The rest of their fifth year at Hogwarts was a bit of an anti-climax. Neville was pale and weak all through the spring, only managing to summon energy when Madam Hooch suggested he could get himself back into 'fighting form' by flying.

"I've had quite enough fighting," he said. "But thank you."

She clapped him on the shoulder hard enough he flinched.

"When you change your mind, just let me know."

Harry spent his detention with Professor Snape scrubbing cauldrons by hand while Snape read Potioneering Magazine with his feet up on his desk. He read snippets out loud and then asked Harry what he thought before adding, "Oh, that's right, you have no idea."

"It was the most boring thing ever," Harry said glumly afterwards to Blaise. "But I'm never going to forget that the proper way to conjugate spells using holly is with the ablative."

"Useful," Blaise opined.

"Not really."

Astoria Greengrass transferred to Beauxbatons. Or, rather, was transferred against vehement objections that came to a halt when Daphne pointed out Paris was one of the fashion capitals of the world.

"I just don't think Hogwarts is safe," her mother said over lunch to her friends. "It's really too late to pull Daphne – she's in her O.W.L. year – but that boy was talking to Lord Voldemort for years, and no one even knew."

"Disgraceful," they all agreed.

"And with Dumbledore dead…" Mrs. Greengrass trailed off, but they all knew what she meant. Albus Dumbledore had been a legend, and no one knew who would take over his position.

"You could do it," Severus Snape pointed out to McGonagall over firewhiskey one night. "You're certainly qualified, if a bit prone to leaving cat hair on the furniture."

"I do not shed," Minerva said, taking a very calm sip of her drink. "And I'm not interested. You could do it."

"I lack the upper-class polish you know the board wants," Snape said. "And…" He turned his wrist up in a way they both knew meant he was a Marked Death Eater. Under his robes, a faded skull and snake lurked and would for the rest of his life.

"Such nonsense," Minerva said. "We wouldn't have saved those boys without you."

"I do feel I should have recognized something in Mr. Longbottom," Snape said. Since Easter at the Malfoy's, he'd taken to watching Neville, looking for signs of the defeated Tom Riddle in his mien, his steps, his magic. He hadn't found a thing, but reading through the boy's old homework assignments, he had, and all too clearly. In Neville's essays and lab reports, turns of phrase or sly asides were plain as day once Snape knew what – or who – he was looking for. But at the time, he'd written them all off as typical adolescent cheek. He'd regret that dismissiveness for the rest of his life and spend years worrying Neville was scarred by his long association with Voldemort, albeit in a less obvious way than he himself was.

"He is in my House," Minerva said. "If anyone should be faulted for not recognizing he was being consumed, it is me."

"I knew the monster," Snape said. "The greater fault is mine."

Minerva let the matter drop. "How's Slytherin looking with Quidditch this spring?"

"Fine," he said. "Better than Gryffindor. Have Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy managed to interact civilly yet?"

"I'm sure they will work it out," she said. "Eventually."

"But will they work it out before their hostility costs you the last match?"

Augusta Longbottom was happy to blame anyone and everyone for her son's descent into the diary. She sent a vehement letter to Hogwarts, a scathing one to Remus Lupin, but she saved the most pointed of her invective for Narcissa Malfoy and wrote not one but two separate Howlers. Narcissa Malfoy né Black had a sister who had destroyed Augusta's son. Clearly, that sort of Voldemort-loving evil ran in the family because it was a diary that Narcissa had so carelessly misplaced that had fallen into Neville's sweet hands.

When the second one burnt itself out, Lucius looked at his wife. "She does have an impressive vocabulary."

"Indeed." Narcissa had planned to let the first Howler pass. Fear for a child was a real thing, and the shock of discovering one's child had been sucked into Voldemort's orbit was a nightmare she understood. Being yelled at twice, however, was too much.

Dear Augusta, she wrote. Perhaps if you knew your grandchild better, you would have noticed he was being influenced by evil. Perhaps if he weren't so afraid of you, he would have confided in you instead of an artifact. I have spent the last decade slowly destroying all of Voldemort's remains to protect my children, and I will not be lectured by a woman who can't even be bothered to ask how her grandson how he is and listen to the answer. If you were a fit guardian, he would have been as safe as both Harry and Draco were. As always, Neville is invited to join us this summer, an invitation which leads me to point out that you are the one who isolated him from his peers and made him vulnerable to flattery from a book.

Wishing you the best. Narcissa Malfoy

Augusta had no intentions of letting Neville spend the summer with the Malfoys, no matter how lovely their beach pavilion was, but when he met her at the train station, and informed her that that's what he would be doing. She sputtered and glared and told him that no, he was not.

"I'm of age," he said simply. "Or will be shortly. And you will not keep me locked in that house against my will."

"We'll see how your O.W.L. scores are," she said, which was as good as admitting he could do as he liked.

Neville's O.W.L. scores were superb. Luna had been correct when she pointed out he'd had a very good private tutor in magic, and combined with years of loneliness and a burning desire to prove himself that had turned him into a remarkable wizard. Minerva McGonagall looked at her copy of the report and spent a good thirty minutes fretting whether the scores were valid given everything.

She poured herself a drink and stared at the row of 'Outstanding's. She would have to arrange for him to get private tutoring next year, simply to keep him out of trouble. Bored sixteen-year-old boys were never good news.

Was Neville evil was her real worry. Could any boy who'd learned as much as he clearly had at the hands of Lord Voldemort be trusted.

She asked Severus.

"The first thing the boy did when he found out that diary was part of Lord Voldemort was destroy it," he said with disdain. "Despite the fact it was his only friend and that it had to cause him physical pain to do. He's ridiculously noble. Pathetically so, even. A Gryffindor to his core."

"An excellent trait," Minerva said with a sniff, but she was reassured.

Harry's scores were not great. He greeted with unabashed relief because no one could make him do N.E.W.T. level potions now. No more Snape in his life. Remus felt like he should say something about the marks, but the family therapist they started seeing at the beginning of the summer holiday counseled against it, pointing out that grief played out in many ways, and struggling with schoolwork was very common. "See what happens next year," she said. "Give him space to be imperfect right now."

"He's been doing great at that," Remus muttered.

"Trauma does that," the counselor said. "And loss. And you two had both this year. He isn't a brat for acting out, and he isn't lazy for getting bad marks. He's a boy struggling with a burden he doesn't know how to handle."

Hermione was furious at hers. "What do you mean I only 'Exceed Expectations' at Defense Against the Dark Arts?" she sputtered when the owl arrived.

Her mother found her ire perplexing. "You have ten Outstandings," she pointed out. "Isn't that the highest mark?"

"Well, yes," Hermione admitted. She stabbed at the offending 'E' on her report. "But this isn't fair. I was in a battle against a dark lord risen from the dead out of a cauldron! I should get extra credit for that!"

Jean Granger spent a lot of time not sure what was going on in the Wizarding World, and she wrote most of what Hermione talked about off as either metaphor or exaggeration, but she thought she should double-check on that one. "Was that a project in an extra-curricular club?" she asked. "Like the time you captured the pixies?"

Hermione turned a dull red and shoved her marks away. "Yeah," she mumbled. Jean suspected she wasn't getting the entire story but wasn't that the way of it with teenagers. They always thought they were the first ones ever to discover sneaking out and alcohol and sex. She wondered what 'dark lord risen from the dead out of a cauldron' really meant.

Probably some lab, though the possibility that 'dark lord risen' might be a sly way of saying penis make her snicker when she related the story to Hermione's father that night.

"Kids," he said fondly, then, "It's not a bad mark, is it?"

"The second best one," Jean said. "She's too hard on herself."

Draco was more sympathetic. "We fought Voldemort," he agreed. "In the hallway of my house. He was right there."

"What else are we going to have to defend against?"

Hermione demanded. She was in a righteous tear about how very unfair the mark was. The Malfoy house-elves bustled around her, packing up towels and snacks and the pavilion for the trip to the beach, and she and Draco had been told to stay out of the way or else. That left plenty of time for complaining about her miserable 'Exceeds Expectations.'

"We did the research! We went to the library, we found out about Horcruxes, we found a way to destroy them."

"If we hadn't done that," Draco began.

"Exactly," she said with triumph. "It was basically the most important extra credit project ever, and it should be taken into account even if Neville did the actual diary destroying."

Blaise and Harry had arrived early enough to hear the second (and third) round of her logic, and Blaise was very thoroughly over it.

"You plan to tell the Ministry that first you stole a book you weren't allowed access to, and then you broke into a teacher's private supply closet, and then you took his things?" he asked.

"I didn't steal the book," Hermione said.

Blaise raised his brows and gave her a long, steady look. "If I stole it, I'd still have it," she insisted. "We put it back."

"Oh, I'm sure the Ministry will be very happy to hear that. Sure, I took an evil book and did evil research, but I didn't keep it."

Hermione looked desperately at Harry, wanting him to back her up. He'd never been one to avoid trouble or sneaking around or breaking into places where he wasn't supposed to be, so if anyone would appreciate her exploits, it should be him. But he just shrugged. "You care too much about grades," he said.

He and Draco had spent the spring circling around one another. Harry was more comfortable hanging out with Blaise, who agreed that the Malfoys had used Sirius as a sacrifice when they could have done the job themselves, but bit by bit, he was edging back closer to Draco. He wasn't thrilled Remus had informed him that he was going to the beach with the Malfoys for a week, but he didn't flat out refuse to go.

Remus considered that minor progress. He, however, was not going. Sirius had been Narcissa's cousin, and she'd loved him because he was family. Sirius' werewolf housemate – no matter what they'd been to one another in private – wasn't quite as welcome. Her invitation had included him, and Remus knew if he accepted her perfect manners would keep her from saying anything inappropriate, but he didn't think he could spend a week in a magical tent with her. Sooner or later, he'd come out and tell her Sirius' death was her fault, and that would undo all the progress Harry had made in therapy.

Plus, honestly, a week without two sixteen-year-old boys in the house sounded like heaven. Let Narcissa deal with them.

"Have you boys all done the sunscreen charms?"

Narcissa Malfoy asked, bustling in to do one last check of the supplies before heading to the shore.

Blaise rolled his eyes.

"You can still burn," she said. "And if you think I'm giving your mother an excuse to show up here and fuss, then you are very much mistaken."

Neville stepped out of the floo, bag clutched in one hand and a faintly uncertain expression on his face. "And sunscreen on you too," Narcissa said to him. "Everyone apply the charms three times. Do not think I won't check."

"Fine," Blaise muttered, but the tiny hint of a smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth made it clear his irritation was more the expected adolescent grouchiness than anything real. There was something to be said for a certain amount of smothering care. Not that Blaise would ever admit that out loud.

"Hermione?" Narcissa asked.

"Four times," she said. She held up a giant straw hat. "And Astoria sent this to me."

Blaise, Draco, and Neville all took small steps away from the hat.

"Honestly," Hermione said. "It's just a hat. With a few anti-sun charms on it. And maybe a hair-fixer charm as well. And a tiny attention-getting spell."

"Does it also do your homework?" Harry asked. "Because that would be useful."

"It's summer," Hermione said. "We don't have homework."

Pansy stepped out of the floo, Theo and Luna on her heels. "Shit," she said. "Was there summer reading? Because I haven't opened my trunk since I got home."

"What about your laundry?" Blaise asked.

"Blaisey Blaisey rhymes with Daisy," she said. "Are you offering to do it?"

"Don't you have elves?" he asked with scorn.

"We don't," Theo said.

"You have elves," Harry said.

"I meant summer reading," Theo said. "And all the elves quit. Hey, Hermione."

"Hey."

"What do you mean, quit?" Draco asked. "How does an elf quit?"

"They decide they'd rather not work in a place and leave," Narcissa said. She shooed them all into a large group next to the pile of beach gear. "I heard the Crabbes and Goyles have had similar problems keeping help."

"Turns out elves aren't fond of Voldemort?" Blaise asked.

"Firmly opposed."

"I can't imagine why," Hermione muttered.

"Because he was a mass-murdering would-be dictator?" Luna asked.

"Everyone set?" Narcissa asked, and she whisked them all to the beach for a one-week holiday before the summer ended and their sixth year began.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N - Thank you for reading and coming along on this story with me. We are almost at the end, and I appreciate you hanging in there for this long.