AN: I was about as nervous as Harry when it came time to "meet" Frank Longbottom. I was beginning to feel out of my depth. A comic fantasy about … mental illness? Excuse me, but what made me think I could pull that one off? But Harry insisted that I give it my best shot. The allusion to /Monty Python and the Holy Grail/ was my own idea; I put it in months before I ever read Fred Weasley's hysterical "Hoard of the Rings" movie script.
******************************
Chapter 4: A Coward's Life
Harry was planning to accompany Neville and his Gran when they next went to visit Frank Longbottom, as he had done the first time. Several of the physicians at Mungo's had been alerted, and would have staff members standing by to render whatever assistance they could.
Harry had thought about how he would proceed when he saw Neville's Dad again. He concluded that the Drenching Spell was his best bet against the Curser, as he had made the most progress toward mastering it, but he wasn't sure how it would work with a ghost in someone else's mind. He didn't have a Plan B. He was sure that administering a potion to an apparition was beyond his abilities. The truth was that he still felt unprepared and out of his depth. Neither Snape nor Dumbledore had given him any specific advice at this point. He was on his own.
On Sunday afternoon, Lucretia Longbottom, the famous herbalist, arrived at Hogwarts in her best lace dress, red handbag, and vulture hat to take Neville and Harry to St. Mungo's. She looked kindly at Harry. "Good to see you back on your feet, young Potter," she told him. "I was a bit worried about you."
"I'm fine, thanks, Mrs. Longbottom."
Lowering her voice, she added, "You're the best thing that's happened to my son in a dozen years." She turned to her grandson. "Straighten your tie, Neville. Your father will want to see you looking your best."
"He will?" Neville asked in surprise. Probably his Gran wasn't given to such verbal flights of fancy.
"Well, he would if he were himself," she said tartly, "so it's best to be prepared."
"Yes, Gran," said Neville, tugging his necktie.
They went by Floo powder, from a fireplace in a small ante-room off the Great Hall. Neville went first, Harry second, and Mrs. Longbottom followed last. Harry made sure to pronounce "Mungo's Hospital" as clearly as possible, so as not to end up somewhere else (Honeyduke's, perhaps?), though he was even more nervous about this visit than the previous one, since more was expected of him.
Blue-uniformed aides met them in the lobby at their destination, and all too soon for Harry, they had arrived at the small room where Frank Longbottom lived out his borderline existence. A short, bearded wizard standing by the door shook hands with the three of them in turn. "I'm Dr. Leech; I know you Longbottoms well, and this must be Harry Potter. I wish you the best of success. We've been able to do very little for Frank, I'm sorry to say, but if you need anything, just ask. Today is one of his more difficult days." He waved them inside.
Frank Longbottom sat on a chair by his bed, his greying head in his hands. Neville went over to him and touched his arm. "Dad?"
No response.
"Dad, Harry Potter is here."
Frank lifted his face, his eyes focused on Harry, and his mouth formed the word Potter. He reached out for Harry's hand, took it, and indicated that Harry should sit on the bed. He slowly removed the Trempath from his pocket. Harry saw dark, muddy colours swirling sluggishly inside it. He met Frank's eyes again, and said, "I'm ready."
Pain lanced through Harry's scar when he took the Trempath. That at least he was prepared for. An image formed in his mind of the faceless, hooded Curser meting out torment with its wand. Without hesitation he began the familiar litany. "/You may think you can torture me into submission/ …" At the third line, he could hear Frank reciting along with him in a hesitant whisper, and by the end the man's voice sounded clear and strong. Together they finished, "/But that only strengthens my sworn opposition/To all you would gain from this grim inquisition/."
Those were the first words Frank Longbottom had spoken aloud in over ten years.
The two of them exchanged a look of grim satisfaction. Harry's scar still burned like fire, but he had more or less come to terms with the feeling. After all, it wasn't as bad as the Tickling Charm or the Sickening Potion. Now he had to figure out how to take the next step: to make the Curser real enough to his vision that he could give as good as he got. Harry felt for his wand with his right hand, and summoning his nerve, gripped the Trempath as tightly as he could with his left. Yes, it was working; his scar felt white-hot, and he could actually see a ghostly outline in a corner of the room, the spectre that haunted Frank Longbottom night and day. "Stand clear!" Harry gasped to the two relatives watching the scene with breathless fascination. He drew another breath, raised his wand, pressed the Trempath to his forehead, and in blinding pain screamed, "/Aquafrigida/!"
Harry held the Trempath pressed to his scar to keep the Curser as solid as possible while he played the jet of water over it. The pain stopped almost immediately, because the Curser, caught completely by surprise, dropped its wand and cringed under the blast.
"/Yes/!" Harry yelled. It was going just as he'd hoped; thanks to the power of the Trempath, the Curser was vulnerable to the Drenching Spell.
Through his elation Harry slowly realized that he was feeling a vast relief: not just his own relief from a few minutes of pain, but Frank Longbottom's relief from an eternity of it. A sense of comfort and safety spread through them both. Harry held his wand in one hand and the Trempath in the other, so the two could not clasp hands, but they were linked by the Trempath, and as their eyes met again Frank was smiling.
"Thank you, Harry Potter," he said.
"It's what I'm here for," said Harry. He hoped to keep the Curser at bay long enough to ask Frank a few questions. He shifted to get more comfortable, moving the Trempath down to a spot near his heart, and switching his wand from his right hand to his left. It was still awkward, but Harry lost no time in getting down to business.
"Who did this to you?" he asked.
At this question Frank Longbottom shrank into himself, sinking his head into his hands again. Through the Trempath Harry received a mixed impression of hurt, anger, resentment and confusion. Frank's voice came out muffled, through his hands.
"Told. Already told. Nobody believed me."
"Tell me, Frank."
"Not Crouch. Not Crouch. Everyone thought it was Barty's son. He tried, but couldn't go through with it. Too young. Not hardened enough."
"Who was it, Frank?" Harry asked again.
Longbottom grew more agitated. He rocked back and forth and his voice rose in pitch. "Died a hero's death. Died a hero's death. It couldn't have been."
"Who died a hero's death?" Suddenly Harry knew. But the Drenching Spell had drained his strength and he had to stop, hoping fervently that the Curser would take time to recover.
"Severus came. Severus came. Told him, but no one believed him either. Died a hero's death. That's all they said. Died a hero's death."
"You told Severus Snape?"
Frank nodded. "He came—like you. Years ago."
Harry said slowly, again, "Who did this to you, Frank?"
"Died a hero's death!" A cry of despair.
"Frank, who died a hero's death?" Harry could see the Curser collecting itself to resume the attack. He hastily sent another jet of cold water toward the apparition.
"Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew. Died trying to save James and Lily, they told me. But he came. He came. He said, Frank, where's Lord Voldemort? Where is he? And then he did—did—and he said no one would ever know who—and then Aurelle—he tortured her too—" Frank wept behind his hands.
Harry was reaching the end of his strength. He could no longer sustain the tremendous effort required to disable the Curser and question Frank Longbottom at the same time. But he had to, long enough to make Frank understand one important thing.
"Frank, listen to me. Peter Pettigrew did not die a hero's death. He betrayed my parents amd their dearest friend. He is still living. I have seen him. He is the servant of Lord Voldemort. Peter Pettigrew did not die a hero's death, Frank. I believe Peter Pettigrew did this to you. It's just what the Pettigrew I know would do."
Frank brought his hands down, showing a tear-streaked face. "You believe it? He didn't die a hero's death?"
"I do believe it, Frank. Pettigrew is alive, living a coward's life. Your memory is not at fault. You are not mistaken." That was all Harry had strength for, but it was enough. The Curser brought up his wand and Harry felt his scar pulse with pain. Frank Longbottom drew a long breath and took the Trempath from Harry, accepting his burden once more. He looked much the same as he had when Harry had first entered the room. But the set of his shoulders was different. At long last he had been vindicated, and no longer carried the weight of knowing what no one else believed. He looked like a man ready to fight for health, if given a chance.
"I'll be back, Frank Longbottom," said Harry to the bent head. One hand came down and gripped Harry's in thanks and farewell.
Neville and Lucretia Longbottom were both crying unashamedly. "Harry, you did it! You did it!" Neville exclaimed. His grandmother pulled Harry close to her and shed tears all over him. "You did that just the way your father would have done, young Potter. I knew James very well." She mopped at her face with a lace handkerchief. "And I thought I might never live to hear another word from my Frank—" She blew her nose.
Harry decided that he didn't need to remind them that Frank was not all better. He had made enough progress for one day. He said, "Neville, I haven't seen your Mum yet. You're going to visit her today too, aren't you?"
"Are you sure you want to see her, Harry? Will you be all right?" Neville asked.
"Yes, it's time," answered Harry firmly. "Just give me a good drenching, will you, Neville?" he added. "That would really hit the spot. I'm roasting."
"Sure thing," said Neville. "Aquafrigida!" He soaked Harry thoroughly. He and has Gran said goodbye to Frank, but he appeared not to hear them. He had retreated to his world of private suffering.
* * * * * * * *
Aurelle Longbottom lay in bed with her eyes closed. She had been unconscious for weeks, Dr. Leech told them, and they had not been able to rouse her, afraid that strong measures might do more harm than good. Comparing the woman on the bed with his memory of her picture, Harry saw that her resemblance to Neville had diminished with the roundness of her face. Her cheeks were sunken and she looked impossibly frail.
"We're here, dearest," Neville's Gran told her, taking a limp hand. "Frank is going to be all right. He's getting the help he needs from this young man." At the mention of her husband's name, Aurelle's face changed; without moving a muscle, she almost seemed to be smiling.
"Mum, this is Harry Potter," Neville said to her.
"I'm here, Mrs. Longbottom. Aurelle," Harry stammered, feeling horribly awkward and embarrassed. With her husband it had been simpler; Frank Longbottom had asked for help and Harry had given it. But this sleeping woman's remote stillness made a wall that kept him at a distance. He wasn't about to start waving his wand and muttering incantations over her; it seemed rude and familiar, and hadn't everything already been tried, anyway, by trained professionals? He hesitated even to touch her or take her hand.
"I can't reach her. I don't know how to reach her," said Harry.
"It may not be your place even to try, young Potter," the old lady said gently. Then she asked him, "What you told Frank about Pettigrew—is it true?"
"I wouldn't lie to him, Mrs. Longbottom. It's quite true—Pettigrew is alive. It's a long story." Harry had a question on his mind too. "Professor Snape. What do you remember about him coming to see Frank?"
Lucretia Longbottom flushed and pressed her lips together. "I was informed that Severus was one of the people assigned to work with Frank, but nobody would tell me what came of it. They just put me off and said that Severus had done his best. I knew that something had gone far wrong, but not what it was, whether Severus was at fault, or whether they should even have trusted him in the first place." She put down Aurelle's hand, which she had been holding, and turned away.
Harry recalled snippets of information Dumbledore had given him the previous year. "Unfortunately, the Longbottoms' evidence was—given their condition—none too reliable." And about Snape: "He turned spy for us, at great personal risk."
Neville was saying, "I never knew that, Gran."
"I thought it was one of those things best forgotten, Neville," she replied, still with her back to them. Her shoulders moved in a sigh. "You two should be getting back to school."
"Before we go," said Harry, "I want to ask both of you to let me tell Professor Snape what Frank just told me, before you say anything about it to anyone else, even Professor Dumbledore. Snape deserves to know first."
"Very well, young Potter, we'll leave it in your hands," Neville's Gran agreed, turning back and putting a hand on her daughter-in-law's thin cheek.
* * * * * * * *
It was time for another look at the photo album. Harry had gone straight to bed when dinner was over, and Neville had told Ron and Hermione not to ask him any questions. Hermione had given him a small bottle with a dose of hellebore in it "just in case," and it was sitting on his nightstand.
Tonight Harry studied the picture of Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, James Potter, and Sirius Black that he had found near the beginning of the album—the Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs of the Marauder's Map. The four of them had been friends and co-conspirators at Hogwarts; Lupin was a werewolf and the other three had secretly become Animagi to keep him company. Pettigrew had learned to take the form of a rat.
Looking at the weak-chinned, ratlike face of Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail, Harry considered putting its eyes out and perhaps cutting the whole figure out of the picture. It wasn't the first time, either. Wormtail was culpable not only for the death of Harry's parents, but also for Voldemort's return to power. And now, thinking about what Frank Longbottom and his family had suffered at Wormtail's hands, Harry vented his anger and hatred by indulging in violent revenge fantasies. He ground his teeth when he remembered how he had spared Pettigrew's life and allowed him to escape, but because of it the miserable traitor was still alive and could be tormented. Harry decided he would start Wormtail off with a dose of the Sickening Potion, with a dollop of Panic Potion to give it extra wallop. Then he would try the Tickling Charm. Then he would take a page out of Voldemort's book and use the Imperius Curse to force Wormtail to mutilate himself, like the song about Brave Brave Sir Robin, who was not afraid to be killed in nasty ways, except that Wormtail would be very afraid and beg for mercy. He would finish off for the day with a blast of the Cruciatus curse, and then leave Wormtail's untreated wounds to putrefy and become gangrenous …
Harry noticed his heart pounding and his hands shaking, and he felt hot and feverish the way he had after his first visit to Longbottom. He had been priding himself on how well he had come through the rigours of the day, and thinking that he might not need the hellebore at all. At this rate he would never get to sleep without it.
Harry's thoughts turned to Professor Snape, and his anger ebbed, pushed aside by devouring curiosity. He had to find out more about Snape's part in the sequence of events. But before he talked to the Potions Master himself, there was someone else he wanted to consult.
* * * * * * * *
"I need to talk to Ivy Parkinson," said Harry the next morning over his breakfast sausages. It would have been easier to find an opportunity to see Pansy alone, since they had Potions together, but he and Pansy couldn't stand each other. Besides, he suspected that he could learn more from Ivy.
"She's right over there," said Ron, pointing with his knife and almost dripping marmalade on the tablecloth. "Sitting next to that Malfoy character, as usual. Just go over and take her by the arm, why don't you, and tell him you need to borrow her for a while."
Hermione was reading her copy of the Daily Prophet, just arrived by owl post. She said, "I see her in the library quite often. I've got loads of Arithmancy research to do there this week, so I'll stake it out for you. As soon as I see her come in I'll tip you off."
"Thanks, Hermione." Harry could tell that Ron and Hermione wanted badly to ask him about yesterday, but Neville must have been stern with them.
* * * * * * * *
That very afternoon Hermione found Harry and Ron working on their essays for Care of Magical Creatures in the Gryffindor common room. Ron had decided to research nifflers, and Harry had got permission from Hagrid to do a paper on Animagi, although technically they were humans, not magical creatures. He had to promise that he had no immediate plans to become an Animagus. "Ivy's in the library, Harry," Hermione murmured to Harry. "This is your chance." When he got there—yes, there was Ivy, wearing her long black hair in a single braid down her back, but Malfoy had joined her at one of the tables. Harry slipped behind a bookshelf and maneuvered to a spot behind Draco's back, where Ivy was facing him. He sat down as unobtrusively as possible and opened a book. He listened to the murmur of their voices, Ivy's tones quiet and even, and Draco's drawl sounding bored and petulant. "I can't find anything here. This is all a waste of time, anyway," Harry heard him complain. "I could make something up, and that great oaf would never know the difference." Harry knew that Malfoy must be talking about Hagrid, and a surge of inconvenient anger made him grip his book harder than necessary. Ivy calmly turned pages and helped Malfoy find what he needed. It occurred to Harry that Draco had attached himself to Ivy so he could make use of her in just this way, to bolster his sagging marks. Ginny had mentioned that Ivy was the best student of her year. Harry looked up, caught Ivy's eyes on him, and looked back at her, trying to convey his wish to speak to her alone. She gave him a small nod and went back to assisting her fellow Slytherin. Harry looked down at his book and actually managed to take in some of what he was reading. "There is no single, foolproof method for distinguishing an Animagus from an ordinary animal …"
In about a half an hour Ivy and Draco left the library, and Harry wondered what he ought to do next. He read another page which explained that to become an Animagus, you had to learn a great deal about the animal you chose to transform into, and actually spend time in the company of a member of that species. A chart grouped different animal types into "recommended" and "not recommended." Slugs were not recommended; neither were elephants, for practical reasons. The next page gave information about a wizard named Sylvanus Greenleaf, who had succeeded in becoming the only known Vegemagus. He had turned himself into an oak tree, lost his leaves, and returned to his human shape completely bald, obviously not recommended.
In the middle of a paragraph about rodent Animagi (like Wormtail, who deserved to die a thousand deaths) Harry raised his eyes and noticed that a book was still sitting on the table where Ivy and Draco had been studying. In a few more moments Ivy returned and collected the book, and without looking at Harry, disappeared into the stacks. Harry waited about two minutes, and then followed her. The route she had taken led to a curtained window, and he opened the drapes to find Ivy curled up cosily in the window seat as if she had been there for hours. Harry seated himself opposite her and let the drape fall closed again. Winter daylight sifted onto them through the diamond-paned window. "I need to know about Professor Snape, Ivy," he told her without preliminaries, "and I heard that he was your uncle."
"He is, Harry," she answered. "What do you want to know?"
"Something happened about ten years ago," Harry said carefully. "What's the earliest thing you remember about him?"
"Uncle Severus came to stay with us when I was very little," she anwered readily. "I must have been three. Mother told Pansy and me, 'You must play quietly so your uncle can rest. He has been very ill.' He stayed in bed for weeks, and a doctor came to visit him quite often.
"Even after he was allowed out of bed, he had to rest a great deal. I used to visit him in his study, and he would teach me things. Pansy sometimes came too, but she wasn't really interested in most of what we did—she just didn't want to be left out, especially when I learned to make my food change colors. Not many people know that Pansy's only my half-sister. She and Uncle Severus aren't blood relations. Pansy's father died before she was born, but my mother kept his name and gave it to both Pansy and me after she married my father."
After a silence Harry said, "There's more, isn't there?"
"Yes, there's more," Ivy said. But she appeared reluctant to share it.
"You must wonder why I'm suddenly so interested in Professor Snape's past," Harry prodded.
Ivy shrugged. "You have your reasons. I know more about you than you think, Harry Potter. In fact, I know a lot of things people think I'm not supposed to. In my first year, I found your Polyjuice potion in the girls' toilet. After all of you were finished with it there was a bit left and I took it away in a bottle. I saved it, but so far I haven't used it. I've interviewed all the ghosts I could find at Hogwarts. They love to talk to students and it's amazing what they know. In my second year, I saw you use the secret passage into Hogsmeade."
Harry turned all this over in his mind. "I think you're telling me that you know something about Professor Snape that you're not supposed to know."
"Do I ever," she agreed. "I don't know what he would do if he knew I knew, but I expect he wouldn't be a bit pleased."
"So if you tell me, you want to be sure you aren't put in, let's say, an awkward position."
"Rather."
"By me."
"Quite."
"But if you weren't going to trust me with what you know, you wouldn't have told me so much already."
"No." For the first time the self-possessed Ivy looked uneasy, realizing that she had indeed committed herself.
There was nothing more for Harry to say, so he waited, peeking out between the drapes to make sure no one else was listening.
Ivy drew up her black-robed knees and rested her small chin between them. "Uncle Severus got stronger and left us after about a year, I think, and came to Hogwarts. One night a while after he had gone my parents had a guest for dinner, someone who worked at Mungo's Hospital. After I'd been sent to bed, I got up to get a drink of water."
"Drink of water. Right."
"Staying awake in bed can make you really thirsty."
"I know."
"I heard voices downstairs, and sure enough, Mother and Father were talking about Uncle Severus with the lady from Mungo's. No one had ever told me why he was ill; it was just the way he was. So I stayed to listen. The lady said that Uncle Severus had tried to do something for someone named Longbottom, and wasn't it sad that he hadn't been able to do whatever it was.
"Father was angry. He said that Uncle Severus had taken an enormous risk and nearly died, and it was shameful the way he'd been treated, as if he had accomplished nothing. Father thought that the unfairness of it had made it harder for Uncle Severus to get well, though Uncle would never admit it and refused to say a word about it."
"You remember all this?" Harry asked.
"Well, I missed Uncle Severus a lot," Ivy said. "He was the only one in the house who didn't treat me like a baby and a nuisance. Mother and Father were always busy, and they used to put me off when I asked questions by telling me I was too young to understand. Father started teaching me more things as I got older. But Pansy was always the worst. She could never let me forget that I was the youngest."
"Ivy, do you know anything else, well, out of the ordinary, about your uncle?"
Ivy's expression grew severe. "No," she said flatly, "but I think you do, Harry."
Now it was Harry's turn to feel uneasy.
"Well?" she prodded.
"I'd better not say," he said simply.
"You probably promised someone you wouldn't," she surmised accurately. "Well, I won't ask you to break any promises, but it's much better not to make them in the first place."
"I'm sure you're right, but Ivy, there's something I have to tell Professor Snape, something that he really needs to know. Even more than I realized before I talked to you. I'll leave you out of it, though."
"That's fine, but don't make any promises on my account. And please don't try to be a big, strong hero for the sake of protecting delicate little me. I find that kind of thing very tiresome. Gryffindors are always running around acting like they're about to save the world, and everybody else should just stand back and admire their lofty motives."
"You're talking about me, aren't you?"
"Well, you're one of the worst," she said judiciously, but she seemed not to hold it against him. "A few of them are even more insufferable. Like that Hermione Granger you hang around with. She's a real piece of work. From a Muggle family, isn't she?"
"So was my mother," Harry reminded her. "I admit Hermione can rub people the wrong way, but she's nice when you get to know her," he defended his friend.
"Nice to you, I sppose. I've been seeing Neville Longbottom with you a lot more than I used to. He may not amount to much, but at least he's not insufferable. You know something about the Longbottoms, don't you?"
Harry nodded.
"I hope it's good news," said Ivy.
"I hope so too," agreed Harry. "Look, thanks for the information, Ivy. I owe you one."
Ivy looked straight back at him with serious eyes. "Yes, Harry, I think you do."
Harry opened the drapes a crack to reconnoiter. All he needed was for Draco Malfoy to come along and find the two of them deep in conversation. He thought about asking Ivy what exactly was going on between her and Malfoy, but decided that for the moment at least it was none of his business. He didn't want to antagonize Ivy, especially when she had been so forthcoming. And yet he was sure that Ivy had been furthering her own purposes by telling him what she had and then leaving him in her debt. It was a safe bet to appeal to the honour of a Gryffindor.
Seeing no one, Harry stepped out from between the drapes.
"I'll let you know how it goes," he said, turning back to Ivy.
"I'm looking forward to it," she said with a one-sided smile.
***************************
AN: Pettigrew's role in this story came as something of a shock to me too. Actually I made the whole thing up as I went along. I know I'm on shaky ground when constructing a backstory for Professor Snape, but I hoped that Ivy, as her uncle's advocate and representative, would give me some insight into what it's like to be a Slytherin. Things with Snape really heat up in Chapter 5, "A First-Class Slytherin."
******************************
Chapter 4: A Coward's Life
Harry was planning to accompany Neville and his Gran when they next went to visit Frank Longbottom, as he had done the first time. Several of the physicians at Mungo's had been alerted, and would have staff members standing by to render whatever assistance they could.
Harry had thought about how he would proceed when he saw Neville's Dad again. He concluded that the Drenching Spell was his best bet against the Curser, as he had made the most progress toward mastering it, but he wasn't sure how it would work with a ghost in someone else's mind. He didn't have a Plan B. He was sure that administering a potion to an apparition was beyond his abilities. The truth was that he still felt unprepared and out of his depth. Neither Snape nor Dumbledore had given him any specific advice at this point. He was on his own.
On Sunday afternoon, Lucretia Longbottom, the famous herbalist, arrived at Hogwarts in her best lace dress, red handbag, and vulture hat to take Neville and Harry to St. Mungo's. She looked kindly at Harry. "Good to see you back on your feet, young Potter," she told him. "I was a bit worried about you."
"I'm fine, thanks, Mrs. Longbottom."
Lowering her voice, she added, "You're the best thing that's happened to my son in a dozen years." She turned to her grandson. "Straighten your tie, Neville. Your father will want to see you looking your best."
"He will?" Neville asked in surprise. Probably his Gran wasn't given to such verbal flights of fancy.
"Well, he would if he were himself," she said tartly, "so it's best to be prepared."
"Yes, Gran," said Neville, tugging his necktie.
They went by Floo powder, from a fireplace in a small ante-room off the Great Hall. Neville went first, Harry second, and Mrs. Longbottom followed last. Harry made sure to pronounce "Mungo's Hospital" as clearly as possible, so as not to end up somewhere else (Honeyduke's, perhaps?), though he was even more nervous about this visit than the previous one, since more was expected of him.
Blue-uniformed aides met them in the lobby at their destination, and all too soon for Harry, they had arrived at the small room where Frank Longbottom lived out his borderline existence. A short, bearded wizard standing by the door shook hands with the three of them in turn. "I'm Dr. Leech; I know you Longbottoms well, and this must be Harry Potter. I wish you the best of success. We've been able to do very little for Frank, I'm sorry to say, but if you need anything, just ask. Today is one of his more difficult days." He waved them inside.
Frank Longbottom sat on a chair by his bed, his greying head in his hands. Neville went over to him and touched his arm. "Dad?"
No response.
"Dad, Harry Potter is here."
Frank lifted his face, his eyes focused on Harry, and his mouth formed the word Potter. He reached out for Harry's hand, took it, and indicated that Harry should sit on the bed. He slowly removed the Trempath from his pocket. Harry saw dark, muddy colours swirling sluggishly inside it. He met Frank's eyes again, and said, "I'm ready."
Pain lanced through Harry's scar when he took the Trempath. That at least he was prepared for. An image formed in his mind of the faceless, hooded Curser meting out torment with its wand. Without hesitation he began the familiar litany. "/You may think you can torture me into submission/ …" At the third line, he could hear Frank reciting along with him in a hesitant whisper, and by the end the man's voice sounded clear and strong. Together they finished, "/But that only strengthens my sworn opposition/To all you would gain from this grim inquisition/."
Those were the first words Frank Longbottom had spoken aloud in over ten years.
The two of them exchanged a look of grim satisfaction. Harry's scar still burned like fire, but he had more or less come to terms with the feeling. After all, it wasn't as bad as the Tickling Charm or the Sickening Potion. Now he had to figure out how to take the next step: to make the Curser real enough to his vision that he could give as good as he got. Harry felt for his wand with his right hand, and summoning his nerve, gripped the Trempath as tightly as he could with his left. Yes, it was working; his scar felt white-hot, and he could actually see a ghostly outline in a corner of the room, the spectre that haunted Frank Longbottom night and day. "Stand clear!" Harry gasped to the two relatives watching the scene with breathless fascination. He drew another breath, raised his wand, pressed the Trempath to his forehead, and in blinding pain screamed, "/Aquafrigida/!"
Harry held the Trempath pressed to his scar to keep the Curser as solid as possible while he played the jet of water over it. The pain stopped almost immediately, because the Curser, caught completely by surprise, dropped its wand and cringed under the blast.
"/Yes/!" Harry yelled. It was going just as he'd hoped; thanks to the power of the Trempath, the Curser was vulnerable to the Drenching Spell.
Through his elation Harry slowly realized that he was feeling a vast relief: not just his own relief from a few minutes of pain, but Frank Longbottom's relief from an eternity of it. A sense of comfort and safety spread through them both. Harry held his wand in one hand and the Trempath in the other, so the two could not clasp hands, but they were linked by the Trempath, and as their eyes met again Frank was smiling.
"Thank you, Harry Potter," he said.
"It's what I'm here for," said Harry. He hoped to keep the Curser at bay long enough to ask Frank a few questions. He shifted to get more comfortable, moving the Trempath down to a spot near his heart, and switching his wand from his right hand to his left. It was still awkward, but Harry lost no time in getting down to business.
"Who did this to you?" he asked.
At this question Frank Longbottom shrank into himself, sinking his head into his hands again. Through the Trempath Harry received a mixed impression of hurt, anger, resentment and confusion. Frank's voice came out muffled, through his hands.
"Told. Already told. Nobody believed me."
"Tell me, Frank."
"Not Crouch. Not Crouch. Everyone thought it was Barty's son. He tried, but couldn't go through with it. Too young. Not hardened enough."
"Who was it, Frank?" Harry asked again.
Longbottom grew more agitated. He rocked back and forth and his voice rose in pitch. "Died a hero's death. Died a hero's death. It couldn't have been."
"Who died a hero's death?" Suddenly Harry knew. But the Drenching Spell had drained his strength and he had to stop, hoping fervently that the Curser would take time to recover.
"Severus came. Severus came. Told him, but no one believed him either. Died a hero's death. That's all they said. Died a hero's death."
"You told Severus Snape?"
Frank nodded. "He came—like you. Years ago."
Harry said slowly, again, "Who did this to you, Frank?"
"Died a hero's death!" A cry of despair.
"Frank, who died a hero's death?" Harry could see the Curser collecting itself to resume the attack. He hastily sent another jet of cold water toward the apparition.
"Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew. Died trying to save James and Lily, they told me. But he came. He came. He said, Frank, where's Lord Voldemort? Where is he? And then he did—did—and he said no one would ever know who—and then Aurelle—he tortured her too—" Frank wept behind his hands.
Harry was reaching the end of his strength. He could no longer sustain the tremendous effort required to disable the Curser and question Frank Longbottom at the same time. But he had to, long enough to make Frank understand one important thing.
"Frank, listen to me. Peter Pettigrew did not die a hero's death. He betrayed my parents amd their dearest friend. He is still living. I have seen him. He is the servant of Lord Voldemort. Peter Pettigrew did not die a hero's death, Frank. I believe Peter Pettigrew did this to you. It's just what the Pettigrew I know would do."
Frank brought his hands down, showing a tear-streaked face. "You believe it? He didn't die a hero's death?"
"I do believe it, Frank. Pettigrew is alive, living a coward's life. Your memory is not at fault. You are not mistaken." That was all Harry had strength for, but it was enough. The Curser brought up his wand and Harry felt his scar pulse with pain. Frank Longbottom drew a long breath and took the Trempath from Harry, accepting his burden once more. He looked much the same as he had when Harry had first entered the room. But the set of his shoulders was different. At long last he had been vindicated, and no longer carried the weight of knowing what no one else believed. He looked like a man ready to fight for health, if given a chance.
"I'll be back, Frank Longbottom," said Harry to the bent head. One hand came down and gripped Harry's in thanks and farewell.
Neville and Lucretia Longbottom were both crying unashamedly. "Harry, you did it! You did it!" Neville exclaimed. His grandmother pulled Harry close to her and shed tears all over him. "You did that just the way your father would have done, young Potter. I knew James very well." She mopped at her face with a lace handkerchief. "And I thought I might never live to hear another word from my Frank—" She blew her nose.
Harry decided that he didn't need to remind them that Frank was not all better. He had made enough progress for one day. He said, "Neville, I haven't seen your Mum yet. You're going to visit her today too, aren't you?"
"Are you sure you want to see her, Harry? Will you be all right?" Neville asked.
"Yes, it's time," answered Harry firmly. "Just give me a good drenching, will you, Neville?" he added. "That would really hit the spot. I'm roasting."
"Sure thing," said Neville. "Aquafrigida!" He soaked Harry thoroughly. He and has Gran said goodbye to Frank, but he appeared not to hear them. He had retreated to his world of private suffering.
* * * * * * * *
Aurelle Longbottom lay in bed with her eyes closed. She had been unconscious for weeks, Dr. Leech told them, and they had not been able to rouse her, afraid that strong measures might do more harm than good. Comparing the woman on the bed with his memory of her picture, Harry saw that her resemblance to Neville had diminished with the roundness of her face. Her cheeks were sunken and she looked impossibly frail.
"We're here, dearest," Neville's Gran told her, taking a limp hand. "Frank is going to be all right. He's getting the help he needs from this young man." At the mention of her husband's name, Aurelle's face changed; without moving a muscle, she almost seemed to be smiling.
"Mum, this is Harry Potter," Neville said to her.
"I'm here, Mrs. Longbottom. Aurelle," Harry stammered, feeling horribly awkward and embarrassed. With her husband it had been simpler; Frank Longbottom had asked for help and Harry had given it. But this sleeping woman's remote stillness made a wall that kept him at a distance. He wasn't about to start waving his wand and muttering incantations over her; it seemed rude and familiar, and hadn't everything already been tried, anyway, by trained professionals? He hesitated even to touch her or take her hand.
"I can't reach her. I don't know how to reach her," said Harry.
"It may not be your place even to try, young Potter," the old lady said gently. Then she asked him, "What you told Frank about Pettigrew—is it true?"
"I wouldn't lie to him, Mrs. Longbottom. It's quite true—Pettigrew is alive. It's a long story." Harry had a question on his mind too. "Professor Snape. What do you remember about him coming to see Frank?"
Lucretia Longbottom flushed and pressed her lips together. "I was informed that Severus was one of the people assigned to work with Frank, but nobody would tell me what came of it. They just put me off and said that Severus had done his best. I knew that something had gone far wrong, but not what it was, whether Severus was at fault, or whether they should even have trusted him in the first place." She put down Aurelle's hand, which she had been holding, and turned away.
Harry recalled snippets of information Dumbledore had given him the previous year. "Unfortunately, the Longbottoms' evidence was—given their condition—none too reliable." And about Snape: "He turned spy for us, at great personal risk."
Neville was saying, "I never knew that, Gran."
"I thought it was one of those things best forgotten, Neville," she replied, still with her back to them. Her shoulders moved in a sigh. "You two should be getting back to school."
"Before we go," said Harry, "I want to ask both of you to let me tell Professor Snape what Frank just told me, before you say anything about it to anyone else, even Professor Dumbledore. Snape deserves to know first."
"Very well, young Potter, we'll leave it in your hands," Neville's Gran agreed, turning back and putting a hand on her daughter-in-law's thin cheek.
* * * * * * * *
It was time for another look at the photo album. Harry had gone straight to bed when dinner was over, and Neville had told Ron and Hermione not to ask him any questions. Hermione had given him a small bottle with a dose of hellebore in it "just in case," and it was sitting on his nightstand.
Tonight Harry studied the picture of Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, James Potter, and Sirius Black that he had found near the beginning of the album—the Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs of the Marauder's Map. The four of them had been friends and co-conspirators at Hogwarts; Lupin was a werewolf and the other three had secretly become Animagi to keep him company. Pettigrew had learned to take the form of a rat.
Looking at the weak-chinned, ratlike face of Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail, Harry considered putting its eyes out and perhaps cutting the whole figure out of the picture. It wasn't the first time, either. Wormtail was culpable not only for the death of Harry's parents, but also for Voldemort's return to power. And now, thinking about what Frank Longbottom and his family had suffered at Wormtail's hands, Harry vented his anger and hatred by indulging in violent revenge fantasies. He ground his teeth when he remembered how he had spared Pettigrew's life and allowed him to escape, but because of it the miserable traitor was still alive and could be tormented. Harry decided he would start Wormtail off with a dose of the Sickening Potion, with a dollop of Panic Potion to give it extra wallop. Then he would try the Tickling Charm. Then he would take a page out of Voldemort's book and use the Imperius Curse to force Wormtail to mutilate himself, like the song about Brave Brave Sir Robin, who was not afraid to be killed in nasty ways, except that Wormtail would be very afraid and beg for mercy. He would finish off for the day with a blast of the Cruciatus curse, and then leave Wormtail's untreated wounds to putrefy and become gangrenous …
Harry noticed his heart pounding and his hands shaking, and he felt hot and feverish the way he had after his first visit to Longbottom. He had been priding himself on how well he had come through the rigours of the day, and thinking that he might not need the hellebore at all. At this rate he would never get to sleep without it.
Harry's thoughts turned to Professor Snape, and his anger ebbed, pushed aside by devouring curiosity. He had to find out more about Snape's part in the sequence of events. But before he talked to the Potions Master himself, there was someone else he wanted to consult.
* * * * * * * *
"I need to talk to Ivy Parkinson," said Harry the next morning over his breakfast sausages. It would have been easier to find an opportunity to see Pansy alone, since they had Potions together, but he and Pansy couldn't stand each other. Besides, he suspected that he could learn more from Ivy.
"She's right over there," said Ron, pointing with his knife and almost dripping marmalade on the tablecloth. "Sitting next to that Malfoy character, as usual. Just go over and take her by the arm, why don't you, and tell him you need to borrow her for a while."
Hermione was reading her copy of the Daily Prophet, just arrived by owl post. She said, "I see her in the library quite often. I've got loads of Arithmancy research to do there this week, so I'll stake it out for you. As soon as I see her come in I'll tip you off."
"Thanks, Hermione." Harry could tell that Ron and Hermione wanted badly to ask him about yesterday, but Neville must have been stern with them.
* * * * * * * *
That very afternoon Hermione found Harry and Ron working on their essays for Care of Magical Creatures in the Gryffindor common room. Ron had decided to research nifflers, and Harry had got permission from Hagrid to do a paper on Animagi, although technically they were humans, not magical creatures. He had to promise that he had no immediate plans to become an Animagus. "Ivy's in the library, Harry," Hermione murmured to Harry. "This is your chance." When he got there—yes, there was Ivy, wearing her long black hair in a single braid down her back, but Malfoy had joined her at one of the tables. Harry slipped behind a bookshelf and maneuvered to a spot behind Draco's back, where Ivy was facing him. He sat down as unobtrusively as possible and opened a book. He listened to the murmur of their voices, Ivy's tones quiet and even, and Draco's drawl sounding bored and petulant. "I can't find anything here. This is all a waste of time, anyway," Harry heard him complain. "I could make something up, and that great oaf would never know the difference." Harry knew that Malfoy must be talking about Hagrid, and a surge of inconvenient anger made him grip his book harder than necessary. Ivy calmly turned pages and helped Malfoy find what he needed. It occurred to Harry that Draco had attached himself to Ivy so he could make use of her in just this way, to bolster his sagging marks. Ginny had mentioned that Ivy was the best student of her year. Harry looked up, caught Ivy's eyes on him, and looked back at her, trying to convey his wish to speak to her alone. She gave him a small nod and went back to assisting her fellow Slytherin. Harry looked down at his book and actually managed to take in some of what he was reading. "There is no single, foolproof method for distinguishing an Animagus from an ordinary animal …"
In about a half an hour Ivy and Draco left the library, and Harry wondered what he ought to do next. He read another page which explained that to become an Animagus, you had to learn a great deal about the animal you chose to transform into, and actually spend time in the company of a member of that species. A chart grouped different animal types into "recommended" and "not recommended." Slugs were not recommended; neither were elephants, for practical reasons. The next page gave information about a wizard named Sylvanus Greenleaf, who had succeeded in becoming the only known Vegemagus. He had turned himself into an oak tree, lost his leaves, and returned to his human shape completely bald, obviously not recommended.
In the middle of a paragraph about rodent Animagi (like Wormtail, who deserved to die a thousand deaths) Harry raised his eyes and noticed that a book was still sitting on the table where Ivy and Draco had been studying. In a few more moments Ivy returned and collected the book, and without looking at Harry, disappeared into the stacks. Harry waited about two minutes, and then followed her. The route she had taken led to a curtained window, and he opened the drapes to find Ivy curled up cosily in the window seat as if she had been there for hours. Harry seated himself opposite her and let the drape fall closed again. Winter daylight sifted onto them through the diamond-paned window. "I need to know about Professor Snape, Ivy," he told her without preliminaries, "and I heard that he was your uncle."
"He is, Harry," she answered. "What do you want to know?"
"Something happened about ten years ago," Harry said carefully. "What's the earliest thing you remember about him?"
"Uncle Severus came to stay with us when I was very little," she anwered readily. "I must have been three. Mother told Pansy and me, 'You must play quietly so your uncle can rest. He has been very ill.' He stayed in bed for weeks, and a doctor came to visit him quite often.
"Even after he was allowed out of bed, he had to rest a great deal. I used to visit him in his study, and he would teach me things. Pansy sometimes came too, but she wasn't really interested in most of what we did—she just didn't want to be left out, especially when I learned to make my food change colors. Not many people know that Pansy's only my half-sister. She and Uncle Severus aren't blood relations. Pansy's father died before she was born, but my mother kept his name and gave it to both Pansy and me after she married my father."
After a silence Harry said, "There's more, isn't there?"
"Yes, there's more," Ivy said. But she appeared reluctant to share it.
"You must wonder why I'm suddenly so interested in Professor Snape's past," Harry prodded.
Ivy shrugged. "You have your reasons. I know more about you than you think, Harry Potter. In fact, I know a lot of things people think I'm not supposed to. In my first year, I found your Polyjuice potion in the girls' toilet. After all of you were finished with it there was a bit left and I took it away in a bottle. I saved it, but so far I haven't used it. I've interviewed all the ghosts I could find at Hogwarts. They love to talk to students and it's amazing what they know. In my second year, I saw you use the secret passage into Hogsmeade."
Harry turned all this over in his mind. "I think you're telling me that you know something about Professor Snape that you're not supposed to know."
"Do I ever," she agreed. "I don't know what he would do if he knew I knew, but I expect he wouldn't be a bit pleased."
"So if you tell me, you want to be sure you aren't put in, let's say, an awkward position."
"Rather."
"By me."
"Quite."
"But if you weren't going to trust me with what you know, you wouldn't have told me so much already."
"No." For the first time the self-possessed Ivy looked uneasy, realizing that she had indeed committed herself.
There was nothing more for Harry to say, so he waited, peeking out between the drapes to make sure no one else was listening.
Ivy drew up her black-robed knees and rested her small chin between them. "Uncle Severus got stronger and left us after about a year, I think, and came to Hogwarts. One night a while after he had gone my parents had a guest for dinner, someone who worked at Mungo's Hospital. After I'd been sent to bed, I got up to get a drink of water."
"Drink of water. Right."
"Staying awake in bed can make you really thirsty."
"I know."
"I heard voices downstairs, and sure enough, Mother and Father were talking about Uncle Severus with the lady from Mungo's. No one had ever told me why he was ill; it was just the way he was. So I stayed to listen. The lady said that Uncle Severus had tried to do something for someone named Longbottom, and wasn't it sad that he hadn't been able to do whatever it was.
"Father was angry. He said that Uncle Severus had taken an enormous risk and nearly died, and it was shameful the way he'd been treated, as if he had accomplished nothing. Father thought that the unfairness of it had made it harder for Uncle Severus to get well, though Uncle would never admit it and refused to say a word about it."
"You remember all this?" Harry asked.
"Well, I missed Uncle Severus a lot," Ivy said. "He was the only one in the house who didn't treat me like a baby and a nuisance. Mother and Father were always busy, and they used to put me off when I asked questions by telling me I was too young to understand. Father started teaching me more things as I got older. But Pansy was always the worst. She could never let me forget that I was the youngest."
"Ivy, do you know anything else, well, out of the ordinary, about your uncle?"
Ivy's expression grew severe. "No," she said flatly, "but I think you do, Harry."
Now it was Harry's turn to feel uneasy.
"Well?" she prodded.
"I'd better not say," he said simply.
"You probably promised someone you wouldn't," she surmised accurately. "Well, I won't ask you to break any promises, but it's much better not to make them in the first place."
"I'm sure you're right, but Ivy, there's something I have to tell Professor Snape, something that he really needs to know. Even more than I realized before I talked to you. I'll leave you out of it, though."
"That's fine, but don't make any promises on my account. And please don't try to be a big, strong hero for the sake of protecting delicate little me. I find that kind of thing very tiresome. Gryffindors are always running around acting like they're about to save the world, and everybody else should just stand back and admire their lofty motives."
"You're talking about me, aren't you?"
"Well, you're one of the worst," she said judiciously, but she seemed not to hold it against him. "A few of them are even more insufferable. Like that Hermione Granger you hang around with. She's a real piece of work. From a Muggle family, isn't she?"
"So was my mother," Harry reminded her. "I admit Hermione can rub people the wrong way, but she's nice when you get to know her," he defended his friend.
"Nice to you, I sppose. I've been seeing Neville Longbottom with you a lot more than I used to. He may not amount to much, but at least he's not insufferable. You know something about the Longbottoms, don't you?"
Harry nodded.
"I hope it's good news," said Ivy.
"I hope so too," agreed Harry. "Look, thanks for the information, Ivy. I owe you one."
Ivy looked straight back at him with serious eyes. "Yes, Harry, I think you do."
Harry opened the drapes a crack to reconnoiter. All he needed was for Draco Malfoy to come along and find the two of them deep in conversation. He thought about asking Ivy what exactly was going on between her and Malfoy, but decided that for the moment at least it was none of his business. He didn't want to antagonize Ivy, especially when she had been so forthcoming. And yet he was sure that Ivy had been furthering her own purposes by telling him what she had and then leaving him in her debt. It was a safe bet to appeal to the honour of a Gryffindor.
Seeing no one, Harry stepped out from between the drapes.
"I'll let you know how it goes," he said, turning back to Ivy.
"I'm looking forward to it," she said with a one-sided smile.
***************************
AN: Pettigrew's role in this story came as something of a shock to me too. Actually I made the whole thing up as I went along. I know I'm on shaky ground when constructing a backstory for Professor Snape, but I hoped that Ivy, as her uncle's advocate and representative, would give me some insight into what it's like to be a Slytherin. Things with Snape really heat up in Chapter 5, "A First-Class Slytherin."