A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I forbade myself to write as they're important real-life projects to spend energy on. Luckily for you, my willpower is nonexistent.
So, welcome to the third and final part of this fic! The pace has accelerated, Neville's cursory view has broadened, and we're finally getting into the thick of it. Enjoy!
CHAPTER 18: The Pieces on the Board
Sunday, 2 June 2019
Bretagne, France
For a man he'd never actually met, Neallo Tjorsan managed to annoy Neville to unprecedented heights. Neville usually didn't think himself as quick to judge others, but it was surprisingly easy to make an exception for Tjorsan and his fashion choices.
His overgrown moustache constantly tickled Neville's lips, and the topknot wobbled every time Neville moved his head. There was very little Neville could do about it either. The hit-wizard had apparently worn his hair this way since the nineties. Should Neville change it, people would take notice. So, he complained in silence and wore the wizard's face as best as he could.
The iron bars in front of him suddenly twitched, making Neville twitch in response and Tjorsan's topknot wiggle again. The gate opened soundlessly, revealing a long alley of cypress trees and a Provence villa at its far end. He took a deep breath and started walking.
The estate wasn't as grandiose as one might expect from a pureblood nobility's residence, but it was beautiful and ancient nonetheless. It spread through several acres of vineyards, with the villa presiding over it all on the highest roll of the land. Neville would have been staring, marvelling at the sheer picturesqueness of the valley had he not seen it all before in Tjorsan's memories. Instead, he marched straight to the house as if he had visited many times before.
Soft laughter reached his ears half-way through the alley of the tall trees. His head whipped to the side, to a white gazebo standing in between the vines. Four witches were lounging on cushioned divans inside whilst a herd of hippogriffs grazed around it. Their faces were too far from Neville to recognise them but he felt their eyes on him nonetheless. He quickened his pace.
Maturity looked good on Draco Malfoy. He seemed to have finally grown into his smirks and sneers, and his threats were carried out with an actual presence behind them. More surprising, though, was the fact he had somehow developed a pleasant side: his smiles were smooth and his cajoling eloquent. At least Neville had gathered as much from studying him in Tjorsan's memories. As Malfoy's personal guard, Tjorsan watched him charm politics left and right, day and night.
So far, the real-life Malfoy just stared at Neville in silence, eyes furrowed.
Neville returned his glare with an impassive face. At least he hoped so.
Another long minute of scrutiny later, Malfoy finally moved. He leaned back in his plush chair and placed his elbows on the armrests. He hadn't offered Neville to sit down.
"Tjorsan twisted his moustache the other way around. You have to finish the charm in an upwards spin."
Neville's eyebrows rose at that. Of all the ways to start this conversation, he didn't imagine Malfoy would lead with advice.
He drew his wand slowly and applied the hair charm again, this time ending the movement in un upwards spin. He looked at Malfoy quizzically, searching for approval.
Malfoy only closed his eyes.
"Have you done this before?"
If Malfoy was asking if he had ever stolen someone's identity, then the answer would be no, Neville had not. He had gone undercover in the past, he'd impersonated. But he'd never taken over a stranger's life this completely. However, he wasn't about to confess his insecurities to Malfoy.
It seemed he hesitated for too long, though. Malfoy's eyes hardened.
"If you fuck up, my family will be dishonoured at best. Most probably, my wife and I'll be summarily executed." He leaned over the desk between them. "Don't fuck up."
Malfoy didn't voice any threats but Neville still heard them loud and clear. His chin almost rose in a challenge before he managed to stop himself. He nodded instead, a barely visible twitch of his head, trying and failing to remember how exactly Harry'd managed to convince him this was their best course of action.
Malfoy lifted his arm, palm up. "I need your wand to key you into the wards."
Neville eyed the hand dubiously. Harry might trust Malfoy and Neville was now determined to trust Harry's judgement, but that didn't mean he always succeeded. He shook his head and kept his wand safely in its holster. "We'll wait for Harry."
Harry was late. He was supposed to arrive before Neville had. As it was, Neville didn't quite know how to deal with Malfoy. Being told he was an ally was one thing. Knowing how to talk to his old school bully - turned enemy, turned traitor - was a different matter altogether.
Malfoy left his arm drop. "There you have it - you fucked up," he hissed. "Tjorsan would never refuse an order. I don't tolerate disobedience from my servants."
Neville frowned at the blunt reminder of his supposed position. He felt his annoyance with Harry grow - this was precisely why he was supposed to be here for this conversation; to establish the dynamics. "We're behind closed doors. There's no one to witness this."
"How can you ever be sure?"
That was a good point and Neville was ready to concede it. Soon. "We haven't started yet."
He cringed inwardly, realising how childish that sounded the moment he said it. He wondered when exactly he'd regressed back to his school years' days.
Malfoy quirked a single eyebrow. "Really? Haven't you just walked into my home, stealing my guard's identity?"
Neville realised something then. Malfoy was quite clearly against this plan, that much was obvious. And yet, here Neville stood. Exactly how much influence did Harry hold over the pureblood?
That thought brought his confidence back. Malfoy wasn't the one in control, no matter the show they'd be putting up for everyone else.
He sat down on the empty chair across the desk from Malfoy.
"We'll wait for Harry," he repeated.
He watched as annoyance flashed through the wizard's eyes but Malfoy didn't argue further. It seemed he was being careful too, standing on an unfamiliar ground himself. No matter his previous brashness, Malfoy evidently didn't want to alienate Neville either. Good.
An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Neville focused on halting his fidgeting leg.
"How did Potter make the Polyjuice last for more than an hour?"
Neville caught a hint of genuine frustration behind the question and smiled inwardly. Malfoy must have been wondering about that for a while. And he would be for a while longer. Neville certainly wasn't about to tell him he swallowed four capsules with the Potion before apparating here, and still had more than three hours of Tjorsan's itchy moustache and wobbly topknot to look forward to.
But he decided to be polite about it, in line of the tentative civility they had going on. "I can't really say."
Malfoy didn't seem surprised nor deterred by the negative answer. "Where's Tjorsan now?"
Neville wondered if he was just fishing for information or if he was genuinely concerned. Tjorsan's memories never showed anything else other than a strictly professional relationship between these two but it was still possible Malfoy actually cared about his employee.
"Only Harry knows. That was Tjorsan's condition, by the way; not ours."
"How much did you pay him to do this?"
Neville stopped himself from shrugging; Tjorsan never shrugged. He shook his head instead, a short left to right twitch and then back. "It wasn't in galleons," he quoted Harry from a couple of days ago.
Neville had wondered the same back then, hardly believing someone would willingly make this trade. Who would sell their identity, their name, their reputation to a stranger to do away as they pleased?
"Hit-wizards," Malfoy noted in a hiss.
Neville looked up sharply at him. Has he just skimmed my thoughts?
"...one should not find it surprising they'll risk their names for a bit of coin if they're ready to risk their life for it."
Malfoy finished his complaint and Neville realised that's all that it was, no matter the queer sync to his own thoughts. He steeled his mental shields just in case and schooled his face into a neutral mask again, but not before Malfoy had noticed his alarmed reaction. Neville let him file it away to do with as he wanted.
For the umpteenth time since the start of the conversation, he wondered if Malfoy was aware of his true identity. Harry had promised he wouldn't give away Neville's name but the lack of questions in that regard made him wonder.
Harry chose that moment to finally arrive. He waltzed into the study looking his true self, not even a single glamour hiding his identity. How the hell he could manage that in a villa full of house-elves and portraits, Neville did not know.
"Apologies, I got delayed." Harry shed his outer coat, threw it at the last empty chair next to Neville's and walked straight to the decanter by the window. He helped himself to a glass of Malfoy's red, filling it up almost to the brink.
"Potter."
Malfoy's voice cut through the room, the name ringing like an accusation. His tone turned ice-cold, even more frigid than the attitude he took with Neville.
Harry's shoulders slumbered slightly in response. He turned back to the desk and sat down slowly. "Draco. I imagine you have questions."
"Is Blaise alive?"
"Yes."
"And will you keep it that way?"
"That depends entirely on Zabini."
Malfoy's jaw hardened. Neville sat forgotten for the moment, his eyes darting back and forth between the two wizards.
"How long?" Malfoy asked next. "How long were you harvesting him for Polyjuice?"
"Seven weeks."
Malfoy let out a low hiss at that. "You bastard."
"You know very well it was safer to keep you in the dark."
"Was it always you? Or were some of your friends wearing Blaise's face, too?"
"I made sure it was always me around your family."
Malfoy snapped his head away and stayed silent for a moment. To Neville, he looked like someone counting down from ten.
"Give me Blaise into custody. I'll swear you an oath I won't let him escape," Malfoy said after a minute. "And I'll forgive you for this."
Harry didn't answer right away. To Neville's surprise, he actually seemed to be considering Malfoy's suggestion.
"I can't do that," Harry said at last. "It'll put us both in too much risk."
Malfoy didn't look surprised by the rebuttal. "You swear the oath, then. Swear that you'll keep him alive whilst in your custody."
"I've tried to convince him to come to our side. He bluffed and tried to stab me in the back."
"Blaise's pragmatic. As long as he sees the Emperor as an uncontested winner, he won't move against him. Let me speak to him."
"Why didn't you do so before?"
"Before, he had a promising career in the Army. You took care of that."
"And he'll just find the kindness in him to forgive me, and follow me?"
"No. He'll follow me."
It was Harry's turn to stare out of the window in silence. This time, Neville was sure he was considering the proposition. Half a minute later, Harry leaned forward and tore off a corner from an officially-looking parchment on top of the desk. He grabbed Malfoy's quill and scribbled down a few words. He raised the note towards Malfoy but didn't let go of it.
Malfoy's eyes zoomed in on the writing.
"Got it?" Harry asked. He didn't wait for an answer and lit the parchment on fire with the same snap of fingers he usually reserved for lighting his smoke. They watched in silence as flames consumed the paper. When the ashes settled on the desk, Harry made them disappear with another flick. "I'll let you know when's the best time to visit."
Malfoy took that in with a sharp nod. "And I'll carry on pretending like this hasn't been your plan all along."
The corner of Harry's mouth twitched. "This is no evil plan of mine. I'm just trying to get you your friend back in one piece."
"And gaining an ally out of it."
"Zabini's no real use to me anymore. You're the only reason he's still alive."
"If you expect a thank you, I can provide you with one. It'll be as sincere as the moans of your favourite street-corner mudblood whore."
Harry chuckled with his glass raised halfway to his mouth. Filled with wine to the top, the red almost spilt over as it shook. "Duly noted."
They fell silent after that. Neville leaned back in his chair and away from the quick exchange. He watched Malfoy relax slightly into his own armchair, his features smoothing into a disinterested frown.
Neville recognised the body language easily enough - they were done with the matter. Just like that.
"What's the plan here?" Malfoy asked next, his tone rather civil now. He gestured towards Neville.
Neville twitched slightly, suddenly remembering he wasn't just a spectator.
Harry reached over and patted Neville's shoulder. "I need you to offer Tjorsan here to your Beauxbatons' golden boy."
Malfoy's brow arched in evident surprise. "Brisebois?"
"That one."
Rémy Brisebois was this year's Triwizard champion from Beauxbatons. The French papers weren't far from hailing him the winner of the whole Tournament, although the third and final task was still almost a week away from now. Surprisingly enough, even the English press grudgingly admitted Beauxbatons might finally have a fair chance of not losing. As far as Neville could judge from the newspaper accounts of the previous two tasks, as well as from Tjorsan's personal memories from the first row, the lad was indeed a competent wizard.
"He's a spoiled brat," Malfoy said.
Neville felt his eyebrow quirk at that. Next to him, Harry chuckled. "That's rather rich coming from you, Draco. Is he out of your influence?"
Malfoy grimaced, looking almost affronted. "He'll do as I say - eventually. He'll make a scene first."
"That's good enough for me. As long as you'll make it happen by Friday."
"Friday, you say? The final task is next weekend," Malfoy pointed out, his tone turning pensive. He glanced at Neville. "You want to get your man into Hogwarts with Brisebois," he stated next.
Harry didn't look alarmed by the correct guess. "The Triwizard's tournament's held only once every three years. We wouldn't miss it for the world."
"We? You're going, too, then?" Malfoy surmised. He let out an overly long, shuddering breath. "This plan's going to make my life difficult no matter the result, isn't it?"
Harry returned Malfoy's frown with a rather cheeky smile. "You're gonna learn everything in time, you know that."
Malfoy did that thing again with closing his eyes and presumably counting down from ten in his head. When he reopened them, he didn't go back to the topic.
He reached inside his breast pocket and took out two vials with misty liquid inside. Thoughts.
"I need to know everything of interest about these two witches."
Harry uncorked the vials and whirled the strands inside with the tip of his wand. "Friend or foe?"
"Remains to be seen."
Harry was about to reply when he was interrupted by the sound of steps coming from outside the door. The volume must have been magnified by a spell, warning them of an incomer well in advance before someone actually knocked on the door. Whoever it was, they didn't wait for an invitation and opened the door right away.
In walked Lady Malfoy.
In her maturity, Gabrielle was the spitting image of her older sister. Neville spent the last five days immersed in Trojsan's memories, observing her and marvelling at the similarity of expressions and gestures to those he was used to seeing on the face of the Weasley's matriarch. There were some glaring differences, though. Where Fleur grew to be kind and caring, Gabrielle hardened and developed a pose.
Remembering the sweet teenager of his army years, Neville resented it.
"My bottom hates you, Potter," Gabrielle said in way of a greeting.
She leaned down next, and kissed Harry on both cheeks.
"Ever heard of cushioning charms?" Harry quirked, fully unconcerned by her complaint.
"Ha! No amount of cushioning can prevent stiff muscles after so many hours in a saddle. Hours, might I add, that I'm forced to endure on behalf of your stupid request!"
Malfoy conjured her an armchair next to his own. She walked around the desk and sat down gracefully. "Thank you, husband."
Her piercing eyes finally landed on Neville. "I would ask Harry to introduce us but I was warned you wish for us to remain ignorant of your true identity. Considering that you are intruding on our home, I find that incredibly rude."
Before Neville had a chance to think of what to say in his defence, Harry spoke up again.
"Well? Is it working?"
He seemed to ignore Gabrielle's jab completely, going back to their previous conversation.
She rolled her eyes, very unladylike, and produce a roll of papers from somewhere inside her elaborate robes. "Like I'd ever fail you."
Neville glanced at the magazine she'd placed on the desk. The title page read Witch Weekly and pictured a woman flying on Hippogriff's back.
"There's no one more gullible about fashion than the British. That stupid cow would wear a troll's hide if it meant she'd outdo the French!"
After a closer look, the stupid cow on the cover turned out to be another former schoolmate of theirs, Daphne Greengrass. She looked absurdly young on the picture, her half-turned head winking at the reader.
"Good," Harry commented. "Did you confirm the numbers? How many hippogriffs were bought in Britain?"
"The journalist did the legwork for me. It's not only hippogriffs but thestrals, too. A rather distasteful addition to the trend, I'd say." Gabrielle gestured at the magazine. "You'll find it all in the article."
"Good," Harry repeated. "Mind if I take this with me?"
He grabbed the papers and put them into his pocket. "Let's get going. I'll key Tjorsan into your wards on our way out."
Neville's eyes shot up at that, surprised at Harry having control over Malfoys' wards, and equally as pissed that Harry could have keyed him into them all along by himself.
Harry was on his feet the next moment and almost at the door, Neville readily following him, before Gabrielle's voice stopped them.
"Harry? We've heard William was injured. Is he alright?"
Neville watched silently as Harry's shoulders slumbered. He turned back to the room, whilst Neville stayed facing the door.
"No, actually. He's not," Harry said softly.
He shared a short glance with Neville before they both looked away again.
"Oh."
It took Gabrielle a long time to speak up again. "Does Fleur know?"
Harry nodded.
"I'm so sorry, Harry. I had been hoping to speak to him again."
Harry shot her a dubious glance. "Really?"
"For all our differences, I'd never wish for Bill to… He was a good man. I know how much he meant to you."
Neville kept gazing at the plush carpet underneath his shoes.
"You had big plans for Weasley, didn't you?" Malfoy asked next. "What happens to them now?"
Through the corner of his eye, Neville saw Harry glancing at him.
"Plans change," Harry said softly.
Half an hour later found them in a very different room entirely. Where Malfoy's study was luxurious, spacious and full of early summer breeze, the barracks were crowded with cots, smelled of human sweat and had no open windows to let air in.
Neville shed all his outer layers, staying in his undershirt only. It didn't help much. He desperately wished for an air-freshening charm but he didn't dare to cross Harry's orders. With the number of raids the Army had been unleashing on the People's safehouses since the fire at the Library a week ago, they had a good reason to be extra careful. And besides, Annie stood right next to him, encompassing him in her negating bubble and making him feel even more smothered.
"Let me check if I understood correctly," she was saying. "You want me to fly across the whole of Britain on a winged horse?"
She'd arrived at French coast last night, together with Gregory and their guard of five muggleborns. Masked as a convoy of muggle slaves, they were housed and hiding at the winery that supposedly ordered them.
"How the hell did you get Daphne Greengrass climb on a hippogriff?" Teddy ignored Annie's question, staring at the magazine Harry had passing around.
Neville glanced at Harry, curious to see if he'd mention Gabrielle's involvement.
"Daphne and I go way back."
"Really?"
"Uh-huh. She asked me to lend her my Potion notes back in our sixth year."
Teddy shot a pair of annoyed eyes at Harry.
Neville wondered about something else, though. "How do you know Greengrass?" he asked Teddy.
It might have been the poor lighting in the room but Teddy's cheeks seemed to have gone a bit pink. "My roommates at Hogwarts had her posters on the wall."
"Can we go back on track here?" Annie asked loudly. "Because it seems like your plan to sneak me through Britain involves sitting on a flying horse, up in the sky for anyone to see?"
"It's actually a horse and an eagle," Harry supplied.
Neville frowned at his useless reply. He turned to Annie, feeling it was time to show some support to the idea if they were to move on. "You can't carry on with the disguise of a slave; remember - no muggles are allowed in Britain. You'll have to pretend to be a witch. And witches don't travel by muggle means. Either we walk the whole way and try to avoid all the detection charms scattered through the country; or we hide you in plain sight. There are hundreds of witches and wizards riding hippogryphs these days," he nodded at the magazine, "you won't stick out."
Annie still didn't like it, that much was obvious from her frown, but she didn't argue further. She looked down at the map spread on the table between them. "And what was with the tunnel underneath the sea?"
"That's how we're getting you to the island," Harry repeated. He pointed at a line on the map, connecting Calais with Dover. "That's the Channel Tunnel."
That name rang a very distant bell. "There used to be muggle trains passing through, weren't they?" Neville asked hesitantly. "Are they still running?"
"No, not since 2003," Harry answered. "They disabled the rails so muggles could march out of the island."
Neville took that in with a nod. "Will we have to cross it on foot, then?" It'd be a long and dark hike through a narrow place with no escape routes.
Harry shook his head. "We'll drive."
"Isn't it being monitored?"
"It is," Harry admitted. "But not by the Army."
"Smugglers?" Gregory spoke up from the corner. All heads snapped to him, everyone most probably having forgotten he was standing there.
Harry nodded. "Yep. It's the main route for the black market goodies."
"I trust you'll be able to strike a deal, then," Neville said.
"Already have."
"Let's assume for a moment that all of this works out," Annie said slowly. "The tunnel and the flying both go well and you'll get me to Hogwarts in one piece. What happens then?"
When Harry had told Neville he knew where the anchor for the Curtain stood, and that it was actually stationed at Hogwarts, Neville's first thought was a rather dull of course. Somehow, it made perfect sense they would be heading back to the school. Talking about coming full circle and all that.
But also, damn. Of all the places to break into, the Hogwarts castle was at the very bottom of Neville's list of preferences. According to Harry, even the Elder Wand had problems breaching the wards around the castle. That was probably why he had planned this whole mission and dragged Annie all the way from Finland. From what Harry had told Neville, Riddle had augmented the defences considerably throughout the last two decades, making them virtually impenetrable even to the Master of Death.
"You just walk in," Harry answered Annie.
Neville was starting to suspect Harry was underselling his plans on purpose, making Neville work for their team's trust. But although terribly simplified, this was essentially the idea.
Annie frowned and looked at Neville in uncertainty. "Are we sure it'll work, though? After all, I couldn't walk through the Curtain."
"There'll be wards that you won't be able to effect, especially closer to the anchor," Harry admitted. "But we're prepared for them, too."
That was a very royal 'we' Harry had just used. He certainly didn't share any of his preparations with Neville.
"Will you all just walk in next to me?" Annie asked.
"Only Gregory will. And I'll get someone else to guide you, someone who actually knows the castle," Harry said. "Neville here will have his own invitation as the champion's bodyguard and will be covering you from afar. I'll be doing the same, for the most part."
That was news to Neville. "How are you getting into the castle, then?"
"I've been invited, of course," Harry readily answered, grinning.
Neville raised a single eyebrow. The way Harry said it, it almost sounded like he'd been invited-
"Personally? You've been invited to the Task?" Teddy asked before Neville had a chance.
"The past winners are automatically invited to all events. It had been a long-standing tradition even before Riddle reinstated the Tournament."
"Even you?"
Harry shrugged. "It's an honour thing, a general invitation. But the sentiment is enough for some of the castle's wards to let me through as a guest. How else would I have been able to map out the anchor that well?"
"And no one has seen the loophole yet?" Teddy wondered out loud.
"Riddle did his best for my name to be forgotten. I'm all for making it bite him in the ass."
An hour of planning later, they had most of the details ironed out. Before leaving the barracks, Neville took Gregory aside, into the corner of the adjacent room. Annie's muggleborn guard was housed there. All five of them were currently resting on their bunk beds and pretending not to watch Neville carefully.
"Harry told me about your grandparents. I was really glad to hear they're both alive," Neville said softly for Gregory's ears only.
He was also glad to find out that they weren't the traitors he'd thought them to be for accepting Riddle's pardon and returning to the Empire. He didn't say as much out loud, though.
Gregory nodded. "I was, too."
"I wanted you to know that I'll come with you to search for them, the first moment we can."
Gregory stared at him for a short moment. "I'm not planning to run away after them."
Neville returned his steady gaze, deciding not to deny how well Gregory guessed what he was worried about. He searched for any sort of hesitance in Gregory's eyes but if there was some, he couldn't see it. "The offer still stands," he said.
Gregory accepted that with a sombre nod. "I know where they are, Harry told me. But thanks."
"Oh."
Harry himself joined them at that moment. Gregory nodded a silent goodbye and hurried back to Annie, apparently not willing to leave her alone for too long.
"Let's grab a bite together?" Harry asked Neville.
Neville readily agreed. He hadn't seen Harry much in the last few days. Harry had been busy fortifying the People's defences and leading Riddle's soldiers astray, whilst Neville was holed up in the catacombs of Prague's former cathedral, with only Teddy and George for company, getting accustomed to Tjorsan's memories. There were many things Neville now needed to talk about.
He made for the door only to realise Harry wasn't following. He glanced over his shoulder; Harry was crouching down next to a bed occupied by one of the muggleborns, speaking to him in low tones. Neville stepped closer.
"... your arm."
Neville's eyes followed what Harry was gesturing at; the guard was cradling his arm by his side. He now gingerly placed it into Harry's outstretched one. "I can't heal it, sir," the guard said softly. "They would notice if the cuts were gone tomorrow."
There were several angry marks across the back of his hand. Lashes, most probably. Neville winced at the bloody mess, suddenly remembering that whilst Annie and Gregory hid in the barracks, some of their guards had to go to the vineyards and carry on with the pretence of slaves. No wonder they were looking half dead now, sprawled over their beds, only half-heartedly trying to eavesdrop.
"Hm," Harry grumbled. "You're Eric, right?"
The guide's eyes went wide as saucers and he managed only a stunned nod.
"Well, Eric, I think I have just the thing for you," Harry said, sounding distracted, busy rummaging through the contents of his pocket, his arm disappearing all the way to the elbow.
A moment later, he came up with an unlabelled bottle with sheer liquid inside. "Ha! Here we go."
It looked like water but Neville very much doubted it was water.
"Feel free to drink it all with your friends but try to use some to disinfect the cuts first. Oh, and I think I actually have some dittany somewhere. Water it down properly, though. Make it weak enough and it'll only numb the pain and won't close the cuts."
Neville watched as the guy's eyes filled up with gratitude. He took a deep breath, most probably to thank Harry, but Harry waved him off before he could, patting his shoulder. "Nah, it's you doing me the favour. Hold on until this weekend, and everything will change after that."
"Was it wise?" Neville asked once they walked out of the barracks. "To let him know this much?"
He was referring to Eric, but the question could easily apply to Gregory and his grandparents, too. Neville decided not to specify.
Harry didn't answer right away. They walked quite a distance before he spoke again.
"Remember that pub near Shell Cottage? La Mezcaleria? You could follow the beach for half an hour and it would stand right there, in the port?"
Neville did remember. They took that walk quite often with Bill, and sometimes even with Harry, to sober up a bit before they would crush on Fleur's couch. More pleasant than hitting oneself with a sobering charm, that's for sure.
"Remember the red-haired waitress?"
"Jeanette," Neville's mind immediately supplied. Apparently, he did remember.
Harry nodded towards the barracks they left behind. "She was Eric's mum."
Neville felt his eyes going wide. "You mean, Eric's also your-"
"For Merlin's sake, don't even finish that thought. No. She flirted with me, true, but not more than with any other guy who tipped her. It was enough for me to remember her fondly, though. And so does Eric, obviously."
Neville was starting to understand where Harry was going with this. "Are you saying she's the… shade that watches over him? She's your link to him?"
Harry nodded. "Tereza, the other muggleborn in the barracks, grew up with this sliver of a boy. He once tried to steal from me in the slums. I went to see his family afterwards. They were killed in a raid two months later." He paused to take a breath. "Emma's grandma died right in front of my eyes when I was Polyjuiced as a Death Eater. Alois' father was a Death Eater I killed, although his mum lets Alois think he's a muggleborn. Gregory's father trained us both in the Resistance, you and me, and I bet neither of us will ever forget any of his gruelling lessons. Are you starting to see my point now or do you want me to carry on?"
Neville slowly shook his head.
"I still remember all their faces, Neville, each and every one of them. They become hazy with time but the feeling of failure, the guilt of being alive whilst they're dead - that remains as vivid as ever. I'll always be able to call forward their shades."
Harry fell silent and turned away from Neville in a rare show of vulnerability. Neville didn't quite know how to react to it.
In the end, Harry turned back at him with steel in his eyes again before Neville decided on a course of action. "And as long as I do, I can watch the people who remember the same dead. You just be sure that if I choose to trust anyone on this mission, it means I have a way to constantly verify them, too."
Neville thought about all of that for a moment. "What happens if you're not around to verify them anymore?"
"Hm?"
"You might have missed that none of your plans so far survived long into their execution. I haven't, though." The shootout in the dead zone; another one with Albert in the wastelands; hiding with the now-deceased Rusty in the slums - Neville was keeping a count.
Harry frowned at him but had the grace not to argue the point.
"I just want to know what's the contingency plan in case something happens to you, or you lose the Hallows," Neville added.
After a long moment of silence, Harry finally spoke up. "In case I get captured, you're to carry on with the mission. Report to George. Respect Malfoy. Get these two in touch."
Neville filed that away and nodded solemnly.
"Captured, not killed?" he asked next.
Harry snickered. "If I get killed, throw yourselves a good party."
Neville shot him a tired look.
"Alright, then. If I get killed, report to George, respect Malfoy, and make sure these two don't kill each other."
Neville's Polyjuice worn out just before the world turned black for their apparition. Shaking away the doubled disorientation, he hastily reached for more tablets.
Harry stopped him, though. "It's fine."
Feeling suddenly vulnerable with his own features out in the open, Neville eyed the wizards milling around them nervously. He glanced back at Harry, at his likewise undisguised but fully unconcerned face. "Have you put up Notice-me-nots?" He could feel a gentle buzzing in the air around them but his senses weren't even closely attuned enough to clock on the specific magic.
"Powerful ones. Come on, I'm starving."
Harry had apparated them onto the shore of Lake Como, in Lombardy. Neville knew the name because this time he'd actually remembered to inquire about their destination before he'd grasped Harry's hand to side-along.
Harry took them to a lakeside town, straight into the midst of what seemed like a food market, the port around them overflowing with stalls. Neville's eyes scanned it all quickly, realizing that instead of products, the sellers seemed to be offering ready-made dishes. He spotted fish - baked, smoked and fresh; sauces of all colours, pasta of all shapes.
He immediately became overwhelmed by the battling smells of various foods but Harry didn't give him a chance to linger. He was already weaving through the crowds of wizards with ease and obviously a goal in mind, and Neville was left to stutter on his heels. A tray appeared by Harry's shoulder and as he navigated the narrow paths, it started filling up with the dishes they passed: seafood, salads, pasta, and a cake. Sellers readily flew the plates onto the tray, Harry only had to nod at them - his Notice-me-not charm apparently not applying to them.
When Harry finally seemed satisfied with the massive pile of food on their ever-expanding tray, he steered Neville to a wicker table on the stone pier itself. A postcard-worthy view of the lake and the surrounding mountains lay just behind it.
"What is this place?" Neville nodded at the stalls they now left behind, still a bit bewildered by their quick journey through.
"A lunch market," Harry mumbled, his mouth already full with prawns.
"Are we going to pay afterwards?"
"You don't pay at lunch markets."
Neville tasted the risotto in front of him. Were these truffles?
"Is the magical society here… socialist?" Even to his ears, the notion sounded ridiculous. Not to mention, he had just spent five days inserted in the Pensieve, watching Malfoy navigate the political scene full of pureblood aristocrats.
Harry chuckled. "Oh my, what a thought! No, just the food here's free." He twisted the claws of his lobster. "Right at the start, Riddle swore no wizard would go hungry again. 'It's beneath the magical folk to dedicate their precious time for something as pedestrian as sorting out their own meals…' or some other propaganda bollocks like that."
"It's good, though. Really good for free food."
"He has thousands of muggle slaves to prepare it, and no shortage of ingredients either," Harry shrugged. "And it's not like every wizard and witch goes. You'd be hard-pressed to find any of the old families here. It's a matter of status."
Neville surreptitiously glanced at the wizards walking around with their own trays. Their robes seemed simpler than the colourful promenade they had seen in Budapest but it might have been just that his eyes were getting accustomed to the ridiculous fashion of the Empire. Anyway, their robes still looked clean and in good shape. He guessed he'd be hard-pressed to find a magical beggar in the Empire, either.
"I'm surprised no one has called us out on the Notice-me-not," he wondered out loud, looking at the thick crowd of bodies they somehow weaved through without any commotion.
"Even purebloods get tempted by the offer of free food. It's not uncommon to hide under a charm here."
"What about the Army? They don't monitor this place?"
"Not today. And even if a soldier did wander in here, I'd be the first one to know," Harry shrugged, obviously unconcerned.
Neville decided to follow his example. He forced himself to relax back into his chair and started eating properly. Judging by the speed the food was disappearing from Harry's side of the table, he didn't have much time for his questions before their lunch was over.
"Can we talk freely here?" he asked, glancing around the closest tables. They weren't occupied, but still.
"We're good," Harry said right away but he still dropped his fork for a moment in favour of his wand, and put up a quick privacy charm. "Just in case."
"What's your pull on the Malfoys?" Neville asked without any preamble.
Harry didn't start talking right away, although he hardly looked surprised by the question. When he did, he began further back than Neville expected.
"When the Curtain was raised, Draco was the rising star of the new regime. Good name, good blood, a war hero very close to the Emperor himself. He had a bright future ahead of him."
"That's why Gabrielle married him, right?"
Harry hesitated. "Essentially, yes. Although when you say it like that, you make her sound more ambitious than desperate - and desperate she was back then. I'm the last person to defend her decision to marry that git. But, even I have to admit her other prospects looked rather bleak back then. When her parents decided to keep the family in Europe, it rather hurt their standings that the older daughter was a known blood traitor. They needed to make a stand. And Gabrielle always took her theatrics seriously."
Neville was more than happy to keep his mind open about her - he'd liked the girl well enough when she'd lived around the Weasleys. "So, was it her who changed Malfoy's mind?"
Harry chuckled. "Wouldn't that be romantic?"
"I guess not, then."
"Draco was in the spotlight. He made mistakes and pretty quickly ruined his name and future."
Neville wasn't even ashamed of the schadenfreude he experienced at hearing that. "How exactly did he mess up?"
Harry shrugged. "He made enemies from powerful people. They managed to dig up some old dirt on his family."
Morbidly curious, Neville urged Harry to specify.
"Believe it or not, it turned out that old Narcissa Malfoy was a good mother. Apparently, she cared for her family more than the Dark Lord's victory. In the nineties, when things looked bad for Riddle, she made inquiries and contingency plans. Ironically, it was these plans that ultimately led to her husband's suicide and the downfall of her son."
"They were hailed traitors," Neville surmised.
"Technically, Draco never was, but that didn't make much of a difference. He fled to France and didn't show his face for many years. You can imagine how excited Gabrielle was about that development."
"They seem to be doing quite well now," Neville pointed out.
"Aye, but it took a hell lot of work."
That sounded suspiciously like a complaint. Neville put two and two together. "You helped them. You helped them get their position back."
"I saw an opportunity. There's a lot of tension between the old families. The British purebloods have all the privileges of being Riddle's favourites, being his pet Death Eaters and all. The families from the continent want their way in. They love Draco's renegade status and like to throw him back in the Death Eaters' face. And what's more, he married a French. They eventually took him in and made him their figurehead."
Neville listened with his head quirked. "You're using him to stir up problems."
"I wouldn't call it that. Healthy opposition among aristocracy to balance things out, is more like it."
"How much power do they actually have?" Neville wondered. "The families? I know Riddle left the Wizangamot in session, but the newspapers won't tell you how much actual influence they have."
"Political influence?" Harry checked. "Very little. Almost none. Riddle's power is absolute. He delegates issues that bore him and he keeps the judicial branch seemingly separate, but that's as far as he tries to even pretend there's some balance of powers."
Harry reached for the dessert, a glass bowl of Tiramisu. Neville was pleased to notice a second one and quickly snatched it for himself.
"Is that what Malfoy is campaigning for, then? Political rights?"
"I can't have Malfoy go that radical; almost no one ever speaks openly against the Emperor. Yet. The continental families are just calling for the same privileges the British aristocracy holds. The ear of the Emperor. High rank in the Army. The honour to throw the most exuberant parties."
"What's your end goal here? Would the families follow if Malfoy urged them on your behalf?"
"They're still purebloods, Nev. And they live a happy life here. If a war breaks out, they'll defend the Empire as viciously as the Death Eaters would. But, they all have little personal agendas of their own. If we don't push them to go openly against the Empire, and promise the right price, they'll still be useful to us."
Neville inwardly rolled his eyes at the basic introduction to politics but he understood Harry had his reasons to be vague.
He asked about something else that was bothering him. "How can you be sure of him, though? Malfoy, I mean. I know you probably have plenty of shades watching him all the time, but still, spying on someone and allying with them are two different things."
"Draco didn't only reach his bottom. He had lived on that bottom for several years. I guess I got tired of watching him wallow there," Harry offered callously.
There was obviously more to the story but Neville knew it would be futile to pry. It was somehow comforting, to know that Harry was as good at keeping secrets as at stealing them. Neville could only hope his own secrets would get treated with the same respect.
He changed the topic. "Tell me about the Institute."
Wizarding Institute of Eclectic Research and Development, or WIERD, would be Malfoy's daily job if he could ever have such a thing. Most of Tjorsan's shifts seemed to be spent standing in the WIERD's offices in front of Malfoy's closed door, watching the memos come and go. Neville managed to spot the name on the parchments but he had very little idea what the place was actually about.
"The 'Eclectic' stands for muggle," Harry explained. "Everyone knows that but apparently, it's easier to pretend we don't need to study muggle technology to keep up with them."
Neville felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. "Wizards study muggle technology? Why hadn't I heard of it before?" In all the days spent reading through the last several years' worth of newspapers, he'd never come upon a single mention of this.
"As I said, it's the best ignored public secret," Harry shrugged.
He scraped up the rest of his Tiramisu before he continued. "Even Death Eaters learned their lesson, Nev, after the Betrayal Bombing. Remember what George said, about the Empire not simply twiddling their thumbs for the last two decades? This is what he meant. The Army's no longer ignorant of tech advancement, they follow it. What's more, they're preparing magic for it when need be. That's what WIERD is here for."
"Preparing magic? What does that mean?"
"Maybe I should have said adjusting. Mainly, they test charms and wards against muggle gadgets, like radars, sensors, sat navs and whatnot, making sure the spell performs sufficiently against the technology used. It only rarely doesn't, but if that happens, they tweak it - they broaden the intent, add another property to the charm, adjust a rune here and there."
Neville was slow to take this in, so Harry graciously offered examples. "Take the Muggle Repelling charm - it now safely repels their drones, too, and still with a perfectly natural explanation. Confundus can change algorithms without the software detecting anything suspicious. Fidelius works against all means of surveillance - we now have it confirmed that a protected site doesn't show on satellite images, either."
After a moment of loaded silence, Neville had only one question to ask. "And you still want to bring the Curtain down? Start a war between muggles and wizards?"
"None of this is news to me."
"What chances would muggles have, though?"
"Alone? None. With other wizards by their side? Little."
Neville heaved a long breath. Apparently, little is what they would be going forward with.
"And Malfoy's in charge of the Institute?"
"I wish. But no, he'll never get back into favour, not enough to hold such a position again. The dubious honour can only go to one of the old guard."
"You mean a Death Eater."
"Yep. Our old friend Rookwood in this case."
"Augustus Rookwood?"
Harry nodded. "He always had a bit of a fascination for-"
A shadow fell over their half-finished tray of food. Neville quickly looked up - there was a wizard standing by their table, very pointedly ignoring their Notice-me-not charm. Neville didn't see him approach - the man must have been hidden under a powerful charm of his own.
Neville quickly reached for his wand but Harry's calm and rather annoyed sigh halted him.
Whilst Harry languidly went to cancel the privacy charm around them, Neville took a better look at the man: middle-aged and tall, his grey robes and peppered hair immaculate.
"May I?" the stranger asked with a polite smile, gesturing at the last empty chair by their table.
Harry rolled his eyes and scraped the chair towards the newcomer with his foot.
The man took it, settling down comfortably. A tray of his own floated from behind his back to join theirs on the table. Neville quickly glanced down; spotting a bottle of red wine and a board of cut cheese, nothing else.
"Enjoying the fruits of your labour?" Harry asked, his congenial tone rather fake.
"As always, Harry, as always," the wizard replied conversationally, clearly not bothered by Harry's attitude. "It is Sunday, after all," he added with a short chuckle.
That prompted another eye roll from Harry.
"I see you brought a friend," the wizard said next, turning his eyes at Neville and affording him with another polite smile and a rather intense stare.
"I figured you wouldn't mind."
"Quite on the contrary," he assured Harry. "I've been wanting to meet Mr Longbottom for quite some time now."
A cold feeling settled at the bottom of Neville's stomach. He stared with his eyes widening in horrible suspicion as the stranger's smile changed and cold amusement entered his eyes.
"Would you care to introduce us, Harry? I don't think Mr Longbottom quite recognizes me."
"Right. Sorry, Nev, I forgot it's been a while since you've seen Tom here. So yeah, manners," Harry lazily gestured between Neville and the wizard casually leaning back in the wicker chair just scarce half a metre away from him, "Tom, meet Neville Longbottom, the other prophecy boy. Neville, meet Tom Riddle, the illustrious Lord Voldemort and Emperor of the Wizarding World."