"Whoooa! Whoa, whoa, it's alright. Harry, it's alright," Neville soothed, pressing down firmly on Harry's chest. Neville was just beginning to wonder if it would be better to climb on the bed and restrain him, when Harry collapsed and the breath went out of his body.

"What—what happened?" Harry gasped, laboring for breath as he stopped trying to sit up.

"Here, drink this." Neville ignored the question for now, offering instead the silver chalice from before. It was filled now, with a blood red liquid, and steaming lightly. "Slowly," he cautioned when Harry grasped the handle for himself.

Harry had enough presence of mind to blow across the rim—which was more than Neville had thought to do after his Ceremony—before sipping it once, twice, and then gulping the entire potion. He retched afterward, thrusting the goblet back to Neville.

"Ack! What are you trying to do to me, Nev?"

Chuckling, Neville accepted it and placed it back on the trunk. He walked around Harry's bed to sit down again and extinguished the wicks by hand, in counter-clockwise order from the upper left.

"You'll thank me, later, when you don't have a splitting headache every time you see sunlight."

"Huh?"

"All in good time, my friend." Neville was back to his unusually bright and somewhat cryptic self, apparently.

Struggling, Harry pushed himself up to his elbows, and then sat up entirely. He watched Neville dismantle the ceremony and waited until everything was put up before reaching out and grabbing both of his friend's wrists.

"Stop it. Now, tell me what just bloody happened. Why are you here? How did you know? What does any of this have to do with my mum?"

Neville sighed but didn't resist him, moving only enough to get comfortable. "You might as well let go. We should both get comfortable so I can explain everything."

Harry nodded and released him, turning around and scooting back until he was leaning against the headboard.

Neville took a deep breath and started talking, his voice resigned but serious.

"It all started with my mum. She was the oldest of them, and the first to make her Offering. What you just went through—it's sort of a... coming-of-age. Like purebloods and their coming out, but ours isn't a social ceremony. It's tied to our magic, what you may now decide to call "Craft." Everyone doesn't go through what you just went through, in fact as far as I know, there are less than a hundred of us in total left in the UK. Something like 80, maybe 85 by New Year's.

"On our sixteenth birthdays, at the hour we were delivered, we all experience our first Descent. It's not the same for everyone, but overall what happens is we descend until we have reached our limit. That limit corresponds to a jewel—which we use to channel our power to perform Craft—and each jewel represents a certain level of power. The darker the jewel is, the more powerful the wielder. Er, at least, it means the more power the wielder can use; in brute force, someone may be stronger but easily outclassed by someone who knows more Craft or who takes them by surprise.

"You," Neville pointed at Harry, motioning to the two necklaces and armband that he had woken up with, "are a Red to Black jeweled Warlord Prince. The Red, being the lighter jewel, is called your Birthright Jewel. The Black, is your Offering, or Descent, Jewel. I'll explain about the title later, it's important but not immediately necessary.

"Long ago, before the Founders, before Merlin even, there were many more of us. Very few people alive know that the wizards and witches of today are muggles who were blessed with magic before the great majority of us passed on. Before them, there was us. We are the Blood, originally the peoples of three realms: Terreille, the Light Realm; Kaeleer, the Shadow Realm; and The Dark Realm. By 'we,' I mean you and me, and our mums." Neville paused and smiled brightly at Harry. "Any questions?"

Harry just stared at him for the longest time, and then he blinked rapidly. "What about my dad? And what about you—where are your 'jewels'?"

In another situation, they could have had quite a few jokes to share about that one. Unfortunately, everything seemed just a bit too far-fetched to be so casual.

"Er...I don't know how to soften the blow, Harry. But...your dad's not your dad. Or, he's not your biological father. I don't know who is. Same for me; my mom married Frank Longbottom to keep up appearances and protect the secret of the Blood. This isn't something you can ever share, Harry. Ever."

Harry scowled at Neville and was about to respond to that, when Neville continued, talking over him as if unaware.

"And I wear the same jewels, actually. Maybe we can see who tips the scales, later?" Neville reached up under his collar and pulled out two silver chains bearing a ruby and onyx jewel before rolling up both sleeves to reveal two wristbands with the same.

Harry was momentarily sidetracked and asked him. "Isn't that obvious? I've only the one armband." he raised his ruby armband before lowing it again.

"Not necessarily. It's not how many pieces, or how they're mounted—all that is superficial—but the depth of the actual jewels. For instance, a wand that's been carved with designs and is polished everyday isn't necessarily more powerful than a simpler, unfinished rod as long as the wood is attuned and the core is a viable magical channel."

"How do you know about my dad, then?"

"Oh. Well, unlike wizarding magic, we only inherit if both of our parents are Blood. Otherwise, you would he a halfblood and you wouldn't wear jewels or have an Offering. And we know for a fact that James Potter was a pureblood wizard, without any Craft."

The silence stretched between them again, but it was more comfortable this time. Harry was obviously adjusting, and he seemed to be taking all of the revelations very well. Honestly, he was being much calmer than Neville had given him credit for.

"So...what now?" Harry asked, looking up from fingering the jewels around his neck.

"Well, you can't stay here any longer, for one. Gran's fixed you up a room with us, until you work out your situation with Gringott's and pick one of your homes to live in. Or whatever. She probably wouldn't mind if you just stayed on with us until break's over."

Harry's forehead puckered and Neville fought back a smile at how adorable he looked when he was obviously thinking hard. "What about—who—" he stopped trying to talk, took a deep breath and tried again. "Dumbledore says it's important for me to stay here, because I need to renew the wards. My mum did something. Is that what this was all about?"

Neville smiled, nodding slowly before explaining. "Somewhat. This would have happened, regardless, but especially because of what our mums did for us, it means you can't stay here. Dumbledore will no doubt sense the changes and come around, investigating. He's already suspicious of us because of the lengths my Gran went through to keep him away from me, so I'd rather be gone before he or anyone from the Order arrives."

Harry's smile was one part mischief and three parts glee as he shot out of bed, feeling more than recovered from the weird birthday surprises. "Alright, then. Can you help with the packing?"

Neville shook his head unbelievably but agreed it would save time, so he had Harry get right back on the bed and raising both arms dramatically, brought them in as if he was going to fold them. Everything that wasn't bolted down simply vanished. Harry jerked, wondering how the hell Neville managed that, but didn't have a chance to ask him. Moving quicker than Harry would have thought possible, Neville grabbed up his coat, took hold of Harry's shoulder, and they were the ones who disappeared next.

Aurors Shacklebolt and Moody apparated onto Privet Drive not even thirty seconds later, expecting to walk into a Death Eater raid. Instead, they were treated to a quiet suburb in the middle of their sleep. They approached Number Four cautiously, Moody's magical eye whizzing as he searched for the slightest thing out of place. When they reached the edge of the property, Shacklebolt raised his wand and right hand as well and tested the wards for more information.

Moody walked up to the front door and magically unlocked it, striding into the quiet house after verifying there wasn't an ambush waiting for him. His luck held as he hobbled up the steps, soundlessly, and reached Potter's door. He heard all three of the boy's muggle relatives in various stages of sleep, but went on instant alert when the door opened to gentle prodding by his wand. He ducked back and down, expecting spell-fire, and was ready to lay into Potter for not displaying any CONSTANT VIGILANCE, when he glanced around the corner and finally saw what he had ignored during the many sweeps with his enchanted eye: Not only was Potter gone-he was, and with everything but the bloody furniture.

Harry was still burning with questions when they arrived at their destination, but he could see that Neville had strained himself to get them away. So he thanked his buddy and after being shown where the loo was and accepting the chore of packing away his belongings for real this time, he wished Neville goodnight. He was glad to be able to use his wand to help with the packing and had quite a pile of garbage, courtesy of the Dursleys, when he was through. The sun was just rising when Harry forced himself to wash up and change before climbing into bed. While his brain was coursing with energy and questions and theories about what was to come, his body was sorely exhausted. Before he even pulled the sheets up, he was knocked out.

Two rooms over, Augusta Longbottom sat up in bed reading. Or at least holding up a book and attempting to read; until she heard first her grandson and then his friend, finally quiet down. Only then did she set her book aside—not having turned a page since she felt Neville's return—and drift off herself.