Neville Longbottom: The Boy Who Fought Back
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Disclaimer: This is posted in a fanfiction site… I'll let you draw your own conclusions.
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4. An Interesting Visit
or
How Neville manages to invite Harry Potter for a little vacation
Neville woke up with a soundless scream. Of all the nightmares he ever had, this one was by far the worst. One moment he was falling, the next he was suffocating, and one time he went through so much pain in that he thought he'd go insane. Then there were those glares, and those disturbnig, horrible laughs... He knew those sickening laughs would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Neville wanted cry, but he found himself with a coughing fit instead. Why could he feel like he just came out off Blackpool Pier? Was that nightmare just that intense. Was it even a nightmare? What kind of dream inflicted physical pain? Because now that he had calmed down, Neville hurt just about everywhere. It wasn't too painful now; like a dull echo of the suffering he through in his dreams. But why? Why was he hurting? Why did he have that nightmare? Panic and confusion were fighting and frankly, he couldn't tell if his reason or his instincts were useful at the moment.
"I'm sorry." Neville's head snapped to Archibald of Longbottom. Why was his ancestor apologizing? More importantly, why was he looking at Neville with so much emotion? "You've been through such trials, young Longbottom, and I'm afraid many more await you."
"What do you know about my trials?" Neville asked, still trying to regain his breath. As far as he knew, they had just met. How could Archibald know about Neville enough to feel sorry for him?
"More than enough," Archibald said. "I cannot believe how low the house of Longbottom has fallen. I did not mean to offend you, young Neville," he hastily added, seeing the look on his face. "I am talking of those misguided scum that dare call themselves proper Longbottoms. "
The pain was gone, so Neville's mind was functional again. He didn't like the conclusion he came up with. "You went through my memories." The memory reluctantly nodded. "You had no right to do that." He hissed.
Wait a second. Memories...? His nightmare, were they memories? But why was he hurting then? Memories were supposed to hurt his mind, not his body. His confusion slowly turned into anger. "You gave me that nightmare."
"Yes, though we both know that was no nightmare." Neville shivered. The memory had confirmed his doubts. He almost wished he hadn't. "Unfortunately, the things you do remember are nowhere near as horrible as the things you don't."
"What do you mean by that? What have you done?"
His ancestor shook his head. "It would be more accurate to ask what I've undone. You will find out soon enough." How, lovely – more unpleasant surprises to look forward to! "I truly wish I could spare you what is to come. I can only make sure you'll survive. When the time comes, be sure to remember me."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Neville had no clue what Archibald was on about, but the more he talked, the less he wanted to know. And yet, not knowing was worrying too.
The memory returned his attention to Neville. "It is time to leave this place, young Longbottom. You may take the ring and give it back to the goblins."
Neville blinked. "But I thought you didn't want me to give them the ring."
"Of course I don't," retorted the memory. "I still do not want to. But this isn't about what I want. This is about what is right. And that particular test only a few of my descendants managed to pass. In fact there are only three. My grandson William, your father, Francis, and you, young Neville."
Neville beamed. Here he had done something only a few had done. He had followed his father's footsteps. He then looked at the ring still in his hand and frowned. "The same test? With the same ring?"
"The goblin outside will explain it to you," the memory replied. "Just know you have done the Longbottom name proud. I apologize for saying otherwise."
Neville didn't know how much the earlier words had hurt until he felt like an invisible weight was lifted off his shoulders. "Thank you," he said quietly, as he stood up.
"Simply stating the truth, young one," he said with a small smile. "Now for your compensation." Archibald raised his arm and Neville saw a pile of bracelets. "Pick one, Neville of Longbottom."
"What are those?" he asked nervously. He feared another test of sorts.
His ancestor saw his discomfort. "Not to worry, I am quite done testing you. Those bracelets are like wands, yet in a way they are not." Neville's eyes grew wide. "In my time magic users were called sorcerers and used short staves and other magical artifacts instead of wands. The way we used magic was different in those days, so I fear it won't serve you as well as a wands today, but a trump card is never unwelcome."
Neville approached the pile of bracelets with reverence. He reached for the closest one and yelped when the artifact hit him with some sort of stinging hex. He sent an accusing stare at Archibald, who chuckled.
"I told you they were like wands, young Longbottom – those bracelets will choose their wielders. Speaking of which, you should definitely look for your own wand."
Neville frowned, ignored that last advice, and tried again. Slowly, he closed his eyes and reached. His left hand instinctively swerved right and left until it grabbed something metallic. He opened his eyes to see a worn copper bracelet.
"Well done," said the memory. "Now wear it on your non-wand arm."
Neville did so and was shocked. The wide ornament shrunk until it comfortably fit him, before it disappeared. He touched the bracelet to make sure it was there and the trinket glowed before becoming invisible one again – Interesting.
Neville one again thanked Archibald and headed for the vault's entrance. He was stopped when he reached the doors.
"One last thing, young Neville. A warning – do not seek your parents."
Neville's blood ran cold. "You went through my memory. You know very well why I can't do that."
"Even at the cost of your sanity?" If there ever was a time when Neville had been defiant, it was now. Archibald smiled sadly. "So be it, young one. Do remember me when the time comes."
Neville kinda wished he wouldn't, but the man lived in his vault... well future vault. They would meet again when he reached adulthood. For some reason he wasn't so sure he'd get that old.
* . *
Once outside, Neville discovered that Archibald and the goblins were much more in cahoots then he thought. Grimfang informed him that action had earned him the honor of being trusted by the goblins. Of choose, when he asked, the goblin informed him that the only other living being that could pretend to this privilege was his father. Still, Grimfang had been surprised to find that he had come back with the shield ring. "You are an odd wizard, Longbottom. You do not want to be called by title, yet you don't mind giving the title of 'Master' to a goblin, and you actually returned a borrowed item to the goblins."
Neville didn't know how to answer that. "Isn't that common courtesy? I just don't like titles because... I guess I just don't like them." In truth, Neville hated titles. The people that called him by titles were either total strangers, house-elves, or his relatives. Needless to say he quickly learned to dislike this type of formality.
"You are too naive. Respect is not given – it is earned."
Oh, he knew that far too well. The only problem with that was that it would be impossible for Neville to earn the respect of his uncles and aunts by being Neville, not while they all remembered his father. In fact, besides his knight-elf, and maybe Professor Sprout, he was still trying to earn the respect of his peers. Thus his first year at Hogwarts.
That had not gone well.
So Neville had resigned himself, and came with the next best thing. "The only respect I need is my own."
"Words of the arrogant," sneered Grimfang. "Yet like all I've seen today, you live by these words in an odd way. You might be the oddest wizard I have met." But then he smiled, and Neville nearly drew his wand. "There's hope for you yet, Longbottom. Try to not disappoint me."
After the ride back, Neville handed the shield ring to Grimfang. The goblin pocketed the artifact without ceremony. "With this, we are now dealing as equals. Let us hope the next time we meet will also be as profitable."
As he was about to leave, Neville smacked his head. "I forgot. I also took a bracelet from the vault."
Grimfang shook his head. "Truly naive. Lord Archibald must be happy." Neville did a double take. The goblin snorted. "Yes, the goblins know about the memory in your vault. Do not worry yourself for trivial matters. Those artifacts aren't goblin, and there are his to give – it is part of the agreement we had with him. Therefore that is none of our business."
And with that, Grimfang left him at the front desk without warning. Neville remained there, a bit confused by the situation, until he was kindly reminded by the teller that 'Gringotts was not place to waste time'.
Neville got the hint and left, tailed by sir Flimsy.
"Have you found what you were looking for, sire?"
Neville nodded. Although, he has to admit the whole thing has been weird – even by wizard standards.
His primary objective completed, Neville spent the rest of the day relaxing in his greenhouses. Nothing else of matter happened that day happened, and that was a blessing for Neville. He had been more than frazzled by this whole trip to a bank. It seemed awkwardness followed everywhere he went.
* . *
Neville got up with an uneasy feeling next morning. He didn't know how much time before his gram came back. The other house-elves must have warned her by now. He would have to quickly tend to his next objective.
Inviting Potter – or rather, preventing a Weasley invasion.
Unfortunately, this meant dealing with Oscar again. If the horned owl had looked annoyed before, he now looked positively angry. He supposed whatever happened a couple days ago hadn't been pleasant.
"H-hullo, Oscar," Neville greeted nervously. "Um, I know we already did this before, but you wouldn't mind delivering another letter to Potter, would you?"
Oscar didn't look convinced, but Neville went to attach his new letter anyway. Without warning, the owl almost bit his ear off – only a split-second shove from Flimsy saved him.
On second thought, maybe there were other ways of delivering the mail. His decision made, Neville made a hasty retreat under the derisive glare of the post owl, dragging away sir Flimsy before he could make the situation worse. His next stop was his room, where he unrolled his parchment to neatly fold it instead. After that he fetched some wax, applied some on the back of the letter and applied the Longbottom seal.
"There," he said, "folded, stamped and ready to go." Satisfied with his work, he turned to his knight-elf. "Alright, let's try this again. Sir Flimsy, you'll put this with the rest of Potter's muggle mail. Only, you will stay there and make sure Potter gets the invitation this time."
His friend saluted and disappeared. Since he was already in his study, Neville decided to spend some time on his homework. His herbology essay was already rolled in his trunk so he focused on History of Magic this time. An hour later and he was ready to do like Borgmeister the Scoundrel and give up on his homework. He was pondering the merits of burning his history book when the sound of elven apparition grabbed his attention.
It seemed sir Flimsy had brought company. There was another dubious looking elf, and that one was ready to flee by the looks of it. Flimsy roughly shoved him down, and snapped his fingers. When the intruder got up, he tried to do something, but failed.
"Dobby cannot go back to master's home!" The way he had phrased that convinced Neville this house-elf wasn't up to any good; a house-elf always named their master. At any rate, he certainly wasn't a Longbottom house-elf "If the master calls, Dobby will be punished."
Neville ignored him in favor of his knight-elf. "I didn't know you could do that," he noted, seeing their captive almost weeping in fear. His friend beamed with pride. "What's he doing here?"
At the same moment, Dobby decided to attack his captors with magic. Before Neville could even blink, sir Flimsy squashed the attack with a wave of his hand and slammed the other hand one down, crushing the other elf with his own magic.
"You dare fay a hand on sir Neville?" never had he seen his elf so angry. "Keel, filthy blur, keel and apologize!"
Neville was too shocked to say anything for a while. Finally he settled on, "lay, kneel, and cur, sir Flimsy."
Poor Dobby was vainly tried to move under the magical pressure, but in then he resigned himself. "Dobby is sorry." he mumbled, "Dobby just wanted to go back to his master."
Neville made a gesture. Flimsy carried on. "Now, apologize for stealing Neville's mail."
The house-elf tried to, but quickly found that he couldn't breathe. Neville watched, upset that this was the reason he had almost gone to the Weasley's. The intense pressure on Dobby ended when Neville registered that Dobby was turning ashen.
He turned to sir Flimsy. "You're hurting him!"
The knight-elf released his whatever hold he had on his colleague and started to wring his hands. "It wasn't my attention, sir. I think your hunger made the magic stringer."
Neville flushed. He didn't know he could even do that. "Oh, well sorry, Dobby. I didn't mean to hurt you."
Dobby's huge eyes grew yet. "Sir Bottoms his apologizing to Dobby. Sir Bottoms is too kind! Almost as kind as the Great Harry Potter!"
He could hear the capitalization of Potter's latest moniker. "Er, right. Dobby, could you tell me why you stole my letters?"
"Dobby is sorry. Dobby is trying to prevent The Great Harry Potter to go to Hogwarts."
Apparently Potter would have to work hard to keep his title of Boy-Who-Lived. In other news, Dobby's help didn't sound like something good for Potter– or even Neville himself.
"Um, I might not be the best person to tell you this, but I think keeping Potter's letters from him will only make him want to Hogwarts more."
Dobby looked at him in surprise, before he tried to punish himself for his failure. Only before he smacked his head in the desk, a horrified Flimsy stopped him. "You fool! Don't punish yourself in front of Sir Neville!"
"Anyway, may I have his letters back? I'll give them back to him, so he doesn't worry about his friends."
"Sir Bottoms is kind," the house-elf said, before handing over the letters he had confiscated. "Maybe Sir Bottoms can help Dobby and stop Harry from going back to Hogwarts."
"I can try." Though to be honest, he wouldn't be trying very hard, if at all. "Still, how do you know Potter's in danger?"
"Dobby can't tell you. Master does not know that Dobby knows." he whispered loudly.
Dobby was trying to save Harry in spite of his master? That said a lot about Dobby... And a bit more about his master.
* . *
Neville had the distinct feeling this was a terrible idea, but he owed Potter some explanations – especially if he intended to invite him afterwards. He had donned some fine clothes that weren't robes, and was currently standing in front of number four, Pivet Drive. He pressed the button next to the door and heard some chimes.
Interesting.
"Yes, what can I do for you?" a tall and thin woman said.
She would be Potter's aunt. She didn't look too pretty, but she did look motherly enough. If only she didn't stare at him so eerily. He gulped. "Um, sorry to bother you miss, I'm here to see—"
"Dudley! Of course you would! My Duddikins is already so popular."
...What?
For a second, Neville thought he had the wrong house until he remembered that Potter probably had cousins. By the time he opened his mouth to correct her he was already sitting in the living room.
"Dudley isn't here, I'm afraid, but he should be home shortly with his father. Would you like some biscuits while we wait?"
It seemed awkwardness had followed him to the muggle world.
"A-actually miss, I'm here to see Harry Potter." He paused, waiting for a reaction.
He wasn't disappointed.
Her whole face… morphed into something scary. "You... I can't believe it! You are one of them." No mistaking that tone, or those eyes.
Potter's aunt reminded him off his relatives. Just one glance at his surroundings told him Potter wasn't welcomed here. No photographs of Boy-Who-Lived, and the way she had mentioned Dudley – like he was the only child in the family, were proof enough that they tried to pretend there wasn't a fourth resident in the house.
Just then, the door opened and the rest of the family joined the woman. Potter's aunt hissed before her husband could great them.
"Vernon, he's one of them! He's a friend of the freak."
The change was sudden. 'Vernon' turned purple and menacing. His son, however, looked weary and had his hands around his bum…? Something was wrong with this family. Is that how muggles normally reacted to wizards? In that case, he was scared to imagine what Potter's childhood had been like.
His fears were confirmed when Vernon rushed him, his hands aiming to grab him by the shoulders. "Now listen to me you little freak!" However his threat died on his lips when he noticed that he couldn't grab Neville. From purple he turned red, and stepped back hastily, as if burned by the invisible shield.
The guilt he felt for inviting Potter to be his pretend friend became mild annoyance. Surely he'd be glad to leave this place. Now that he had confirmed how things were in this family, Neville decided to act like he was facing his relatives. He became more observant, and his tone was colder, more business-like.
"Let's settle a couple of things first. One, my name is Neville Longbottom. I would appreciate it if that was the name you used. Two, Potter and I aren't freaks."
There was a tense stare down from the two parties. The adults were trying to hide their fear just as much as Neville was.
"What do you want?"
"I've got something that belongs to Potter. I want to give it back."
"And what happens if we say no?"
"I'll leave." The adults blinked owlishly. "One way or another, Potter will get his belonging. I just thought this was the easiest way."
The adults shared an uneasy glance. They probably did not want to think what the hard way would be. "Why are you asking us for permission? It's not like we can stop you."
"Because this is your home." Did the concept of common courtesy not exist in the muggle world? Dean looked polite enough.
Mr and Mrs Dursley conversed through their eyes. Were they able to read minds? But muggles weren't supposed to be able to use magic, were they. His musings were interrupted by Mrs Dursley. "You may go and see the boy. He's upstairs – first room on the right. And after that you can see yourself out." Shortly after, the Dursleys left, leaving Neville to find Potter's room by himself.
It wasn't that hard – there was only one door with a padlock on it.
"Sir Flimsy?" The knight-elf dispelled his illusion. "House-elves don't usually get locked in their room, do they?" Sir Flimsy shook his head, nervously pulling at his large ears. "Then that means Potter is being treated worse than a house-elf."
The elf flinched. "Right you are, sir. Sorry for the mistake, sir."
Neville made a dismissive wave of hand. "Unlock it."
Sir Flimsy made a wave. The lock opened and fell, and then the elf became invisible again. Neville approached the door and knocked. There was a bit of shuffling and then,
"Yes aunt Petunia?"
"Uh, Potter? It's Neville."
Seconds later the door opened enough for Potter's eyes to glance at Neville, and then widen in surprise. "Neville? What are you doing here?"
He took a look at his room and wanted to flee. This was awkward. This was the Boy-Who-Lived; he wasn't supposed to live like this. And if he were in Potter's shoes, Neville wouldn't want anyone to know about this. "We need to talk."
Potter let him in and Neville explained what he knew. By the time he finished, the Boy-Who-Lived was skeptic. He had figured as much. That was the whole reason he had brought Sir Flimsy.
"Sir Flimsy."
The knight-elf appeared, startling Potter. He was even more surprised when he saw the stack of letters Flimsy was carrying on a tray. He took them – and quickly saw that all the letters were unopened and the parchments sealed. Many emotions flitted through his face, but he settled for relief.
"Potter, I have a favor to ask."The bespectacled boy looked up. Well, time to seal his fate. "I want... I want to invite you at my place for a week or two."
"Okay."
Neville, convinced he'd have a harder time to convince Potter chocked on his words. "Okay?" he managed to croak with a slightly higher tone. Right, he hadn't heard the reason Neville was inviting him. "You must know that I'm inviting you because it was either you or the Weasleys."
Potter frowned for two whole seconds before he shrugged and said, "So, when are we leaving?"
Potter must really dislike it here if he accepted to come so readily. The summer break was getting more awkward by the day.
* . *
Neville brought Potter with him that very day. The Dursleys didn't require much convincing – the simple prospect of not having freakishness infect their perfectly normal home was very appealing. The only objection Mrs Dursley had was that two weeks were too short – she wanted Neville to keep the boy for the whole summer.
Using Flimsy, they arrived moments later. The instant travel shook Potter a bit, but otherwise he looked fine. The boy gasped when he entered the main living room.
"You live in a mansion?"
"Manor, really. This is the ancestral home. Well now it's the ancestral home. Apparently we used to live in a castle." Neville babbled. His first guest over – somehow he was sure he would mess it up. "Would you like a tour, perhaps?"
And so they did. Neville made sure to show him where the important parts of his home were, but he deliberately avoided the greenhouses. If he hadn't, he was afraid they would spend the rest of the day there. As it was, Potter enjoyed his little visit. Once they were done, they headed for the dining room where the house-elves had already set the table for Neville and his friend. Dinner was a quiet, but pleasant thing, as were the few games they played before retiring for the night.
The next few days were similar, with the notable addition of lady Augusta Longbottom. Surprisingly, she did not do much in front of his guest, but her eyes promised a lengthy tongue lashing once Potter left. Still, she made it her mission to point out the various... Inadequacies both teens suffered from.
In the end, Neville was surprised by how well his companion took criticism. People tended to steer clear of his Gram because of her well known tongue. He guessed this had to do with Potter's aunt and her family. He hadn't mentioned anything about that yet, more because that would give Potter the opportunity to inquire about Neville's family, and Neville wanted to keep quiet about both the subjects of his parents and his relatives if he could help it. And so, the first week ended quietly.
"Neville, your great uncle Algie is at St-Mungo's currently. Apparently one of his pets tried to eat him." Lady Augusta shook her head in frustration. "At any rate we'll be visiting him this afternoon."
"I'm not going." Neville then promptly got up from breakfast. "Tell Great Uncle Algie I wish him a speedy recovery."
Lady Augusta snorted, but she accepted Neville's decision. For now, anyway – surely this was one more thing that would wait until Potter left. This particular rebuke he really didn't care for. Gram could ask, flatter, threaten, but he would never visit his uncle willingly.
Feeling a bit lost, Neville headed for the greenhouses, while Potter went to floo the Weasleys. In order to entertain his first guest, he hadn't spent as much time gardening. Instead they had worked on their homework and played the various wizard games Neville had received from his relatives – their way of being cruel, as all of them required at least two players.
In other news, Sir Flimsy was surprisingly good at wizard's chess.
He headed for the wild with a bag of seeds. It was the perfect time to plant those magical beans he bought last year. Any other time of the year and they world grow huge, crushing the greenhouse. He only needed to remind himself of the story of Jack and the Magical Beanstalk to remain cautious. Furthermore, he needed to plant these in damp, calm surroundings. Ironically, that's where the most dangerous plants were. Fortunately, the mandrakes had matured and settled elsewhere. Those things were hostile, even to their gardener – a very rare trait in plants.
Neville calmly walked amongst the various man-eating, poisonous, hallucinogen, exploding species and stopped in an artificial clearing. He had to be careful and quiet, because the nearby vegetation could get jealous of the new plant and try to crush it. And would be very bad – for those plants, that is.
He was about to take a seed out when small hands urgently shook him. Neville nearly screamed. Instead he glared at his knight-elf. Sir Flimsy was pointing urgently in the direction of the entrance. What was he doing here? Shouldn't he be watching over...
Bugger.
Neville hurried as calmly and quietly as he could. He arrived at the entrance just in time to find Potter struggling with a devil snare. The vines were reaching his neck as the boy was about to make use of his wand. Thankfully, by then he was out of the danger zone, meaning he was free to be as noisy as he could. He did just that.
"Oi! Just what do you think you're doing!"
Potter froze, probably thinking Neville was crazy. His guest probably hadn't noticed the Devil Snare freezing at the same. Neville felt a hint of satisfaction when the Devil Snare dropped and withdrew. But if Vinny thought he was out of the woods, he had another thing coming. And so Neville moved between his plant and Potter.
"I'm sure we talk about this, Vinny. No human flesh – ever." The vines came to coil around his arm, but Neville swatted them away. "No cuddling! I'm disappointed in you. Next time this happens I'm putting you in a glass room."
The pant visibly wilted and retreated our of sight. Neville shook his head and turned to Potter, who was busy rubbing his eyes and wiping his glasses.
"Are you OK, Harry?"
"Did you just talk down a Devil Snare?"
Neville flushed. "Oh, that? I planted Vinny, so he listens to me."
"Wicked. Maybe I should have brought you along when we went after the stone."
No one outside of Mrs Sprout had ever appreciated his talents for herbology – this compliment took Neville completely off guard. He shrugged, failing to hide his embarrassment.
"Er, thanks, I think," Neville replied, "but what are you doing here? I thought you wanted to try and floo the Weasleys?"
"I did. They haven't come back yet. Flimsy said you were here. He told me to wait at the entrance." Neville gave him a look. Potter fidgeted. "Hum, I thought I saw you walking over there," he pointed towards the foreign species. "You were struggling with something, so I tried to help."
Neville blinked. His face then brightened. "Oh, that was a lying vesposa." Potter stared at him, waiting for something. "...Right! It's a plant with a special aroma that casts illusions. They usually team up with other species to capture and eat their prey."
His companion threw another look at the lying vesposa. "Wicked. How come we don't learn about these in herbology?"
Neville wondered if Potter was serious for a second. "Because you almost died? Besides we do learn about them – I saw some of them in the greenhouse at Hogwarts."
"Oh, right. Anyway, how come you're here? Aren't you scared?"
"Scared? Why? I'm the one who takes care of them. They won't hurt me... much." At Potter's raised eyebrow, he hastily added. "Besides, Sir Flimsy is with me exactly for that reason."
"You never told me about this place," Potter mentioned.
"I thought you'd find this boring. I've kind of neglected the greenhouses these post few days – I'll need to visit all the others before the rain in two days."
"Think I could tag along?"
Wait, Potter was actually interested in herbology? He needed a few moments to understand the new concept. As far as he knew, herbology wasn't Griffindor-ish at all. That was odd.
Then again, Potter did have suicidal tendencies.
Neville thought about it before answering, "Well, I don't see why not – as long as you're careful and you listen to what I say. Maybe we could save this greenhouse for another time though."
"Sure, I'd like that."
Neville couldn't help but return Potter's grin with a timid smile of his own.
* . *
A/N: Here's an update! Updates for this story will be... sporadic at best I'm afraid. Enjoy!