Disclaimer: I own nothing and this is not for profit.

Author's Notes: Sorry, sorry, sorry…moving back over the Atlantic blows…

Once again, a million thanks for the reviews. To answer some of the broader questions raised by the reviews: I know, I know Neville sucks. I hate Neville just as much as the next guy. (I always figured Rowling would make him a stoner herbology my ass in the last book. Not that I have anything against stoners, it's just that it would have made him less of a tool.) However, for the purposes of the story, Neville will be "The Dark Knight." No one is dropping the name "Batman" in this story. But Neville will be a masked vigilante fighting Tom and the DEs. Why Neville? Well, I always liked the Wrong-Boy-Who-Lived plotlines. Neville will be the immovable object to Harry's unstoppable force. Ying and yang.

Also, I apologize for the typos and whatnot. I don't have a beta and my muse is whiskey…I've needed a lot of my muse as of late…

"Enough of this! Vader! Release him!"


Chapter 4: Friends…

Sirius checked his watch again. It was 11:30. He immediately started pacing again. His footfalls sounded heavy against the stone floor of the Astronomy Tower. He stopped and looked up.

The mark he himself had cast still hung in the sky. The mark so similar to the Dark Mark, but yet so different.

Many whispered speculation as to its meaning, but few understood. Still, its effect worked. Its intention was clear. It struck fear into those that it intended to. It provided hope to others. A mystery to most.

A blue eye hung over the Astronomy Tower of Hogwarts. Unblinking. Watchful.

"I don't think he's coming," Remus said. He was sitting on the ground, his back pressed against the stonework of the tower's battlements. A bottle of firewhiskey hung between his legs.

Sirius sighed, "I know…" When he had realized Harry was missing, the first thing that crossed his mind was Paladin.

Sirius, despite his worry, stopped his pacing and smiled. "I must admit, part of me is glad he isn't here."

Remus picked his head up and looked at his childhood friend in utter confusion, "Why?" He tried to blink through the fogginess of the liquor.

Sirius turned away and looked out over Hogsmeade, over Britain. "It means he's busy…"


:Flashback:

Neville Longbottom stood in the office of Headmaster Dumbledore in shock. He could hear the whispers of the portraits, but he didn't care. His mouth hung open slightly. Tears of unbearable sadness mixed with utter rage stained his cheeks. His eyes betrayed several emotions as they opened wide, winced, and glared at nothing…

Suddenly the floo roared to life and Albus Dumbledore gracefully stepped out. The look on his face was grave and Neville could see pain in his eyes. He walked behind his desk and sat down in his large, regal chair; motioning for Neville to sit down in front of him.

Neville shuffled over slowly and fell down into the chair indicated by Dumbledore's outstretched hand. He didn't sit back. His whole frame sat hunched over. He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes with his hands.

Albus looked at the boy sitting in front of him and sighed heavily. How many times will I have this conversation? he wondered to himself. His heart ached for the boy, but truth be told, Albus had grown somewhat hardened over the years to the pain of loss. The unfortunate truth of the world was that people die, and usually with very little reason. Still, he looked at Neville and felt many of the numb places of his soul grieve for the boy.

"I'm sorry, Neville," he said low and slowly.

Hours earlier, a Death Eater attack led by Bellatrix Lestrange had resulted in a fire that destroyed the long-term, incurable wing of St. Mungo's. Frank and Alice Longbottom failed to escape the flames.

Neville put a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from sobbing. His grandmother didn't approve of his crying and he tried desperately to stop it. Neville always believed that he would one day speak to his mother and father again. He had always believed that they would come out of the torture induced insanity they had lived with since he was three years-old. Now they were well and truly gone. The 15 year-old fifth year sniffed loudly and wiped at his eyes.

Dumbledore tried to catch Neville's eyes as he leaned in, "I know how you must be feeling, Neville…"

"No you don't," Neville quickly cut him off. He didn't look at the Headmaster. His gaze was fixed on a spot he found on the floor. He tried desperately to focus on that spot and faze out the world around him. It took everything in him not to sob. The lump in the back of his throat refused to be swallowed away.

Dumbledore cocked his head to the side, his gaze conveying care and concern: "There's no shame in what you're feeling, Neville," Dumbledore said soothingly.

Neville sniffed loudly and returned to his intense focus and concentration. "My father wouldn't want me to cry," the mantra that his grandmother had beaten into his head repeated effortlessly from his lips.

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head slightly. He knew Augusta Longbottom was a woman who stood on manners and conduct to a fault. He knew Neville understood discipline. How else could he have stood up to the Gryffindor Trio during his first year? The boy knew everything about controlling his emotions. He understood nothing about dealing with them.

"It's our pain that makes us human, Neville." Dumbledore's voice was almost a whisper.

A sudden flash of anger burst through Neville. He wanted to shout at the Headmaster, to scream, to smash something, EVERYTHING! He wanted to roar into the old man's face! He understood NOTHING!...

But something caught in his chest as he felt the shout building in his lungs. Some instinct…some safety catch. Instead of a shout, a pronounced sigh escaped his lips, lips that were taught and drawn in. Neville closed his eyes and willed away the rage—the emotion. He found the spot on the floor again. Cold. Focused.

They sat in silence for some time.

"Why?"

His voice cracked and was barely audible, but Dumbledore heard. There was much in that voice. Pain, misery, confusion, anger, fear…Neville's voice spoke volumes while his empty expression told little. However, the tears that leaked from his eyes left little to question.

Still, Dumbledore hesitated.

Neville swallowed hard. His voice came through fuller, with more conviction: "Why them?" Determination entered his tone. He wiped away his tears.

Dumbledore removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing. He knew the coming conversation would be difficult.

Dumbledore decided on a different tact.

"Neville?" he asked, trying to catch the boy's eyes. "Before tonight's events, what did you think was the reason why your parents…," hesitation, "what did you think was the reason behind their suffering?" Dumbledore said catching himself.

Neville never took his eyes off of his point of focus, the tiny imperfection in the stone floor of the Headmaster's office. "They were aurors, two of the best," he repeated verbatim his grandmother's tale, "they were…cursed…because they were the best...They were icons of the light." The expression on Neville's face betrayed the fact that he considered this explanation wanting. "They were heroes…"

Dumbledore drew in a great breath. It was now or never.

"Neville," he began, "what do you know about prophecies?"

Neville only looked at him in confusion. Dumbledore nodded in understanding and leaned forward.

"You see, Mr. Longbottom, prophecies tell us of possible futures," the crackling of the fireplace seemed to set the dark and mysterious mood. "They speak in…riddles," Dumbledore's head cocked to his left, "for the prophecy itself cannot be allowed to influence the ultimate outcome," Dumbledore tried to catch Neville's eyes. "A prophecy speaks of a meeting…an event if you will. They tell us that such an event will occur, but they never reveal how the event will come about," Dumbledore's head cocked to the other side, "nor its outcome."

The confusion never left Neville's face. The normally loud and vociferous snoring from the portraits contrasted sharply with the silence that now dominated the Headmaster's office beyond the crackling of the fireplace.

Dumbledore sighed again, "Nearly seventeen years ago, Neville," he cleared his throat before he continued, "I witnessed…and recorded…a prophecy that will decide the fate of our world…" He paused here. He didn't want to be too forthcoming.

Neville was thrown by this. What did this have to do with his parents' deaths? "I don't understand, sir," Neville said, the pain evident in his voice even as he suppressed the urge to scream in frustration. Why does he have to be so damn cryptic?

Dumbledore looked down at his hands in guilt. His role in the fate of the Longbottoms rested heavily on his heart.

"Sixteen years ago, Mr. Longbottom," he ran his thumbs over the tips of his fingers, "I revealed the contents of this prophecy to four people," he nodded slightly, "the four people who needed to understand its implications more than anyone else," a shadow passed over Dumbledore's eyes as he remembered that day…Alice and Lily had been glowing. "Those people were your parents…" he hesitated, his eyes watered slightly, "and Lily and James Potter."

Neville's mind raced as his eyes widened in shock. The pumping of his blood nearly deafened him. The Potters! he thought to himself, what were my parents doing with the Potters! Why would… and then something clicked in Neville's head. Harry…He and Harry practically had the same birthday. What did that mean?

Dumbledore saw that Neville had worked out the implication of his words. "Thankfully, no one beyond myself, the Potters…" he paused as regret washed over him, "and your parents…ever learned the entire contents of the prophecy." The fireplace crackled.

The truth hung in the air. It was as if they were swimming in it.

"That's why they tortured them, isn't it?" Neville asked in a low, barely audible voice, his gaze returning to the floor. "They wanted the prophecy." He sat still. Cold. Disciplined.

Dumbledore closed his eyes in shame and hung his head for a moment. He lifted it quickly, he needed to be strong. Neville needed him to be strong.

"I'm afraid so."

They sat in silence for awhile. It was, after all, a lot to take in. Dumbledore could say little. How did one apologize for condemning a child's parents to their deaths? Neville could think of little he could say without exploding. His parents had suffered and died to protect a secret. A secret the Headmaster asked them to keep. What was so important? Why did they need to know?

"It's about Harry, isn't it?" Neville's blue eyes found the Headmaster's, "The prophecy?" Neville asked, his gaze barreling through the old man.

Dumbledore involuntarily winced. He tried his best to avoid talking about the Boy-Who-Lived since…since everything happened. The regret was still too much for him, but Neville deserved answers.

Dumbledore looked right back at Neville. "Yes…" but as he stared into the blazing blue eyes of the boy that sat before him, something clicked in Dumbledore's head, "…and no…" His eyes which had once been sad and dull suddenly widened, twinkling like mad.

A surge went through Albus Dumbledore as a bookshelf in his brain filled with years and years of planning and reasoning came crashing down. Could it really be that simple? he asked himself. What if…yes…of course! Dumbledore quickly jumped out of his chair and scrambled over to the cupboard that held his pensieve.

Neville watched in confusion as his Headmaster shuffled about the room in a frenzy. "Sir?"

Dumbledore looked back over at the boy. His eyes held him in a new light. He looked at Neville Longbottom for what he was…

A second chance…

He touched the tip of his wand to his temple and extracted this memory, this new plan, and thrust it into the pensieve. The swirl of memories seemed to brighten. The pool seemed to spin faster.

"Sir, I don't understand," Neville stood, a hint of desperation returning to his voice, as he walked towards Dumbledore.

Mark him as his equal…but Tom only went after Harry because he learned a fragment of the prophecy, information he never should have been told…Tom left nothing to chance… Peter Pettigrew's betrayal made Harry an easy target…A first target….Could it have been Neville?...Could it BE Neville? These thoughts raced through Dumbledore's mind, exciting the man. Giving him hope. Giving the Wizarding World hope…

A small, sad smile creased Dumbledore's face. Perhaps your suffering and deaths were not in vain, Frank and Alice…

Dumbledore's eyes found Neville's again. "You see, my dear boy," Dumbledore slowly walked towards him, "the prophecy remains somewhat of a mystery to this day…" he paused here, seeming to consider something. "The prophecy left us with two candidates to fulfill…" he hesitated, "a most important destiny." His head leaned towards one side. "One of those candidates was indeed…Mr. Potter," he couldn't bring himself to say his first name.

A part of Neville already knew the answer to his next question, but he needed to hear it. It seemed impossible. I'm barely more than a squib! he screamed in his mind. Still, here he stood, addressing Albus Dumbledore not so much as a student, but as a peer…as an equal. "And…and the other?"

Dumbledore looked straight into his eyes, "You, Neville Longbottom…you."


:End Flashback:

Hermione and Ron sat in the den of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, waiting desperately for their long—seemingly lost—best friend to return to them.

Hermione sat in a large, comfortable cushioned chair, stacks of Harry's journals rested beside her. Ron sat at a large desk; piles of Harry's drawings and paintings lay in front of him.

Hermione was rifling through the stacks of journals as fast as she could. She had learned a long time ago how to skim texts and pull out the most important points. The writing was in cursive, but messy. It was obvious Harry's hands were shaking.

6th of June, 1996

I figured it out. It was all a joke. It was all some fantasy. There is no such thing as magic. I'm back under the stairs. I'm under the stairs and I'll wake up soon. I'll wake up and it will all be okay. I'll be okay. I'll be better now. I'll do all my chores faster. I won't eat as much. I'll be good. I can be good. I can be better. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for whatever I did…

She sighed heavily and felt an increased pain in her heart. She flipped more pages…

12th of July, 1996

Freak. That's all I am. A freak. I'm a freak. My parents died because I'm a freak. Cedric died because I'm a freak. I'm unnatural. I'm impure. I need to wash. I need water. Why won't they give me more water? I could wash it out with more water. I could wash out the freakishness. I could be normal again. I want to be normal. I want to be invisible. I want to hide. I want to hide forever. The deepest darkest hole. The center of the Earth. I promise I won't come back. I promise…

More pages. The handwriting was getting worse.

20th of June, 1996

I used to fear the guards…They used to be my greatest fear…I've grown to hate them…I hate them because they feed off of me…I hate them because they always come to me…They love me and I hate them for it…They come and they feed…Again and again…I feel used…Violation…They see my soul…My feelings…They claw and tear their way through my heart…I can't cry anymore…They love me…Lust…

Hermione closed her eyes to fight back her anger. Dementors! She thought to herself, What kind of world does this to people?

5th of August, 1996

I wish they would stop taking the glass…I just want to feel…Feel something…Pain…The pain helps me focus…I can see…The pain lets me see…The pain lets me think…I miss it…Salty…Thick…This is my parents' blood…

Hermione read a dozen more entries like this, quickly scanning the sloppy handwriting. Finally…

20th October, 1999

Screams…she screams all the time…All of them scream…All of them plead…Beg…I feel their eyes…I don't see but I feel…I feel her eyes…I hear her screams…Pleading…Begging…for me…but at least I can hear her…I can hear her and part of me smiles…She loved me…Love is pain…

Hermione quickly closed the book. None of this was helping. They already knew Harry had been through hell. Everyone understood that now. Now they needed information. They needed to know what Harry was thinking. They needed to know how to find him.

She picked up a random journal from another pile and opened it.

There was no date listed…The writing seemed different…It was smaller…It was printed instead of cursive…There were dozens of lines for every page…

Sticks, sticks, and more sticks; that's all they are. All they'll ever be. Sticks… torn, broken, and ripped away…They have no roots. No trunks. No branches. Free. Unhindered. Blowing in the wind… Yet they lie in piles. They lie discarded. They're stepped on and broken. Splinters. They're firewoodThey're firewood and I'm the flameThis world is a pyre

Hermione's forehead furrowed. She flipped a few pages…

A flash of green and they fall…

Hermione's eyes widened and her mouth fell open in shock…

They drop. They crumble. They're liquid. They're meat. Dead eyes. Doll eyes. They say nothing. They feel nothing. I feel nothing. I want to feel something. I want to squeeze. I want tear… I want to rip

There was dried blood on the page.

Pages flipping frantically…

Rats in a maze…running, eating, licking, fucking…

Hermione's face contorted in disgust, but she continued to read…

They run but they don't see. They live only to run. To run the maze. To follow the path. To run and not to question "why?"…They don't see over the walls. They're bound by them. Trapped. Walls. They build them. They build the walls and they don't see. I'll show them

"Merlin…"

Hermione's head snapped up in surprise and stared at her husband. He was staring wide-eyed at one of Harry's paintings.

The whole canvas was covered with eyes…Eyes of different shapes and sizes…Brown, green, blue…They all looked so afraid…There were dozens…The background was fire.

The married couple jumped when they heard the chiming of the grandfather clock in the corner. It was six o'clock in the morning. Remus and Sirius still weren't back yet.

Hermione set the journal aside and rubbed her eyes. They had been waiting in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place after they arrived and hadn't moved to the study until around four in the morning. They had hesitated to go through Harry's things as Dumbledore had suggested but had finally relented, Hermione arguing that they might give a clue as to where he had gone. They were no closer to finding him, only more worried about how he was.

Hermione had asked Fleur to take Rose and Hugo back to their flat in London and watch over them for the evening. Many in the Weasley clan had wanted to wait for Harry at Order Headquarters, but Dumbledore had discouraged this. He had told them that it would be best if Harry was allowed to see his old friends first. Too many could be too much too soon.

Fred and George had maintained their eerie silence and small smiles throughout the argument. Neither made any attempt to try and join Ron and Hermione. When an inebriated Charlie had questioned this, they're smiles just grew bigger.

"Harry will come to us…," Fred started.

"…when he's ready," George finished.

"I don't think I can look at any more of these," Ron said as he mimicked his wife, rubbing his eyes vigorously.

"I know what you mean," Hermione replied. "This all feels so surreal…"

Ron gave a small laugh that didn't reach his eyes, "It feels like Harry's back…"

"Yes," Hermione said staring off into space, her eyes filled with anxiety, a sudden fear gripping her heart, "it does."

Ron stood and grabbed the pile of parchment in front of him. He tapped it on the desk, trying to organize it neatly. "We'll find him, Hermione," he said as he shuffled about, "just give it time."

Hermione closed her eyes. Time, she thought, is the one thing we've had working against us. We've run out of time…She threw these thoughts from her conscience. She needed to believe Harry could be saved.

"Maybe we should check-up on the bobbins," Ron said as he moved his way around the desk, "I seriously doubt Fleur could handle them for this long without something being burned, busted, or broken," he spoke with a smile.

Hermione had to smile at that. Her children were everything. She lived for them. She would die for them. Her life found purpose and meaning when she brought them into this world…Sometimes she wondered if the Wizarding World deserved them…

"I suppose you're right," she said as she sat up straight. "Should we wait for Sirius and Remus?"

"No," said Ron as he thought about Sirius, his commanding officer in the auror department, "if I know Sirius, he'll be out there all day and night looking for him…" Ron sighed and stared at the ground in exhaustion. "Some of us have families, however."

Hermione gave a small smile, but at the same time she felt the exhaustion in her muscles. Doting over Hugo hardly left one in a limber, active state; no matter if it was two hours ago or ten hours ago. Looking after a toddler took a lot out of you. She suddenly felt very bad for Fleur.

"We should get home, we've been out long enough," Hermione said as she moved towards the door. She swayed a bit as her exhaustion caught up with her.

Ron grasped Hermione by the shoulders and they embraced slightly for a moment. Both of them needed to feel something from each other at that moment. Both of them had been affected by Harry's…work. They needed to feel something else, if just for a moment.

Ron sighed and spoke in a small but broken voice, "This sucks, huh?" It was the best he could come up with. Ron Weasley was never a poet.

Hermione just closed her eyes as she deepened the embrace she felt with her husband. She wasn't crying. Crying was reserved for the hopeless. She steeled her features and looked at her husband. "We will get through this."

Ron couldn't meet her expression. He looked at his feet. "He could be…" his voice hitched. "He might not even recognize…"

Hermione interrupted, "We will get through this," she said, her voice like iron; hard and resolute.

Ron could only nod, he couldn't look her in the eye. He stepped back and gestured to the door.

"Well, I suppose ladies first then…"


:Flashback:

"Give me another one, Tom," Neville said as he nearly slammed the shot-glass back onto the bar.

The Leaky Cauldron was especially quiet today as many tried desperately to ignore the pink elephant that was Neville Longbottom drowning himself in firewhiskey.

Tom looked incredibly hesitant, but he understood where Neville was coming from. He poured Neville his sixth shot. "Maybe just sip this one, Nev. You've been hitting it pretty hard," he sagely suggested.

"When I order advice, I'll pay for that," Neville said his eyes glaring at a spot on the wall behind the bar, his voice icy. "Right now, I'm paying for whiskey, so I'll drink it as I damn well please…" he trailed off as he threw the shot back.

Of course Tom was thrown by his coldness, but he understood where it was coming from. Everyone had read the morning edition of the Prophet.

The Order of the Phoenix—Dumbledore's rag-tag group of vigilantes that had been training Neville in secret ever since the incident in Dumbledore's office—had managed to capture Bellatrix Lestrange in a failed raid on a small wizarding community just outside of Edinburgh. The trial was quite speedy and a mere formality considering she was still a fugitive. Scrimgeour, the latest of Fudge's successors, had insisted that she be given the Dementor's Kiss. Few in the public showed any signs of concern over such a decision.

That is until Albus Dumbledore interfered.

The sound of the inn's fireplace roaring with the arrival of someone by floo barely registered in Neville's mind. He simply sat and continued to glare at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. It was only when he saw the flash of red in his peripheral vision that his eyes twitched and he turned to greet the witch that sat down on the stool next to him.

Ginny sighed as she looked at her long-time friend with sympathy, "Are you even going to be sober enough to attend the hearing?" she asked with no hint of amusement in her voice.

"I'm fine," was Neville's curt reply as he nodded at Tom and pointed at his shot-glass again.

Tom sighed and turned to Ginny, "And can I get you anything, Miss Weasley?" Tom would never call her "Ginny" because she refused to use his first name. Few knew why.

"Just a butterbeer, Mr. Sullivan, thanks," she said as she dug in her pockets for some loose sickles.

"That's on me, Tom," Neville immediately said, hiding the tiniest of smirks.

Ginny huffed and glared daggers at him, "You know I hate it when you do that!" she said through gritted teeth, but her eyes flashed with amusement.

Neville didn't bother to look at her, but the small smirk was still there, "Fine, you can get the next one."

It was an old joke of theirs that started during a Hogsmeade weekend in Neville's sixth year and her fifth. Ginny had been at the bar in Honeydukes when she realized she didn't have enough money for the round of butterbeers she had just ordered for her and her friends. The blush that would be full swing when she went back to the table to ask for some money was already plainly evident to Neville who was at the bar getting his own drinks. He quickly bought the drinks himself to spare her the embarrassment. He knew how sensitive she was to the topic of money.

She had thanked him reluctantly; she was never one for charity after all. She insisted that she return the favor some day, though. After that, every time Ginny ran into Neville or Neville ran into Ginny, they always managed to use "the next one" as an excuse to see each other again. They were best friends.

That's what made this so hard for the both of them.

"So you really are going to the hearing, then?" Ginny asked in as calm and non-accusatory manner as possible.

Neville's face immediately snapped back into the cold, vacant appearance it held before she arrived. "I didn't realize you were running missions for the Order these days, Gin," he said as he watched Tom pour his seventh shot.

Ginny let out a long breath. She seemed to hesitate. "Nev, Dumbledore thinks…"

"I don't give a damn what Albus-fucking-Dumbledore thinks!" Neville hissed right before tossing back his next shot. He found the burn almost purifying.

Ginny was losing patience. "Damnit, Neville, this is about the war! We need to know what she knows!" She hesitated for a second as her eyes drifted around the room, noting several curious glances being directed their way. Ginny lowered her voice even more: "No one is saying she's innocent. No one is letting her go. But killing her isn't going to do anybody any good…" Ginny's head lulled to the side as she seemed to consider something, "…unless, of course, you count You Know Who…"

Neville knew the argument, he had been through it several times already after being confronted by Dumbledore, Moody, Shacklebolt, and others. Dumbledore wanted to take Bellatrix back to Hogwarts and imprison her in the dungeons where she could be interrogated by…various means. Neville knew that Bellatrix was in the inner circle of the Death Eaters. Neville knew she would have critical information. Neville knew that no one, no matter how dedicated or loyal, could stand up to magical forms of interrogation for very long.

Neville knew all of this, but he didn't care. Neville wanted to see Bellatrix Lestrange dead, even if that meant doing it himself…

At the thought of seeing her lifeless body, Neville absent-mindedly pushed his hand into his left shirt sleeve before quickly drawing his hand away, hoping Ginny hadn't noticed.

Neville sighed heavily before throwing a very clear glare at Tom before quickly gesturing with his eyes back to his shot glass. He turned back to Ginny, "So what exactly does Fumbledick want me to do?" Neville asked as his head lulled a little to the side, the effects of the alcohol beginning to take their toll. "Sit there like a good little boy with my hands in my lap?" The sarcasm was heavy.

Ginny rolled her eyes: "If you insist on attending, then yes, that's the general idea…"

Neville interrupted, "And then what, slowly stand…turn around…bend over," Neville was motioning with his hands, "before I take another great centaur-cock up the arse yet again!" His voice was getting louder.

Tom looked incredibly conflicted as he held the firewhiskey bottle.

"Merlin, Neville!" Ginny's eyes flashed angrily, her teeth clenched, her eyes scanning the room for eavesdroppers. "Look," she said putting a hand on his shoulder, "just don't…" she hesitated, "don't give them any reason to not grant Kingsley and Dumbledore's request…"

Neville seemed to chuckle at this, "I make no promises…" He grabbed the empty shotglass and slammed it down on the bar, shooting another fierce glare at Tom. Many people in the Leaky Cauldron flinched at the noise.

Tom jumped and the war that raged over his expressions worsened. "Nev…maybe…"

"Maybe?" Something dark came over Neville's eyes. "Maybe what?" He shifted in his seat. "Maybe what, Tom?" There was a fire in his eyes. An intensity that seemed completely unwarranted.

Tom looked around nervously. "Mr. Longbottom, please…"

"You know," Neville stuck out an accusatory finger, poking the air three times, "I hate that fucking word, Tom." Neville leaned in, his intensity increasing. "'Maybe…' 'Maybe' is what people say when they don't know what the fuck they're talking about!" Neville's voice was hard, but he wasn't shouting…yet.

"Neville!" Ginny yelped as her eyes widened in shock. She tried grabbing at Neville's shoulder but he shrugged her away.

"'Maybe' doesn't mean anything, doesn't answer anything!" Neville continued in his passionate tirade, swinging his right arm. "'Maybe' at best is annoying and at WORST," his voice was clearly rising now, "gets people fucking killed!" Neville stood up from his stool fast, knocking it over behind him. His eyes showed a very clear frenzy at this point. The patrons of the Leaky Cauldron were watching unabashedly. "Things either are or they are not! It's either one or the OTHER! It's either HIM…" Neville's voice died. He blinked rapidly, fighting through the haze.

or me…seemed to whisper in his thoughts. He stood there, staring off into space. He suddenly realized the kind of scene he must have made. A brief flare of embarrassment passed through him before it was crushed by the warm feeling of the alcohol. Fucking prophecy, Neville thought as he reached into his pocket, drew several galleons, and threw them on the bar, a few sliding off and clanging in the sink.

"Sorry…" he said under his breath as he bumped his fallen stool on his way to the floo. Everyone in the pub stood or sat stock still. Neville was gone by the time a collective sigh of relief passed through the room.

Ginny flushed a little as her heart rate slowed. Neville's outbursts since his fifth year were scary sometimes. "I'm sorry about that, Mr. Sullivan," Ginny started.

"It's alright, Miss Weasley," Tom said as he bent down to pick up the few galleons that had fallen, a small amount of shame in the gesture. "It's not as if we can do much about it."

Ginny furrowed her brow in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Well," Tom said gesturing at the fireplace with a dishrag in his hands, "ever since his birthday last summer, Neville owns this place." Tom turned and opened his enchanted register before continuing, "Gives the poor boy a fair bit of leeway if I may be so bold."

Ginny's eyes widened in shock before she asked, "But…Mr. Sullivan, I'm sorry, but I thought you owned the Leaky Cauldron?"

He sported a sideways smile, "Nah, just been the manager here for as long as I can remember. The Cauldron has been owned by the Longbottom family since…well, for a long time, I assure you," he ended with a chuckle. "Why…" Tom seemed to be considering something as he looked down at to the left while rubbing his chin, "I can't think of a single place in Diagon Alley that doesn't at least lease from the Longbottom family…"


"Your Honor," Draco Malfoy's voice shook slightly, his nervousness palpable, "I come before the Wizengamot today not to argue for the innocence of Bellatrix Lestrange," his voice gained a little more confidence, "nor do I come before this court to ask for mercy on the part of Bellatrix Lestrange…"

Draco paced around the circular floor of courtroom 7 surrounded by the stadium seating that held a great deal of spectators as well as the bench where Pius Thicknesse, the Wizengamot member chosen to oversee this hearing, sat in full attire, hat and all. For a first year prosecutor in the Ministry of Magic, this was the most important task Draco Malfoy had ever faced. His internship during the summer prior to his seventh year hardly prepared him for something so monumental. He silently cursed Dumbledore in his head.

Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco's insane aunt, stood inside of a cage in the center of the floor, a silencing charm preventing her rage-induced tirades from filling the room.

"I come before this court," Draci continued, "not on behalf of Bellatrix Lestrange at all." Malfoy stopped pacing and stood tall for effect. "I come on behalf of her victims."

Murmurs went through the crowd.

"I come on behalf of the dozens if not hundreds of victims of this witch's…" he paused for effect, "atrocious…vicious…" he swung his head and his focus around the room, "and merciless crimes…" The silence was heavy.

"I come before this court," Draco continued, his voice softer, "not as the nephew of Bellatrix Lestrange." More murmurs. Everyone knew the familial relationship, but to hear it addressed was surprising. "I come before this court on behalf of those who would not have their untimely deaths paid with another." His voice grew, it was hard and fiery. "I come on behalf of those who demand not only justice but meaning!"

He paced again, enjoying the stunned silence of the audience and the look of shock in the eyes of Thicknesse. "Would you have their deaths be in vain?" He asked, his head swiveling about. "Would you have their deaths be nothing but tragedies? Casualties of war? Collateral damage!?" The nervousness was gone from Draco's voice. He was in his element. He always was his own biggest fan, after all.

"I submit to you that their deaths mean more than that," his pace increased. "I submit to you that the witches and wizards, squibs and muggles," Draco Malfoy had grown up a lot in the last three years, "that fell to the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange died FOR something!"

It really was amazing to behold. 17 year-old Draco Malfoy held the audience of courtroom 7 in the palm of his hands. Draco may have loved the sound of his own voice, but he certainly knew how to use it.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Draco stopped to point at her, ignoring her silent spluttering and spitting, "is a Death Eater…a servant of the Dark Lord." Many shifted in their seats, most preferred "You Know Who" or "He Who Must Not Be Named."

"More importantly," Draco continued unfazed by the momentary murmur of discomfort, "Bellatrix Lestrange," he made of point of saying her name again and again, "served in a position of importance within this…" Malfoy hesitated, shrugged his shoulders, and decided to adlib, "to call it an 'organization' in my mind would be giving them too much credit…this…" Malfoy threw his right in waving motion in front of his face while grimacing, "band of murderers, mercenaries, and monsters..."

Alliteration exists for a reason. Draco's words had an immediate effect. Many wondered if this really was the son of Lucius Malfoy. Gasps and louder murmurs could be heard. Draco sought out the face of Dumbledore for encouragement. The old wizard nodded and smiled. Similar reactions came from the other Order members seated with him. He shifted his focus and his grey eyes caught black as he stared at his godfather seated near the back. The right corner of Snape's lips twitched, but Draco understood. It was best he was going to get.

Draco stopped pacing and looked down at the floor. He then raised his head and seemed to be pondering something. "Death Eaters…" he said simply. He started pacing again, his gaze focused on the ground as he seemed to be considering his words. "The Dark Arts thrives off of death…Indeed, we use dark creatures to carry out our own executions!" Draco's head lifted as he stared at the audience. "Does one fight fire with fire?" He immediately regretted the cliché analogy and waited for a chuckle. He covered it up quickly, "Does one feed and nurture the very beasts that will one day feast upon them?" This caught their attention.

Draco stood still, "The Death Eaters and the…" he caught himself, "their leader…know far more about the taking of life than any of us could ever hope to…" Draco shook his head, "and only Merlin knows why we would…" He looked out over their faces and made eye contact with as many as possible.

"The death of Bellatrix Lestrange will do nothing but to serve their cause…to FEED the dark!" Draco's voice boomed.

The murmurs started again, only louder. People were obviously disagreeing.

Neville Longbottom sat near the back. He could only think one thing: Merlin! Is he laying it on thick!

"I come before the court today," Draco began, now standing tall, "on behalf of those victims that demand that their deaths mean more than just another victory for our enemies!" He decided he had built this up enough. He focuses on Thickness as he said, "I come before this court today to ask that sentence of death upon Bellatrix Lestrange be commuted."

Murmurs had become full blow arguments. The noise in courtroom 7 left little to be said. Thicknesse was soon pounding his gavel.

Draco decided to run with it, to harness the excitement: "I submit to the Wizengamot that if the business of our enemies is the taking of innocent lives than it should our business to SAVE innocent lives!" Draco's voice raised to a true shout for the first time.

"She's hardly an innocent!" someone shouted from the audience. Mixed murmurs of agreement followed.

"No!" Draco vehemently agreed, "She most certainly is not innocent!" He pointed his finger at her once again, the very clear pronunciation of Traitor! not escaping his attention as she screamed silently. "She represents everything that is dark and WRONG with our world!" Draco lifted both of his arms, palms up, a question: "Why give in to that?"

Silence.

"Some say she deserves to die," Draco began pacing again, "I believe she WANTS to die!" His arm gestures were becoming more erratic.

Draco seemed to pause, but he was still in a frenzy: "Revenge…"

Softer murmurs, but the audience was hooked.

"Revenge…" he paced, swinging his arms, "it sounds good…" head swiveling, "feels even better…" Draco paused and stared directly at Thicknesse, "but revenge is nothing more than a dead end…"

Draco spoke with wisdom beyond his years. Then again, he had been coached by Albus Dumbledore.

"Vengeance…a life for a life…is the answer to an equation…It is a final solution…" Draco stood still, but still scanned the audience, his eyes often focusing on those of Thicknesse.

"If the death of Bellatrix Lestrange meant the end of the war against darkness," Draco gestured at his aunt and shook his head slightly, "I would probably kill her myself…"

Stifled gasps, more murmurs.

"But the fact of the matter remains that her death will simply be a deduction in points in a game that could cost us our very way of LIFE!" Draco's voice shook with emotion.

"And this…" he stopped to roll his eyes, "'game'…we play," he gestured to his aunt, "against the darkness…is far from over…"

Silence.

Draco decided to quit while he was ahead. "For these reasons and much more, I ask the Wizengamot…," he held out his hands, palm up, "I beg the Wizengamot…to grant the request of the Special Investigations Division of the Auror Corps," he said, nodding towards Kingsley Shacklebolt, "to have Bellatrix Lestrange's sentence of death commuted in favor of transferring her to a secure, secret facility…"

Murmurs of disagreement had picked up again, interrupting Draco.

Neville, however, was shocked to note they were not very many.

"…where she can be questioned at length by the proper authorities," he finished with a glare at the louder members of the audience.

Neville was stunned. It actually looked like they were going to be able to pull this off. He turned to gaze at Thicknesse. The man wore a face of absolute reluctance, but his eyes held no fight. I can't believe this is happening, Neville thought to himself. His right hand twitched towards his left sleeve again.

Thicknesse pounded his gavel again. Face still low and reluctant. "In light of the arguments of the prosecutor's office," he nodded towards Draco, "the request put forward by the aurors," he nodded towards Kingsley, "and the amicus curiae brief," he nodded towards Dumbledore, "I'm inclined to grant your request…"

There were a few gasps and yelps of outrage. Neville sat perfectly still. He was watching Bellatrix silently scream and flail about. She looked like a wild animal. He wanted to put her down like one.

"However," Thicknesse began again, bringing silence to the poorly lit courtroom, "I understand there is a member of the Longbottom family here today," his gaze immediately found Neville in the audience. "Does he have anything to say on the matter before the court?"

Neville felt the stares more than saw them. Everyone in the courtroom was looking at him now. Many held hopeful faces, seemingly expecting Neville to condemn Bellatrix once and for all and to stop this nonsense of a hearing. Neville's eyes briefly flickered over the Order. All of them held pleading eyes. Kingsley even shook his head slightly. Neville saw Ginny sitting with some of her brothers. She looked sad. Her eyes were wet. She knew how hard this was for him. All the same, she still managed to mouth the word "Please", her eyes saying "I'm sorry" at the same time.

Neville stood. His face was hard. He stared at Bellatrix.

She was laughing hysterically and screaming, but nothing was heard. Nothing needed to be heard. He could tell what she was saying. "KILL ME! KILL ME!" over and over again.

He itched to grant her request.

His hands were shaking. His face was white. His blood was pumping faster than it ever had in his life. He had been wrestling with this decision for awhile. He even came into the court that day not knowing one way or the other what he was going to do. There was no question now.

"KILL ME!" cackling laughter with madness in her eyes, "KILL ME!"

He was going to kill her himself.

Neville turned and quickly left the courtroom.

Neville stood in the hall leaning against the wall hunched over. His hands shook fiercely as he reached up his left sleeve and slowly drew a wand. It was not his wand. Not his registered wand at least. Neville, along with every other wizard and witch at the hearing had been forced to relinquish their registered wands at the front desk. Only the bailiff aurors carried wands in the courtroom. The new regulations came after some particularly nasty incidents the year before.

Neville's father's wand now sat safely with the rest of the confiscated wands.

He held in his hand an illegal wand. This wand was not made by Ollivander or any other accredited wandmaker. It was a one-time, one-use wand designed for only one thing. He was even encouraged to snap it after the deed was done so that no Priori Incantatem spell would ever work. He wouldn't need such advice. He had no intention of getting away with this.

"BEASTS!! DOGS!! THAT'S ALL YOU ARE!! MUDBLOODS!! SHITBLOODS!! WHORES!!"

Neville heard her screams first. The silencing charm works great in a cage, but is utterly useless on the move. They were bringing her out. Neville turned to face the door.

He was momentarily surprised when the large double doors of the courtroom burst open to reveal Ginny Weasley nearly running. Her eyes widened when she saw him. She immediately ran to his side.

"Are you alright?" she asked, concern laden in her voice.

"THE DARK LORD WILL RULE THIS WORLD!! YOU'RE NOTHING!! NOTHING!!" The screams were louder now that the doors were open.

Neville didn't answer Ginny. His eyes darkened. He had the wand hidden behind his back.

The next to emerge from the doorway was Dumbeldore and Shacklebolt, each turning their heads around several times as they left the courtroom to check on the status of Lestrange, bound by chains and held on both sides by black-uniformed aurors. Her screams and cackling laughter was nearly unintelligible at this point. She spit several times.

"FILTH!! WE'LL STRING YOU IN THE TREES!! WE'LL THROW YOUR MUDBLOOD BABIES IN THE FIRE!! YOUR WORLD IS AT AN END!! THIS IS OUR WORLD NOW!!"

Neville felt himself moving away from the wall slightly. He wanted to be closer. He wanted to see her eyes. He wanted to watch her pupils dilate. He wanted to be close enough to smell it when she released her bowels. He wanted to shut her mouth forever.

As she came to the threshold of the door, her eyes danced about madly. Thicknesse had insisted that she be transported immediately to the portkey room on the 4th floor. They had to drag her through the hallways of the Ministry to get her there.

Her eyes stopped when she saw the brilliant blue of Neville's eyes. Her screaming stopped. The madness left her eyes replaced by something else. Something colder. Her lips curled. She was smirking.

"How's mom and dad?"

It drove Neville over the edge.

But just as he was about to raise the illegal wand to destroy Bellatrix Lestrange forever, everything went cold.

The doors of courtroom 6—which stood directly opposite courtroom 7—seemed to explode, and before anyone understood what was happening, three dementors flew through the air towards Bellatrix Lestrange.

Two grabbed the auror bailiffs and flew away with them in their grasp before dumping them in the stadium seating of courtroom 7. The screams of horror and the shouts of panic from within were soon echoing throughout the hallway.

The other dementor had but one purpose.

Bellatrix Lestrange was screaming…but they were not screams of rage…

Horror…complete and utter horror spewed from the lungs of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Neville smelled her bowels go.

Her wailing kept increasing in octave…her entire body shook like a leaf as the dementor descended upon her. The screams were getting hoarse. Panic…desperation…a wild animal about to be consumed by a predator.

Neville watched in wonder. He wasn't quite sure what to think. He was repulsed by the Dementor's Kiss, as he knew he should be, but something in him couldn't allow himself to look away.

He heard Kingsley shouting to the left, "A WAND! DOES ANYONE HAVE A WAND!?" He looked around in a panic. Dumbledore had already turned away. He had seen the Kiss administered more times than he ever wanted to. He refused to see another.

Neville tightened the grip on the wand still hidden behind his back.

Ginny had her back to what was happening, tears in her eyes. The dementors had a bad effect on her. "Come on, Neville," she whispered through the anguish, "we don't have to see this…"

Neville Longbottom snaked his illegal wand up into his right sleeve.

"I do."

The wailing stopped.


"Thicknesse," Ginny hissed through gritted teeth. "I knew there was a reason why he had insisted that Lestrange be transported immediately," Ginny shook her head. "Lucius Malfoy must have paid him off."

Ginny and Neville walked down the cobblestone street of Diagon Alley. There weren't very many people out. The sky was grey and overcast. The wind was picking up. A storm was coming.

Neville walked with his hands stuffed deeply in his pockets. He hadn't said a word since it happened. Ginny chalked it up to shock. Neville wasn't so sure. He wasn't sure how he felt. What he had witnessed was awful, undoubtedly the most awful thing he's ever had to see…

Well, apart from the day he was allowed to see his mother and father after…

His mother's confused eyes still haunted him…

"Merlin," Ginny continued, "the man paid to have his own sister-in-law fall to a dementor!" She brought her hand to her mouth as if the very thought of it made her sick.

Neville spoke monotonously: "Maybe I should be thanking him."

Ginny rolled her eyes, dismissing his comment immediately: "You don't mean that." She crossed her arms over her chest. It was getting colder.

"Maybe I do, Ginny," Neville said staring at his feet, "she deserved what she got…"

Ginny huffed and shook her head, "This isn't about what she deserved and didn't deserve, Neville," her arms uncrossed and she gestured about, "this is about the war for our world! We could have used her! Her knowledge!"

Neville felt disgust rise up from within him. "Our world is lost, Gin…"

Maybe it was the use of her nickname, maybe it was the cynicism of his comment, or maybe it was just her famous temper getting the better of her, but whatever it was, something in Neville's comment caused her to grab onto his robes and nearly throw him towards the entrance of Knockturn Alley. She followed soon after.

"Look around, Neville," she gestured at the shops and businesses that clearly favored pureblood, Dark Arts-based business.

She hesitated for a second, but she was resolved: "Try to look past your own pain and see what's happening…"

Neville looked at the sign in the window of Borgin & Burke's…

Now Hiring…Mudbloods Need Not Apply!

"Things are worse than ever down here," Ginny said gesturing with her arms. She pushed him forward and they continued walking down further, ignoring the glares and hisses they received from the purebloods they passed on the street.

"Lucius Malfoy may not have killed your parents, Neville," Ginny continued, her fear of his temper evaporated, "but he's destroying everything they died to protect…everything they held dear!"

They passed by a shop that specialized in candles and incense, most of them either toxic or hypnotic in their effects. Another business specialized in tracing family histories. They were often called upon during the arranging of a marriage between two pureblood families; each trying to ensure that their offspring were marrying true purebloods. A shop that sold Dark Arts-books for "informative purposes only". A solicitor's office known to represent the worst of the worst. A house-elf auction post. An apothecary of questionable standards. A smith specializing in traditional athames, biollines, swords, and dirks. Neville felt like he was swimming in a shadow.

Ginny stopped in her tracks. "If you really want to thank him for all of that, there he is," she gestured to the entrance of the Crimson Blade, an upscale restaurant and club. A couple of guards in black dressrobes stood outside. Neville recognized one of them as Theodore Nott. "Everybody knows where to find him, but nobody wants to go looking for him," Ginny grabbed onto Neville's shoulder.

"This is what your parents died to prevent," she began, a little more boldly, "they stood up to such blatant bigotry and hatred. They were good people, Neville…," her eyes travelled back to the entrance of the restaurant, "…and they destroyed them for it."

The effect of Ginny's words was beginning to take its toll on Neville. He couldn't meet her eyes. Guilt flooded his soul.

"What will become of the Wizarding World when good people do nothing?" she asked, her head bent low, looking at Neville almost expectantly.

Neville shook his head slowly. He sniffed.

"I'm not one of your good people, Ginny…" His voice was barely more than a whisper. He was staring off into space. His shoulders, which before had been riding at near ear height, slumped down; resigned.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Neville had a penchant for the melodramatic. "What do you mean?"

Neville shook his head slightly, nearly in slow motion: "All these years…I wanted to kill her…," he brought his right hand out of his pocket and let the wand he had concealed up his sleeve slide forward, "…and now and I can't…" He showed it to her. He looked in her eyes. He showed his crime. He held it before her. His eyes in question…in confusion…in a saddened guilt.

Ginny looked at the outstretched wand in utter confusion before it dawned on her. Her eyes widened in shock. Her jaw dropped. She found his eyes. She saw the guilt…the sadness. She knew that was not Neville's real wand. She understood why he had it. More so, she understood that he had it when it happened…when everything happened…the dementors…Neville had a wand…he could have saved her…

Weasley tempers are not to be trifled with.

Ginny smacked him.

She smacked him again…hard.

Neville's face had turned away with the hand-strikes, but the tears of regret and shame in his eyes were still clearly visible. He refused to look at her.

"Your parents would be ashamed of you," Ginny nearly whispered, tears of anger and frustration in her own eyes.

Neville had no reply.

Ginny's red hair whipped around as she turned from Neville and Knockturn Alley in general to leave. She did not get more than three steps before she stopped. Her head fell forward and began to shake side to side, as if she were struggling with something.

Suddenly, she whipped her pocketbook out and began rooting around her coins. She grabbed a few. She turned…

"Here," Ginny said, throwing a galleon at Neville, "buy yourself a drink…" she turned and was gone before he had a chance to reply…he didn't need one…her message was clear…

We're even…

Neville stood on that spot for several minutes. He stood and he gripped Ginny's galleon so hard he nearly drew blood. It took everything in him not to cry. It took everything not to scream in rage and frustration.

He had become everything his parents hated…a pureblood who thought he could do anything…a life for a life…justice from the end of a wand…

Neville looked at the illegal wand in his hand. He suddenly hated it. He was disgusted by it. It was vile. It was obscene. He was ashamed he was even touching it.

He quickly snapped it in half.


Lucius Malfoy looked up from his evening edition of the Daily Prophet when he heard the heavy thud of Vincent Crabbe's thick right arm land on Neville Longbottom's chest. Crabbe looked to Malfoy, silently asking a question.

"It's quite alright," Malfoy said as he folded his newspaper and set it on top of the place mat next to his at his table in the Crimson Blade.

Crabbe did a quick hand pat down only to come up with nothing but a small crystal ball. He showed it to Malfoy. A remembrall.

"No wand?" Malfoy asked, his smooth, deep voice betraying just a hint of surprise. "I feel…" Malfoy playfully seemed to struggle with his words while shaking his head slightly, "…insulted…"

Crabbe roughly forced Neville down into the seat opposite Malfoy, handing his remembrall back to him.

Neville seemed slightly flustered, but his eyes betrayed an intensity Malfoy did not fail to miss.

Malfoy smirked, "If you wanted to say 'Thank you'," he said, his head cocking slightly to the side, "an owl would have more than sufficed."

Neville's brow furrowed. He glared. He glared right back into the cold, grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy. A man that seemed to show no remorse whatsoever, not even an attempt to hide his crimes. He was accepting well-wishing fans of his murders as Gilderoy Lockhart would accept fans of his stolen experiences.

Something about the casualness of how he dealt with death set Neville off.

"I'm not here to thank you…"

Lucius Malfoy laughed on the inside. Neville Longbottom trying to put up a "tough" front amused him greatly. "Really?" he asked, not bothering to hide the smile on his face or the amusement in his voice.

Neville's eyes seemed glassy, but there was a determination there. An intensity: "I'm here to tell you that not everyone is afraid of you," he said monotonously. "I'm not afraid of you."

Lucius Malfoy's grin—to Neville's surprise—grew wider. "But of course, Mr. Longbottom! After all, you have nothing to fear from…" his eyes seemed to dance over the room gracefully, "…us…"

Neville's glare deepened, he knew where Malfoy was going with this.

"You're a wizard of outstanding…stock…Mr. Longbottom," Malfoy continued, his smirk widening. "A pureblood such as yourself has nothing to fear from…" Malfoy seemed to think about this amusedly, "…anyone who would wish harm to those of…shall we say…a different background…"

Neville's hands were shaking again, this time in rage. His adrenaline was pumping hard. He hated this world. He hated that people like Lucius Malfoy existed.

Malfoy's smile never wavered. "Go home, Mr. Longbottom," he said, almost as if he actually cared, "forget this business…enjoy yourself…enjoy your life…your inheritance," Malfoy said this while raising his eyebrows, indicating he knew just how extensive the Longbottom fortune was.

"Forget these affairs, Neville," he said, nearly reassuringly, "let…," his voice suddenly darkened, "…us…handle such things…" Malfoy reached for his glass of brandy and took a small sip. "I promise, you will be well taken care of…"

Something in Neville snapped. Taken care of…as if he were a child. His child. Neville lunged but was quickly grabbed by Crabbe and restrained harshly.

Malfoy chuckled, "There's a fight in you, Mr. Longbottom, I'll grant you that," he cocked his head to the side, "but it's severely misplaced…" Malfoy stood and indicated to Crabbe to release Neville from the near chokehold he had on him.

"You're a wizard, Mr. Longbottom," Malfoy said as he leaned in, staring into his bloodshot eyes, ignoring his wheezing breaths, "but you understand nothing of what needs to be done to protect our world…" Malfoy trailed off.

He picked Neville's chin up with his gloved left hand: "You're afraid. You fear the muggles just as all of us do…"

What!? screamed in Neville's mind.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Longbottom," Malfoy said calmly. "You fear them because you don't understand them; how they live, how they work, how they eat…" Malfoy's face was contorted in disgust.

"We understand them, Mr. Longbottom…we know what they are and what they're capable of…and we're taking measures against their…," he smiled slightly, "less than productive activities."

Malfoy leaned in. "So you see, Mr. Longbottom, you come to me from a position of weakness. You come to me in anger and frustration, but you know nothing…you don't understand the stakes…you come in confusion…you come not understanding their world…you come in fear of that world!" Malfoy stressed, his arm pointing at nothing, but at the same time pointing at muggles. "But you'll never understand them the way we do…"

Malfoy stood to his full height yet again. "Go home, Neville. Enjoy your life," he said with a smile.

Neville Longbottom was soon tossed back onto the cobblestone of Knockturn Alley.

Neville seemed to sit in the gutter for several minutes.

He removed the remembrall from his pocket. It was cracked, but the smoke shown a bright, clear red.

Neville knew exactly what it meant. Neville knew exactly what he had forgotten…

It was last time Wizarding Britain would see Neville Longbottom for seven years.


:End Flashback:

Hermione and Ron apparated to the darkened alley just to the right of their flat on the outskirts of London. They quickly scanned the area to make sure no muggles had witnessed their arrival before making their way to the front door of the Victorian-style townhouse.

Hermione had inherited her old family home when her parents were killed. A Death Eater—no one knew who—used the Imperius curse to force her father to drive their car into a head-on collision. Hermione didn't like to talk about it.

"Will you be going into work later?" Hermione asked concerned. "You'll be exhausted." She said while discreetly using her wand to check on the wards over the front door of their home. She was delighted when the bright bluish aura that only she could see indicated no sign of damage or disruption. No one that they did not consider family could pass through the wards of their home.

"I'll take a Pepper-Up or two," Ron said, not really paying attention. "We're making progress on that project we've been working on," he remarked vaguely.

Hermione opened the door, "Have the goblins been any more cooperative as of late?" she asked expectantly.

Ron rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth, "Merlin, Hermione," a small smile soon tugged at the edges of his lips, "you really are the worst Unspeakable ever!"

Hermione blushed and huffed at the same time. She spun and marched into their foyer, taking off her traveling cloak and throwing it over a hook. Ron followed and did the same, his cloak soon falling off and onto the floor, however.

"Fleur?" Hermione asked softly. She didn't want to shout in case the children were still asleep.

"We should have sent our Patroni telling her we would be coming home," Ron said while rolling his eyes.

Hermione's head snapped around, "I told you! The Patronus charm scares Hugo!" Hermione huffed again; "Honestly! What if she had been trying to get one of them to sleep and all of a sudden your dog comes rushing into the room yelling in that voice of yours…"

Ron narrowed his eyes at his wife, but she ignored him entirely as she proceeded further into their flat.

"Fleur? We're home…" Hermione continued, once again, trying to keep her voice low.

"Unbelievable," Ron muttered to himself, "I'm sneaking into my own house…"

Hermione threw a glare over her shoulder before she turned again.

She rounded the corner of the family room and caught sight of Rose. She was sitting up straight on the couch. She was in the same outfit from the night before. Hermione noted she had a strange expression on her face.

"Rose?" Hermione asked concerned. She moved into the family room. "Is everything alright, dear?"

Rose's eyes were wide and tear-filled, but her face was impassive…frozen. She didn't even twitch…

Hermione turned her head to trace Rose's gaze…

She heard her son giggle…but what she saw gripped her heart with terror…a strangled sound flew from her lips before she could bring both hands up to cover her mouth…Her eyes were impossibly wide…all color had drained from her face, yet her heart pumped like a freight train…an involuntary shudder shook her violently…her vision tunneled around her son…her five year-old son…

Her son that was currently sitting the lap of a clown…

"Mummy!" yelped little Hugo excitedly in his high-pitched voice. "Look who came over to play!"

Ron quickly rushed to his wife's side and his expression and bearing mimicked hers…His immediate surprise and shock quickly mixed with horror when he realized who the clown was…Even through all the make up…even through the mutilation…there were still a pair of eyes he would forever recognize…and even through the white-caked paint…a faintest hint of the scar…

"Harry" looked into the eyes of his old friends and smiled wide, his head leaning forward. "Hellooo," his voice was low and cold, he smacked his lips, "mummmyyy aaannnd daaadyyy…" his head lulled to the side as he addressed both of them.

He sat forward on one of the red cushioned-arm chairs near the fireplace. He held Hugo on his right knee. Hugo sat looking thrilled and excited. He was holding a box in his little hands…a present box…

Ron summoned what little courage he had: "H-Harry?"

As with Draco in the Ministry, Harry delivered a loud and sharp bark, twitching, seemingly preparing to lunge with those yellowed teeth of his…

Hermione jumped with a yelp, jutting out her hands seemingly to make a grab for Hugo or beg at the same time. She quickly interlaced her fingers and brought them to lips as the tears started to flow a little heavier. She was rocking back and forth…

Ron was frozen with fear. He had seen the wand in Harry's right hand behind Hugo's back…

Hugo cried out but quickly descended into a spout of giggling when "Harry" began tickling him…

"Harry" giggled himself at their reactions…

"Joker likes to scare me," Hugo said with a wide smile, "but he's funny when he does it," his expression quickly changed into a glower as he looked at his sister across the room, "unlike some people!"

"Harry's" knee bounced excitedly, shaking Hugo—much to his enjoyment—his laughter increasing. He grunted as he nodded eagerly.

Hugo looked back to his parents, their distress seemed not to affect him. "Rosie told me Uncle Harry was the Boogeyman and he was gonna come get me," Hugo pouted at the end. "Is that true?"

The Joker let out a long, cackling bout of laughter, staring into the eyes of his two…"friends"…

Ron and Hermione's anguish only increased when they noted Hugo giggling along with him…

The Joker stopped laughing, but the smile never left his face. "That's why she's on a timeout," he looked down at Hugo and seemed to shake him a little too aggressively, "right, Hugo?" his pronunciation chilled them to the bone.

Hugo just kept giggling, his smile ever-widening, "Hehe, right, Joker!"

Hermione looked back into the tear-soaked eyes of her daughter. Her daughter that had yet to move. She had been petrified.

Hermione moved to help her…

A grunt, but nearly a growl, boomed from Harry's throat…

Hermione froze solid…

"Hugo," the Joker's head lulled to the side, "do you think your," his expression changed to a high-picthed, sing-song voice, "mummmyyy aaannnd daaadyyy," his intonation switched back, "love you…with all their hearts?"

A small sob came from Hermione: "Ha…," she stopped herself, her arms reached out in a begging motion, "please…" she whispered through the tears.

Hugo blushed but he smiled wide, "Yes…" He said, his chin burrowing into his chest.

Ron's right hand trembled terribly as he tried to move it ever so slowly to his wand on his left side…

The Joker grunted, shifted Hugo on his lap, and smacked his lips. "And do you think your…mummmyyy aaannnd daaadyyy…would be…saaad…if you were taken away from them?"

Ron's fatherly instincts were kicking in. He took a step closer…

The Joker shot him a glare and growled low…his wand now pointed directly at Hugo's spine…

Ron froze in his tracks…

Hugo's brow furrowed in confusion, his eyebrows slanted. "I…I guess so…" Hugo scratched at the wrapping paper around the box in his hands, "I hope they would miss me…"

Her son's words broke Hermione's heart, but she was too scared to sob now…

"Ooohhh," the Joker said patting Hugo's knee with his left hand, "I'm sure they would, Hugo," he gripped his knee…a little too hard, "I'm sure they would."

The trial of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger did not go well for the defendants…

"I wonder, though," the Joker smacked his lips, "would you be…maaad…at mummy and daddy," his head lulled to the other side, "if they didn't miss you?" His voice softened to a whisper: "If they weren't even sad that you were gone...?"

Hugo's little brow now furrowed in anger and his lips pursed as he looked at his parents: "That would be very mean of them!"

The Joker giggled darkly when he saw the guilt written across their faces, "Yes," there was almost a growl in his voice now, "it would be"

The accused both lowered their eyes in shame…Hermione bit her upper lip hard…Ron squeezed his eyes shut tightly…

Hugo crossed his arms over his chest: "They would have to go on a TIME-out!" his cute grumpy expression never leaving his face.

The Joker's laughter sent a vicious chill down Ron and Hermione's spines…

"No more of THAT!" the Joker shouted flamboyantly. "It's time for PRESENTS!"

Suddenly, the box in Hugo's lap exploded with a relatively soft "pop"—sending wrapping paper and confetti flying across the room, obscuring the Ron and Hermione's field of view…

Hermione screamed…She fumbled for her wand but she dropped it to the floor…

Ron finally drew his wand…

But he felt it ripped out of his hands before he could see anything again…the familiar feeling of an Expelliarmus curse stinging his hand…

The confetti settled…the parents heard Hugo giggling and laughing excitedly…

He's still okay! they both thought. He's still here!

Their expressions of joy soon fell when they saw what Hugo held between his little hands…

A small purple box…

…with a crank on its side…

"I know what this is!" Hugo exclaimed, the pride evident in his voice. "Granpa showed me one!" he turned the box over in his hands. He seemed to try to think of the name for a moment before he cried out, "IT'S A…" slight hesitation, then his eyes widened and his smile broadened, "IT'S A 'JACK'S-IN-THE-BOX!'"

Excited giggles…

"That's right, Hugo! That's right!" the Joker bounced Hugo almost impatiently on his knee. "Do you know how it works?"

Hugo nodded determinedly, "Of COURSE!" His little hand grasped the crank.

"NO!" Hermione shouted.

Hugo continued, oblivious…

Ba-do, ba-do, ba-do-pa-de-do…

Ron didn't hesitate this time. He dropped to the floor, frantically searching for his wand from underneath the wrapping paper and confetti…

Ba-do, ba-do, ba-doo-doo…

"Harry!" Hermione was in a panic. The sound of the crank was making her heart beat faster and faster. She fell to her knees, her hands grasped together…almost in prayer. "Pleeeaaase…" she was crying harder now.

Ba-do, ba-do, ba-do-pa-de-do…

The Joker moved his blood-red, mutilated lips towards Hugo's ear: "Can I tell you a secret, Hugo?" he whispered.

Ba-do, ba-do, ba-doo-doo…

Hugo continued on…he seemed to notice nothing beyond the Jack-in-the-box…

"Your Uncle Harry wasn't the Boogeyman…" the Joker whispered ever so quietly.

Ron was searching like a madman, throwing paper everywhere, small yelps of panic escaping his lips, his eyes wide with terror…

Hermione joined her husband in a frantic search for her own wand…there was so much confetti everywhere…she couldn't see it…she couldn't focus…her heart rate was so high…she could barely see her own hands…

Ba-do, ba-do, ba-do-pa-de-do…

The Joker's gloved hand suddenly gripped Hugo's hard, preventing him from turning the crank once more…

He also silently lifted the Imperius curse he held over him…

"I…" the Joker waited for the slow realization…the slow turn of his head…the look in his eyes…he growled as his face shook with rage…his green eyes intense, "…AM THE BOOGEYMAN!"

Five year-old Hugo Weasley stared in utter horror into the eyes of the mad clown that held him tightly in his grasp…the clown laughed—cackled in his face…he forced Hugo's hand to turn the crank one last time…

What are you afraid of, Little Hugo…?

The lid of the Jack-in-the-Box flew open…

Legs…

A flurry of legs…

A camel spider the size of a human hand scurried his way out of the box and onto Hugo…

Screams…

SCREAMS

Screams of unfathomable terror…

"NOOOO!!" the scream left Hermione's throat at the top of her voice. She abandoned her search for her wand and scrambled over to her youngest.

Hugo had been thrown to floor…left to wrestle with the camel spider…

Mothers can do amazing things when their young ones are threatened…

Hermione grabbed the massive spider and using both hands ripped it in half…

Whatever a boggart looks like in real life, no one would ever know…

It simply exploded into a fine, black, near ink-like substance…covering Hugo and Hermione…

No one heard the roar of the fireplace floo…

Rose Weasley suddenly slumped down out of the couch and fell to the floor, bawling her eyes out. The effects of the Petrificus Totalus now gone. She curled herself into a fetal position.

Ron Weasley continued the search for his wand in vain. His eyes were wild. He was in a frenzy.

Hermione latched onto her baby and hugged him to her. "Hugo?" she asked carefully. "Hugo? Are you okay? Can you understand mummy?" her voice was shaking.

She smoothed away the hair and…remains…from Hugo's face so that she could see his eyes. His eyes were vacant…absent…She cold feel how cold he was.

"RON!" Hermione bellowed through her own sobs.

Ron seemed oblivious as he continued to search for his wand, as if the rest of the world was a dream. His eyes were wide and his breath short and labored. His hands shook horribly.

"RON!!" Hermione shouted louder.

This seemed to snap him out of it. Ron shook his head and looked over at his wife. At his child…

"I think he's in shock…" Hermione said, her voice shaking, still crying hard.

A primitive instinct forced Ron Weasley to get to his feet and run over to his son. He lifted him up in a hard embrace. He whirled around, scanning the room. His eyes narrowed: "ROSE!"

Hermione followed his gaze before her breath hitched. She quickly scampered over to her daughter and embraced her, both holding each other tight as they cried in each other's arms.

Ron squeezed his son tight as he watched his wife and daughter in pure anguish…

They say strange thoughts often occur to people in such high stress situations…

So Rose finally met her Godfather


Ron stalked the waiting room of St. Mungo's children's ward, his hands stuffed firmly in his pockets.

His wand now ready to be snapped out at a moment's notice from his right sleeve…

Hermione sat on one of the couches, a sleeping Rose curled up in her lap. Hermione stroked her hair as her eyes stared off into nothingness.

She had seen much during the last twelve years…

Nothing had prepared her for this…

Ron sighed heavily and plopped down on the seat next to Hermione and Rose's couch.

"I…" Ron began but his voice failed him. Tears sprung to his eyes. "I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry, Hermione…" His voice broke terribly.

A guilt shown in Ron's eyes. A father's guilt…a father that had failed to protect his family.

Hermione brought a hand to his cheek. She smiled at him. She loved him. She didn't need to say it. She loved him and she always would.

"You did nothing wrong," she nearly whispered reassuringly, trying not to wake Rose.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?" asked a Healer at the edge of the waiting room.

Hermione's eyes shot wide and she stared at Ron in desperation. He squeezed her hand. He would handle it.

Ron stood and stepped forward, "I'm Ron Weasley," he said, his voice shaking slightly.

The Healer smiled slightly, "Your son is going to be fine…"

A lot of what the Healer said next passed as a blur for Ron. The word "fine" had triggered a sense of relief in him that was almost narcotic in its effects. Everything was a blur until he heard the word "obliviate."

"I'm sorry," Ron interrupted, "what was that about obliviation?"

The Healer looked only slightly annoyed: "I was saying that considering the circumstances, especially the youth of the child, I would suggest obliviating this particular memory and allowing him to live without this…"he paused for effect, "…horror…playing Merlin knows what effects on his subconscious."

Ron shook his head fiercely, "No…"

The Healer looked aghast, "Mr. Weasley! Perhaps you should take some time to reconsider…"

"He said no!" Hermione's voice was icy.

Both the Healer and Ron looked towards Hermione slightly shocked. Neither thought she could hear them.

"I will not have any member of this staff nor anyone in Wizarding FUCKING Britain," Hermione's eyes were fiery and hard, "going anywhere near my son's mind or memories…" she trailed off. She was thinking about all the other things she no longer wanted her son to have to deal with in the Wizarding World…including the whole thing all-together…

The Healer looked resigned. "Very well, we'll keep him overnight for some potion-induced rest and relaxation, but we must release him in the morning…" he hesitated, "I must warn you, his nightmares…night-terrors in fact…could be severe…"

Hermione's voice was monotone: "Then we will deal with what dreams may come…"

The Healer shook his head and left them.

Ron sat down but leaned his elbows on his knees, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Hermione continued to stroke her fingers through her daughter's soft, reddish-brown hair…

"I will always miss him…" Hermione whispered just loud enough for Ron to hear.

Ron's eyes watered, he bit his lip, but he nodded several times, he understood what Hermione was trying to say.

"He was...umm…" his breath hitched as he blinked away tears and swallowed hard, "he was my friend…my best friend…" He leaned down and grabbed and handful of hair with his fist and pulled hard. He needed that little bit of pain. His shoulders shook.

Ron and Hermione were saying goodbye to Harry Potter…forever…

Both now understood that he was never coming back.

Hermione's eyes went hard: "We can't beat him…" she looked up at her husband, "can we?" It was more of a statement than a question.

A flash…a flash of the Joker's eyes, his face, the way he commanded the room, the way he wielded his wand…his laughter…laughter as he manipulated and destroyed the home of an auror and an unspeakable

Ron's response was quick…

"No…"

The sat there in silence for awhile, holding each other, each taking turns comforting Rose who still slept soundly. They waited. Waited for Hugo to wake…

It was nearly three hours after they arrived when Hermione's widened and she shouted…

"FLEUR!!"


"Weasley Wizarding Wheezes" doesn't normally open until 9:30. Furthermore, most of the standard customers of the magical joke and trick shop don't show up until the afternoon. Simple sleeping habits of the slackster class dictated this.

Based on these rules, it was no surprise to find Fred and George Weasley confused by the mess they found on their shop floor at 7:30 in the morning.

Candy spilled everywhere…Uneaten!...Fireworks fired with hardly any show in doors…no love potions stolen…no major poisons stolen…

They were only even more seriously perturbed to discover their security wards still intact. No one but an owner of the store should be able to penetrate such wards…

As they stood before the mess in front of the entrance of WWW, both Forge and Gred heard a sound from the basement…laughter…

Loud cackling laughter…

Gred and Forge proceeded slowly down the stairs into their basement, into their…laboratory…

It was here they kept their…less than legal experiments...

Neither, however, drew their wands.

Both knew full well who was in their basement, mucking about with their latest ideas…

They only hoped their investor was pleased…

What they found was what they least expected…


Bill Weasley awoke to the feeling of his wife's lips upon his, and this was not just any kiss…

"Well, hello," Bill said as sly as he could manage at this early in the morning. "What's got you so worked up?" he asked as he suckled on his wife's neck.

"Ooohhh, Mon Dieu," Fleur faked excitement, her eyes glazed over, she suckled at his neck, "tell me of security, mon cherie," the Veela rubbed her hands lower, "tell me of the dragons…"


Long in coming, I know. Too much Neville? Probably, but I wanted a legitimate Neville vs. Harry pairing. I hoped everyone liked the Ron/Hermione/Harry confrontation. I honestly can't see it going down any other way.

The next update will be faster.

Kinda cliffie...sorry for that. I will answer PMs for questions.

And yes, Harry killed no one in this chapter...Booooooo!

Oh well, better luck next time...