Chapter Eleven: Cold Truth

Christmas Break finally arrived, bringing a palpable feeling of relief to the Castle. Everyone, especially in Gryffindor, was relieved to be going home at last, away from the Carrows, the lessons, the torture. Even some of the Discipline Squad looked happy for the break.

Neville was as glad for the break as anyone else, but he was worried as well. Out of the Castle for weeks, they'd lose a lot of their information on what was going on, and a lot of training time for him. His skills had improved some, but Snape was still pretty much destroying him every round of dueling they had, and he hadn't mastered a lot of the wordless and wandless casting. Plus, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that it was a bad thing to have the members of the DA divided and alone. What could they do if something happened to one of them? Message coins could only help so much, and they'd all heard on Potterwatch of the Name Taboo and the Snatchers and worse roaming the country.

The second to last day of classes, he finally worked up the nerve to voice his concerns to Snape. They were sitting in their usual post detention chairs. As usual, he was recovering from being worked into the ground (at least it had taken Snape longer this time, and he'd never dropped his wand). He finished the last potion Snape gave him, waited until Snape settled into his seat, then spoke up. "Sir...during the break..."

"Try not to get killed, captured or arouse too much suspicion. I should think that would be obvious." Snape's tone was acidic.

He'd gotten enough used to it that he didn't bristle, or shrink back like he once would have done. "I know sir. But...my training...I can't afford to miss for weeks on end."

Snape made a sharp, scathing noise. "I should think you would welcome the break. Unless you have an unidentified masochistic streak, which would perhaps explain your penchant for irritating the Carrows."

Neville snorted. "Trust me sir, I'll be just as glad to get gone as anyone else. Only...the war isn't going to take a break, is it? Harry isn't. You aren't. You-Know-Who probably isn't. And I doubt any of us are going to be sleeping peacefully at home either, knowing what's going on out there, what we're coming back to after hols."

"Your points are valid. What you expect me to do about it, however, escapes me. Make your point." Snape's hands tightened on the arms of the chair. "I cannot give you detentions over the holidays, nor can I hold you back from returning to your family. Not even on suspicions of being a blood traitor. The Dark Lord has not yet sanctioned such a move."

Neville blinked. "He hasn't?"

"He has not. The Carrows discussed it. The Dark Lord is of a mind to let students return home, grow complacent. Or better, bring back their tales and their bruises and their fears to their loved ones, to better demonstrate the Dark Lord's grasp on the school, and on the future of the Wizarding World." Snape's hands clenched again as his lip curled. "I argued for that myself, on grounds of wishing a reprieve from ill-mannered brats and whining, spiteful colleagues who do not understand how the world is and must be for the betterment of wizard-kind."

Neville felt a hot, sullen flare of anger. He shoved it aside. He knew Snape was baiting him,and he'd learned the hard way not to let the man get him riled. Instead, he took a deep breath and forced himself to ask the question he'd been working toward when he started the conversation. "Is there any way my training can be continued over hols? I know I can practice the wandless and wordless stuff at home, and Gran might help me with it, but the combat training and all...I still need loads of work."

Snape's breath hissed between his teeth, short and sharp. "You cannot expect me to believe you would wish to continue this..." His hand flicked at the room, and at Neville's battered condition. "You have a reprieve, which is more than many can say. Take what you can, Longbottom."

"Can I afford it, honestly? Can any of us?" Neville bit his lip and swallowed hard, wishing he could just take the out Snape was offering him. He forced himself to meet Snape's hard black gaze. "I'm not good enough yet. And maybe I won't be when everything goes bad, when it comes down to it. But I intend to make a proper showing of it when I have to, and for that, I need all the training I can get."

Snape snorted. "And your Grandmother? You think she will fail to notice that your wounds do not heal, that you do not recover your strength? That you leave and come home tired and battered? You think she will not question?" Dark amusement flickered through Snape's eyes. "I would accuse Lady Longbottom of many things, and many fallacies, but not stupidity, nor such blatant inattention. Particularly not after your Fifth Year."

Neville's stomach clenched. "I'll tell her I'm working with friends...in case things go wrong. She knows about...about some things." Even now, he wasn't going to mention the DA out loud to Snape. "She knows I've been in some trouble at school and all."

Snape's hands clenched and unclenched restlessly against the chair arms, and then he rose, pacing to the fire. Neville kept his mouth shut. At the very least, Snape hadn't told him no. Which meant that Snape was listening. He ignored the churning in his gut, the quiet voice telling him that Snape was only listening because he was right, because he was too weak, because no one else was getting a break in the war.

"Tomorrow." Snape flicked a hand and the door to the Room opened. "Return tomorrow for your last detention, and I will give you my decision on the matter." His voice was rough, harsh, and Neville obeyed without comment.

The following evening, he returned to Snape's office. Snape shut and locked the door behind him, then stood staring at him for a long moment. Then he flicked his wand, and Neville felt the familiar locking and privacy spells slam into place. Snape's jaw clenched. "Do you really wish to continue your training over the holidays?"

Neville swallowed. "Want to? No. But I think I need to."

Snape's hand flexed. "This is your last chance to stop. If you truly choose to follow this reckless, foolish, self-sacrificing path..."

"I do. I need to be able to defend myself."

Snape's lips thinned, his nostril's flaring as anger and something else flared in the black eyes. Then he nodded. "So be it." He flung up a hand, and the door to the Room of Requirement appeared.

Neville stiffened, but didn't fight as Snape seized his arm in a grasp like iron and dragged him to the door. Once there, the Headmaster pulled out a silver disc, shaped like a Sickle but unmarked, he muttered a low series of spells, then yanked Neville's hand palm upward, cut it, and slapped the coin onto the blood that oozed out of the wound. His other hand settled firmly against the door to the room as pronounced another series of short, sharp spells that left Neville tingling all over. Then he let go. "There."

Neville massaged his aching wrist. "Sir?"

"That coin is now a Portkey into the Room of Requirement. It is keyed to you, and no other. It will activate every second evening at eight." Snape's hand clamped onto his shoulder. "If the coin ever comes here without you, it will not return. Understood?"

"I understand."

Snape nodded sharply and released him. "Listen very carefully. I will only tell you this once. The door between the Room and my office will be hidden with an Obscuring Charm. When you arrive, crack the door, no more than six inches. If I am available, I will join you. If not...if you open the door and hear voices other than mine, return immediately to the Room. Wait no longer than one hour, and then return home. The password for the return is your last name."

Neville nodded. "Come here, crack the door, you'll let me know if it's safe. Anyone else, go back to the Room, wait an hour and take off. Coin brings me automatically, trip home is when I speak my name."

Snape nodded. Neville considered. "Sir...if you aren't here when I come..."

"Wait one hour. After that, do as you wish." Snape's voice was hard.

"Yes sir." Neville pocketed the coin. "So, tonight..."

They spent the rest of the evening dueling. Neville finally dragged himself up to Gryffindor Tower in the wee hours of the morning, glad that he'd packed most of his stuff before detention, and asked Seamus to help him pack the rest.

Boarding the train was a relief. Neville took most of the train ride to rest, listening to the other DA members chatter quietly as they shared holiday plans. Ginny in particular was nervous, wanting to see her family and find out if there'd been any news of Ron or Harry, aside from what was reported on Potterwatch.

They were within sight of London proper when the train lurched to a halt, startling Neville wide awake and putting them all on alert. But what happened next happened so fast that even ready as they were, none of them had time to do more than draw their wands before it was over.

Wizards dressed in black robes and silver masks Apparated onto the train. One appeared right outside their compartment and shoved the door open. Neville got hit with a Stunner and went down hard, Seamus and Ginny right behind him. He couldn't move, could barely breathe. Through hazy eyes he saw the wizard enter, backed by two others. Two of them grabbed Luna, who'd been knocked out as well. The last thing Neville saw before his vision greyed out completely was Luna's limp body being slung over a wizard's shoulder and carted out the door.

He revived when the train pulled into Kings Cross. It felt like the whole thing had been a bad dream, but his wand was by his fingers and Luna was gone, her trunk in the overhead rack silent testimony that she had been there, and was now missing.

Neville stared at the trunk with wide eyes, feeling sick and shaky. All his training, and he hadn't been able to stop one of his best friends from being taken right under his nose. He only moved when Ginny elbowed him roughly. "Come on. We've got to get off the train." The nudge was enough to get him started, and he collected his things and staggered off the train, making his way to his grandmother in a fog. His mind was whirling.

Luna, gone. Just like that. He greeted his Gran absently, let her Apparate them to Longbottom Manor. He staggered a bit as his feet hit the tile of the front entry.

"Neville. Pay attention."

He shook himself back to the present, and his surroundings. "Sorry Gran." He looked up at his Grandmother. "It's just...my friend, Luna Lovegood, she got snatched off the train."

Augusta went white. "Well, no surprise, what with printing all that Harry Potter rhetoric as her father does. Bound to happen. Were you injured?"

"Er...no." He rolled his shoulders. "I've bruises from my last detention with the Headmaster, but the blokes who stole Luna only Stunned us."

Augusta's lips pressed together into a thin line. "Well, small mercies that. You really must be more careful, Neville. That Headmaster...putting such a murderer in charge of the school..."

"Yeah. I know." Neville frowned.

Headmaster. Snape.

Why hadn't Snape warned him? Warned them? Luna was a student. Wouldn't he have known she was going to get taken? Anger bubbled in Neville's stomach, displacing the numb shock he'd felt.

Why hadn't Snape warned them that Luna was going to be abducted? His hand clenched on his wand. "Gran...over the holidays, I'm going to be working on my Defense and my spell-casting. I've...I've some friends I agreed to meet with over the holidays, so I'll probably be gone evenings. After supper." Supper in the Longbottom house was 6:30, which gave him plenty of time.

Augusta's mouth pinched together again. "There's curfew to worry about Neville. And the Snatchers..."

"I'll be careful. We've a meeting place set up indoors, in a safe location." He met his Grandmother's eyes. "I need to do this."

Augusta huffed. "Well, you're of age to make your own decisions. But be careful, Neville. I've no wish to lose my grandson." After a moment, a small smile broke over her weathered features. "But I am proud of you, standing up for yourself. And you've grown up a great deal since your Fifth Year."

Neville smiled back. "Thanks Gran." He hugged her, then turned and headed upstairs to his rooms. He needed to think. As he went, one hand slipped into his pocket and clenched around a small metal disc, around the portkey that would transport him to Snape the next evening. Damn it. Why didn't you warn us?

***BdaM***

A day of waiting and some fierce spell practice worked off the edge of Neville's anger. He was still upset about Luna's abduction, but he'd learned better than to go hurling accusations at Snape, and months of working with the DA had taught him how to plan things. Instead, when the portkey whisked him away to the Room of Requirement, he was ready with a question.

Snape was actually waiting for him in the Room. Neville's hand snapped to his wand. It wouldn't be the first time Snape had ambushed him. Sure enough, Snape flicked a spell at him. He blocked it, threw up another 'Protego' for good measure and spoke before Snape could get a third spell off. "Did you know, sir?"

Snape paused. Neville pressed his advantage. "Did you know they were going to take Luna off the train?" His gut tightened. If Snape had known...

Snape's mouth twisted, but his wand dropped into relaxation. "I did not. The raid on the Express was not instigated by the Dark Lord, and I was not informed." He paused. "Her father has been writing against the Dark Lord for months. The Malfoys and Bellatrix Lestrange took your compatriot as collateral to silence him."

Neville's stomach lurched. "Bellatrix Lestrange...she's mad..." His hand clenched on his wand.

Snape must have seen something in his eyes, because the Headmaster took five sharp steps forward and seized his shoulder in a bruising grip, hissing into his ear. "Calm down. Before you do something rash."

Neville bit his lip. "But they could kill her."

"There is nothing you could do to prevent it, even were I inclined to tell you where she is." Neville winced. "But I doubt they will do her permanent harm. Mad as Bellatrix Lestrange is, the Malfoys are not. The Malfoys understand the value of a live hostage. A live hostage will buy her father's silence, and retaining her sanity leaves the possibility of extracting information from her or using her as bait for Potter. Or for dissidents like yourself. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy know this. They may not protect her completely, but they will keep Bellatrix Lestrange at least that much in check."

Neville took a deep breath. Then another. The ice that had flooded him when Snape told him who had Luna slowly receded. "It's Seamus all over again."

"Of course. That is war. It is a balance of knowing what losses and sacrifices you can afford, and which ones you cannot. This one, you must accept." Snape's voice was harsh.

Neville forced himself to look up into Snape's black eyes. "If you'd known, would you have stopped it?"

Snape let him go and turned away, but not before Neville saw the sharp flash of angry pain in his eyes. The brief flicker of helpless fury that was too much like his own for comfort. Then Snape strode back across the floor and whirled to face him, wand upraised. Neville ducked, then lost himself in the spells and counter-spells of a ferocious duel.

Snape thrashed him into the ground, as always, but he felt better for it afterward. Dueling Snape was far better than sitting around his home worrying, and he believed the Headmaster. Snape knew the Death Eaters, the Malfoys and Lestranges. Neville hated them, but he didn't know them.

And Snape hadn't lied to him since they'd made that deal. He was rough, brutal, sarcastic and cruel, but as far as Neville knew, he'd never lied to him. That was worth something.

The next few days passed in a similar manner. Neville studied, worked in the Manor gardens, exchanged coin messages and owls with his fellow DA members. He spent time with his Gran, who turned out to be a pretty good duelist herself, and more than happy to work with him both on his school work and his dueling skills. And every other night, he was transported to the Room of Requirement.

Snape never met him there after the first night, but apparently the holidays were a slow season, because he was free most evenings. They dueled, Snape worked him through his spells, and taught him the occasional new one. He was getting the hang of the non-verbal and wandless stuff, and even managed a wandless Protego on their third meeting. Snape was better about patching him up afterward too, healing most of his wounds as opposed to sending him off looking like a blast survivor. Neville appreciated it, though he figured it was just to avoid his grandmother's suspicions.

Christmas came. Neville celebrated in private with his Gran, and with the annual visit to see his parents. Somehow, the coin failed to activate for both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. He found himself feeling a grudging appreciation for Snape for that. The reprieve from training was a welcome one, and the chance to spend quiet time with his Gran was nice. His relationship with her had come a long way since he'd started Hogwarts, and especially since his Fifth Year.

The day after Christmas, Boxing Day, he found himself waiting nervously. He'd enjoyed the days off, but he'd gotten into the habit of training, and the idleness was beginning to wear on him. He was almost glad when he felt the familiar tug, and Longbottom Manor whirled away and became the Room. He waited a few minutes, in case it was one of those evening when Snape came to him, then went to the door and cracked it as Snape had showed him.

The Headmaster's office was silent. No voices. No sounds. Not even that many lights. The fireplace was burning, but not much else, and Snape was nowhere to be seen.

Neville frowned. This was the first time he'd come that Snape hadn't been in when he arrived. He'd been in a meeting once, but never completely absent. He considered, then went back to the Room, cast a Tempus spell, and began reviewing the things he and Snape had worked on last time after their duel. Snape had taught him another shield spell, and a couple really nasty jinxes. He worked on those, then ran through his non-verbal spells, and watched the minutes tick past.

An hour later, he checked Snape's office again. Still no one. He considered going home, but discarded the idea.

He knew where Snape was, at a Death Eater meeting. But he didn't know what was happening, what would happen to Snape there, and he'd promised his assistance if Snape needed it. So far, he hadn't had much chance to offer his help yet, and he was determined to keep his word. His Gran had stopped checking when he came home after the first week, and after he'd promised he'd wake her if he had any accidents or injuries that needed tending to.

He was working on trying to cast some non-verbal Tripping Jinxes when thought he heard something on the other side of the door. He went to it and cautiously cracked it open an inch.

Snape was there, alone. He was leaning on the desk, so clearly in pain that even the dimmed office couldn't hide it, his whole body wracked with tremors. He watched Snape try to straighten, try to move from the desk, only to stumble and fall.

That snapped him from his frozen state. He shoved the door open and darted across the room. "Prof...Headmaster."

Snape's head shot up, eyes wide, expression a stark mix of fear and anger and something like shame. "Longbottom."

He dropped to his knees. "Sir...what happened?" Then he shook his head. "Never mind. What do you need?"

"Nerve..." Snape's voice was cracked and broken, hoarse. "Nerve and Muscle..."

Neville bit his lip. "Cruciatus?"

Snape's hand clenched. "Yes."

"Got it. I know what to get." Neville turned and darted into the Room of Requirement. Sure enough, no sooner than had he thought about it hard for a few moments than a table full of bottles appeared. Nerve Soothers. Muscle Relaxers. Pain Relievers. He grabbed one of each and raced back into the office.

Snape had managed to pull himself upright enough to lean against the desk. He was still shuddering, as if he were cold, but somehow he'd managed to make his expression a blank mask. Neville crouched in front of him. "Pain Reliever or Nerve Soother first sir?"

"Nerve..." Snape couldn't seem to breathe properly, only short, rasping, painful breaths. Neville looked at the shaking, spasming hands, then uncorked the vial and held it to Snape's lips himself. He saw the flash of outrage and offended pride in Snape's eyes, but the Headmaster didn't fight him, only tilted his head back a little to drink.

Snape finished the potion. "Muscle..." Neville nodded and uncorked the Muscle Relaxer, tipped it down Snape's throat as well. Then the Pain Relief Potion. Snape drank the last one, then seemed to sag in a boneless heap against the desk. Neville breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the man's collapse meant the potions were taking hold.

He could see the tight press of Snape's thin lips, the simmering anger in his black eyes, weary though he looked. He understood it too. He knew well enough what it felt like, to have someone see you weak. And he wasn't Snape's friend, the way Seamus and Colin were his.

Neville stood and walked around the desk, then pulled the Headmaster's chair out from it. Then he came back to Snape's side and crouched down again. He slung one of Snape's arms across his shoulders, other hand on the small of the man's back, and heaved himself upright, carrying the Headmaster with him.

Snape made a rough sound. "Longbottom..."

"Chair's more comfortable than the floor, sir. And it'll be easier to talk this way." Neville stumbled, caught himself. Snape was thin, but heavier than he looked. Snape grunted, but got his feet under him and staggered the few steps required to round the desk and collapse into his chair.

Neville went back to the Room of Requirement. He called a house-elf and requested the tea he'd had made last time, waited patiently until it popped into being, then took it back to the office. He set the tray on a side table, put one cup and biscuits on the desk in front of Snape, then took the other and set himself in the chair directly across from the Headmaster.

Snape stared at him out of dark eyes, then reached across and slowly picked up the tea cup. The shaking throughout his body had diminished after the potions had been administered, and had faded into almost nothing while Neville was getting tea. The tea sloshed a little in the cup, but didn't spill as Snape brought it to his mouth.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Neville drank his tea and had a biscuit, and tried to pretend he wasn't watching Snape while the Headmaster slowly drained his cup, set it back on the tray, and leaned against the desk.

He looked exhausted. The Cruciatus could do that to a person, but Neville thought it might be more than that. Not that he could think of a way to ask. Instead, he waited until Snape's cup was empty, then spoke one soft, questioning word. "Sir..."

Snape's eyes flicked to him. A thin sneer twisted across his mouth. "Potter went to Godric's Hollow on Christmas Eve. He fell into a trap set by the Dark Lord, and then escaped it with the help of his friends and vanished. The trap was not such that there was any way of tracking where he went. The Dark Lord was...most displeased." He studied his hand, which still had fine tremors running through it. "How he thinks I am meant to know what is going on in that brat's head...or where his chosen task has led him..."

Any other time, Neville would have taken offense to Snape's tone and his dismissal of Harry. But there were other things about what Snape had said that took more of his attention. "Sir...do you know where Harry is? What he's doing?"

Snape snorted. "Potter would hardly tell me that. No. I do not. I have only the vaguest idea of the task Headmaster Dumbledore set him, and only what the end result must be, not how Potter intends to achieve it, or even if he is capable. As to his location...I have some information. Sporadic at best." His gaze flickered upward, to a row of paintings on the wall. One of them snorted, but Neville didn't bother looking up to find out which one. "I had thought, given your stunt earlier in the year, that you or Miss Weasley had better information."

Neville grimaced. "Not really. I don't think Ginny knows, even with Ron going with Harry. I think she planned to hand off the sword to her folks, or maybe try to owl it and hope the owl got through."

Snape scowled. "Reckless and foolish. Had you succeeded, those would have been the first things we would have watched for." His jaw tensed. "Is there a way you can contact Miss Weasley and ascertain if she knows or can discover Potter's whereabouts?"

"I can. But I'll need to give her a reason." He could use the coins for the message, or even a guarded Floo call or charmed owl. "Come to that sir...I think I'd like to know why you need to know Harry's location."

Snape's eyes flared black and angry. His mouth compressed into a hard line. But before he could speak, there was the sound of someone clearing their throat from behind the Headmaster's chair. "Severus..."

Snape's jaw clenched tighter. Then the breath exploded out of him in a rough exhalation. He shoved himself to his feet, swaying slightly, then moved around his chair. Neville watched as he touched the corner of Dumbledore's portrait, which swung forward to reveal a hidden niche. Snape breathed a quick word that Neville didn't catch, then reached in and pulled out a long, thin object.

The sword of Gryffindor. Neville stared. "Sir..."

Snape dropped it to the desk with a thud. "Miss Weasley is correct that Potter will need this sword for his task, at least according to Headmaster Dumbledore. However, to be used properly and effectively, the sword cannot be simply given to him. There are conditions surrounding the claiming of Gryffindor's sword which must be met for it's bearer to keep it and utilize it's potential."

"Oh." Neville swallowed. He hadn't known that. He wasn't sure Ginny had either. "Is there a way to make sure Harry gets it then?"

"There is. But I would need to know Potter's location in order to formulate a plan for arranging the matter." Snape's hand clenched, then relaxed. "I will do my best to locate him with my own resources, but if you discover his location..."

"I can message you through the coin, sir."

Snape nodded. "That would be most efficient." He frowned at his hand. "I assume you put your time waiting to good use? Or is that too much to hope for?"

Neville bristled a little. "I worked on shields and non-verbal, sir."

"I shall expect to see evidence of your efforts when you return." Snape lifted the sword and returned it to it's hidden chamber, then resumed his seat. "I have work to do, Longbottom."

Neville doubted it, but he let it slide. It was already late enough. He nodded, then made his way to the Room and let the portkey in his pocket whisk him away.

The next time he came, Snape seemed mostly recovered. They dueled, then Snape ran him mercilessly through his shields, making him cast each one he knew 5 times non-verbally before he released him. Though not nearly as painful as some practices they'd had, it was draining. Neville fell into bed and slept well into the next day.

The next time he came, there was a note stuck to the door that led to the Headmaster's office, written in Snape's handwriting.

Do not wait for me. I have gone to attend to the matter we previously discussed, and expect it will take me most of the night. Practice if you are so inclined. Your Shields could use more work, and you might start contemplating ways that you could both shield and attack, as one skill will do you little good without the ability to utilize the other in a timely fashion.

It took Neville a moment to remember, and when he did he felt his stomach lurch.

Snape had gone to give the Sword of Gryffindor to Harry. He'd never thought to ask what conditions existed for it's claiming, but any confrontation between Harry and Snape was bound to get ugly fast. And if he was giving it now, after having waited all year...Neville could imagine over a dozen scenarios that might require Harry to have the sword, and none of them were pleasant to think about. Especially after hearing that Harry had narrowly evaded a trap by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named only a few days ago.

Neville firmly put the thought out of his mind. There was nothing he could do about the situation. The only way he could help Harry was to get stronger, to be ready for whenever Harry made it back to Hogwarts, if he ever did.

He spent an hour and a half training, then returned to Longbottom Manor. Just before he did, he summoned a quill and wrote a short note on the bottom of Snape's.

Hope everything went well sir. Worked on non-verbal hexes. Told the House Elves to have tea ready for you when you get back.

That night, lying in his bed, he prayed that Harry was safe, and that Snape could get the sword to him. As he dropped off, his last thought was that he hoped the two of them wouldn't hurt each other.

Author's Note: Meant to correspond to Silver Doe. Next time...things get worse.