Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Mystic River.
Title: Mystic Fate
Summary: Five years ago, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom were friends. But one trip to Hogsmeade and terrible abuse scars their friendship. Today, they live separate lives, until the sudden and irrational murder of Ginny Weasley makes headlines. Will Harry's investigation of the murder point to Neville, who has never gotten over the horrible things that have happened to him? Based on the book "Mystic River".
Rating: PG-13
Author: Punk up the Volume
Author's Note: Um, thought of this idea when I read Mystic River and then saw the movie. It's a great story and I hope everyone reviews. Not exactly like the book, the first chapter is very different, so don't flame me. Although I do like flames. They are great for roasting peeps.
You don't know me at all.
You think I'm a good student. Hah!
You think I have friends. Hah!
You think I'm happy with this life. Hah! Hah!
David Klass, "You Don't Know Me"
Sara Nickerson, "How To Disappear Completely and Never Be Found"
Chapter One
Neville Longbottom was not a popular one among the Gyffindor's. He always seemed to be on the outskirts of the close knit house. He was chunky and clumsy, not one to be trusted with keeping secrets, and all around unhappy. Occasionally, Ginny Weasley or Hermione Granger would talk to him, keep him company, but other than he that, he was not happy.
When Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, however, befriended him during their sixth year, Neville became a different person. He became cheerful and glad, so different from his other self. Harry and Ron, after all, were probably the most popular boys in the house. Harry was so brave and courageous; just look at what he had done in the last two years! Escaping from the Dark Lord twice and foiling his plans for world domination!
And there was Ron, who was so funny and sweet, going out with Hermione who had certainly become quite a beauty. To be associated, no –friends, with them was like heaven on earth for Neville. For the first time in his life, he felt as if he belonged somewhere.
He certainly didn't belong with his Gram, that was sure. They had a mutual need for eachother; she needed him to care for her, he needed some where to live. But there was no love, just a pleasantness that neither talked about. They were simply too different to be close.
But when Harry and Ron started to talk to him more and invite him places, it was wonderful. He was no longer oafish, chubby Neville Longbottom. He was popular.
So when Ron and Harry invited him to go round with them to Hogsmeade on a student day trip, he excepted gratefully, not realizing that that day would change his day for the worst and he would never be the same. But not knowing this, he tagged along, as happy as ever.
Harry and Ron were not happy, however. They found Neville to be a bit of a drag, not very fun, and a little mopey. They liked the kid of course, but not in such large doses. It was not up to them, though, as they were feeling the pressure from her Hermione to hang around with him more often.
"He doesn't have a lot of friends." She moaned to them earlier that year. "I feel so horrible for him. Think of his parents! Living their lives at St. Mungo's and he never really knew them."
"That's not our fault!" Ron had complained, but quickly stopped when he saw Hermione's glare.
"No, but you can help him."
So they had and months later they had tired of the puppy dog dragged at their heels. As they strolled through the streets of Hogsmeade, counting the minutes until they were to meet Hermione and Ginny, they listened to Neville drone on and on about what he should get his Gran for Christmas. They certainly did not care and merely "hmmmed" a few times while plodding through the freshly fallen snow, waiting for Neville to catch up.
A few hours into the trip, they had reached the end of the main road, the Shrieking Shack looming in the distance. Only one more store stood before them, one that they had never seen before and had no intention of going inside. Ron and Harry didn't, anyway.
"Oooh," Neville gushed, looking at spells books and brand new polished cauldrons sitting in the display window. "Maybe we should look in here. I'm sure I could find something for my Gran."
Harry and Ron looked at eachother and frowned. The store, displaying a large sign marked Mystic Fate, had an odd feeling about it, one of death and decay that Harry had felt so many times before. They flet uneasy about even stepping one more foot near it, and besides, they were already late with drinks for the girls.
Ron looked at his watch anxiously. "Not right now, Neville. We've really got to go."
Neville was ready to argue, but seeing the looks on his friends faces, decided not to. He didn't want to upset them, did he? Neville nodded and muttered, "Yeah, alright," and they were off. Ron and Harry started back down the street, Neville trailing behind the other two. He looked inside the store and sighed. Past the rows of goods stop an odd looking man with silver hair, staring at him with a frown. Neville felt his breath catch in his throat. Something about the way that man was looking at him scared him; it made his skin crawl.
Once they reached The Three Broomsticks, however, those thoughts melted away. Hermione and Ginny waved at the three boys and ushered them into the back booths. Harry sat next to Ginny while Ron slid in next to Hermione, slipping his hand around her waste. There didn't seem to be any room left for Neville, but he merely grinned and told them, "I'll go get a round of Butterbeers." Then he was off to the counter.
Once he had payed for the drinks, Neville thanked the barman and started back towards the table with the tray of bottles. The group did not seem to notice his approach; their conversation did not die down in the least.
"But he's such a drag, Hermione." Ron wheezed in a whiny tone. "He's so slow and always talking. He's no fun."
Neville furrowed his brow as he began to get closer and closer. Were they talking about...
"Yeah," Harry echoed. "Neville's just...not interesting. He's so boring and he's always so depressing. It's like having a puppy dog follow us around all the time."
Ginny giggled. "Sorry he can't be more like the wonderful Harry Potter. Not all of us can save the world four times." Hermione started to laugh as well while Ron sighed.
"Neville is just Neville."
"Yeah, well Neville is back with your drinks." Neville himself snarled, dropping the tray in front of them, spilling one of the open bottles on Harry's lap. He didn't seem to notice however; all four of their jaws dropped open and they were silent.
"I'll just be going." Neville finished, spinning on his heels and heading towards the door. Harry grabbed his arm and started to say something, but Neville pulled out of his grasp and cut him off, "Don't touch me! Just because I'm not as brave as you doesn't mean that you're better than me." And with that, he was gone, out the door, leaving behind four very stunned Gryffindor's.
Neville ran. He didn't know or care whether or not anyone was chasing him. He ran through the soft snow, not caring about the cold as he fell. Picking himself up, Neville stared at his tear stained face in the window of the last store on the street. So his new friends had all been a lie. They hadn't really liked him or even respected them. What, was he some kind of joke for them to laugh at behind his back, and then dump him when they were done toying with his emotions? Well, he wasn't going to shed any more tears over them. They weren't worth it. They just weren't worth it.
Neville stared into the glass, recognizing the same cauldrons he had been browsing early. Mystic Fate...Neville had never heard of it before, but he wasn't going to let Harry and Ron stop him from going where he wanted to go like before. He was in control of his own life, he didn't need them. He didn't need anything.
Not remembering the odd looking man from before, Neville entered the store, the bell on top the door ringing as he stepped inside, and brushed the snow from his jacket and hair; it did not matter, the man was no where in sight anyway. The store was dimly lit with the oddest looking objects sitting before him. Cases were filled with what looked like artifacts from the darkest of wizards. Skulls stared back at him with their hollow, empty eye sockets, their jaws curled up into foul, frozen grins. Neville shivered, not from the cold, but from a stirring, deep in his soul. Perhaps Harry and Ron had been right not to come in...
"No." Neville whispered allowed. He had come this far, he could stay a bit longer. He might as well have a look around. Neville uneasily wandered through the store, occasionally picking up an object as if trying to look interested, then placed it back down quickly as if it had burned him.
Neville looked carefully at a small treasure chest shaped box, noticing the latin words carved into the frame, but not knowing what they meant. Cautiously, he opened the lid and listened as a slow, mournful tune drifted out. He could help but feel as if he was being sucked in by the music, pulled in by it's beautiful melody. He could feel his eyelids droop and himself yawn. Everything was becoming fuzzy. It must be...Neville began to think, ...must be a sleeping charm...or something. Something...
Neville felt himself slump against the case, the box dropped from his hand to the floor, cracking into two large pieces. He was suddenly very awake, staring at the damage he had caused, fear flooding through his body.
"There you are!" Ron cried, running in the store while Harry tagged along. "Look, mate, we're really sorry about what we said. We didn't really mean it-"
"What are you three doing in here!" A loud voice boomed from the other end of the room, entering through a back door. It was not a question, but a statement, a very angry one at that. "This is not a store for you...what have you done?" His voice became increasingly louder as the silver haired man hobbled over to where Neville was standing and scooped up the two pieces of the music box.
"I...I..." Neville stuttered while Harry and Ron stood silently, obviously frightened by the man. "It was an accident. I'm sorry. I can pay for it."
"Oh, you'll pay for it! Indeed, you will! I'll be talking to your professors about this! Indeed! You're coming with me." With an amazing amount of strength, the man grabbed Neville's arm and jerked him in the direction of the back room of the store. A pain surged through his upper body as if the man had pulled his arm out of it's socket. Wincing, he stared back at Harry and Ron, who were giving him pitiful looks, unable to move. Neville and the man disappeared through the back door as the pair looked on.
Thirty seconds passed before either spoke. "What just happened?"
"I dunno." Harry shook his head.
"Do you suppose we should go get McGonagall?" Ron questioned, trying to ignore the fear rising in his chest. He hoped there was nothing to worry about; he hoped that Neville would pay the man and be on his way, but something inside of him knew it wasn't going to happen.
"Yes." Harry answered, and the two trudged out of the store, not happy about the thought of telling their Transfiguration professor of what had just happened.
"What exactly happened?" McGonagall questioned, once they had explained their story in one quick breath.
"Some man," Ron furrowed his brow. "He grabbed Neville and took him into the backroom."
"You didn't try to stop him?"
Harry and Ron looked at eachother. "We didn't think of it."
McGonagall gave them the most worried look they had ever seen. "Lord have mercy, boys, you two are as thick as a shepard's pie."
Hoping their professor would sort it all out, Harry and Ron followed her as she marched right back over to the shop and entered with her head held high. "Hello?" she called out loudly, waiting for a response that did not come. She glanced wearily around the shop, and upon noticing the dark arts qualities of them, pulled out her wand. "Stay back here, boys." She called over her shoulder. She walked slowly towards the back door and disappeared through it, just as Neville had minutes before. Moments later she came out with a look of calm horror on her face.
"There is nobody there." She informed the two boys, who echoed the look of terror in her eyes. "Mr. Longbottom is not here. We must inform Professor Dumbledore immeadiately."
The next few hours were a blur. Dumbledore was alerted to the disappearence, as were all the teachers. The students were made to return to the castle, but not told why. Nobody really questioned it. They were all sent home the next day for Christmas vacation anyway, so nobody asked many questions. Harry and Ron were sworn to secrecy and with the exception of Hermione and Ginny, told no one what had transpired.
They spent four days searching for Neville Longbottom, not expecting him to be found alive, before he found his way home all on his own.
He reported to the Ministry officials exactly what had happened to him during those long fours days, exactly what he remembered.
The man was later identified as Marvin Treeshrum, a past Deatheater from the first coming of Voldemort, who was released after pleading that he had been put under the Imperius Curse. He had apparently not parted company with his past, as he apparated the two of them to the Malfoy Manor, mumbling about a meeting or gathering of some sort.
Neville, who was shaken and too scared to questioned what was happening, was brought before Lucius Malfoy, who informed a dejected Treeshrum that Neville would not be a proper sacrifice, since he was a Pureblood. He was taken down to the dungeons hidden underneath the ballroom and thrown into a cell.
Neville had no idea how long he was there until he was told by a Ministry worker upon his return to his home. Four days, he spent in his cell, thrown scraps to eat by Lucius Malfoy's houseelves. He knew that he was meant to stay there forever; even if they couldn't kill him, they couldn't let him free, couldn't let him tell what he saw. He spent four days in and out of conciousness, drifting between the dreamworld and the nightmare his reality had become. Every so often, he could hear some of the other prisoners cry out, but other than that, it was silent. He couldn't see them, but he knew they were there, just as miserable and desperate as he was.
It was on day three that Neville heard the "Gathering" he was not invited to. There was shouting, laughing, stomping, joking going on above him. He listened, curled up in the corner of his cell, shivering and shaking, his mind back at the Yule ball in his fourth year, when he had once laughed like that. And then, a sudden cold settled over the entire house; he knew it could not just be him, and that was when he knew. He knew that the guest of honor had arrived, You-Know-Who. He heard screams and cries above him, and then a sudden cheer. Obviously, they had found someone adequate to fill his place. That was the moment when Neville found himself wishing that he had been the one up there, being laughed at and mocked and killed. Then at least it would be over. There would be no more crying, no more shaking, no more pain.
Instead, Neville went on. Various friends of Voldemort's came down, tortured the prisoners for fun. Got their jollies out of poking and prodding the poor souls like animals at a zoo. When reporting to the Ministry official, Neville paused. He took a deep breath and began to tell him about the horrible things they did to him. Pain, suffering, humiliation. It all blended together.
Then, on the fourth day, though it seemed like four years to Neville, Lucius Malfoy brought his son down to the dungeons to show him what would be his when his father died. He wanted to show him the legacy he would have to carry on, the legacy of pain and suffering. Draco seemed untouched by all the unknown prisoners, staring at him from their cells with sunken faces and pleading eyes. He seemed to be all above them, unseeing to their cause and their pain. That is, until Draco saw Neville.
At first, Draco didn't even recognize the young Gryffindor he had tormented for the pasts five years. It was amazing what four days had done to the sixteen year old. His skin was rough and covered in dirt by the hard stone floor. His eyes were glazed and lost; he was mumbling incoherently under his breath, barely aware of Draco and his father. Once Draco saw Neville, a boy he knew, lying on the floor, ready to die, he felt something. Something most would call pity. He could suddenly relate to the prisoners, the boy whose soul was already dead.
Lucius was called away then. One of the house elves called him upstairs and told him that the Minister of Magic was here to see him about some certain finances. He left a still stunned Draco down in the dungeons, who then proceeded to walk over to Neville's cell and stare down at him.
Feeling eyes on him, Neville turned his head with all the strength he could muster and stared up at Draco, boring into his soul with his glazed, dead eyes. "I used to know you. I remember you, but, it was so long ago. I used to know you."
Then, Draco proceeded to pull out his wand, whisper, "Alohamora," and pulled the lock off the door. It swung open with a loud creak and Draco slunk into the small space, helping Neville to stand on his own two feet. He dragged the practically unconcious boy to the end of the row, leaned him against the wall, and pulled the manhole cover off of a large drain, big enough for Neville to slip down through.
"You can get away." Draco told him quietly, listening to hear if his father was headed back down to check on him. "Slip down there, follow the line until you see the other end. Push open the other cover and rush through. You'll be on the other end of the manor, away from any windows. Run, just run.
For the first time in days, Neville felt a burst of energy. He slipped down into the dingy sewer line and ran. Ran into the forest, ran until he found the closest village. He collapsed in the muggle pub and the police took him home and handed him over to his gran, who luckily enough lived on the other side of a nearby muggle town.
The Ministry came right away. Asked him all sorts of questions. He answered them and they left, satisfied. Neville slept for two days straight while his gran cried. He stayed home for two months, not ready to return to school. He read all about the trial of Lucius Malfoy and his sentencing to Azkaban. The Ministry had his official testimony, they didn't need Neville in the courtroom; his gram wouldn't have let him go anyhow. She barely let him return to school in March.
When he did return, however, he was the subject of many curious glances. Harry and Ron tried to talk to him, be kind to him, but he brushed them off, not wanting to remember. He would pass Draco Malfoy in the hallway, who was dealing with his own tragedy; they never said a word to eachother. Once in a while, there was a curt nod, but nothing else. Neville didn't mind; he hadn't expected anything else from Draco, who was still as popular as before. Hermione was sweet as ever, so was Ginny. Both of them were supportive, but it was not support that Neville craved: He wanted peace.
He didn't think he would ever find it.