Author's Note: Trigger warning for mentions of alcohol abuse, torture, and vomit.

Please leave a review if you enjoyed this story. I would very much appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you!

Until next time.


CHAPTER EIGHT

Truth About War

Neville storms up the winding path through the unkempt garden. He slams through the front door and it smashes into the adjacent wall. The brunette takes a moment to catch his breath, to cool his simmering anger.

"Neville, in here."

He glances to his left and sees Ginny beckoning him through the archway. Behind her, an old woman sitting calmly in a couch, along with Ron, Charlie, Luna, and Hermione.

Neville frowns when he catches sight of Ron and he bites his tongue. He must speak with the old woman first. As he enters, he clears his throat to announce his presence, making all turn their gaze towards the archway.

"Good evening, Mrs. Aldeford," he says to the old woman, "I'm very sorry about disturbing you so late at night."

Margaret sniffs and sips at her tea, pointedly avoiding his gaze. "If you were truly sorry you would leave me be."

"That may be so, ma'am, but we do need your help." Neville approaches her and kneels down beside her. He gives her his most earnest smile as he often did with his grandmother.

That got her attention. Severe grey eyes slide to that smile, flicker up to the man's kind eyes. "Hmph. Your people have atrocious manners. Trespassing onto my property as if you owned the place. I never!"

"Yes. That's not normally how we do things..." Neville gives Ron a perplexed glance. The red head scowls at him and turns to face the window, shoulders flexing.

"Ron, you should apologise," Hermione says, nudging Ron gently. She gives him a worried look, hand reaching up to pinch his sleeve.

"Don't bother, dearie, my husband was the same. Foul tempered with terrible manners." Margaret sets down her cup and turns her gaze to each and every one of her nightly visitors. "What is it exactly you want from me?" Her eyes land on Neville, unwavering.

The Snake Killer smiles weakly. "I'm not quite sure if you are aware...but the man you have been living with, Tom, as you knew him, is actually a wizard called Harry Potter."

All eyes focus on the woman's reaction – and she gives them none. "Yes, I know. And?"

Neville rears back a tad, surprised. "Ah. Well..." He clears his throat and continues. "Harry is the key to winning the war against a very evil wizard and his followers. We've been searching for him for the past five years and the situation has become quite dire."

"For people with magic, you are truly ineffective," Margaret retorts. She swivels her cool gaze to the red head by the window. "You are Ron Woozle, correct?

The irate Weasley jerks around, teeth bared. "Weasley, you old bat-"

"You killed that innocent man, did you not?" Aldeford continues calmly.

The room rings as if her words were a thunderclap. Ron gapes at her before snapping his jaw shut, eyes burning slits.

Hermione turns from Ron, hand on mouth, not so much shocked as she is nauseated.

Ginny pushes herself from the archway and stomps to the front door, distancing herself from the others.

"From what I understand, the muggle threw himself in the line of fire. My brother did not mean to kill him," Charlie explains, though even he seems unconvinced.

"It wasn't an accident," Luna says from near the fireplace. She swivels on the foot stool she's using for a seat and reveals a tired expression, so unlike her usual state. "I saw the whole thing." Her large eyes flit to Ron. "You did a bad thing, Ron Weasley. Clear the nargles from your head before you make another dear mistake."

"I know what you want with my Tom," Margaret says sternly, wagging a finger at Neville. "Do not think for one second that I would just hand him over. I am not so easily fooled, boy. I am an Aldeford. We are pioneers, warriors, and visionaries. I may be just a simple old muggle to you, but don't you dare underestimate me. You might get scalded."

"If he doesn't die, you will die," Ron says, loudly. He steps closer to the old woman, chest heaving. "If he stays alive, countless of people will die, including muggles like you. Especially muggles like you. Our war is your war, you old bat. So you best tell us exactly where he went, or you'll end up just like that idiot back at the warehouse."

Margaret stares the young man down, her gaze never wavering. She turns to look at Neville, who watches her with worry writ across his round face. "Even if that were true, I do not know where he went. I made sure to keep myself ignorant of his whereabouts, lest something like this were to happen. Do your magic, torture me if you will – you won't get one iota of information from this old bat." With a sniff, the Aldeford matriarch picks up her teacup and takes a sip.

Neville hangs his head with a sigh and looks to the others. "I think we should leave Mrs. Aldeford be."

Ginny clicks her tongue and pulls out her wand, impatience contorting her features. "No, for once my idiot brother's right. If we don't get what we need now, we could lose this war." She glances to Neville. "This is what it's about, Snake Killer. One life for the greater good. We can't afford to make mistakes. We can't afford to lose a single battle. Remember?"

A hard look crosses Neville's features. He looks to Luna, Hermione, and Charlie in turn for support, for validation. But they all avoid his gaze. What have they become?

This is not the Order. This is not the war he wanted to fight. But then, war was never meant to be easy.

Neville sighs and stands, giving Ginny a slight nod. "I'm sorry about this, Mrs. Aldeford. I truly am," he says to the old woman. She simply scoffs over her tea cup, seemingly unperturbed.

With heavy eyes, Ginny draws close to Margaret and raises her wand. "Legilimens."


Draco Malfoy leans against the hay bale, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He flicks a cockroach from his pants with a wrinkled nose.

"I know you are trying to live as a muggle and all, but do we really have to stay here?" he asks Harry, voice heavy with disgust.

Harry shifts on his makeshift straw bed, blinking at Draco by the lantern light. "I just...need to rest. Okay?" His voice is hoarse, words slurred.

The Death Eater frowns at his reply but simply shrugs. "Whatever you say, Potter. Guess you feel right at home, huh?"

Rain drums loudly against the roof the barn, sending a few horses shifting nervously in their stalls. Harry stares up at the ceiling, deep in thought. After some time, he says, "Gideon was one of the good ones. He was honest to fault and he always checked up on me, even though he wasn't doing too good himself."

Draco rolls his eyes and picks at his nails. "I said I would protect you, Potter, not act as your therapist."

"Don't listen then," Harry murmurs, pulling himself up into a sitting position. He sits slumped over, matted locks falling across his dirty face. Green orbs stare at nothing. "Did you know he saved my life? I drank too much and fell asleep in the Faulkner fountain. Almost drowned, can you believe it?" He lets out a bark of mirthless laughter. "He carried me all the way to the clinic on his back. Made sure I wasn't gonna choke on my own vomit."

The Malfoy heir perks up at that. He eyes the ragged man with some distant interest. "Why is it you drink, Potter? I have never seen you partake before."

"Does there have to be a reason? I drink because I enjoy it. Because it makes me feel somewhat human. I'm just a stupid muggle kid getting pissed with his friends, and for a moment, I can almost believe it."

"Why would you ever want to be a muggle?" Draco asks, eyes narrowed in confusion.

"How's the Death Eater life going for you, Malfoy?"

The Slytherin scoffs and glances away. Point made.

Harry pushes his hair from his face and turns his full gaze to Draco. "I don't want you hurting any of them."

"What?" An irritated edge.

"You want to protect me from the Order, fine. But I don't want you hurting them either. Got it?"

"Are you giving me orders, Potters?" Draco sneers, temper rising.

"This is your gig, not mine, Malfoy. Either you agree with me, or I walk."

An icy glint flashes in those emeralds. Draco hesitates. What is this?

"I don't know how you expect me to protect you without pointing my wand at those Order morons, but fine. As you wish, Potter." He spits out the last four words as if they were poison. Silently cursing his father (and the Dark Lord, though he would not dare to admit it), the blonde crosses his arms and gives Harry a sharp look. "You left them in the first place. I don't know why you are so concerned with their welfare."

The boulder in Harry's chest sinks into his stomach. Of course. What right does he have? Falling deep into a heavy silence, his gaze disappears into the gloom of the barn, escaping far from the reality that besieges him like a cold, uncaring shackle.