Harry Potter: The Rise of the Technomancers
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If you believe that I do, please send me all your cash and check yourself into your nearest mental health center, thanks :)
Chapter 21: To Stoke hte Fires adn to Take Up the Hammer
For the past few days, Neville's life had been very simple.
He got up, went to classes, stayed low, and hung out with Susan and Hannah, both of whom were becoming very good friends of his. Nothing had really changed all that much, although Malfoy had become sullen after the announcement of his father's Business flop. Neville had kept his face neutral as the Daily Prophet was delivered a few days ago. He enjoyed the fact that Malfoy was taken down a few pegs as he ranted and wailed about cheating and unjust treatment. It didn't really make him look any better when Daphne Greengrass and Milicent Bullustrode pointed out that the Magitek Corporation had no obligation, legal or otherwise, to accept the offer from Draco's father. That had set him off, but a few house points and detentions later, he had quieted down and tried to regain his lost dignity, not that he had any in the first place. Although that was good, Ron and Ginny's ego had skyrocketed once they found out that Integrated Wizarding Technologies was owned by none other than their own brothers Fred and George. If it were possible, the gingers' heads became even more swelled as they strutted around, making promises that they really couldn't keep.
They really didn't seem to understand that their brothers had no obligation to give them anything, he mused to himself in private, especially since they were currently estranged from each other. But sadly, as a result of their brother's, and Neville's, good fortune, the Beaver and her two pet Weasels, were acting up much more than usual for them. They seemed to target Neville more and more as the days moved on, and he was becoming sick of the torment. He actually had to restrain himself from blowing a hole the size of a football in the King Weasel's chest when he made a comment about his parents. Though he didn't react, he had gotten the other boy back by taking a page out of another prankser's book.
About a year ago, someone had charmed Draco Malfoy's robes to turn invisible when any female student in Slytherin House was near, but it was charmed so expertly that Malfoy didn't even know is robes were being disillusioned. Now, Neville had done the same. It had taken two weeks of solid research work to figure out how exactly to do it, but in the end it came to spectacular results. He quietly charmed all of the Weasel's clothes to turn invisible whenever any girl came near him and, just like the other prankster's charm work, made it specific so only certain girls could see it. It had taken a little work because he needed to cast confundus charms on each specific girl, but he completed it. He specifically targeted the most talkative and most gossipy girls he could find. Soon after, rumors of the King Weasel's 'deflated sense of personality' and his 'Really little weasel' began to circulate throughout the school. This riled up the boy to spectacular tantrums that Neville really enjoyed. After about a week, he started getting detentions as most of the girls were tired of being flashed by his truly unimpressive and, using the words of Parvati Patil, "pathetically small", piece of manhood, they finally figured out what was being done to him and dispelled the charm. Suspicion had fallen on Neville as he was the only sixth year boy who was not in the Weasel's clique, but thanks to their underestimation of his strengths, he was quickly passed by in favor of a few younger years who were bullied mercilessly. Not that Neville really cared, they too had taken part in Neville's exile and attempted pranking, and those were some rather dangerous ones involving a rather potent lust potion.
The DA had continued to grow, but even more deserters, much of them former DA members, were coming over to his defense group. Subversive had grown with leaps and bounds, numbering nearly fifty members at his last count. They were nearly ratted out several times, but due to Susan and, surprisingly, Ernie's quick thinking, they were able to weed them out and obliviate them before they could inform the Beaver and her Weasels. To counter this, Neville had put together a binding contract and threatened to obliviate anyone who didn't sign. Nearly all of them signed with only two who had to be obliviated. They were now forming their own little army in the midst of the magical school of Hogwarts. Their studies involved shields, offensive spells, and even medical spells, but still he was at a loss of what to do with all that talent. Many of the people who joined Subversive wanted revenge for what had happened to their loved ones thanks to a useless and inadequate ministry and their all bark but no bite Auror Corps. Death Eater attacks had gone on the rise ever since an attack on Evan Robert Magius had failed. He grinned as he remembered the report of a dozen black coated men attacking Magius as he walked through Whisper Alley with only one body guard. The two of them took their time to wipe out the entire assault team, leaving two badly wounded alive to take the bodies of their comrades back to their master. As usual, the Ministry tried to charge Magius with murder, but thanks to Violet orbs, magical recording devices that act like pensive memories, and direct testimony from several strong light families that the two saved, the charges were dropped immediately. Neville harbored the thought that the black haired body guard next to Magius had been his friend Harry Potter, but knew better than to think rueful thoughts.
He found himself relying more and more on what he thought 'Harry would have done', and it was starting to annoy him slightly. Not that he wasn't loyal to Harry, but it was as though he didn't have a purpose, just waiting around like a dog for his master to come back. He really wanted direction, but didn't know where to get it. At the moment he was walking back to his dorm room, having escaped yet another not so elaborate trap involving a package full of unicorn dung and an inflamare spell, he trudged up the stairs and entered his, thankfully empty,
dorm room. Really, his only joys at the moment were his two best friends Susan and Hannah, the former becoming something slightly more than a friend he thought to himself, and the times when he could teach Subversive. He imagined that the way he felt at the moment was the way Harry felt the few months before he was thrown into Azkaban. The sense of emptiness in day to day activities and the sense of fullness when he taught in front of a full room of students, there really was no substitute for it.
Sighing, he fell flat on the bed, not bothering to take his robes off, and felt something hard and flat impact his forehead, where his pillow usually was. Quickly jumping up, thinking that I was another prank, he pulled out his wand, but was confused when he found no one ready to hex him. Looking back on the bed, he saw the thing that hit him. It was a book, a dark blue leather bound book with silver studs lining the outside. It looked like a muggle Bible and was gilded on the spine with silver lettering. Cautious, he approached and waved his wand over it, whispering a revealing spell. When the book didn't glow, he tried a few more, even if one revealing spell was not affective, a few more would actually tell him if the book was magical or not. After five more spells and no glow, Neville put his wand away and picked up the book. It was expertly crafted and looked very expensive at a cursory glance. As his fingers caressed the dyed leather, he felt indentations on the front and held the book up to the light so he could see what was embossed into the surface. It was a tiny two headed hammer sitting upright on its handle with a stylized flame surrounding it. Turning the book on its side, Neville read the words in spidery flowing script reading the phrase Righteous Anger, Cold Justice. Neville was confused at this. Obviously, someone wanted him to find it as they placed it on his bed where he knew he would find it, but who had done so? Was it some sort of elaborate trick? The Beaver liked books, but she would never allow one to be used in a prank, but if the Beaver wasn't involved and there were no magic traces on the book, then what was it for? Quickly pulling his wand out, he cast his privacy charms and security charms on his belongings after undressing for bed, and sat down to read the strange book.
Caressing the cover one last time, he opened the thick leather bindings and took in the first page of the book. In black ink on pure white thick grade muggle paper was the symbol he felt on the cover, the hammer and the flame. Under it were lines of spidery writing, This book is a guide to those who would change the world. Only they who have felt the fires of righteous anger burning within their souls shall ever understand the meaning of its words. Let not those who have never seen the horrors of death or who have never felt despair read the words of my soul, for they do not deserve retribution. Let the anger of the righteous flow and become a hammer against the wicked. Let the sword of justice run cold with the tears of the faithful.
This was intriguing, he thought to himself as he turned the first page. The Book of Nemesis, it read in large bolded letters at the top. He began to read the first chapter:
Let the anger of the righteous flow and become a hammer against the wicked. Let the Sword of justice run cold with the tears of the faithful.
Child whose way is lost, let me tell you my story. I am one whose life is that of pain and suffering. Ever have I made my way through the thick of life, pleading with others for a scrap of kindness, as a man in hell begs the one God for a drop of water to quench his thirst, so was I a beggar. A beggar of sensation, of emotion, of acceptance. But those who would control me turned upon the wishes that should have sustained my life. In my younger years, those who carried my blood relegated me to the bottom of their feet. I was a nuisance, a bug for them to squash, just because I was different. When I grew I found a limited acceptance with my peers, yet those who called me their brother turned on me. As a pack of stray dogs turns upon its wounded brethren, so did they turn upon me during a moment of weakness, a moment when I needed the strength that I had so readily gave them, I received none but rebuke. But it was then as it has been for most of my life that I felt the despair, the pain, the suffering, and the horror of death that followed me everywhere I went.
But nothing was as it seemed. My jailors were fools to believe they could contain me forever. I made my escape, away from the crumbling vestiges of my rotten old world and into a new unknown universe of sensation. There did I find what I had been looking for my whole life, acceptance. Acceptance did I find in those who knew nothing of me, who knew only that I was alone. They allowed my emptiness, my despair, my pain, and the horror of death, they allowed it to burn away, allowed those evil emotions and thoughts to burn to ash and be reborn as the phoenix into new life, new purpose. It was the fire of retribution, the fires of righteous anger, and it vindicated me, made me whole once again. I could finally feel, finally experience things without the pain of worry, the pain of irrational loss.
In the following months, I examined my anger for what it was. My anger was not for myself, righteous anger never is personal, never selfish, I was angered for those who suffered for me, those who died for me, and those who would never benefit from my strength again. Righteous anger is a tool for change. Heroes call it the retribution, Cynics call it vengeance, but those who feel the pure burning anger of Righteousness name it for its true name, The Road to True Justice.
The child of no man, the child of no god, the winged angel of anger, Nemesis as I do speak her sacred name, has given me the charge as I shall give you who reads my soul and understands how the pure sensation of Righteous Anger feels. It is our sacred duty to seek retribution for this anger. Justice is blind and the blessings of Nemesis guide those who are driven by the anger of Righteousness just as a child will seek his mother's embrace.
Let the anger of the righteous flow and become a hammer against the wicked. Let the Sword of justice run cold with the tears of the faithful.
Neville was blown away by the power of the words. Was that was what he had felt for so long, was that what he was letting grow stronger and stronger inside of him? Righteous anger? He thought maybe it was true. Bellatrix Lestrange had taken much from Neville Longbottom, but he did not pity himself. Like a true Longbottom, Neville soldiered on, focused on his goal, and in Harry he found a way to seek out the cause of his pain and suffering. When he examined his anger as the author in the book had examined his, he realized that his anger was not for himself. He did not pity his existence, but he felt anger within him for all the pain that the woman had caused for those he loved. He ached when he saw his grandmother weep after their visits with his father, he himself wept when he visited his parents and saw what they had become after evil had taken its toll on them. He ached for their suffering, never to see their son grow up, never to understand that their spouse was standing next to them, never to have relief of the suffering of being a prisoner in their own mind. He wept for all those who had fallen in the line of duty against the evil they fought against, and he wept for his friend Harry.
He understood what it was, it was righteous anger, the anger for others, the unselfish anger, but he was still very wary about the words of the book. Was it a trick? Was it some sort of manipulation? The rationality of the seemed to be made exactly for him, it spoke to him in a way that no other mentality had. He did no subscribe to Dumbledore's Greater Good bull shit, it was too generalized and his love for kindness and giving people second and third and fourth chances had created much more problems that it should have. He could not see the rationality in Moldyshorts' way of thinking either. To say that Halfbloods and Muggleborns were inferior? Faah! Such foolishness. The man was either blind or a completely diluted mad man. Neville was beginning to think it was the latter. Anyone who had met Harry Potter, who was a Halfblood, and seen him in action would never say such a thing as his skills far outstripped anyone in the school, Pureblood, Halfblood, or Muggleborn combined. And then there was the Muggleborn prodigy, although he was reluctant to admit it, Hermione Granger. She would have been brilliant, hailed as the next Lily Potter, had it not been for Harry's superior genius. She could wipe the floor with any of the Purebloods in the school, Neville and several of his Subversive members excluded of course. There were many different ideas out there that he thought would give him some sort of direction, but nothing spoke to him. And then, in his hour of need it dropped into his lap. But it was just too suspicious. Sighing, he put down the book. He would sleep on it and come to a decision after he finished everything in the book and thought on it for a while.
Closing his eyes, he started to drift off to sleep, when a sudden breach in his security spells made him jump up on the far side of the canopied bed and pull out his wand, ready to defend himself. Surprisingly, it wasn't some sort of prank, it was a bird. A great horned owl swooped through the opening in the curtains, retracting its wings just in time to miss the thick material and land heavily on the bed. It really was a beautiful owl, he thought to himself, but it did tickle his memory. Where had he seen owls like this before?
Bending down, he saw an official letter tied to the owl's leg. Shrugging he reached over and extracted the letter and, once free, the owl hooted at him and launched itself through the curtains, leaving a confused Neville alone in the room.
"Now what do we have here," he said before opening the letter. Nerveless fingers dropped said letter a few seconds later…
It was the final day of school and Susan was worried.
She was not worried about the results of her tests, she knew she aced them all, she was not worried about the nasty pranks that the weasels played on people not in their DA, she could avoid them easily, but she was worried about a fellow student. A student who was quickly becoming an important person to her and had become one of her best friends over the course of the last year. She sighed as she walked out of the cabin. Her major prefect duties were completed at the start of the train ride and she had shirked her duties to patrol the train, really the only person that was actually doing it was the Beaver, and had opted to hang out with her friends. Hannah had talked with her for a while, but thanks to a new muggle romance novel Cho, the Headgirl, had given her last night, she had stayed up the entire nigh to finish it. At the moment, she was much too tired to do anything but sleep and Susan was board out of her mind.
Usually she would be talking to Neville, but he had been harder to talk to a few days after he procured that strange dark blue leather bound book he always had his nose in. The boy had been reading the same book for over a month now and it was becoming increasingly disturbing as she could not distract him from the book long enough to
have a descent conversation. She nearly explored the idea that he had been avoiding both of them, as the only time they really talked was during Subversive meetings, and only a few words here and there. What was so interesting about that book? Was it some kind of muggle porn charmed to be a book? But then why would he be reading it in class? She didn't think Neville was a pervert or anything, but one could never tell, especially with the quite ones.
She walked down the crowded hallway, saying her hellos to her fellow Hufflepuffs and a few friends from Ravenclaw. Most of the Gryffindors pretty much ignored her after she left the DA, and some had actually tried to prank her with nasty, even dangerous substances placed in food or aerosolized. But once Professor Sprout heard of it, she had summarily docked so many points from Gryffindor, not that it mattered any since the King Weasel's bullying and screw ups pretty much cost the entire house their points, and set so many detentions that most of them had stopped completely. Not that she didn't occasionally get a spiked goblet or two, but thanks to Neville's spells and his teachings, she was well equipped to deal with any problems that came up.
Moving into the last cabin on the last car, where she knew Neville had sequestered himself, she quietly slid the doors open and saw Neville reclining on the cramped seat, his frog cage, and as expected sans Trevor the toad, used as a pillow. She grinned. There it was. The little blue book he always had his nose shoved into, balanced right on his chest. It seemed he originally had his hand covered protectively over it, but in his sleep it had fallen off and was now resting on the floor. As she approached, she couldn't help but admire his face. The Neville before fifth year had been a pudgy boy, unassuming, and a klutz. He had been the butt of nearly every joke in their year and some in the upper and lower years. But after Harry befriended him and took him into the DA, he changed. His loyalty had been inspiring, even her Aunt Amelia had commented on the boy's character when he defended his friends in the court room that faithful day. And this year Neville had really changed. His confidence had skyrocketed, he became more sure of himself as well as his skills. He proved himself as a wizard and a competent teacher as well, he took people who thought he was no better than a squib and changed their opinion of himself with action and decisiveness. He now had a group of loyal young witches and wizards that had been loyal enough to swear on their magic to keep his secrets.
And that was only his personality. Physically he had matured greatly. He was much taller now, at least six feet, his jaw line became more defined as he finally lost the baby fat. If he was a little skinny and gangly that was offset by his mannerisms. No longer was he the mousy boy who could barely stand up to his friends, he now was a physically impressive person, not to mention handsome, she thought to herself. Even a few Hufflepuffs, who were not in the Beaver's faction, commented that Neville had gotten much more handsome over the past year, it didn't hurt that he was pretty wealthy thanks to the fortune his parents had amassed before their untimely affliction took hold. Susan, herself, had slowly begun to notice the drastic changes wrought in her formerly pudgy friend and had, on occasion, found herself staring at him longingly. Not that he noticed anymore. He had his nose stuck in that book for far too long.
Gingerly, she tiptoed into the room and quietly lifted the book from the sleeping boy's chest, careful to lift if gently as to prevent the weight difference from being noticeable. When it was safely in her possession, she froze for a few seconds to see if Neville would notice anything amiss, thankfully he slept on, blissfully unaware of his prized book missing from its place above his heart. Grinning to herself, she quietly eased herself onto the other bench seat and put her legs up to read. She marveled at the feeling of the dyed leather under her fingers, the quality was impeccable and the shining silver studs slightly smudged from the caress of loving fingers. She felt the hammer and flame insignia on the top and read the words on the spine to herself in an inquisitive tone.
"Righteous Anger, Cold Justice," she spoke in a whisper, "doesn't sound like any muggle porn I've ever heard of…" she commented, murmuring to herself and dismissing her previous thoughts of glamours and porn novels. Gingerly, not wishing to bend or smudge any of the pages, she flipped open the book and started leafing through the pages. They were all filled with a neat spidery scrawl, clearly written in traditional ink with probably a muggle fountain pen instead of a quill. The book itself was not that large and she found it strange that Neville would be so enraptured by the content, seeing as it was clearly not very long. Leafing through, she read some of the titles of the chapters, the first was The Book of Nemesis, another chapter was The Hammer and the Sword, and it went on and on with odd archaic names relating to either war or ancient gods or goddesses. Flipping through, she ran her fingers over the outside of the pages to see which page had been read most frequently. The book fell open at The Hammer and the Sword. Reclining back and crossing her ankles on the bench seat, she began to read.
Let the anger of the righteous flow and become a hammer against the wicked. Let the Sword of justice run cold with the tears of the faithful.
Righteous anger is that of the basest of mind. It is divine right, yes, but it is a primal force, a need for vindication, the lust for retribution. In pursuit of Nemesis' cause, we must find the balance between the Righteous fires of anger and the taking of Justice, for retribution may be given in anger and in the heat of the moment, but true Justice must be given with a calm and cold mind. Let anger become the infliction of pain. The hammer is a primal
tool, a blunt weapon that is used for crushing instead of precision. It is the same as the burning anger of the Righteous. For those who have earned the right and understand that their anger flows from the soul of the righteous, then anger itself is retribution, it is the hammer in both senses, the hammer of the mind and the hammer of retribution. Inflict pain and suffering upon those who have wronged you, revel in vindication, make them feel what you have felt, and bask in the fire of righteous anger. But when it is over, give them true justice, not the simple way. For you see, Justice must never be given with the hammer, just as retribution must never be given by the sword.
Cold Justice is that of the highest of mind. In the pursuit of the pleasures of Righteous anger, we must never forget that Nemesis requires true justice, whether from the wielder of the hammer or the wielder of the sword, true Justice must always be given. Pleasure may be taken from Righteous anger, but satisfaction is given from true Justice. True justice is given with the higher mind. Primal anger has no place in true justice. Anger his hot, but justice is colder than winter's heart. It is a tool of precision, where anger is the hammer to be swung at enemies and to crush them under its weight, the sword of justice, the weapon of precision and elegance, must be delivered with thought and a mind devoid of anger. It is pure and cold as the freezing winter winds, and its bite is just as hard.
Though they must be separated by walls harder than granite, they are inevitably linked, Anger and Justice, fore one leads into the other. One who has never known the fires of Righteous anger can never control the freezing winds of true Justice. If you are worthy of the anger, you are bound by Nemesis to bring justice to the wicked. But those who tread the path of the Hammer, be careful not to be consumed by the fires, for Righteous Anger can burn out and leave the smoldering ashes of hate and veneficence. But those who tread the path of the Sword, be careful to never lose yourself in the storm, for with the power of True Justice comes the temptation of True Corruption, the heart of the wicked and the bane of the Just.
Let the anger of the righteous flow and become a hammer against the wicked. Let the Sword of Justice run cold with the tears of the faithful.
She was shocked to learn what Neville was reading. It was like some sort of creepy manifesto or some subversive's guide to anarchy. Why in the name of Mabb was he reading something like this? Was he planning a revolution or something? What the hell was with all this righteous anger and justice crap!?
Not even realizing that there was another person in the cabin, she said out loud, "Let the anger of the righteous flow and become a hammer against the wicked?"
"…And let the sword of justice run cold with the tears of the faithful," said another voice right in front of her. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard it, and guiltily attempted to hide the book behind her back.
"Righteous Anger, Cold Justice, the Hammer and the Sword," he said in a monotone voice. Neville looked different than he did before. His eyes were wider and there were dark circles under them, his face was paler and his expression dark. He appeared slightly darker than he had been the last time they had talked for more than a few seconds nearly a month ago. His cheeks looked slightly hollow and all around he looked like he'd been through a lot, but what caught her attention immediately was the look in his usually striking brown eyes. They seemed dead. The clear orbs appeared to be glazed slightly and they seemed to stare at nothing in particular, even though she knew they were fixed on her. Yet when he spoke the last words of the strange creed of the book, she saw something else enter his eyes, something that should not have been in the eyes of a mere boy, fanaticism. That scared her, to see his eyes captured with the mix of adoration and madness that accompanied the state of mind that he was in, yet his eyes changed back as soon as the words were out of his mouth, changed back to the sad empty look that nearly broke her heart.
He caught her staring at him, and he suddenly shifted back to the old Neville, the unsure Neville, shifting his feet and examining the floor as she watched him. An embarrassed blush spread over his cheeks, yet his eyes downcast never lost the sadness they held. What had happened to make him turn back into the old unsure Neville? She knew that something had, he just wouldn't have reverted back by himself, not after all he sacrificed, not after all he had been through to become who he was.
Standing up, she walked over and sat next to him, handing the book back to his shaking fingers, and gently laying her hand on his. He seemed to flinch slightly at the touch, as if her compassion was burning a hole into his flesh. His hands seemed so clammy, so cold and lifeless, as he appeared to be struggling with his emotions.
"Something's happened," she stated softly, gripping his hand tighter and running her thumb over his knuckles comfortingly. The tall boy appeared to almost say something, but caught himself and shook his head, retreating back into his shell. She squeezed his hand harder, and pushed again, "I know something happened to you Neville, or you wouldn't be acting like this. You wouldn't be reading something like that," she said gesturing to the book with her free hand, "if something bad didn't happen. What happened?"
He lifted his head slightly and she was shocked to see tears enter his eyes. In all the years that she had
known him, she had never seen Neville cry, not even once. Not when he broke his arm after falling from his broom, not after he was humiliated over and over again throughout the years, and not even when he had told both Hannah and her about his parents. Neville Longbottom never cries. But here, right now, he was a finger's breadth away from letting the tears flow.
Neville opened his mouth as to speak, but then closed his eyes tightly, fortifying his emotional defenses and turned away murmuring, "Nothing. It's my problem, my right to finish it…" he said stubbornly, as if trying to convince himself that he did not need anyone.
Susan knew what he was trying to do. She had seen it so often on the faces of Auror recruits after one of their friends were killed on the line of duty, she had seen it in her Aunt's face when she had difficult decisions to make, and she had seen it in the mirror when she had found out who it was that had killed her parents all those years ago. Avery. Donnovan Avery. The spy master of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Amelia bones, a Senior Auror at the time, had been interfering in his intelligence gathering, and her sister and brother-in-law, had been busy in the Ministry preventing absurd laws from being passed by Voldemort's Ministry payoffs. They, like Neville's parents and even Harry Potter's parents, had been a thorn in his side. Avery was given the task of wiping out the family and he caught them unawares one night. Her parents had been killed and her aunt was able to rescue her and take her away before the madman could get to her. Avery ran and disappeared after the defeat of Voldemort the first time by Harry Potter. When her Aunt had found out several years ago, she had vowed to do everything she could to kill the man that took her parents away, to take revenge for them, to finally give them peace. The look Neville had and the look she recognized as her own, was the look of Conviction. They were both fixed on a goal that would have to be met, otherwise their souls would never be able to rest.
Firmly, she took his hand in both of hers, letting the book slide down to the seat between them, she turned him towards her, an d looked him straight in the eye. The look of fanaticism was back and stronger than ever, but she knew that it was only there to hide something else, pain. Forcing him to look down at her by catching his head in her hand, she asked with conviction, "Tell me."
The look seemed to waver in his eyes as he studied her, looking for some sort of betrayal, some sort of falsification, but he saw none. Should he trust her? Slowly, he reached into his robes with his free hand, and extracted a letter. It was faded, and appeared to have been read over and over, the slight tears at the folds were starting to fray, but it appeared to be still intact. The letter looked to be a formal one, the embossing of a golden wax still leaving some traces after it had been removed. Slowly, she took the letter from his grasp and opened it up. Thick bold lettering was written over the report. It was a letter from the ministry of magic.
To Mister Neville Longbottom,
It is my regret to inform you that on April 14th, 1997, at 0915, an attack on the Longbottom Estate in Greenwitch was initiated by several unknown Death Eaters. Although it was known that your Grandmother was a target, this information was not deemed necessary to submit to the office of the DMLE. Sadly, the DMLE was unaware of any attack and did not react in time. As a result, your Grandmother, one Augusta Longbottom, was killed in the attack.
Using quick thinking, Minister Scrimgour, with the help of honorary member of the Minister's Cabinet and Hogwarts Governor Lucius Malfoy, was able to contain the information to prevent the panic that would ensue within the Ministry and the magical community at large. As a result, a large number of Aurors and Ministry personnel had to be Obliviated to maintain the secrecy. This was done for the safety of the society as well as yourself Mister Longbottom. As you are not of age and your parents are currently unfit to manage their estate, a Magical Guardian will be chosen for you until July 15th on your 17th birthday. You will be contacted with our decision on who will control your estate for the remainder of the month on July first. Also, your Grandmother's inheritance will be held by the ministry until such time that they see fit to relinquish said funds to your estate.
As pertaining to the knowledge of your Grandmother's death, we find it imperative that you do not inform anyone of this incident. The stake of the Wizarding Britain is held in the balance. I should remind you of your actions during the Potter trial. I do not have to bring up the charges of his disobedience to Ministry decree. It would be in your best interests to remember that you are a minor until July 15th and have no control of your estate until then.
Sincerely,
Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary of the Minister of Magic
Susan was dumbfounded by what they had done to Neville. They basically informed him that his grandmother died due to their own incompetence, then tried. to blame it on her Aunt! They then went on to state that he was never to reveal that his grandmother was dead, inform him that they were seizing all of his inheritance, then say that he was being appointed a guardian who would be completely in control of his own fortune for only two weeks. She knew exactly what those two weeks would entail. Neville out on his arse, his money, family heirlooms,
and his properties seized to fund Scrimgour's politics. And without money, his parents would be kicked out of St. Mungo's. He would basically be left as a pauper, unable to do anything since he had to provide for his two invalid parents. The Ministry just screwed him royally. Then, they threatened him with exactly what they were planning to do after they chose a guardian. Now she understood why he held that fanatic look in his once kind brown eyes. They were the look of a desperate man, clinging to the last roots on the edge of a cliff. And there really was nothing he could do about it. All the people who could have corroborated his story that his Grandmother was dead had been obliviated by the corrupt ministry. They had essentially stolen everything from the poor boy
She looked up from the letter to see smoldering anger flashing over his eyes. She squeezed his hand harder, "Did you tell any of the teachers?" she asked.
He gave out a bark of an embittered laugh, "The bloody letter is charmed," he explained, "Anyone who is of age who would be able to help me is unable to read the letter. I suspect there's a confundus charm there as well. I tried to tell McGonagal after I received it, but she looked at me like I was an idiot and said she received a missive from my Grandmother earlier that day, inquiring upon my health. She actually insinuated that I was trying something on her. The King Weasel and his two bitches took away any sort of leverage or any kind of credibility I had, making anything I say an outright lie. And I can do nothing about it, although I did owl the twins earlier about my share in the company, they were unable to change anything around. They informed Magius about it and they got the IWCA in on it. Since I was technically emancipated when my parents were incapacitated and was deemed magical head of the house, Magius thinks that he can save my stock options since I made the transaction in my own name. And they can't do anything to Business transactions if I'm not considered a criminal. Mika Saito owled me and said they tried to bring up the other suites once they discovered my share in the company, but they can't bring up my infiltration to the ministry last year since they passed that Double Jeapordy law to protect Lucius Malfoy and his cronies," he smiled sardonically at this thought, but deflated slightly, "At least they can't gut the company now…"
She was shocked at how he was taking it, then she had to remember that he had nearly a month to let the information fester inside of him. He seemed almost a different person than he once was, "So you know what they're going to do to your estate right?" she asked quietly.
He nodded simply, "So what about your parents?" she asked with a slight hesitation. Neville's parents were always a sore spot for him.
Sighing, he replied, "With the kind of money the new company will bring in when it opens next month, I'll be able to provide for them and more, maybe try some of the pricier treatments, but until then, the twins have agreed to loan me the galleons to keep them in St. Mungo's until I can afford to put them up myself. It's not going to be for a while though, so I will have to keep getting loans from them until October when the first of the dividends are paid out…"
She nodded, that was nice of the twins. She had always like the two jokers of Gryffindor and was disappointed that they left the school last year, the kinds of pranks that were now being played had no artistry or style, they were just mean.
Suddenly, Neville threw back his head and laughed. His laughs were usually small and good natured, warm, would be a word that Susan would have described his laugh as, it made her feel warm. But this laugh was anything but warm. It was a laugh of someone who found his whole life had been destroyed and suddenly saw himself as the main character of a Shakespearean tragedy. It was darkly hilarious, the twisted humor infecting him like a plague. As he laughed at himself, tears of anger spilled down his cheeks and the laugh subsided into sobs of grief and anger. Never before had he felt this hopeless and lost. He had nothing, no grandmother, no home, no possessions, and his parents were as good as gone themselves. He had absolutely nothing left for him. They took it all away from him. Everything, and now they were taking his dignity. The last of the Longbottoms, the treasures of his Pureblood family, the fortunes which generations had built, gone in an instant. He cried as Susan held him.
"It's ok Neville," she whispered as she held him to her breasts, "It's ok. Shhh, just let it all out. There's no shame in it, you've lost someone dear to you, just let it all out," she chided as she slowly ran her fingers over his hair, comforting him like his grandmother used to do when he was scared. If anything, he began to cry harder. It was just so hard. There was just so much people could do to him, but he couldn't retaliate, all he could do was wait and watch it all be taken away from him. Slowly, his sobs died and he let himself be drawn down on the bench seat atop Susan, who was still whispering nothings into his ear, comforting him, making him feel safe. How could he have ever stopped talking to her? How could he have ignored her all this time? Slowly he gave in to her ministrations and relaxed feeling her hands run over his hair and back, her words soothing his mind, and the gentle tickle of her breath on his ear. He slowly dozed off and slept soundly for the first time in a month.
AN: There we go. Story is going to begin focusing on the 'Revolution' that Harry and Neville will bring around. Those of you waiting for the Harry/Fleur Moments, it's comming, but i'm building up the meat of the story. Give me a few chapters and you'll get all the Fluff you can handle in a bit, so hang on tight! Bashing in the next chapter, so if you like that sort of thing, get ready...REVIEW!!