A/N: Thank you all for your understanding about the computer situation. Karlii, that was a very funny little story, thanks for sharing! And now here is the reward for your patience — a shiny new chapter!
Chapter Nine
They trickled in slowly, one by one, so the number of them crept up on you and surprised you. One minute, it was just Harry, Sirius, and Remus moving around the kitchen, making coffee and rummaging through the pantry to find a few packets of shortbread biscuits (Kreacher had been directed upstairs, where he was to remain for the evening). Then Harry looked up and was surrounded by people, and for a moment, his breath caught and his heart thumped. He'd known they were coming in, heard them arriving as he fiddled with the coffee machine, and marked each individual presence, but he hadn't really counted them up mentally. He hadn't bothered, knowing that this house was one of the safest places in Britain, for now, and the people who were arriving were all on their side.
But faced by so many people, so closely packed together when he hadn't expected it, Harry felt an instant flash of fear and shifted his body to lower his centre of gravity and bring his arms in closer to his sides. People gave him puzzled looks, and he smiled and stood up straight, feeling foolish. He hoped he wasn't going to spend his entire life acting like that, though he wasn't sure how he would break the habit. Miguel had been asked to make him paranoid, and so he was. Sirius walked past him very deliberately on his way to the table, letting his hand brush over Harry's shoulder, letting him know that he had Sirius' sympathy. He was feeling a little overcrowded, as well.
There was a witch with a heart-shaped face and bright purple hair talking to Professor McGonagall, and there was a big, handsome Black man talking quietly to a couple, the man in a tatty cardigan and the woman in a hand-knit sweater, both red-haired. Professor Snape was over in the corner, speaking to no one and watching them all with slick dark eyes. Of course, the feeling over overcrowding was probably mostly due to the immense mountain of a man who sat up against the wall, the furthest out of the way that he could get, which was not far, all things considered. He had a wild head of hair and a bushy beard that could hide small children. Remus had greeted him very gladly, so Harry knew that this was Rubeus Hagrid, returned at last from wherever he'd been. He hoped his Care of Magical Creatures class wasn't too disappointed.
Harry set a carafe of coffee on the table and stepped back again, fighting feelings of claustrophobia. Then the meeting began, with absolutely no ado whatsoever. It began with a very frightening-looking old man in the corner shouting, "Everybody, sit down and quiet! We have a lot to cover!"
Everybody did. Harry didn't blame them. Looking at the grizzled, gnarled old man, it was easy to see why they were intimidated. The wooden leg with the clawed foot poking out from under his trousers, the missing chunks of face, and to top it all off, a whirring, electric blue, magical eyeball that was constantly spinning off in new directions to see something only it could see. Harry sat down and kept quiet, himself.
"For any of you don't know, which isn't likely, I'm Alastor Moody. Dumbledore asked me to head up this first meeting, as he's a bit preoccupied with that Ministry witch trying to take over the school. You'll notice we're a bit short on members tonight—"
We are? Harry thought wildly, though he kept it to himself. He hadn't known there were so many people already formed into a cohesive unit. It was a nice surprise.
"—but there's a reason for that. Not every member of the Order was invited to this one. Only those of you that Dumbledore and I agree we can trust completely." Harry knew that each person's name had been run by Sirius as well before being added to the list, but to explain that would be to reveal the purpose of the meeting too early for proper dramatic effect. Merlin, couldn't they just stand up and introduce themselves? Harry hated this sort of stage drama. "We've got some information that's going to take you by surprise, and when you know it, you'll understand why we're keeping it close tonight."
The magical eyeball kept spinning around to look at many things, but Mr. Moody's real eyeball fixed on Snape, over in the corner of the room. "We don't all know each other, so let's make the introductions, shall we? We'll start with you, Professor Snape."
Snape stood up slowly, sneering at the meeting's leader. "You've almost introduced me already. Severus Snape, Potions master at Hogwarts." Without another word, he sat down again, still looking sly and brooding. Harry thought to himself that he really must learn that trick. He wished he could look dark and intimidating at any time.
The next person was the gigantic man with the unkempt hair. He didn't bother standing. "Well, you all oughter know me by now, I guess. Gamekeeper and professor of the Care of Magical Creatures class at Hogwarts, mostly jus' go by Hagrid. Bin aroun' long eno' to know you all—'cept our new professor, o' course," he added as almost an afterthought, nodding at Sirius.
"It's good to have you back," Professor McGonagall said warmly. "I'm sure we're all eager for your report."
"We'll get to it, we'll get to it," Hagrid rumbled amiably, and turned his attention to his coffee, which had been served to him in a mug that Harry had had to cast an Engorgio spell on to make it large enough for him.
Professor McGonagall, already drawing attention by conversing with Hagrid, went next. "Minerva McGonagall, as I'm sure everyone here knows." That was all she said, which was plenty, Harry thought with amusement. Nearly everyone in the room had probably had her as their Transfiguration professor at one point, and Harry had been told that she'd fought Voldemort the first time around, about sixteen years ago.
The next person to stand was the red-haired man, looking very nervous. "Arthur Weasley, and this is my wife Molly. I think we're here because we've been very vocal about believing You-Know-Who has returned. I think you all must have heard about what happened to our sons a few years ago, and I've been listening to what Dumbledore has to say since then." This little speech appeared to make him very uncomfortable, and he sat down again quickly, squeezing his wife's hand under the table. Harry eyed him with frank interest. The patriarch of the infamous Weasley clan, was it? These two had raised some of the more interesting people Harry had met in his life—and that was saying a lot.
The man that the Weasleys had been talking to before the meeting was next. "My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I am one of the Aurors that Moody has been talking to recently. The things we have been seeing . . ." His eyes went far away for a moment. "I, too, believe that You-Know-Who has returned."
The younger woman with the purple hair stood up eagerly, knocking over her coffee cup as she did so. "Oh, bother," she muttered with a frown, reaching to right the cup while the coffee spread over the table. Her face reddened with embarrassment, and her hair began to darken toward red, as well. Harry's eyes widened, fascinated by this bit of magic. How did she do that?
Remus stepped forward, wand out, and quickly took care of the mess.
"Thank you," she said, flashing him a brilliant grin, her hair flaring into an even more intense shade of purple
"You're welcome," he murmured in return, stepping back with eyes slightly awestruck. He leaned against the counter beside Harry and Sirius again, looking lost. Harry gave Sirius a surreptitious glance, wiggling his eyebrows and indicating Remus, and Sirius graced him with nothing more than a brief smile. He was obviously feeling the strain of what they were planning to do.
"I'm Tonks," the young woman said, her eyes challenging them all to say different. "Just Tonks. And I'm like Shacklebolt, here, I've been listening to Moody and I know what's going on. And I'm ready to do something about it, before it gets worse."
There were a few murmurs and nods around the room, agreeing with her. She smiled again, and nodded emphatically, then returned to her seat with a careful eye on her coffee.
"Remus Lupin," the man at Harry's side said almost casually. "I think most of you know me already anyway, as I taught a year at Hogwarts, but you recall I was in the papers this past summer because I caught Peter Pettigrew." He didn't explain his reasons for being here. He didn't have to. He turned to Harry as though that were his cue. Harry looked into Alastor Moody's good eye, and saw it gleaming. Here we go.
"I'm Harry Potter," he said plainly.
A stifled gasp. A few looks of complete astonishment, then some weak chuckling, as though to appease him. Hagrid gave him a stern look.
"Here now, you're the new professor's son, aren't ye? Wot's your name, again?"
Harry sighed, and lifted the fringe of his hair. He'd forgone makeup this evening, and he displayed the scar emblazoned on his forehead, turning slowly so they could all see.
"No, I'm really Harry Potter. Cursed scar, dead parents, the whole bit. And as I'm sure you're all realizing now, this," he slapped a hand sharply on Sirius' shoulder, "is Sirius Black. I'm surprised more of you didn't recognise him already. We're back, by the way."
There were dumbfounded looks from Mr. Weasley, Hagrid, and the two Aurors. The professors already knew, as did Moody, who spoke up again.
"Now you all know why we didn't invite the whole Order to this one, eh? We'd like to keep this quiet for now."
There was a moment of silence, then Harry thought he'd better finish the story.
"It's not just rumours about Voldemort, you know." They all gasped or winced, and Harry knew it was because he said Voldemort's name. Well, the man was carrying Harry's blood through his veins, he ought to be able to call him whatever he liked. "I know he's back, and back in his own body, because I was there. I saw it." They were all staring at him, which was not exactly what he wanted, but he soldiered on. "Pettigrew got into the house on the night we came back, and managed to trick me into touching a Portkey, which took me to the graveyard where Voldemort's father is buried. They used the bones, and my blood, and the hand of one of his servants., to give Voldemort a body. I escaped, obviously, but not before I was forced into doing my part to resurrect him. So, yeah, he's back for sure."
Harry was impressed with the intellect of the people in the room. Almost immediately, they got over their shock and began asking the pertinent questions.
"If he knows you're here, why are you hiding?" asked Tonks.
"And how long do you expect to be able to do so?" added Kingsley Shacklebolt.
"If Pettigrew's captured, Dumbledore must ha' set this up with the Ministry, eh?" Hagrid said, his face furrowed as he realized what was going on at the school.
"I can't believe You-Know-Who hasn't done something to out you already," Arthur Weasley said, shaking his head in disbelief.
"All right, settle down, settle down," Moody barked out. He looked back and forth between Sirius and Harry, wondering which of them was planning to answer the questions. Sirius took charge.
"Listen. When I escaped from Azkaban, I had no plan. I know you're all wondering what's been going on the past seven years, so let's start with that. I got out only thinking that I had to prove I was innocent, and catch Peter. I went to find Harry first, and when I found him, he was in a miserable home with some miserable Muggles who were doing a piss-poor job of raising him. I'm his godfather, so I reckoned it was up to me to change that. I took him, and I decided that if I planned to keep him, we'd better go somewhere they didn't know us, so that's what we did. There was no grand scheme. It was just Harry and I, working and going to school like everybody else. But lately, we've been hearing things from back home, stories like what happened to Mr. Weasley's sons, and we knew it was time to return. We knew that if Voldemort was coming back, he wasn't going to rest until he found us, anyway."
"Why don't you declare yourselves? If he already knows you're here, I mean," Tonks asked.
"Voldemort knowing we've returned isn't the same as everyone knowing we've returned," Sirius explained calmly. "We didn't know how we'd be received, and we didn't want a lot of media attention, so we thought it was best to ease into this. With us laying low at Hogwarts, we're not such an open target as we'd be otherwise. We didn't know if anyone would be ready to believe who we are and why we're here."
"Why are you here?"
Harry didn't know who asked the question first, but it was repeated around the room several times. He took the answer himself, though Sirius was waiting to answer it.
"Because I am the real Boy-Who-Lived," he said softly. "I know that Neville Longbottom has filled that role, but with Pettigrew's arrest over the summer, it's become obvious to everyone that he isn't, since I'm still alive. There's more to being that person than just having survived an attack by Voldemort. A lot more to it. There's all the reasons that the attack took place, and the reasons that I survived. I can't explain it all to you now, because even I don't know everything yet. But trust me when I say that Voldemort chose me as his enemy, not Neville, and I have to be here to face him because Voldemort won't stop until he finds me and has his chance to finish what he started when I was an infant."
They were all gawping at him. Harry felt annoyed by it, even though he understood why they might do so. If he'd known the real reason, that they were simply dumbfounded by a boy of his years with such poise and absolute certainty about what he was saying, then he likely would have been embarrassed instead.
"Dumbledore will likely fill you all in on this a lot more than we can, since he's got a much better grasp of the whole scope of things," Sirius said, rescuing Harry. "He's the only one of us that knows the full story, beginning to end. I know he plans to be at the next meeting so that he can answer some of your questions. For this meeting, we just needed to be sure you knew we were here, and what our goals are for the next few months. To wit, we want to be normal. We need some time to adjust to this country and the role that Harry will have to fill. We also need to be looking out for Harry's future, hence that he's come back to Hogwarts in time to revise for his OWL exams. I don't need to stress to you the importance of absolute secrecy. Our identity cannot be known by anyone not currently in this room, other than Dumbledore. We must be known, for now, as John and Evan Rivers. Agreed?"
They all murmured their assent, some looking very thoughtful.
Tonks turned her eyes on Harry and set him with a look that made him more certain of her support than anyone else in this room. "Agreed," she said firmly. Soberly. Her twinkling eyes had gone still and steady. Next to Harry, Remus was holding his breath.
"Now, I hardly need to tell you that we have more plans to fight Voldemort, besides what Harry will be doing," Sirius said. "There is much more that we want to accomplish. On that note, I turn things over to my esteemed colleague, Professor Snape."
One could hardly miss the sarcasm, as it was thick and grossly sweet enough to spread over a cake as frosting. Snape stood up, his carriage stiff and distant.
"Thank you," he sneered, his act of civility no better. "Let us get the unpleasant part out of the way early, shall we?" he asked, his voice dry with the knowledge of what was probably going through the heads of his audience. "You are remembering what happened fourteen years ago correctly, if not completely. I was a follower of the Dark Lord then. It was not until the very end of the war that I came to Dumbledore and turned to your side. I was able to act as a spy until the night that the Dark Lord attacked the Potter family and was overcome by Harry." His fathomless dark eyes cut to Harry and looked at him with one of the strangest expressions Harry had ever seen. He wished he was a better Legilimens, that he could see what was hiding behind Snape's eyes.
"We all know that," Sirius interrupted, looking cross. He obviously had no patience for any of Snape's attempts at drama.
"I didn't," Shacklebolt said softly, looking at nothing but his coffee cup, challenging the attitude at work without challenging either of the people involved. Nicely done, Harry thought.
"What you may not know," Snape continued, his face sour, "is that I had received the Dark Lord's Mark." His right hand covered his left forearm, but he left the arm enfolded in the sleeve of his robes and did not show it to them. "When he returned a few months ago, he called me, as he called all of his followers. At Dumbledore's request, I went to him, to pretend to rejoin his cause, so that I could continue to act as a spy for the Order. You need not take the word of a boy whom you do not know. I have seen the Dark Lord, risen again, more than once. I am an accomplished Occlumens, probably the only person who could stand before him without his realising my true loyalties. I can profess to be one of his Death Eaters, and carry reports back to you on their activities, and feed false information to them when I can. He will never suspect."
Despite Snape's decidedly prideful outlook on his abilities (which were, all things considered, perfectly worthy of such conceit), Harry felt very, very foolish, and very, very young. To think that everyone in this room would be willing to automatically believe him, without knowing him at all. To never wonder about what Snape's role in the Order was, to never realise how much more danger Snape had put himself in than Harry was likely to be in for a long time to come. He didn't fight the surprise and respect that showed in his eyes when he looked at his professor, and the sneer that the other man looked at him with fell away as he met Harry's eyes. In fact, everyone in the room was looking at him with some combination of awe, respect, and regret. Harry wondered if he'd seen anyone look at him with anything other than anger or mild fear, the way his students did. Or contempt, the way Harry's own father had.
Snape looked away from them all, his eyes focused on the cheery curtains that hung in the kitchen window. "Needless to say, the Dark Lord has questioned me about Black and Potter. He knows that I am in a position to find out a great deal of information from Dumbledore. I have told him that on this topic, Dumbledore will not trust me, nor trust anyone. I told him that I suspect the new professor and his son to be Black and Potter, as one who knew they were in the country would have to be a colossal idiot not to think so, but I told him that Dumbledore will not confirm it. I have counselled taking no action until we better understand what the plan is. I will continue to do so until it is no longer wise to stall, then we will come up with a new plan. Obviously, the boy is not ready to face the Dark Lord yet. It is my task to hold the Dark Lord at bay and to give you all the information I can so that he becomes ready quickly."
Without another word, Snape took his seat. He still looked stiff and formal, with eyes that were black pools of mistrust and isolation. Maybe it made his job easier, Harry thought. God knew, he needed whatever he could get to make it easier.
Hagrid harrumphed, banging his empty coffee mug down on the scarred wooden table and leaning forward. "Guess it'll be my turn to report, then. Let me tell you what I've bin discussin' wi' the giants . . ."
After the meeting, Harry felt wretched and exhausted. They'd listened to Hagrid's report (which was not a hopeful one) and discussed it a bit, but then the topic had fallen again to Harry and what it was about being the Boy-Who-Lived that was so important. Yes, he had survived the Killing Curse, but now it was time to talk about why Voldemort had cast it that night. They'd only danced around the edges of that one, really, knowing that Dumbledore wanted the chance to explain it in person. They simply said that Voldemort believed he and Harry were destined to meet again. He thought his only option was to kill Harry. And Harry didn't plan to die. He thought he'd made that pretty clear to everyone when he'd said, "I don't plan to die." That was when they all looked at him as though he'd sprouted another head.
Then the conversation had turned to Neville Longbottom. They had all been very understanding of the idea that if Harry was dead, Voldemort's destined enemy had to be somebody. They trusted that Dumbledore had good reasons for believing Neville was that somebody. But they agreed that the general public, after finding out this summer that they had, in effect if not intent, been lied to, would not be so keen on receiving another boy. Even if he was the original. If Voldemort couldn't come back from the dead, it would be hard to allow Harry to do so. But even if the world at large wasn't ready to know, somebody had to break the news to Neville that he wasn't the one.
Harry had been a little bit disgusted. "He's not an idiot, I imagine he knows that just as well as the entire rest of Britain."
"But, as he's been so involved in this up till now, thought for so long that he had a particular purpose for his life, it ought to be explained to him that you're back to fill that role," Professor McGonagall had said. There was a very private look of discontent on her face, as if she were upset about something only she knew about.
Harry had looked at her, projecting a calm he did not feel. "That's for me to do," he had said quietly. There had been another one of those uncomfortable silences, then the meeting had pretty much broken up.
A few people stayed, chatting here and there. Hagrid had put a huge hand on Harry's shoulder and stared at him, tears shining in his eyes, and said gruffly that he looked a lot like his father. He said it was him who'd taken Harry to his aunt and uncle's home that night of destruction, when his parents had been murdered. Seeing that there was some incongruous softness in the huge man, Harry wondered if Hagrid had cried when he'd heard Harry was dead. Tonks (just Tonks, she confirmed when Harry asked) had shaken his hand and welcomed him home and asked him how he liked Hogwarts. She herself had only graduated a few years ago.
Arthur Weasley had watched him for a minute, his expression belying him. He wanted to talk to Harry about something, but he didn't think it was the right time. Or he knew he needed to, but he didn't want to. Either way, he turned after a moment and he and his wife went home. Harry felt a slightly sick sensation, thinking that Ginny or one of her brothers had written home about the new student at school, and that Mr. Weasley was realising Harry Potter was the boy who had stolen Ginny's place on the Quidditch team and (as she'd probably told it) strung the girl along and dumped her. He so did not need to deal with an irate father right now.
Now Harry lay upstairs on the bed in his room in the house, cooling off. By unspoken consent, Remus had taken care of cleaning up the kitchen so that Sirius and Harry could go in their practice room and let off some steam. Sirius had casually mentioned that he'd been teaching Remus a bit, despite his own less-than-masterful knowledge of the art, and Remus had learned all the basic forms. They'd agreed that Remus would do some sparring with them from now on. But for tonight, the two of them just silently agreed to vent on each other. Harry lay on his bed and felt the beginnings of several bad bruises on his shins, one on his ribs on the right side, and sore knuckles on his left hand. But that was okay, since he'd done the same to Sirius' forearms, his cheek, and both sides of his ribcage.
He lay there, waiting for Sirius to get out of the shower, and take him back to school. He waited, knowing that when he got back, he had to talk to Neville. He couldn't put it off any longer, and he didn't think he wanted to. It was time to have truth; truth between him, whatever he was, and the hollow-eyed boy whose shoulders were altogether too narrow for their impossible burden.
Sirius knocked on the door and came in.
"You all right, kiddo?"
Harry shrugged listlessly. "I don't know what I'm going to say," he confessed.
"You're not planning to do it tonight, are you?" Sirius asked in disbelief.
Harry shook his head. "No, he'll probably be asleep by now, anyway. But as soon as possible. As soon as that Umbridge woman isn't around. It's time."
Sirius shook his head, grimacing. "Dumbledore handled it wrong," he said. "He shouldn't have given Neville the responsibility until he was sure."
"He was sure," Harry said dully. "I was dead, the prophecy was real, and Neville fit the bill. He did what he had to do to make sure that Neville wouldn't go down without a fight. It's nobody's fault. It just sucks for all of us."
Sirius sighed, and held out a hand to pull Harry up off the bed. "Yeah, I guess it does. You want me to be there when you talk?"
"No," Harry said firmly, allowing Sirius to drag him up. "No, it's something I have to do. I'm the one who ran off and left him with the mess in the first place."
Sirius stared at him. "Harry, you were eight years old and you didn't know he existed."
Harry sighed. "I know it makes no logical sense for me to feel guilty. So why do I?"
"Because somebody has to," Sirius said, running an affectionate hand through Harry's hair. "Don't worry, I think Dumbledore has that angle covered."
Harry scowled at Sirius through his mussed-up hair and grabbed hold of him so they could Apparate back to outer edge of the Hogwarts wards. His hair didn't need any help looking like a bird's nest, and he didn't know why people were always doing that.
"Hey, Neville," Harry said casually when they met each other on the stairs up to the tower after dinner.
"Oh, hullo, Evan," Neville replied, surprised as always that anyone was taking notice of him beyond a pitying sideways glance.
"I need to talk to you. Can we go somewhere private?" Harry wasn't worried about keeping Neville from bed. It was practical Astronomy night, no one would be going to bed for hours yet.
"Sure, I guess," Neville said, letting Harry lead him off their usual path and toward an empty classroom. Harry noted with grim amusement that Neville drew his wand as he followed his classmate away from everyone into an area that wasn't being used. He would have done the same thing. Looked like they'd both been trained too well in the art of paranoia.
"I reckon this will do," Harry said, using a simple Alohamora spell to unlock the empty classroom door. They obviously didn't think anyone was very interested in being in the classrooms when they didn't have to be.
"What's going on, Evan?" Neville said in a low voice, fingers playing lightly over his wand.
Harry very deliberately set his wand out on one of the desk tops, in plain sight. "I need to talk to you, like I said."
Neville relaxed when Harry let go of his wand, but not enough to put his own away. "Okay. What about?"
Harry bit his lip and tried to think. He'd been trying to think for two days, whenever he wasn't being glared at by an ugly woman in gaudy pink clothing in the hallway. Professor inspections were set to begin next week.
"Are you all right?" Neville asked more softly.
Harry shrugged. "No, I guess not. The thing is, it's time for me to tell you who I really am, and I know it's going to be difficult."
"Who you really are?" Neville's grip tightened on his wand again, and he raised it fractionally, not pointing it at Harry, but definitely ready to do so. A strange look crossed his features. "I think I knew you were more than you said you were, you and your father both. But what do you mean? What is this all about, and why me?"
"Good questions," Harry said with a sigh. "Can you please put your wand down?"
Neville frowned.
"I'm not trying to hurt you, here," he said, feeling a little annoyed now.
"If I don't know who you are, how do I know you're telling the truth?"
"Good point. Fine, point the thing at me, but listen to me because this is serious." Harry never knew when he was running out of patience until the moment he slipped over the edge. He'd have to work on that in the future. "Since I'm not who I say I am, then you have to ask yourself, why have I been hiding?"
"I was just asking that, in fact."
"I was ready to come back to England, but not ready for all the attention. That's why."
Neville's face was confused and a little dangerous, what with his wand held at the ready, but Harry saw the moment when he realised the truth. His face twisted, crumbled, drew inward, and he dropped his wand, gasping for breath. He put one hand to his stomach as though it hurt, and he stared at Harry through a fall of hair across one eye.
"You're him, then, aren't you?" he asked in a high, strained voice. "You're Potter."
Harry nodded.
"You're the real one. The person the prophecy was talking about. I think I always knew it wasn't me, but I didn't think . . ." Neville trailed off. "What do you want from me?"
"Me?" Harry asked in confusion. "I don't want anything."
"Then why . . .?"
"I just thought you deserved to know. I wasn't planning on waiting for permission to tell you, but I found out a couple of days ago that the whole Order of the Phoenix agrees with me. I just was trying to think of some way to let you know without it being . . . well, like this. I didn't mean for it to be so uncomfortable."
Neville sat down at one of the desks, looking as stunned and miserable as he felt. The skin around his gaunt cheeks and haunted eyes had grown pale. "I suppose you want me to, I don't know, formally renounce it or something? Acknowledge you?"
Harry snorted with disgust. "I'm not your lord or anything. I don't even want this, but I'm stuck with it. I'm not going to tell anyone else, at least not for now. You're the only student who's going to know." His voice grew quieter. "I don't want to humiliate you."
Neville gripped the desk with his hands until the knuckles were white. "You're too late for that. Everyone knows I'm a joke."
"Stop that," Harry said sharply. They were both quiet for a minute, not looking at each other. Then Harry asked, "what did you mean, that you always knew it wasn't you? Do you sense the prophecy or something?" He surprised himself by the question. He hadn't even known it was in his head to ask, especially as he always told himself he didn't believe in prophecy. His heart pounded at the idea of what Neville would answer.
"No," Neville said.
Harry felt relief pour over him, tinged with a touch of regret he did not want to analyse. That one word was vindication, but somehow made him feel more lost in the middle of this mess than ever.
"It's just that I always knew I wasn't good enough at this to be the right one. I've never been what Dumbledore wanted, and I never thought I could live up to it. I'm glad you're here, you know. I know I don't look it. But somebody stronger than me has to do it."
"What?" Harry hissed. Anger loomed up large in him, almost overwhelming. What he'd said to Dumbledore about moping came back to him, and he was angry with Neville for the way he'd been behaving. "What kind of shit is that?"
Neville shrugged. "It's true."
Harry didn't think and he honestly thought his brain blacked out for a minute. He was standing there staring at Neville in rage, then he was suddenly wincing and clutching his hand into a fist from the force of the open-palmed blow he'd delivered to Neville's head that made tears smart in the other boy's eyes.
"I can't believe you're spouting that kind of bullshit," Harry shouted at him. "I really can't! Dumbledore would have taught you better than that. I've only known him for a few months, and even I know that. It's not about being good enough to stand up to him, nobody's that good, especially nobody our age! It has nothing to do with some kind of freakish talent to overwhelm one of the most powerful wizards in the world. If that were the case, nobody would be fighting, nobody at all, and he would have won twenty years ago! You don't stand up for what's right because you're strong enough to fight the bad guy, you do it because it is right. Where the hell do you get off, saying you're stepping down from the fight just because I showed up? I'm not your pass to walk away with a clear conscience. If you walk away, it's because you don't have the balls to stay."
"What are you talking about?" Neville stammered.
"I just said that I was Harry Potter, I never said, now stand aside and watch the master at work. I don't know what I'm doing, anymore than you do. I can't fight Voldemort! At least, I can't do it alone, and I need you on my side. You know better than most what it really takes to stand up to him, and I thought you had that. I thought you were willing, and ready, to do that. That's what you made your entire life about. Are you really going to just walk away from everything you believed you were meant to do, just because somebody else is here to do it, as well?"
"What about the prophecy?"
"Prophecy? Fuck prophecy! I don't believe any of that mystical Divination crap is worth a steaming pile of thestral dung, and I'm not here because I was prophesied to be. I'm here because Voldemort wants me, and he'll hurt innocent people to get to me. I'm here to stop him from hurting people, because it's the right thing to do. Staying away when I know he's looking for me is nothing but cowardice, and I won't have the blood of innocent people on my head because of cowardice. What I'm saying, Neville, is that it doesn't matter if you're the one named in that prophecy. If you think what Voldemort is doing is wrong, then you're just as responsible for putting an end to it as I am. You found out about me two years ago, so it's about time you figured out what you want to do with your life."
Unwilling to stand there looking at Neville's tortured, hurt expression for a moment longer, unable to muster up the compassion to acknowledge the way he kept his arm wrapped around his middle as though to hold himself together, Harry strode out of the room. He was fairly sure he'd just thrown a temper tantrum, but by all that lived, he couldn't stomach that kind of cowardly retreat. Neville was either on the right side, or he wasn't. Neville was the only one that could make that choice, and Harry could only hope he chose based on his own morals and not whether or not he was covered under the parameters of that ridiculous prophecy.
Harry strode down the hallway in a sort of haze, wanting nothing more than to get upstairs, get his Astronomy homework, and get back out of their rooms. He couldn't handle facing Neville again tonight.
He turned a corner and nearly collided with someone who was coming from the other side. He spun quickly on the ball of one foot, pivoting to the side and brushing his bruised side against the woman's arm, which was clad in a silky pink blouse—oh. Oh, no. It was her.
"Mr. Rivers, isn't it?" she said sweetly.
"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, knowing full well that she knew it wasn't Mr. Rivers at all.
"You are causing a hazard in this corridor. May I ask to where you are rushing off so quickly?"
"To finish my homework, ma'am."
"That is admirable, Mr. Rivers, but you were creating a dangerous situation, nonetheless."
Harry wasn't about to argue. He looked down at his feet, hoping that his already-upset state wouldn't make him mouth off to her.
"If I see you behaving this way again, it will be detention."
"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, astonished when she walked away, her heels clacking importantly on the stone floor.
Amazed to be getting off so lightly, he dashed upstairs, grabbed his homework, and hurried back out to sit in the library and study. Narrowly escaping detention wasn't quite enough to brighten his night, and he fairly stalked down the hallways, angry with what, he hardly knew. He headed for the library despite the fact that most of his homework was done. He went there hoping for nothing more than to avoid seeing Neville. But when he saw Hermione sitting at a table with her own homework spread out around her, it brought a smile to his face at last. He didn't think he'd smiled in three days, and Merlin knew he needed to see something that made him happy. He approached her table, trying to release the tension singing through his body so he wouldn't scare her.
"Evening, Miss Hermione," he drawled.
"Hi, Evan. You can sit down, if you want."
He did, and set his homework out with carefully controlled hands. At least he wasn't trembling with all his emotions anymore.
"Are you mad about something, Evan?"
He looked up. Her head was tilted just a bit to one side, looking at him with compassionate concern, a quill poised just above the paper in front of her. She had a small inkstain on her chin.
"No, Miss Hermione," he smiled. "I'm fine."
