The Fat Friar drifted gently over to the boy huddled in a ball in front of the Gryffindor Common Room entrance, coughing quietly in order not to startle him. "Mr. Longbottom? I have been sent on two separate commissions - from my dear Pomona and my little Abbott - to ensure that you are all right. "
Neville sat up quickly, and the Friar noted that he sat up as straight as possible, trying very hard to maintain some semblance of dignity. "I'm fine, sir, thank you for asking." But his pale face and the higher pitch of his words gave away more than he clearly wanted to.
His hands tucked away as usual in his sleeves, the Friar melted into the ground until he reached the boy's eye level. "Minerva is as frightened as you are, lad, and she is more severe with you because of it. Rest assured, you will be back in her good graces soon."
"I've never been in her good graces, and I don't deserve to be. I'm no good at magic, I'm not brave enough to be a real Gryffindor - the Hat must have been crazy, I should be with you and Professor Sprout and Hannah in Hufflepuff - and I've just almost gotten Harry killed, and if Black had murdered him, there goes the whole war, all at once. Everything everyone's been...everything my parents were fighting for...all gone, and all my fault. I deserve this and worse." The words burst from him in a flood, and he brushed hastily at his face, trying to pretend he wasn't about to cry.
Brother Joseph fought the instinctive urge to reach his arms out to the child, wishing he could truly put them around him and have him feel the embrace instead of having it pass straight through him."Oh, my dear boy. Listen to me. Listen well. Everything you have just said is false." Neville looked up at him, startled, about to protest, but the Friar put a finger to his lips, shushing him. "And I will tell you why. First, Minerva loves all her chicks, and always has, no exceptions. She may be impatient with you, but it is only her way - she wants only to encourage you to find what she knows is within you. Second, you may be a late bloomer when it comes to many forms of magic, but that signifies nothing. nothing at all. So was your father before you, and he did quite well in the end. Talent takes time - and some of the strongest talents are the slowest to manifest themselves."
Neville's eyes went wide. "Dad was...was like me? Clumsy and awkward and slow? But Gran always says he was a prodigy..."
"I suspect Augusta is inclined to idolize the son she lost, and forgets his early failings, as people do. Frank was a good, good man, never believe otherwise, and he became a highly skilled wizard and Auror as an adult - but when he was your age, he had his share of disasters and struggles. Especially in Potions. He melted his own cauldron more than once, I'll tell you - and only his old friend Kingsley's quick thinking saved him from melting a hole in the castle floor on at least one occasion."
The stunned look on Neville's face was almost amusing, had the Friar not been so concerned for him. "And while he had a bit of your gift in Herbology, you quite outstrip him there already- even Pomona was not as skilled as you are when she was your age."
He blushed, clearly not used to praise. "But that's just plants, I've always loved plants. It's not, you know, real magic."
The Friar turned stern. "Do NOT let Pomona hear you say that, please. She will put you in charge of pruning the Venomous Tentacula until you remember just how much magic, and how much skill, Herbology demands. And I suspect that of all her students, you are the only one who would easily survive such an assignment."
Neville even smiled a bit. "It likes it when I sing to it."
"So it does, and I have never, in all my years, seen a student charm it so before. But to return to our topic at hand, let me address the third false statement you have made, and prove it false. You have said you are no true Gryffindor - but lad, it is clearly not so. It is true, I, and Pomona, and my little Abbott, would have dearly loved to have you among us as a Hufflepuff, and you would have done our House proud, never doubt it. But you are Gryffindor through and through, and the proof is right before me. Only a true Gryffindor would see Minerva in a rage over a mistake he made, and be brave enough to speak up and admit to that fault, and take his punishment like a man. You did the honorable and courageous thing, and you need never fear You-Know-Who or the worst of his followers again, because not one of them can compare to an angry Minerva McGonagall."
A laugh escaped the boy before he could stop it. "But I still made that mistake, and almost got Harry killed. You have to admit that." He was almost pleading to be proven wrong now, Brother Joseph noted with affectionate amusement.
"Child, all of us have made mistakes, many of them, sometimes crucial ones. You are far too young to expect perfection from yourself - I myself am nine hundred and ninety-five years old last October, and I have not achieved that mark yet. " He wondered whether to add, And those who know what you have endured in your very earliest youth surely understand why you have difficulties with memory, but decided that that would be perhaps a step too far. "You confessed to your fault like an honest penitent, you are doing your penance willingly - surely you shall be forgiven. But make no mistake - should Mr. Potter have been murdered by Black, it would have been Black who struck the blow, Black who made the choice, and Black who bore the guilt of it, not you." And did I ever think to see the day when Sirius Black would have betrayed James Potter, and would seek to murder James's son, who looks so like him? Blessed Virgin, tell me, how can it be possible? "Do not take what is not yours, even guilt."
Neville nodded quietly, dropping his eyes to the floor.
"And if Potter had fallen...the war would not yet be lost. Our hopes rest far too much, I think, on the slender shoulders of one young boy. He is brave and strong and kind, but he is a boy. Rest assured, Dumbledore has contingency plans in effect should he fail, or fall. And one of them, lad, is surely you yourself."
"Me? Why would he have any plans involving me?"
"Because you are the other boy who might have been the Chosen One of the prophecy." From Neville's expression, he was not unfamiliar with that fact, the Friar noted. Probably Augusta told him - and probably with the clear implication that he had failed to measure up to the position. Or am I being uncharitable to her?
"Prophecies are notoriously malleable, especially in the hands of a clever and persuasive man like Albus Dumbledore. If Potter proves unable to stop He Who Must Not Be Named, Dumbledore will surely seek to convince the wizarding world that the prophecy was not wrong, but that Potter was not its true target - you were."
Neville visibly shuddered. "I don't want to be the Chosen One." He looked up at the Friar, biting his lip. "I mean, I want to fight. I'm going to fight. I've got to avenge my parents, after all. And...if they win, there's no safe future for any of us, so I've got to fight, and fight to the death if I need to. But I don't want to be the center of everything. I'm not a leader, not like Harry, and I'm not really great at DADA either."
"Not yet. But you can be. And you will be, if you are called on, because you can do nothing else, and because your Gryffindor heart will not let you fail when you are most needed. I suggest, lad, that you begin to watch Harry as closely as you can and learn from him, learn from Remus and Minerva and Albus and every other leader you can observe. Practice your magic, work hard at it - you have the Hufflepuff virtues as well as the Gryffindor, and they will serve you well too. There is greatness in you, my boy, and it very well might be needed in this fight. If Harry lives, he will need strong allies to help him - he cannot bear all the burden of this war himself. And if he falls - we will all need you more than ever." A heavy burden for a thirteen-year-old, be it Longbottom or Potter or both. But I have seen teenage boys go to war before, and some of them never to return...alas for the ways of war and destruction, and all I can do is pray for victory and peace, as always. if a ghost could shed tears, he would have wiped one away in that moment.
Neville took a long deep breath, and nodded once, solemnly. "I'll do that, sir. I'll work hard, so I can be ready for...whatever is needed. Thank you. And please...thank Professor Sprout and Hannah for being concerned about me, and tell them I'm all right."
"I will. Now rest, and fear not, the others will be here shortly." He rose through the floor to his full height, and lifted his hand in blessing briefly before he left.
Brave boy. No, no doubt whatsoever you are a Gryffindor, and one Godric himself would be proud of. But Helga would have loved you too, lad, with all her warm and generous heart. And once the war is over and we are all at peace, God willing, may you find time and space to explore your Hufflepuff side as well, for I told only the truth when I said you've all of our virtues to boot. As your dear father and mother did before you - may our Lord and His Blessed Mother keep safe their poor tortured souls, and bring them to peace at last when their time comes.
