Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.
Dark Days: Neville Longbottom
October 11, 1997. Neville Longbottom was walking to the library with Luna Lovegood after a pleasant lunch on an unremarkable Saturday afternoon,. It had been nearly a month since Albus Dumbledore had died at the hands of You-Know-Who, and the school was still showing the signs. The students walked everywhere in a daze, jumping at every noise and fearing every shadow. It was as if they expected the Deatheaters to burst in and attack at any moment. Many students had, in fact, been pulled from the school altogether by frightful parents, including Seamus Finnigan, one of Neville's fellow Gryffindor seventh years.
Professor McGonagall had taken over duties as Headmaster "for the interim" (in the words of the Decree from Cornelius Fudge), although it was not clear how long a time that indicated. Luscious Malfoy had submitted his application to take over the post the next fall, and the general sentiment was that he could get it, depending on the turnout of World Wizarding politics.
Luna had promised to help him with a big essay he had to turn in Monday for History of Magic. Luna had assured him that she was an expert on the topic of Wizard-Centaur relations in the 17th century. But for the time being, their topic of conversation was far from academic.
"Who are you kidding?" Luna shrieked, as if not believing her ears. "Ravenclaw got all of their players back from last year. We both know that Gryffindor wins only when they can keep Potter in the game. Now that he's gone, it's ours for the taking!"
Neville smiled knowingly. Two years ago, Luna would have been hard-pressed to tell him what exactly a bludger was. Now, having been friends with avid fans of the Gryffindor team, she followed the game religiously. She usually rooted for Neville's team, right up until the point where they played against Luna's own house. The first game of the season, one week removed from that day, pitted the two houses in a rematch of the Championship game last season. Er, school year.
On the inside, though, Luna's sports commentary made Neville cringe. The absence of The Boy-Who-Lived was a painful topic for Neville; the notion filled him with some terrible anxiety. He had known for years that the magical community was facing dark times, but Hogwarts remained an oasis within that insanity. So long as all the pieces were in place at school (the teachers, the lessons, Harry Potter), he could feel reasonable safe. Now that Harry had gone, Neville was faced with insecurity.
"Are you doubting the prowess of Ginny Weasley? She's an excellent seeker!" Neville exclaimed in mock surprise. Neville always felt at ease with Luna, and what's more, as everyone else in the school could tell, he fancied the diminutive Ravenclaw in a way that was more than friendly.
"No doubt about that," Luna giggled. She reached into her bag and produced a couple pieces of gum, one of which she offered to Neville. "Drooble's Best?" she asked, innocently enough.
The sight of the Drooble's Blowing Gum wrapper, however, signified something other than chewing gum to him. Neville Longbottom's memory had been a source of embarrassment and ridicule for his entire life. He had a horrible head for numbers. His sense of direction was laughable. His ability to follow guidelines was so abysmal that it was a small wonder he could boil water, let alone pass a Potions exam. In fact his memory failed him by its deficiency in all categories save one, where it punished him with its tenacity. Of all the thoughts that roamed his subconscious mind, there was one memory he wished he could purge.
* * * *
December 9, 1981. Neville sat in his high chair at the edge of the table. In front of him loomed the round face of his mother, Alice Longbottom, who was busy trying to keep her blond bangs out of her eyes while feeding Neville. She made little wooshing noises with her mouth and moved the spoon in a tightening spiral into Neville's mouth. Her face was pink and happy; a smile was permanently painted on her face in those days.
As Alice fed Neville, Frank Longbottom was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for their own dinner. He was tall and dark-haired, usually with a grave look on his handsome face. But that day, he was singing an utterly ridiculous song about boiling crabs, his face animated, and his voice full of laughter. They were all so happy in those days, ever since The Great Big Good News had come.
They felt the house shudder as a concussive spell hit the front of the building. Copper pots flew off the wall and clattered noisily on the tile floor. Bits of plaster fell out of the ceiling. Stacks of plates fell out of the cabinets, shattering when they hit. In that instant, all tranquility, all joy was taken out of Neville's life.
Alice scooped Neville up immediately, and glanced around for a place to put him, finally setting him in the bottom shelf of a recently emptied cabinet on the far wall. Just as quickly, Frank seized his wand and went to the doorway leading to the living room and front door of their small home, without saying so much as a word. He had no sooner rounded the corner than a stunning spell hit him full in the chest, knocking him off his feet and sending his wand flying. Alice dove at the floor to retrieve it, but before she could lay hands on it, a witch in black robes appeared in the doorway and kicked Alice in the head, hard. Alice hit the ground, and then started rolling, trying to get away.
The witch responded with another stunning spell. Three more dark wizards appeared behind her, wands out, faces menacing. The witch pushed her shiny black hair out of her face, and then slapped Frank hard in the face, until he awoke. "Where is Our Lord and Master?" she hissed.
Frank's eyes glanced around at the four faces before him, and then caught sight of his unconscious wife behind him. He kept looking around for his son, but could not locate him.
"Crucio," the woman breathed. Frank began screaming instantly, banging his fists on the tile floor, kicking his legs into the air, constantly squirming as if to avoid that spell. The witch towered over him, eyes cold and mean, her lips flushed red and smiling oddly. She stopped after a second, then asked again: "Where is the Dark Lord?"
Frank did not answer immediately, but tried to get his sobbing under control. When she was about to raise her wand again, he blurted out: "He's dead! You know he's dead!"
This was apparently not the answer she was looking for. "Barty, make sure the woman is secure," she breathed, her voice businesslike and unemotional. Then a nasty smile returned to her features. "Now, please understand me, Frank. We all know what you do for a living. What you might need to know is that we have all night open, and would be happy to continue this…process until sunrise. So, why don't you save yourself and your wife a lot of trouble and divulge some Ministry secrets now?"
Frank's face was white and bloodless in terror. "I swear to you on my life, on all that I hold dear, that I believe the Dark Lord to be dead."
"Oh, Longbottom, you're hopeless," she sighed. "Crucio."
Frank's screams filled the night air. The four death Eaters towered over him, each employing their wands in his torture. They would stop every few minutes to ask him the same questions again. After a few hours, he was no longer able to answer. An hour after that, they turned on Alice, who had been left propped indelicately against the wall through the entire process, charmed by a Full-Body Bind.
The door to the cabinet against the far wall was cracked opened slightly, and inside of its dark contents an infant sat watching the entire event with wide eyes.
* * * *
October 11, 1997. "Neville? What's wrong?" Luna asked him, putting her left hand delicately to his cheek.
Neville was drawn from his reverie by her gentle touch. "Huh? No, I'm fine," he assured her. She did not look quite convinced, so he added quickly: "Just thinking about something else, that's all."
Luna seemed to understand. This was perhaps the best quality to Luna, as far as Neville was concerned. The young girl from Ravenclaw could personally sympathize with a lot of the suffering he went through, since she had lost her mother when she was younger. He knew that her understanding of him went beyond their respective pasts, though: she knew who he was as a person, and genuinely cared for him in a way that could not be dismissed as simply "Having something in common".
Just as a sense of general peace began to fill Neville, Draco Malfoy and his two cronies rounded the corner and nearly collided directly with them.
"Watch where you're going, squib," Draco said coldly, stroking his blond hair. Draco Malfoy had taken to walking the halls in a proprietary manner; Neville was not the only one who felt the absence of Harry. He had taken to bullying the ranks of Gryffindor with his wand and his prefect badge. He had Crabbe and Goyle to back him up in the muscle department, and Professor Snape always upheld his abuses of authority. On any given day, the best way to deal with Malfoy was to avoid him.
"I'm no squib," Neville muttered. "Maybe you're just pissed because I've been getting better marks in Transfiguration, and Herbology, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, obviously."
Draco's face turned into a nasty smile. "I'll concede that you're a better egghead than I'll ever be, squib, but how are your skills at dueling?" With this, Draco whipped his wand out of his robes and brandished it menacingly. Crabbe and Goyle laughed, feeling that they were in for a treat.
"I guess there's one way to find out," Neville growled, drawing his own wand.
"Oh, Neville, please don't…" Luna murmured, her plea falling on deaf ears.
Fifteen minutes later, Luna had reason to feel that her warning was justified. She was in a Full-Body Bind, and stuck to the ceiling to boot. Neville ran about the empty corridor below madly, still suffering from the Tantallegra Hex. To be fair, Draco had cheated; while he squared off with Neville, Crabbe executed a spell correctly for about the third time in his career, and silenced Neville. Things went down hill from there.
While the Slytherin bullies laughed riotously at their victims, Professor Snape appeared and took ten points out of the respective houses of Neville and Luna for "Horseplay in the corridors". Then, he calmly informed Draco of how much he had enjoyed his essay on Pain Potions in the sixteenth century, and departed.
Ten minutes after Draco and his cronies left, Professor Vector happened upon them, and released them from their difficulties.
* * * *
October 12, 1997. Neville was still brooding that night in the common room. He must have been sitting by the fireside for hours on end, because when Hermione touched his shoulder he realized with a start that the fire had burned out and most of the common room was empty.
"It's not that bad, Neville," she said softly. "Some days you get the bear, some days the bear gets you."
Neville looked at her uncomprehendingly, said nothing.
Hermione blushed a little. "I guess that's a muggle thing. It just means that, well, some days things go your way, and some days they don't. This was just one of those days when they didn't. Maybe tomorrow will be better."
"Thanks, Hermione," Neville said in a small voice. He wanted to ask if Draco had ever gotten the best of Harry. He wanted to tell her how much this had hurt. He wanted to cry right there, to weep that it was not fair. He hated himself for his weakness, hated himself more for wanting to cry about it. "All my life, people have been pushing me around. No, more than that. All my life, people have been hurting me, and I've just let them. I've never stood up for myself, and I… I just can't stand to be me, right now."
"Oh, Neville! Don't ever say that. You're one of the best people I know," Hermione exclaimed, looking like she wanted to cry herself. "It'll get better, I swear it. It's just these Dark Days, that's all."
"I hope so," Neville said bitterly, not believing it for a second.
"Trust me. Now, why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep, huh? The sooner you turn in, the sooner tomorrow comes, right?"
Neville smiled a little bit. "Good idea. Thanks, Hermione."
"Think nothing of it."
Neville made his way up the stairs to the room for Gryffindor Seventh Years. He entered the room, becoming depressed again by the sight of five four-poster beds, two of them completely vacant. With a sigh of resignation, he plopped on his back on top of his bed, and stared up at the ceiling.
"Neville?" It was Ron's voice.
"Yes, what is it?"
"I know that 'Mione has her heart set on talking to Professor McGonagall and all, but if that doesn't work out right, I'll kick Malfoy's ass for you."
I wish I could handle him for myself. "Thanks, Ron." He could tell that Dean was also still awake by the occasional shuffling noises coming from his bed. Neville took Dean's silence as a condemnation of his own weakness.
A short while later, the shuffling noises ceased, and the breathing of his roommates indicated that they were asleep. Only then did Neville allow the tears to flow. He coughed, choked, feeling his cheeks hot. He squirmed on his bed, curled into a little ball, and tried to keep his whimpering silent.
It was bad enough that he had been pushed around his whole life. It was bad enough that even his friends saw him as someone to be protected. It was bad enough that he regularly suffered embarrassment at the hands of his enemies. That day, his own weakness had caused suffering to Luna, the one girl he wished to protect above all others. He could not allow that to happen again.
He sat upright, and walked over to the window, tears streaming down his cheeks soundlessly. He put his hands on the edges of the window frame, and gazed out into the oppressive darkness outside. The moon hung, sickle-shaped and eerie, casting pale white light over the school grounds. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robes, and swore to himself in a voice full of self-loathing, that he would never be weak again. He swore that he would find the people that had hurt them, and make them understand that he was not to be taken lightly. He would become a man that could protect the ones he loved.
He walked back to his bed, packed quickly and silently, and then left. On his way out of the common room, he grabbed a quill and wrote a quick note to Hermione:
"From this moment forward, let my thoughts be bloody or nothing worth."
* * * *
October 12, 1997. They did not ask many questions when we he arrived The Leaky Cauldron. He was given a key and shown to his room by a young wizard of roughly twenty years. He handed the wizard a few knuts in tip, and then entered his room. He set his few possessions – a few spare robes, Trevor's cage, and a few pieces of Drooble's blowing gum – and counted his money. He frowned slightly, and resolved to go to Gringotts the next day and retrieve the rest of his paltry savings. Just an hour or so before sunrise, Neville slipped into his pajamas, and finally lay down to rest, his wand clutched tightly in his fingers.
He awoke early in the next afternoon. Outside, fog hug thickly in Diagon Alley, so that it was impossible to see any other buildings from his window. He showered and changed into black robes. He located a full-length mirror and examined his reflection carefully. He did not yet have the look of a serious and deadly wizard. He grabbed an old black belt and fashioned a sort of holster for his wand on his left hip, then covered it up with his robe. A step closer to satisfied, he made a mental note to start working out, and then headed downstairs to see about a late lunch.
After his meal, he left the Leaky Cauldron and walked to Flourish and Blotts. He paced around in silence for a while; looking up all the books he could on Dueling and Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. An hour later, he left the bookstore weighed down with seven heavy tomes, and started back to the Leaky Cauldron. He remembered suddenly that he did not at that moment have enough money to pay for another night's lodging. He turned on his heel and went to Gringotts.
The fog was getting thicker, as near as Neville could tell. He could scarcely see a few feet in front of him, and kept bumping into people and ineffectual lampposts. He proceeded to Gringotts with only a general sensation of where he was going. Within a few minutes, he realized that he was on the wrong course. What was more, gauging from the street sign a mere foot in front of his face, he had wandered into Knockturn Alley.
Don't be afraid. Neville took a few cautious steps forward, still carrying his books, and laid hands on the outside of a building. He followed it until he found the front door to Borgin and Burkes, and went inside.
A greasy looking man of roughly fifty eyed him suspiciously from behind the counter. "How may I help you, sir?" the man sneered.
Neville held his fear in check and answered loudly. "I seem to have my lost my way in this fog. Can you point me in the direction of Gringotts?"
The man, wearing a nameplate that read "Burkes", gave Neville a patronizing look. "Just follow the outside wall of this building back to Diagon Alley. Hang a left and walk a quarter block or so, and you'll be there."
"Thank you sir," Neville said politely, and left again to do exactly that. He left quickly and began following the directions. After just a few short feet he could hear voices ahead of him.
"How much longer?" a wizard asked, his voice husky and thick.
"Two minutes," a woman's voice returned. "Bella should already be inside, waiting to catch the cart underground. We start the attack, and keep the pandemonium sustained for as long as we can. It won't take more than a couple of minutes for the Aurors to arrive, but then, she shouldn't need much time either."
Bella. The One I seek. Neville felt his heart race, and he reached his sweaty hand into his robes and pulled out his wand. Bellatrix Lestrange was nearby, and these two were to meet her. For the firs time in his life, Neville felt like a stroke of luck had hit him; his opportunity for vengeance was at hand. He adjusted his speed so that he was following a few paces behind the Deatheaters, hopefully still out of their sight.
"All right," the man continued. "When you give me the signal, I'll throw up The Mark, and then you start plugging bystanders. I'll deal with the goblins. That should give Bella enough time to get underneath and grab the package."
Goblins? They were going to Gringotts! Neville knew he should slip away and warn the Ministry, but there might not be enough time. These two were planning on attacking the Wizards Bank, and likely killing several people at the same time. Worse yet, Bellatrix Lestrange was going to steal something from the vaults, and whatever it was it could not be good news.
Suddenly, they were at the entrance to Gringotts. The two Deatheaters went directly inside. He set his books down against the wall outside the bank. Neville paused, so as not to give away that he had followed them through the fog, and pulled his hood over his face. Then, he stole inside quickly.
The scene inside was normal. A few witches and wizards waited in lines, filled out papers, and generally looked bored. The two Deatheaters he had followed split up, the man heading over toward the lines where most of the goblins were. The woman, whom he recognized as Narcissa Malfoy, stole behind a stone column to in front of Neville and to his left side, a safe vantage point from which she could strike down many customers with relative impunity.
Neville scanned the room in a state of near-frenzy, looking for their partner in crime. Just when his panic seemed about to peak, he spotted her, standing under a bulletin board, pretending to read some notices, and smiling maliciously. Neville's heart filled with rage, a cold hatred he had never known before.
Less than ten feet away from her a cart sat empty, leading to the underground vaults. Neville started making some long strides directly to his left. Narcissa Malfoy glanced at her watch, then raised her hand as if waving to the male Deatheater. Neville broke into a run as the man pulled his wand out and bellowed "MORSMORDE!"
Bellatrix Lestrange pulled her wand as well, stunning a goblin and racing toward the cart. Neville was now just a few feet behind Narcissa, who had her wand out, ready to begin the slaughter.
"STUPEFY!" Neville declared, sending a bolt of red energy into Narcissa's back. The force of the spell plastered her against the stone, breaking her nose and knocking her unconscious. He began sprinting across the open floor of the lobby, ignoring the green symbol forming over his head and the panicked screams of the bystanders. The man had begun attacking the goblins in charge, and did not see Neville, the only man running into the bank, amidst all the people running out of it.
Neville was closing in fast on Bellatrix, who had hopped into a cart, oblivious to the events behind her. She disappeared into the shaft, and a goblin jumped into a cart behind her, hot in pursuit. Neville reached the scene just as the goblin took off. He entered the shaft at a full run, and with a great leap landed in the back of the cart, laying face down.
The goblin spun around to face him. "What the-". But he got no further; a shaft of green light hit beside his head and he toppled dead on top of Neville. Neville remained motionless until he heard a malicious laughter from the cart ahead of him: "It's just so easy!"
Neville cautiously got to his knees and peered over the front edge of the cart. Both carts were rocketing down the shaft at great speed, the only light to be seen were the occasional blurs of the front of each vault. Neville clutched his wand tightly in his sweaty hands. Ahead of him, Bellatrix Lestrange was standing up with her back turned, apparently enjoying the ride. He toyed with the notion of stunning her right there, but suddenly the shaft curved sharply to the left and he was thrown on his back again. Whatever it was he intended to do would have to wait until they arrived at their destination.
Ten minutes later, they were miles underground, and the carts suddenly rolled to a stop. He heard Bellatrix jump out of her cart and land heavily on the platform in front of the vault. Summoning his courage, he peered over the edge of the cart again. Bellatrix walked up to the door, carrying a dead goblin in her hands. She put her wand into her pocket and proceeded to tear one of the long, curved claws out of the goblin's hand. She inserted it into the lock mechanism to the vault door.
Now. Neville stood up as quietly as possible, then pointed his wand at Bellatrix's back, shouting "Accio Wand!"
Bellatrix turned just in time to see her wand fly from her pocket and into Neville's ready hand. A look of horror crossed her features as Neville climbed confidently out of the cart, and began walking toward her. Her eyes darted from him to her cart, some twenty feet away, and then back again.
"Try it," Neville breathed venomously, his eyes blazing. "See what happens."
"Who are you, little troublemaker, that you would interfere with the Dark Lord's work?" she hissed, nearly overcome with anger.
Rage burned in his chest. "You don't know me?" he asked, incredulous.
She eyed him more closely, as he stepped into the light and stopped, ten feet away. "No."
"My name is Neville Longbottom," he said, his voice tremulous. "I've come to avenge my parents."
"Ah, now I remember you. We met at the Ministry of Magic. I seem to recall that I taught you a lesson in pain," she laughed. "And I'm going to go one further today. Today, fat boy, I'm going to kill you."
Neville swallowed the lump in his throat. "Idle threat," he decreed. "I'm in control here. Today I'm going to make sure that your evil comes full circle." He gestured menacingly with his wand. He felt exhilarated, joyful, at the power he commanded over his mortal enemy.
"Is that right, boy? You think you have what it takes?" she laughed again, the most horrible sound he could imagine. She shrugged, throwing her arms wide in a show of vulnerability. "Go ahead. Kill me."
Neville kept his eyes locked on hers. His fingers trembled on his wand, with what he did not know. Fear? Hatred? Triumph? It had been a long time since that awful day in his parents' house, and he had anticipated this day ever since. He took just a moment to savor it before answering: "Kill you? My darling Bella, if you are anticipating death, I'm afraid you'll have to wait."
"What are you going to do then, boy? Turn me in?"
"Nothing of the sort." With a smile, Neville raised his wand and performed the first spell he had ever known.
* * * *
October 14, 1997. The last rays of sunlight slowly died out of the lobby at Gringotts bank. Weary goblins closed the teller windows, and locked the safe, calling an end to another long day. Within ten minutes of closing time, the last goblin walked out the front door and locked it behind him. An hour passed in silence, nothing moving, no sound made, not even the rumblings of the hypothetical dragons far below.
He emerged from the tunnel and staggered weakly across the vacant lobby. The tears had long since ceased to fall, leaving only one tired young wizard. Following the plan he had formed during the last hour and a half, he grabbed the chair right next to the giant picture windows and hurled it through, smirking a little. Not enchanted on this side, I guess.
Neville stepped through the window frame and disappeared into the cold night air.