville silently agreed.
"Well," the man continued, and Neville thought he made his voice purposely cheery, "since you have to wait, how about a friendly game of chess?"
"All right," Neville agreed. Now that he wasn't fearing for his life, he was content to stay as long as it took for the prank to wear off.
They played several games, and Neville thought the game was much more fun without Ron Weasley screaming in his ear and the twins taking out bets on how quickly Neville would lose.
Then they heard the distant sound of the clock striking downstairs, indicating that all students were to head to their common rooms for the night.
"They'll come looking for you when they notice you're missing."
Neville shuddered.
"But you can't go out there looking like this."
"No?" Neville looked at the man hopefully.
"I will contact the Headmaster and let him know you're here."
Neville sat back in the armchair and watched as Albus Dumbledore's face appeared in the fire.
"Headmaster." The man smiled at the confused look on Dumbledore's face as he saw Neville. "As you can see, Mr. Longbottom is here, recovering from an unfortunate prank played on him by his friends."
"I see." Dumbledore looked uncertainly between the two, then turned to Neville. "Are you all right, my boy?"
"Yes, sir."
"It would be a pity to send the boy downstairs looking like this."
Dumbledore nodded. "Quite right." He turned to Neville again. "I will let your Head of House know that you will be getting back to the common room late. Do you wish to see the nurse?"
Neville shook his head. He didn't want to walk through the school to reach the hospital wing. "There isn't anything she could do, anyway."
Dumbledore turned back to the man. "Well, then... I hope you haven't forgotten about our meeting this evening."
"I haven't," the man assured him.
"Then I will see you in my office shortly."
Dumbledore's head dissolved in the flames.
"I hope you won't mind your host running out for a little while, Neville."
"No, of course not."
The man disappeared into the bedroom, and came out with a piece of silver and azure cloth draped over his arm. He crossed the room and started down the stairs, pulling the cloth around himself as he went. Neville watched, fascinated, as the man vanished into thin air.
That's Harry's Invisibility Cloak, Neville realized. I've seen it so many times, I'd recognize it anywhere. Why does he have it? But he kept his thoughts to himself.
Once he was alone, there seemed to be nothing to do but look over the books on the shelves. Most of them were quite dull, and some looked distinctly like old textbooks. Neville would have lost interest quickly if he hadn't found a Herbology book among them. He sat down to read it.
Several hours passed before the man returned, and Neville had dozed off in the chair. Startled awake, the first thing he did was check his face.
"Still there," he noted miserably.
"Yes," the man said, frowning. "Strange..."
"No," Neville disagreed. "Typical. I'm the butt of everyone's jokes, and this sort of thing is always happening to me."
"Is it really that bad?"
"I almost didn't return to school after Christmas break last year," Neville admitted. "My Gran had to force me onto the train. And I didn't know Fred and George would be here this year."
"Don't your friends stand up for you?"
"What friends?" Neville sniffed angrily.
The man looked rather shocked. "You... don't have any friends?"
"I used to be friends with Ginny Weasley, until her brothers told me to stay away from her. And I used to be friends with Seamus, but then someone spread a rumor that we were dating, and..."
"Oh."
"Who would want to be friends with me?" Neville continued, getting wound up. "I mean, they would just be opening themselves up to the same ridicule. I'm practically a squib, you know."
"You made it to sixth year, didn't you?" the man pointed out. "And Hogwarts is one of the best schools out there. You can hardly be that bad."
Neville sighed. He didn't think it was possible for anyone to believe just how bad he was, until they actually witnessed the trouble he had with even the simplest spells.
"Trust me, I'm bad. I would have flunked out long ago if it wasn't for Herbology."
"But you're good in that?"
"I like it." Neville shrugged. "And Professor Sprout is easy on me."
Somehow the conversation from then turned to the Hogwarts teachers, and Neville was surprised to learn that many of them had been teaching at Hogwarts longer than he had been alive.
"Is Trelawney as bad as ever?" the man asked him. "I remember she predicted my death at least once a month."
"She's bad, all right," Neville confirmed. "Although mostly she predicts Harry's death more than anyone else's."
A dark look crossed the man's face, but he quickly composed himself. "I'm sure she does."
They talked for a while longer, until Neville began to yawn openly. It had been a very long evening.
"What I am going to do?" he whimpered, looking dejectedly at his hands. "I can't go back, they'll never let me forget this."
"I can't understand why it hasn't worn off yet." The man frowned, reaching out to poke Neville's forearm gently with his finger. "These sort of transfigurations don't usually last too long."
"You don't suppose it's... it's permanent, do you?" Neville asked in horror.
"No. Of course not. I think it's more likely those harebrained boys mucked up the formula somehow. It will wear off, Neville, I'm sure of it. Meanwhile, you can spend the night here. I'm sure by morning you'll be back to normal."
Neville looked around the small room uncertainly. It didn't look like there was an extra bedroom hiding anywhere.
The man took out his wand and suddenly Neville was lying flat on his back, the armchair having been transformed into a bed.
"There, how's that?" the man he asked, dropping a folded blanket across Neville's feet.
"Great," Neville said a little uncertainly, propping himself up on one elbow.
"It'll do for one night." The man shrugged, and with that he bid Neville good night and disappeared into the bedroom.
Despite his exhaustion, Neville lay awake for a long time, mulling over his strange situation. The last thing he thought of as he drifted off to sleep was that he had never even asked the man his name.
He awoke to find sunlight flooding the room. The drapes had been pushed aside, and Neville could see the bright blue sky outside.
He jumped out of bed, suddenly recalling where he was, and why he was there.
"You're awake," called a voice from behind him, and Neville whirled around.
The man was leaning against the door frame, his arms folded.
"I'm sorry to tell you that... it hasn't worn off yet."
"No," Neville agreed sadly, "it hasn't."
"The Headmaster would like to see you," the man continued. "Perhaps there's something he can do."
"Do you think so?" Neville asked hopefully.
"Why not? Anyway, there's your breakfast." He pointed at the tray sitting on the table next to the bed. "As soon as you're finished I'll take you to Dumbledore's office."
Neville took a roll of bread and began to butter it slowly.
"Don't worry," the man said, apparently reading his mind, "everyone will be in class. No one will see you."
Neville's appetite returned and he finished his breakfast quickly.
They left the tower, taking narrow and deserted corridors and staircases and meeting no one on the way. At last they came to Dumbledore's office, where the old wizard was waiting for them and ushered them inside.
They wasted no time, but got right down to business. Neville kept his eyes shut tightly as Dumbledore cast several spells over him.
"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do," Dumbledore said at last, putting down his wand. "Potions are not reversible with wand-magic, you see. Perhaps it is time we called in an expert."
Neville's shoulders slumped at the news.
Dumbledore nodded to the man, who got up and disappeared behind a door in the corner of the office. Then he summoned the image of Professor Snape in the fireplace.
"Severus, would you be so kind as to come to my office before your next class?"
Snape's mouth gaped as he looked past Dumbledore at Neville, who was trying to shrink in his seat.
"Severus?"
"Certainly, Headmaster," Snape said, recovering his composure. After a nod from Dumbledore, he disappeared.
"Lemon drop?" Dumbledore offered Neville while they waited.
"No thank you, sir," Neville said, not feeling hungry in the least.
They didn't have to wait long; Snape stalked into the office, not looking particularly pleased to be there.
"I'm sorry to take up your break, Severus," Dumbledore soothed, "but as you can see the situation demands your attention."
Snape turned his black eyes on Neville, and the corner of his mouth quirked up nastily. "I can see that."
Neville cringed when Snape grabbed him by the chin and twisted his head first one way and then the other.
"What happened to him?"
"The Weasley twins, I'm afraid."
Snape snorted, and turned back to Neville. "Stick out your tongue, Longbottom."
Neville stuck out the tip of his tongue between his teeth. Snape glared.
Neville hastily opened his mouth and let his tongue hang out. Snape glared even harder.
"Let me see your fingernails," he said next, and looked disgusted when Neville offered him his hand.
"Those idiot boys," Snape seethed, "messing around with potions when they came close to failing my class!"
"Is there anything you can do?" Dumbledore asked.
"No."
"No?" Dumbledore repeated, blinking in confusion.
"The potion has permeated all tissues. It would take longer to develop an antidote and wait for it to reverse the effects than to wait for the original potion to wear off on its own."
"I see," Dumbledore said. "Well then... we won't keep you from your work."
With a contemptuous sniff, Snape disappeared down the staircase.
Neville sighed dejectedly. Somehow he'd had the feeling Snape wouldn't be of any help.
"I'm sorry Neville, it looks like you will have to be patient."
"Yes, sir. I don't mind, as long as I don't have to go to classes looking like this."
"I will arrange for someone to bring you your books, so you won't fall behind."
Neville couldn't help smiling wanly. Missing a few classes would probably set him so far behind that he would never catch up again.
"We must decide where you will stay, Neville," Dumbledore continued. "The hospital wing seems like the best place for someone in your condition."
Neville groaned.
"Or he could stay with me," a voice said from behind them. Neville looked up hopefully.
Dumbledore seemed to give this some thought before answering. "I have no objections," he finally said.
"Good. Come on Neville."
Neville trotted behind the man, trying to keep up with his long strides. He was just glad he wouldn't have to spend days in the infirmary.
It seemed to take forever to get back to the tower room. Neville breathed a sigh of relief when they reached it without being seen by anyone.
"I have to get some work done, so you will have to entertain yourself today."
Neville nodded, looking around for the Herbology book he had been reading the previous night. He found it under the armchair.
He was used to being on his own. He usually had to study alone, since no one wanted to study at his slow pace. And he usually spent most of his after-dinner time alone as well, since that was time the others spent with their friends. Neville was rarely invited to participate in their activities, except when they needed a victim for one of their pranks.
So he happily curled up and was soon lost to everything around him.
He was startled when a stack of textbooks was deposited on the table next to him.
"Your books are here. Don't start studying just yet. A house elf has brought our lunch."
A table and two chairs had appeared in the center of the room, so this time they were able to eat their meal properly. Neville couldn't suppress a grin when he was passed a plate with a large stack of sausages and sourdough bread. He was sick of constantly being told to eat less, or catching disgusted looks whenever he filled his plate. It made all school meals uncomfortable, and it was a nice change not to have to deal with that.
"Are you enjoying that book? You've almost finished it."
Neville startled a little. He wasn't used to being expected to contribute to conversations over meals. "Yes," he said, "it describes hundreds of exotic plants. We don't have any of them in the greenhouses."
"Hmm," the man said, stirring his tea thoughtfully. "I never was very good with plants. Don't have the necessary patience, I suppose."
"I think plants are better than people," Neville said honestly. "Plants don't judge you and they don't..." he stopped, embarrassed that he was going on about this.
"Don't what?" the man prompted when Neville didn't continue.
"Don't play mean tricks on you, for one."
"I guess not," the man agreed. "But don't you think people can give back more than plants? You can talk to plants, but they don't talk back."
"I don't care," Neville mumbled into his plate. Somehow the conversation had reached uncomfortable ground.
When the man said nothing further, Neville looked up. "Did you have many friends when you were in school?"
"Well... yes. I did."
"Oh," Neville said, dropping his head again. Here was another person who couldn't possibly understand him. Not that he ever expected to find anyone who did. He'd given up on that hope long ago.
They finished the rest of their meal in silence, and then the man left the room and Neville sat down to look over the schoolwork he had missed.
There was a lot. The Potions essay alone would take several hours, and there was a great deal of reading for both History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts. What worried him more were the practical lessons. He was expected to practice an advance levitating charm and learn a new defensive spell. He supposed Professor Lupin might agree to tutor him after classes, but he was on his own for Charms.
He read the description twice, and memorized the words he was supposed to say.
Please don't let anything go wrong, he begged as he readied his wand and pointed it at one of his books.
If he cast the charm correctly, the book would float up off the table, and hang weightlessly for several minutes. It was a common charm used when moving heavy objects, and he had seen it used many times to load students' trunks onto Hogwarts Express or move them from the Entrance Hall to the dormitories.
The book flew straight up, hitting the ceiling and sending splinters raining down on Neville's head. Neville had just enough time to cover his head with his arms before the book crashed down again.
The bedroom door flew open.
"What happened? Are you all right Neville?"
The man came over and began brushing debris from Neville's robes.
"Fine," Neville said glumly, rubbing the back of his hand where the book had hit. "Just practicing this new charm. Although I think I won't practice it anymore."
"Now, wait a minute. Let me see the book."
Neville gave it to him.
"This isn't too complicated. I'm sure if you try again --"
"You don't understand," Neville interrupted. "This always happens to me. I told you before."
"Maybe you're saying the charm wrong," the man argued. "Try it again."
Neville gritted his teeth to control himself. Then he tried again.
The book skidded off the table and across the floor, hitting the far wall with a thump.
The man stared at the rumpled book and then at Neville. "Let me see your wand," he said.
Neville handed it to him with a sigh.
"Let's see..." And the man cast the charm on one of Neville's quills. It floated up and hung serenely in the air. "Nothing wrong with it," he said, frowning as he handed the wand back.
"Of course not!" Neville said with exasperation. "I told you -- it's me, not the wand."
"Well, maybe if you --"
"No," Neville said firmly.
The subject was dropped. The man returned to the bedroom, and Neville -- after brushing the last of the wood splinters from his robes and the chair -- decided to tackle his reading assignments.
After several hours of pouring over the dull History text, trying to remember the impossibly long list of dates and names, Neville set the book aside. He went to the window and looked out.
Quidditch practice was just beginning, and Neville squinted to see if he could recognize any of the team from so far away.
He didn't particularly like Quidditch. It was all right to watch, but he was useless on a broom and that made it hard to get into the game the way some of his classmates did. It didn't make sense to jump into a discussion about difficult and dangerous maneuvers when one couldn't manage a simple pivot without slipping right off the end of one's broom.
Neville nearly jumped out of his skin when a large owl landed on the window sill in front of him.
"Uh, sir?" he called out in the direction of the bedroom door. "I think there's an owl here for you."
After a few minutes of silence, the door opened and the man came out.
"Thanks Neville," he said, crossing the room and opening the window. He took an envelope from the owl's foot, and the bird blinked its round yellow eyes at him and tried to nibble on his finger. "Bring it some food, will you?"
Neville scrambled to find some crumbs left over from their lunch. The owl accepted the offering and flew off.
Neville returned to his chair, taking up his textbook again and sighing a little when he realized that after having read the chapter three times he still had very little idea what it was about.
Unable to concentrate on the text, Neville stole a glance at the man, who had sat down to at the table to read his letter, and now appeared to be writing a response. A strand of long black hair fell across his eyes.
It hit him how little he knew about the man he might be spending many days with.
"You know, I never did ask you your name," Neville blurted out, closing his book.
The man looked up from his writing and looked at Neville uncertainly. "Will you run screaming from this room if I tell you?"
"Over a name?" Neville scoffed. "Of course not."
The man smiled slightly, and leaned back in his chair. "Black," he said. "Sirius Black."
A short silence followed.
"You're Sirius Black?" Neville repeated.
"I am," Sirius looked slightly confused.
"Oh."
"Oh? Is that all?"
"You don't look like your picture in the papers," Neville explained. Then, because Sirius looked so perplexed, he added, "Don't worry, Harry had to explain that you were innocent last year when I accidentally overheard the two of you talking through the common room fireplace. I'd fallen asleep in one of the chairs."
"Harry never mentioned it."
Neville shrugged. "He probably forgot all about it. I'm easy to forget about."
"Don't say that."
"It's true. You'll forget you ever met me too. Or if you remember it's only because I look so ridiculous."
"I won't forget. It's been great having you for company. I was bored to tears staying here by myself."
"Doesn't Harry visit you?"
"He can't come very often. I need his Invisibility Cloak, and without it he can't go anywhere without being seen by his friends or one of the staff. Dumbledore brings him sometimes, and Remus -- Professor Lupin."
"Oh. So I guess no one is supposed to know you're here?"
"No." Sirius grinned. "I guess not." Then he added teasingly, "You won't tell, right?"
"No." Neville shook his head solemnly. "I won't tell."
Sirius seemed amused at how seriously Neville was taking his request. "I probably won't be staying very long. Just needed a break."
"Is it safe for you to stay at the school?"
"It's not really safe for me anywhere."
"Oh."
"Yes." Sirius smirked. "Two weeks ago one of my so-called friends tried to turn me in for the reward."
Neville gaped at him. "How could anyone do that?"
"Don't know." Sirius shrugged. "But I'm used to it. People don't believe I'm innocent, even after Dumbledore himself assures them. They just don't want to believe it."
"That's horrible," Neville said. "What kind of friends would want to believe the worst?"
"Remember how I told you I had many friends when I was in school?"
"Yes."
"Well, I wasn't very picky," Sirius said bitterly.
Neville didn't answer. He didn't really understand. He himself had no friends at all. The idea of being able to pick whom to be friends with was hard to grasp.
Sirius shook his head, as though trying to shake off unpleasant thoughts.
"I know what matters now. The people who stood by me through all of this are my true friends. It might never be possible to prove my innocence, but I know there are people I don't have to prove anything to. That's what true friends are."
I wish I had someone like that, Neville thought wistfully. "It must be hard," he said out loud.
"What?"
"Running all the time."
"It hasn't been too bad. The Ministry is busy with other things now, and I don't worry so much about being caught. What I hate is not being able to show my face in public. Not being able to go into a shop, even." He looked down at his clothing. "I had to buy most of my clothes in Muggle stores just so I'd have something that fit right. Everything else had to be borrowed."
Neville thought the Muggle clothes suited him, but he chose to keep that observation to himself.
The silence between them stretched.
"Well," Sirius said finally, shuffling the papers in his hands, "I think I'll leave you to study."
Neville watched him walk out of the room, turning back to his History book only when the bedroom door had closed.
He sighed.
Why was it that even a person who seemed to have nothing -- who had spent over a decade in Azkaban and who was on the run from the law -- still had more than Neville would ever have? Sirius had friends. He'd said it himself; he had true friends who would stand by him no matter what. And what did Neville have?
He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, concentrating with all his might on the Goblin Revolution of 1612.
He made only negligible headway over the next hour.
Sirius' voice startled him. "I have to go out for a bit. I should be back by sundown."
The door closed downstairs, and Neville was alone.
Neville found the rest of the day very dreary. He finished his schoolwork, even his Potions essay, and ate the dinner a house elf brought up. He read another section of the Herbology book. Finally he sat and stared out the window at the students spending their after-dinner hours outdoors.
He didn't wish he was down there with them. He would just be sitting on the sidelines, watching them the same as he was now. Maybe he was wishing he was one of them, instead of himself, but those thoughts were always quickly quelled. He had no patience for such fantasies anymore. They never made things any easier.
It was still early when he crawled under the blanket, curling up comfortably in the armchair, and forced his eyes to close.
A voice woke him.
"Come on, you can't sleep like that," Sirius went on. It was obvious that he had been trying to wake Neville for some time.
Neville rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"
"Past midnight. Sorry."
Neville yawned. "No, s'okay."
Sirius transfigured the armchair into a bed again, and handed Neville back his blanket. "Good night."
"G'night," Neville mumbled, his eyes already shut.
He woke up feeling groggy and achy. For a few minutes he didn't even want to open his eyes. When he finally did, the first thing he noticed was that everything around him seemed to be covered with purple and blue specks.
He sat up, his hands flying to his face.
His fingers came away with bits of skin clinging to them.
"Eew!" he cried, and hurried into the bathroom.
His skin was peeling off.
Or at least the bloated, veiny, discolored skin was. The skin underneath seemed to be all right.
Sirius stuck his head in. He let out a low whistle when he saw Neville. "It looks like it's wearing off, finally," he said, not holding back a grin.
"This is disgusting," Neville said, peeling off another large chunk of skin and shaking it off into the sink.
"I say get in the tub and try to scrub as much of it off as you can," Sirius suggested.
Neville nodded.
He had a distinctly mottled look by the time he came out; half his skin still discolored and half bright pink. To his credit, Sirius did not laugh.
"Syrup?" he asked as Neville accepted a plate stacked high with pancakes.
"Yes, please," Neville said, settling down and sipping his tea while waiting for his pancakes to cool.
"I'm sorry, I won't be around much today. Have to go into Hogsmeade to meet someone."
"Isn't that dangerous?" Neville asked.
"I'll stay on the back roads and alleys," Sirius said dismissively.
Still, Neville worried as he waited for Sirius to come back. He had nothing to distract him, having finished both the Herbology book and his schoolwork the previous day.
He realized for the first time what a relief it had been to spend these last few days in the tower room with Sirius. Away from teasing classmates and demanding teachers. Away from classes that frustrated and depressed him. Away from everything that made him so miserable. And it was nice having someone who actually talked to him like to a real person. Someone who asked him what he thought, instead of assuming Neville to be too stupid to have opinions.
Sirius did not return until late that night, by which time Neville had almost convinced himself that something terrible had happened. It was a relief to see Sirius stride through the door, safe and in one piece.
Sirius had brought a dinner tray with him, and Neville quickly set the table while Sirius washed up.
"They're getting ready for a party downstairs," Sirius remarked as they ate.
"It's a dance." Neville wrinkled his nose. He'd known about it for several weeks.
"Really? We only had the Valentine's Day dance when I was in school. What's the occasion?"
"There isn't one. I suppose they think dances encourage mingling between Houses, or some such nonsense. I say it's an excuse to prance around in new dress robes and show off your date."
Sirius shrugged. "Sounds good to me."
"I think they're ridiculous. There's more of them held each passing year."
"I would think all students would like them. Aren't they at least a little fun?"
"I wouldn't know," Neville said dryly, "since I've never been to one. Spending an evening alone in the dormitory is hardly that exciting."
Sirius looked at him blankly.
Neville gave him a weak smile. "The dances require a date. If you don't have one, you can't go."
"And you..." Sirius frowned, "you've never asked anyone?"
Neville sighed. "No."
"Well why not, for Merlin's sake?" Sirius demanded.
"Whom would I ask?" Neville asked, shrugging helplessly. "Everyone is either paired up already, or they would laugh themselves into a fit to be asked by me."
Sirius gave him a long look. "Aren't there more girls than boys in Gryffindor?"
Neville sighed. This was one conversation he really didn't want to have.
"I suppose so. But mostly in Seventh Year."
Sirius continued to look thoughtfully at him, and Neville blushed crimson.
"Well, I don't really like them, anyway," Neville mumbled.
"The ones in Gryffindor, or just girls in general?" Sirius asked.
"In general."
"Oh," Sirius said. "I guess that explains why you're having trouble finding someone. It must be as bad now as it was when I was in school. I was just lucky one of my friends was also gay."
Neville stared at him incredulously. "You...?"
Sirius grinned. Neville had to drop his eyes back to his plate to keep from blushing again.
"Really, it's all right," Sirius assured him. "Eventually you'll meet a lot of people like you. School isn't the best indicator of what's out there."
"I wasn't expecting to meet anyone at Hogwarts," Neville said. He didn't say that he also didn't expect to meet anyone ever. "I suppose dating would be pretty uncomfortable at school anyway."
"I don't know," Sirius disagreed. "I did."
Neville chose to let that pass without comment. He didn't think there was any need to point out the difference between himself and Sirius. He guessed that Sirius had never experienced even a fraction of the kind of ridicule that colored Neville's every waking moment at Hogwarts.
"So there's no one you're interested in?"
"No," Neville answered honestly. Thankfully he had never fallen for anyone. Most of his classmates being his tormentors it would have doubled his misery to desire any of them.
Sirius seemed to let the subject drop. They ate in silence for a while.
"What about you?" Neville asked, because he didn't want to be the only one pouring out the details of his love life -- or rather the lack thereof, and because curiosity got the better of him.
"Hmm?"
"Is there anyone...?"
Sirius seemed to think for a few moments. "No, there isn't. At one point I thought Remus -- Professor Lupin -- and I might end up together. We dated for a while years ago. But..." His voice trailed off as he sighed and stared contemplatively out the window, sipping his coffee.
"But he's seeing Professor Snape," Neville finished for him.
Sirius choked on his drink.
"You knew, right?" Neville asked nervously.
Sirius finished coughing. "Yes, I knew," he said sourly.
"Sorry."
"Not nearly as sorry as I am."
After a few minutes of silence, during which Neville toyed with his empty teacup, Sirius seemed to shake himself out of his gloomy trance.
"I think things will improve for you once you get out of Hogwarts and into the real world. You'll meet someone. There just aren't enough boys your own age at Hogwarts. Not enough diversity."
"But it all comes back to the same thing," Neville disagreed. "Who would want someone like me? There will always be someone else they can choose. My only chance will be finding someone as pathetic as myself." He sighed and shrugged. "What if that's not good enough?"
Sirius frowned.
"I know, it sounds ridiculous," Neville admitted, "but sometimes I really feel that all my life I'll be forced to pick up everyone's leftovers -- whatever no one else wants. And it's just not fair."
"Sounds like my own prospects," Sirius said. "I doubt anyone will want an ex-convict, even if I do prove my innocence someday. Too much emotional baggage for anyone to handle."
Neville frowned at him. He didn't believe it for a moment.
Sirius noticed the look. "What?"
"It's just that..." Neville shrugged, letting the rest of the sentence trail off. But he saw that Sirius was waiting for him to continue. "You're a capable wizard, and you're Harry Potter's godfather, and you're..." Neville blushed. "Really handsome. So I don't see why there won't be a long line of people wanting to date you. That will never happen for me."
"You don't know that."
"Sure I do," Neville scoffed. "People will be lining up to date men like you. And people like you will get to choose the best of the best. That's how it works. So if I want someone like you..."
Sirius laughed. "Why would you want someone like me? I'm old. And my reputation will never be clean, even if my name is cleared eventually."
"I wouldn't care," Neville said resolutely.
Sirius was silent for a moment. He shook his head slowly. "Well, this is a silly conversation to be having."
"Of course it is," Neville agreed. "Because someone like you would never want someone like me."
"No." Sirius shook his head slowly. "Because I'm not going to even discuss being attracted to a teenage boy."
Neville snorted. As though there could be some attraction, he thought.
They lapsed into silence, Neville poking at his food glumly, and Sirius watching him out of the corner of his eyes.
"Why this obsession with dating, Neville? There are other things you can focus on, surely."
"It just... irritates me. I've never even been kissed."
Sirius laughed, but seeing Neville's face he stopped abruptly. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed. It must seem important to you."
Neville hadn't expected him to understand, but was still disappointed by his reaction. "It's just one more thing to be teased about," he said. "Makes me think, though, if I'll ever be kissed at all. Doesn't seem very likely."
"I'm sure you will be." Then, seeing that Neville only looked glummer, he reached out and patted him on the arm. "Listen, I stand by what I said earlier. You'll find someone once you leave school. And if you don't -- well, then, I promise to kiss you someday."
Neville laughed, which Sirius misunderstood to be in mirth.
"It's late. Get to bed. I have to see the Headmaster. Don't wait up."
Neville watched him leave, feeling more depressed than ever. Sometimes Sirius said just the right thing, but sometimes...
Neville sighed, then began to undress. He slipped into bed, but tossed and turned for a long time before finally drifting off to sleep.
He woke up to the sound of the table being set for breakfast.
"Looks like you're back to normal," Sirius said as Neville rolled out of bed.
Neville's touched his face, verifying that indeed, he was back to normal.
"It's a good thing, too, since I will be leaving in a little while," Sirius continued.
"You're leaving?"
"There's a matter that requires my immediate attention."
"When?" Neville asked.
"Right after breakfast."
"Oh!" Neville couldn't stifle his disappointment.
Breakfast was a somber affair. Neville had no appetite, and Sirius was reading the paper. They spoke very little.
"Will you help me pack?" Sirius asked when they finished. "I know you are probably eager to return to your dormitory now that --"
"Of course I'll help," Neville cut in. He couldn't imagine being eager to return to Gryffindor Tower or his classes. In fact he was already dreading it. But of course Sirius could not be expected to understand.
"Just take all of these and see if they'll fit into my pack," Sirius said, gesturing at some clothes draped over a chair.
Neville began folding the clothing, while Sirius disappeared into the bedroom.
"May I write to you?"
Neville hadn't been paying attention to anything around him, trying to get the last of the clothes to fit into the pack and feeling sorry for himself, and had not seen Sirius come back into the room.
"Neville?"
"Hmm?" Neville looked up, realizing that Sirius had asked him something. "Oh, sorry, what was that?"
"I asked if I could write to you."
"Oh," Neville said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "Sure, I'd like that," he said, not believing for a moment that Sirius actually would. It was just something people said, when leaving. He turned back to his task, sighing heavily.
"Thank you," Sirius said as Neville handed him the pack.
There wasn't anything more to say. They stood in front of the large fireplace, and Neville raised his chin bravely despite the feeling of loss that sat like a heavy stone on his chest.
"Goodbye, Neville," Sirius said finally. "Take care of yourself."
"You too," Neville said, surprised at how calm his voice sounded.
Sirius nodded once, then turned to go.
Neville swallowed the enormous lump that rose in his throat. He didn't know when he would see Sirius again, but likely the next time he did, Sirius would barely acknowledge his presence. It hurt to know that.
Then Sirius turned back, the pack slipping from his shoulder. "You know how I said I would kiss you -- someday?"
Neville waved his hand dismissively. "You don't have to. It was silly and of course I won't expect --"
He didn't finish, because at that moment Sirius leaned down and covered Neville's mouth with his own.
Neville barely had time to register the feel of Sirius' tongue gliding across his lips and his fingers brushing his cheek, before Sirius drew back.
Wide-eyed and blushing, Neville stared at him, speechless.
"I'll write to you," Sirius said, waving as he stepped into the fireplace. A moment later he was gone, leaving behind only wisps of green smoke rising from the ashes.
For many minutes Neville stared at the spot where Sirius had vanished, until the breakfast bell rang shrilly.
With a final, wistful glance over his shoulder, he started down the tower stairs.