Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. The members of the Secret Sealing Club are the creations of ZUN.

Still alive, still going – as the conductor remarked shortly before the trainwreck.

Chapter 16 – The Bridge People No Longer Cross

Neville Longbottom was working in Greenhouse Four. Both hands were clad in dragonhide gloves, and in his right he held a small trowel of silver-steel, which broke the soil but left no particles of rust. If you were looking at him closely, you could see that his brow was furrowed; not with effort at his task, but with worry.

He was worried about Harry Potter.

It was the second week of November, three weeks since The Duel and three weeks since Harry had been assigned detention by the hag Umbridge, and Harry was behaving rather…strangely.

His attention span, as of late, was rather short, and he was getting rather forgetful, especially with homework deadlines. It was only with the unnamed (and now illegal) club that Harry seemed to be more put-together, pointing out even the tiniest errors in wand form and beating everyone that he duelled within seconds, though he had been late for the previous two meetings.

And then yesterday…

"Neville," Harry said. "I want you to take over the club leadership."

They were in a quiet corner of the common room, and Harry was dabbing at his hand with some Dittany that Neville had smuggled. As usual, several Charms had been put up, though it was late enough at night that everyone else had gone to bed. "What?" said Neville.

"You heard me."

"But why me?"

"You're my best mate and a good leader." Harry said. "Look, I know I haven't been the best these few weeks, and I've seen you helping them when I'm keeping to myself during break."

"Yeah, but what's wrong with you leading?"

"Nothing," Harry replied. "I just want someone else who can call meetings if I'm not around."

"Why not Susan? She's a better dueller."

"I don't know her well enough. But you, Nev, are reliable and familiar."

Neville shook his head. "You're barking."

"Am not. Anyway, how about we just try it out?"

"Knut for your thoughts, Longbottom? You're attacking that trough something fierce." A pleasant female voice wafted into his ear.

"Greengrass." Neville greeted. "No, nothing much."

"So your head is empty as usual, Longbottom."

"Oh, be quiet," Neville rolled his eyes.

Daphne Greengrass and Neville Longbottom. An odd friendship, coming from two houses traditionally opposed, founded upon love of plants and an unspoken agreement to not talk about Pureblood politics or etiquette.

(Neville thought that she had enough of that in Slytherin, and Daphne had just looked at him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Everyone needed a place to let loose.)

"Surely you can tell me what's going on." The Slytherin shoved in beside him. "Move over. Unless, of course, it's about her?" Daphne waggled her eyes over at Hannah Abbott, who was fussing over a pot a few plots over, her blonde hair up in a bun.

"You always think it's about her." Neville shook his head.

"Well, am I wrong?" The girl had an impish smile.

"I regret ever telling you my feelings." Neville said, in lieu of a yes or no.

(Those who did not see Neville in his element, quite literally, usually assumed that he had no backbone. It simply just remained hidden most of the time.)

"Speaking of which, here comes your upperclassman now." Neville continued. "Two Sickles she tells you off again."

"Two Sickles she gives you her signature look of disdain." Daphne immediately counteroffered.

"Greengrass! Less chatting, more working." An older-looking girl with choppy brown hair sauntered over, a haughty expression on her face.

"Guess we're even for the hundredth time in a row," Neville immediately muttered under his breath.

"Longbottom, you have something you want to say?"

"Nothing," Neville said quickly.

"Well, then, I do. Step outside for a bit?"

Neville glanced at Daphne, who simply looked back at him in a just because we're both Slytherins, you expect me to read her mind? kind of way.

"Fine then." Neville shed his gloves.

Outside, the sun was setting, and Neville took the opportunity to stretch. "What do you want, Carrow?"

Flora Carrow, Slytherin Sixth Year. In Third Year, after it was revealed that their Defence Professor Remus Lupin had been a werewolf, Neville and Daphne had a long talk about the concept of nominative determinism (though not using that exact phrase), and they came to the conclusion that it was better to not think about it.

"You're best friends with Potter, correct?" Carrow said.

"What's that to you?" Neville instantly replied.

"Well, people have been noticing he's acting weird lately. Do you happen to know anything about that?"

"Dunno," Neville said, and tried to think quickly. I'm not ruling out Snape, a fragment of memory seemed to say, and Neville felt himself reaching for his wand. "Why do you want to know?"

"Various reasons." Flora said noncommittally.

"If you want to know, you can ask him yourself." Neville said. Flora Carrow, always prim and proper, with impeccable manners typical of a Pureblood from an old family, who dined with ministers and Malfoys on a regular basis. Yeah, he definitely wasn't saying anything.

"He's been rather closed off as of late." Flora remarked. "Really, it's a shame that Malfoy can't look past a few petty rivalries, else most of Slytherin would probably want to get to know him. A terrible shame."

"You tell me," said Neville neutrally. It seemed to be either a terrible shame that we couldn't know him better, or a terrible shame that Malfoy mucked it all up for us and we don't have the social standing to inflict sufficient retribution. Either way, the Slytherin senior was unusually talkative, which, as Neville recalled, usually meant that she wanted something out of him.

After a few more minutes of small talk, Neville returned to his work.

"So, what did she want?" Daphne casually said.

"To know more about Harry Potter." Neville sighed. "Also, stop scheming. I can practically hear your brain working."

"Sorry," said Daphne said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

"Your House seems to be quite interested in him, though."

"Can you really blame us?" Daphne grabbed a handful of seeds and began inserting them delicately into the soil. "He is the rumoured Heir of Slytherin after all. Don't tell me you forgot Second Year already?"

"He pulled Gryffindor's sword out of the Sorting Hat," Neville pointed out.

"No rule you can't be heir of two Houses at once," the girl said without missing a beat. "With the amount of incidents that he's been involved in, it wouldn't surprise me."

Not to mention the whole thing about You-Know-Who. The statement hung in the air, unspoken.

~~[q]~~

"Sorry, Harry," Renko said. "Merry needs her rest. Conducting lessons as normal is hard enough already."

"I understand," said Harry quickly, though he couldn't quite hide the disappointment from his voice. "Do you know when she'll get better?"

"No clue. I'd tell you if I knew." Renko shrugged. "But she asked me to pass on a message."

"What, to me?"

"Yes. Well, I don't remember what she said exactly, but the gist is for you to keep practicing, stay safe, and take care of yourself."

"Bit of an odd wording there, 'stay safe'."

"She was especially adamant about that part." At Renko's serious tone, Harry resisted the urge to reach for the special necklace tucked away in his back pocket. She can't possibly know…can she?

"Yeah, well, I'll do my best." Harry ran his fingers though his hair. "Is there anything I can do for her?"

"I think respecting her wishes for your well-being would be sufficient, Harry. Though I will pass on the fact that you offered."

"Like I said, I'll do my best. Thanks, Professor Usami."

Renko watched the boy walk away, and shook her head. I don't need to be Merry to see that something's off with him, and I seriously doubt that asking him to come in for tea is going to solve anything. Closing the office door, she turned to the kettle and poured herself two cups of the aforementioned beverage. It also doesn't help that Merry can't seem to be able to look him in the eye after our little chat with the old man.

She opened the door to the office's other section. "Merry, your tea."

"Leave it here." Merry said, without looking up. The table was strewn with various Arithmantic scribbles and diagrams, along with many other self-written notes. Occlumency…mental world…conceptual gradation…

Renko sat down the tea, then went around behind Merry and placed her hands over her eyes. "Guess who–o~"

"Renko…" Merry leaned back into Renko's midriff. "I don't know how to tell him."

"Just say it."

The Law of Parsimony. Occam's razor. The simplest explanation was usually true. Harry Potter had a dark presence in his mind, had survived at the hands of a Dark Lord at the age of one, and was destined to defeat the same Dark Lord. Thus, the simplest assumption to make was…

"His mental state is fragile enough as is." Merry mused, still leaning back. "And yet…it almost seems as if he already somehow knows, in the depths of his soul."

You do not toy with fate. You do not toy with causality. The youkai magician of the Boundary herself had told her once before long ago, with grave seriousness. For all her dislike for Yukari Yakumo, for all that she resented her for being shanghaied into an "apprenticeship", Merry acknowledged age and experience when she saw it.

Was she supposed to interfere? Or not? Dare she tell him, and risk an explosion, the shattering of the façade, the glare of the light when the curtains were drawn away? It was a miracle that someone with his upbringing had turned out as well as he did, and miracles, in the real world, are never free.

"I don't know what to do, Renko. It's not just a...an open channel. It's a piece of the Dark Lord himself."

"Well, you're not going to get closer to the answer by wearing yourself out like this. Bed. Now."

~~[q]~~

Sometime after the Ravenclaw dorm break-in, Harry had looked further into magical theory, and learnt a bit more essential knowledge, such as the fact that all wand motions were originally based on runes (or some form of language or script), even if they later deviated.

The leap of logic Harry had made was that learning the runes would made learning new spells easier.

Of his circle, Hannah was okay at Ancient Runes, and Luna was near the top of her class, and so Harry had received a good enough explanation about the meanings of each singular rune ("don't get me started on what happens when you combine them," Hannah had said, with her head in her hands. Luna had simply flipped open Spellman's Syllabary and pointed at the appendix, which held a clear and concise table.)

Well, there were only twenty-four of them, and for his purposes he only needed to know the basic meanings. Any idiot could learn the meanings of twenty-four pictures if given enough time, and Harry was no idiot.

…Well, he was no idiot, but somehow, he was having problems getting the knowledge to stay in his brain. And then there was the odd feeling of familiarity to some motions, as if there had been something that he forgot, as if he was remembering, and not learning…

Slash, twist, slash, slash. Thurisaz, for thorn and the Norse god of thunder, and Harry shouted, picturing lightning, all jagged spikes and severe power. "Fulminis!"

Light filled the Room and for a moment, Harry saw nothing. When he came back to himself, thirty seconds later, he swore out loud.

I better not make this a damn habit. At least I'm on my feet. A quick Tempus. And it's only been a minute.

His bones felt like they were made of lead, but still, he forced himself to remain standing.

Run through the simulation one more time.

His mind felt like a rusted machine, but still, he forced himself to think, to cast.

The golems in their bone-white masks came, once again, randomized. A Concussion Jinx high, a Ribbon Cutter low, dodge down and away to the left…

An Expulso. Another Expluso. And fire and lightning.

Incendio, the Fire-making Charm, was a stupid spell to use in combat. He didn't want to light a fire, not really.

He wanted all of them to burn.

"Firaga. Fulminis."

~~[q]~~

Some time later Harry exited the Room of Requirement. Walking quickly, he ducked into a nearby alcove and spun his scavenged Time-Turner three times, disappearing on the spot.

This would not normally be a problem, since he was usually Disillusioned, and there was usually nobody around at the corridor. Unluckily for him, neither of those facts held true this day.

While nobody was in the habit was following him, he had been spotted. The figure narrowed their eyes and sniffed the air, smelling it to be singed.

Regarding Neville: he's always been the odd man out within the Gryffindor boys, so it would make sense for him to find his closer friends elsewhere.

This is a shorter chapter, comprising mostly of stuff mostly written back in December. I just wanted to not leave this alone for too long.

Happy Chinese (or Lunar) New Year to whomever's celebrating it.

Review please!