Chapter 39: The Boys of Prophecy

Insofar as it involved actual, physical restraint, it had only occurred twice in his illustrious career. Yet this Neville already knew: he really, really hated being detained.

Of course, if he had a choice over what he would rather be physically restrained to, he much rather preferred the chair he was in now, as opposed to getting pinned to the crypt in the graveyard last term.

And unlike in the graveyard, where he had felt fear, here, watching Dolores Umbridge physically threatening him for entering her office, he felt nothing but anger. Anger at how she thought she was above the law, above everyone within this castle. This Ministry hack had inverted Hogwarts into a pyramid and placed herself on top.

Besides, he didn't exactly have time to dilly-dally. For the past few weeks, he had been having even more vivid, more horrendous nightmares than usual. Always the same one: Voldemort could be seen torturing someone whose face Neville never saw, as it was always covered in darkness. The prisoner was being tortured for information, information regarding a glass orb – a "prophecy," Voldemort called it – hidden somewhere inside the Ministry for Magic. In Neville's experience, it always seemed that Voldemort was after something: the Sorcerer's Stone, a new body, his old diary, and now this. Even if he might not have all the facts as to the importance of this latest object in Voldemort's latest, never-ending treasure hunt, Neville knew he had to get to the Ministry first and protect it. Whatever it was.

The anger only grew knowing that he wasn't out there fighting the real enemy, but instead had to defend his second home from an authoritarian wannabe – one whom Voldemort was probably just using. Umbridge might think she was important, that in turning traitor against what the Ministry was supposed to stand for, she might get more power…. but she really wasn't important and hopefully wouldn't accrue enough power that no one, not even the DA could stop her.

The anger burning through Neville now was one of helplessness, watching this cow walk and bully over everyone weaker than she was. Neville didn't like feeling helpless. He'd had his fair share of feeling that way when he was a small boy, and it had taken much to shake that.

All he really wanted to do right now was to punch this fascist bitch in the nose. Or at least refuse to tell her the real reason he had broken in to her office: to try and communicate with Dumbledore, who had predictably chosen this moment to abandon the castle much as he had been forced to during the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. Warn him of what was happening in the biggest, most sacred institutions of wizarding society – Hogwarts and the Ministry both.

"Very well, Longbottom," Umbridge yipped primly. "If you won't tell me voluntarily, I shall have to pull it out of you. Crucio should do nicely…."

Off to the side of the room, Hermione's jaw fell open in outrage. "That's illegal!" she cried, struggling against where Malfoy and a group of Slytherins who had bent the knee to Umbridge (they loved her methods, in fact) were holding her, Ron, Ginny, Harry and Luna hostage.

"What Cornelius knows won't hurt him," Umbridge dismissed, brandishing her wand menacingly. There was a tension to the woman's shoulder, almost like she was the one being threatened, instead of doing the threatening. From her point of view, twisted as it was, she had had her own personal domain invaded by meddlesome students who did not know that her policies were what was best for them. Neville merely glared back at Umbridge defiantly, silently goading her to do her worst.

A curse was just forming on Umbridge's lips when Hermione cried out:

"TELL HER, NEVILLE!"

Umbridge froze, switched targets to take Hermione in. "Tell me what?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Well, if you won't tell her about the secret weapon, Neville…. then I will!"

Neville had absolutely zero clue what his best mate was talking about, only that it seemed to pique Umbridge's interest.

"Where is this secret weapon?"

"We have to take you to it," Hermione explained.

"Release her," Umbridge ordered, ignoring how Draco looked entirely putout. "And untie Longbottom. I'll make them escort me! Guard the others here, but don't touch them!"

Hermione was forced to lead the way, Neville behind her, Umbridge bringing up the rear. When the bright, beautiful young witch tossed her chestnut curls back over her shoulder to steal a glance at Neville, he mouthed at her, 'What are you doing?'

Reading his lips, Hermione mouthed back, 'Improvising!'

Neville had always found he benefitted from having Hermione around to conceive bright ideas – the most brilliant people tended to be the most creative. Whatever game Hermione was playing, he would play along and hope that the game's ending moves resulted in Umbridge 'getting stuffed,' to borrow a well-worn phrase from Ron.

Hermione led them deep into the Forbidden Forest, Umbridge scanning about for anything out of place in this nature, scanning about for a 'secret weapon.'

Hermione's secret weapon turned out to be centaurs. Centaurs whom, upon Umbridge insulting them as a lower class of beasts, immediately dragged her away in a stampede.

"Come on!" Hermione led Neville in a dead sprint back to the castle. When they got to the Covered Bridge over the viaduct, they were surprised to see their four companions free and jogging towards them.

"What happened to you lot?"

A gleefully grinning Ron dealt out to his best friends what appeared to be wrapped pieces of candy. "Did you know the Fascist Cow has a sweet tooth? She'd confiscated all those candies from Fred and George, remember? So I told Malfoy and his band of mental midgets I was hungry and needed a sugar rush; of course, the greedy bastards ate the lot themselves!"

Neville had a grin slowly make its way onto his face. "And likely got puking and other maladies for their trouble!"

Hermione was blinking dumbly, her brown eyes warm with admiration. "… That was clever, Ron!"

Ron shrugged bashfully. "Been known to have 'em."

"I have to get to the Ministry," Neville reminded his followers.

"We're going with you!" Ginny vowed determinedly, and the steel in her sapphire eyes made it clear Neville shouldn't even try to refuse, as much as he might want to out of a desire to keep everyone safe.

"Gin's right, Neville: Dumbledore's Army was supposed to be about preparing for when we need to do something real. Or were those all just words to you?" Harry challenged.

The six exchanged glances. When Neville met Ron's eyes, his best mate shrugged. "Maybe… you don't have to do this all by yourself, mate. Not this time."

Neville took a deep breath and nodded. "But how do we get there?"

He should have known carefree Luna would have the answer, and that it would be the simplest. "We fly, of course!"

They took to the skies on threstrals, despite the fact that for everyone not named Luna and Neville, it was quite ruddy well challenging to mount a ride you couldn't even see. Urging their steeds on towards the Ministry and the setting sun beyond it, Neville caught sight of Luna balancing expertly on her threstral mount, calm as could be. She smiled at him, seeming so sure that everything would be all right, come what may. Neville grinned back at her gratefully. She truly was so….. amazing. Ron and Hermione were more steadfast than he had ever deserved, but he wondered how he had ever gotten on without her. His Luna.

Once they landed in London, it was actually Harry who got them into the Ministry, the bespectacled boy leading the way down in what seemed like a normal Muggle telephone booth. The booth sank underground like an elevator, dinging open into what the intercom voice called 'the Department of Mysteries.'

Rows and rows of shelves filled with glass orbs – with prophecies – greeted them. Recalling every little detail from his dreams that he had committed to his brain, Neville led his troops to the right row, to the right shelf.

"Where is it….?" he muttered.

"Neville…." Harry's voice suddenly called out with trepidation and bewilderment. "This orb…. It's got your name on it!"

Neville turned and reached out for the orb to which Harry was pointing. Holding the sphere between his fingers, he lifted his Lumosed wand and peered into the gray mist swirling inside the ball. There was a tag wrapped around the orb with string, the paper folded, and Neville opened it along the crease.

It read:

THE DARK LORD &… Neville Longbottom (?)

Below the crease was a second line of handwriting, and Neville had to peer closer to make it out.

OR…

….. Harry Potter?

At that moment, Neville heard the voice of Professor Trelawny as it seemed to come out of the orb, whispering in his ear:

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…. born to those who have thriced defied him, born as the seventh month dies…. and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives…

With that, everything clicked.

The prophecy, the one that Voldemort wanted…. was about himself. And it was about him, Neville. For he had defeated the Dark Lord as a baby. His lightning scar – that was what marked Neville as the Dark Lord's equal! And someday, either he or Voldemort would have to die – for neither can live while the other survives….

Keeping the prophecy cradled close to his chest, Neville folded the tag attached to it back up. He stole one glance at Harry, just for a split-second and then turned back to the orb, his mind in a whirl. Born as the seventh month dies….. to parents who have thrice defied Him….. Neville had never thought to ask Harry when his birthday was, except now he knew it must be at the end of July, same as his. Neville wondered if it was on the same day, or maybe a day or two apart. After all, he and his friends celebrated each other's birthdays all the time during the school year, except for his because it fell over the summer holidays. His friends still mailed him gifts though. Harry, it seemed, experienced the same.

Neville resisted the urge to glance at Harry again, lest it caught the other boy's notice and invited questions. It appeared that in another timeline, in an alternate history and world, Harry may have been the Boy Who Lived. He wondered if everything up till now would have happened just the same, if that had been so. At that moment, Neville decided that, for the sake of his friend, he would never be the one to tell Harry how he had come close to having a date with destiny. To having Neville's own destiny.

"Very good, Longbottom. Now turn around, nice and slowly… and give that to me."

Neville and his friends leaped into a posse ring, everyone covering a direction into this row of shelves, as dark, ombrous shapes materialized and surrounded them. Wiping a wand across his face so that the mask covering it disappeared into empty air, Lucius Malfoy grinned wickedly. Behind him stood a woman with frizzy, stringy black hair; next to him, Neville saw Harry blanche.

"To me, Longbottom…." Malfoy drawled.

There was sudden jerk of movement as Harry shifted his stance to stand right at Neville's side, brandishing his wand. "Don't you give it to him! Don't you give it to him, Neville!"

Lucius responded to Harry's fine display of determination by rolling his eyes. "Please, Potter, put that away before you poke your own eye out…"

"Did you say Potter?" The woman behind Lucius suddenly gasped, and she cackled like some sort of madwoman. Watching her insane face, Neville recognized her: it was Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman who had escaped from Azkaban along with Sirius Black two years ago, scrimmaging with her fellow escapee across England. "Why, I've had the distinct pleasure of meeting your parents, boy!"

"I KNOW YOU HAVE!" Harry roared, with an anger that Neville had seen in him only once before, back in third year. "And I'm feeling better knowing they're about to be avenged!"

He made an intentional lunge towards Bellatrix, and only Neville's hand stayed him. Though, he shared Harry's satisfaction at watching Bellatrix actually flinch.

"Enough of this! Don't be foolish, lad," Lucius pressured Neville. "That orb will be kept in much better hands with us. Don't you want to know who you really are? What really happened to your parents?"

Neville pretended to take a moment to think about it. He didn't need Lucius to tell him what happened to his parents; he already knew. As for who he was…. he didn't need the prophecy to tell him that. Neville already knew who he was, and what he was meant for. He had a purpose – all the prophecy had done was put it into words he wouldn't have been able to express himself.

"I've waited so long to understand…." he drew out.

"I know…." Lucius's voice dripped with faux sympathy.

"I guess I can wait a little longer…." Neville sighed. "Now! – STUPEFY!"

Five more choruses of the Stunning Spell went up, causing the Death Eaters to scatter and go on the defensive. In the confusion, Neville took the glass orb and hurled it down to the floor, and he watched with satisfaction as it shattered into little tiny shards, the voice within it never to be heard by anyone else. Seconds later, through the haze, Lucius Malfoy's hand came reaching out, coming up short. Death Eater and Chosen One locked eyes. Neville actually smirked, shrugged his shoulders, then blocked a furious spell barrage from the Death Eater as he actively engaged.

The first battle in the Second Wizarding War had begun. And while it took the Order of the Phoenix rather than Neville and his friends to finish it, victory was theirs.

After the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Neville was too exhausted to attend the End-of-Term Feast or endure Ron and Hermione asking him for the umpteenth time if he was all right. He swore sometimes his two best mates acted like they were his parents, always trying to coddle him and protect him. He knew they meant well, but with the prophecy about him and Voldemort now ringing in his head and his alone, Neville knew there very likely would come a time where he would have to face the dangers ahead alone.

Which is why he had taken to wandering the halls on his last night here, before returning to Orkney Islands for another summer with Gran.

This was where he found Luna, hanging up some posters.

"How come you're not at the Feast?"

"Lost all my possessions," she gestured back at the poster she'd just hung up. "Apparently, people have been hiding them."

"That's awful!"

"Oh, it's all in good fun!" Luna assured him. "But as it's the last night, I really do need them back.

"Do…" Neville stuttered. "Do you want any help finding them?" He wouldn't exactly mind spending more time with Luna, especially before getting on the train tomorrow. She merely shook her head at him, smiling softly. There was a beat of awkward silence and in that moment, she took his hand.

"I'm sorry you lost the orb that was about you, Neville."

At the moment her skin brushed his, Neville felt electricity shoot up the entire length of his forearm. He glanced down at their enjoined hands before returning to holding her entrancing, silvered stare. But what shocked him more was that some way, somehow, Luna knew the prophecy they'd been after had been about him. How had she known...? She was... indescribable, this girl!

She nodded almost knowingly, smiling to herself. Another lulling silence reigned.

"Are you sure you don't want any help looking?"

"That's all right. Anyway, my mum always said the things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end…" As if to prove her point, they now looked up while passing under an archway, but instead of seeing a sprig of mistletoe, they now spotted a pair of Luna's sneakers dangling by their laces. "…. If not always in the way we expect." She took in a breath. "I think I'll just go have some pudding." And granting him a cheery little wave, she skipped off down the corridor, leaving Neville alone with his thoughts.