Chapter 16 - No News and Good News

Neville's insistence to Ginny that they couldn't look for Luna was all talk at the moment he said it. Yes, in his mind he knew there was no use, but in his heart, he had every intention of looking for her. He would check the news every day, listen to the radio, write to everyone he knew to try to find out where she'd been taken.

His gran picked him up from the train station. She nagged at him about the state of his clothing and his need for a haircut, about his posture while he sat in the car and the way he dragged his suitcase into the house. He knew better than to answer back. She was no Carrow, but he'd been on the receiving end of enough of her cuffs to the head to be willing to hold his silence. If he could make it happen, he wanted to get through the entire winter holiday without getting hit. An entire two weeks without so much as a slap sounded too good to be true.

He didn't waste any time when they arrived at the house. He went straight to his room, pulled out a stack of parchment, and went to work writing letters to people who might have seen her. He was careful about the words he used, speaking vaguely enough that it wouldn't matter if the letters were intercepted by Death Eaters

He also cast a spell on the Galleon to display a longer message this time, letting everyone in the DA know what had happened to Luna. They had the right to know.

Gran knocked on the door to his bedroom, and opened it when he didn't reply after a couple of seconds. "Dinner's on the table."

"Not hungry," he said without looking up from the letter he was writing.

Something about the way he said it must have let Gran know he meant it. She didn't pester him to come to the table. Late that night, when his hunger drew him to the kitchen, he found a heating charm had been placed over a full plate at the dinner table.

He smiled and sat to eat. "Thanks, Gran."

"Don't expect that every night," was her only reply.

Neville went to visit his parents at St. Mungo's on Christmas, like he always did. He brought them some homemade cookies that he'd burned slightly, since Gran had been too tired to help him bake them.

When Gran left him alone for a few minutes, he looked his mom in the eyes. "My friend is in trouble, Mom. What do I do?"

Her eyes wouldn't focus on his. They kept glazing off into the distance.

"Please. Just . . . give me something. I'm your son." He knew better than to think that someday, she'd start to remember him just because he kept coming back. She were too far gone—there was nothing left of her.

It almost made him angry this time, a different kind of angry than he had ever been. He'd had the Cruciatus now. Granted, he hadn't experienced for anywhere near as long as his parents had, but that only enabled the illusion in his mind that he could keep some promise to himself never to let go of his mind, never to find himself in the state they were in. They had abandoned their own minds, and abandoned him.

He knew that was harsh, and wrong, and dishonoring to the sacrifice they had made. He knew. But it didn't stop the anger from boiling inside of him, just for a moment.

When Neville was little, he used to argue with Gran that he didn't want to go to the hospital to visit his parents. She told him the truth about what had happened around the time he received his Hogwarts letter. For some reason, hearing the truth made eleven-year-old Neville think he could cure them with enough prompting. He begged his parents to remember him, and he finished every visit with tears for awhile. Gran would take him home and hold him for minutes on end while he cried.

He hadn't cried at a visit with his parents since he was twelve. Today, he wanted to, but the tears wouldn't come.

Gran peeked in the door. "Ready to go?"

Neville wasn't, but there was nothing more he could do here.

"Alright, Neville." Her voice was gentler than he'd heard it in years, and she came over to take him by the arm. "Time to go."

He nodded, and she led him out of the building. He was too old to cry in her arms, but she reached over to rub his shoulder when they got in the car, and she pulled him into a quick hug when they were safe in the house, before letting him disappear into his room for the remainder of Christmas day.

Neville checked the Post every day, sifting through the letters before Gran could get a chance to check them. Once, he snatched the letters from the table as Gran had been reaching to pick them up, earning himself a sharp smack to the head. He barely felt the sting, but the frustration was greater than ever.

It didn't matter who had gotten to the letters first, anyway. There was no news of Luna. A few of the people he had written responded to his messages, but they didn't have any information for him. His anxiety grew with each passing day.

"Your head's in the clouds," Gran snapped at Neville over dinner, the night before he had to head back to Hogwarts.

"I've got a lot on my mind."

"Do you, now?"

He seethed. "My friend was kidnapped off the Hogwarts Express."

It was quiet for a little while.

Neville finished eating as quickly as he could and stood with his plate.

"You're lucky to be at Hogwarts, you know. I hear Harry Potter's off fighting the war for us."

Neville dropped his plate into the sink a little harder than he'd meant to.

"Careful with that!" she barked.

"I'm not Harry Potter, Gran! Do you even know what's happening at Hogwarts?"

Her eyes narrowed. "No, I do not."

"Death Eaters are running the school. You knew that much, didn't you? Knew Snape had taken it over and hired Death Eaters as professors. I'm running Dumbledore's Army—that's that defense club that Harry Potter started to make sure everyone could defend themselves against an attack. You know what happens when we get caught rebelling against the Death Eaters? We get beaten, or we get the Cruciatus. But you didn't know any of that."

"That's true."

"Because you don't care about what's happening to us. You only care about what's happening to Harry Potter."

"No, it's because you haven't written in months. The only news I get is from the Quibbler."

"It's probably because of the Quibbler that they kidnapped Luna! She's Xenophilius Lovegood's daughter."

Gran was silent. She didn't say anything for the remainder of the evening, but the helping of pie she brought up to his room and placed on his desk without a word was the largest he'd ever been served in his life.

On the first day of the new term, the Carrows were so bad that Neville doubted for a moment that Luna's situation could be much worse than theirs. Then he chided himself for even thinking something so hideously lacking in perspective.

Even at Hogwarts, no news of Luna came. For a couple of days, Neville received no letters at all. Then a few replies to his past letters, with no information.

But a letter from Gran came, three weeks into the term. He took it into his dorm room to read it, just in case the words were sharp enough to make his eyes water.

Neville,

Death Eater came after me today. He's in the hospital now. I'm on the run. Don't write for awhile.

I've enclosed clippings from the last twelve issues of the Quibbler. Good news about victims who were kidnapped but found and recovered from injuries. Never lose hope.

This war will end, and we will win it.

You are doing good work. I could not be more proud of you.

With love,

Gran

Neville had been right to read the letter in the dorms when no one was around. His eyes watered, and then overflowed.

He was happy to be the son of his parents, openly proud of them. He'd done his grandmother an injustice. He'd been so focused on her inability to say aloud that she was proud of him. Meanwhile, he'd never even thought to be proud of her.

He skimmed the news clippings, but went back to the the letter again, and again, and again, until he had memorized her words. Even once they were memorized, he folded the letter and placed it in his pocket. Every time he felt the crinkling paper, he remembered her pride and faith in him, and it filled him with warmth and confidence.

The next day, when he changed his clothes, he transferred the letter into the pocket of his clean uniform. He didn't want to be without it again.