Author's Note: I have been informed that, with this chapter, I'm breaking a rule of fanfiction. (shrugs) My reputation hasn't always been law-abiding. Have you got it yet?
5. Departure
On the stairs, Harry found breathing to be difficult and had to stop a little way down the first flight. Unaware, Neville was nearly to the fourth floor before Harry called to him.
"Nev ... Neville, wait." Harry swallowed and tried desperately not to cough.
The other man stopped and turned around.
"Harry?" he seemed surprised to see him.
A tickle was growing in Harry's throat and he couldn't suppress it for long. He coughed a little to clear it, but only made it worse
"Are you alright? Harry?" Neville said again, taking the stairs two at a time.
Harry sat on the stairs to keep from falling and slipped into another one of the many fits he'd been having. The dry, hacking cough echoed loudly in the stairwell and a heavy black fog surrounded them. There was no use trying to hide it this time, but he waved it off anyway.
Unsure of what else to do, and quite wary of what he was about to do, Neville sat beside him and rubbed his back until the fit had passed, "Water? Do you want water?"
It was few moments before he was able to speak, and, though it hurt horribly when he did so, he shook his head and got out, "No, it wouldn't help." He caught the hazel eyes watching him carefully – fearfully – and patted Neville's knee. "It's not so bad, I'll be alright soon."
"I thought you quit smoking. Ginny didn't like it."
"No, she doesn't, and I'd love to."
"Good," was all Neville said, looking back down the stairs. After a moment he asked, "What?"
It was Harry's turn to be confused.
"What?"
"What were we talking abo ... Harry? What're you doing here?" Neville frowned.
"What are you doing here, Neville?"
"Visiting my parents. Did you see a toad on your way in?"
Harry felt a new sort of despair with this relapse, the furthest into his memories he had ever known Neville to go. The moments of clarity were getting fewer and farther between and he was no longer sure if he'd ever see another one. There were things Harry needed to tell him, things that Neville needed to know and understand. His breathing was ragged when he said, "No, I didn't see a toad."
"Let me know if you do; I've misplaced Trevor somewhere. Gran's about had it with my memory."
Barely above a whisper, Harry said, "It's not your fault."
"Yeah," Neville chuckled, "But she has little patience for unaccountability."
"I can help you ... look for him if you'd like," Harry offered hoarsely.
"Who?"
"Uh, well ... uh ..." Harry stuttered.
Suddenly, Neville stood up and held his hand out to Harry to help him up.
"Come on. Maybe the healer's there now."
Harry blinked. The lapses were getting shorter and he was having trouble keeping up. He knew not whether this was a good or bad sign. He stood anyway and the pair returned to the Neville's room on the fourth floor.
"Still not here," the patient muttered, brow furrowed. Soon, though, he shrugged and ran a hand through his hair as he sat on the bed.
Harry studied him for a moment as he tried to control his breathing as much as possible before speaking. His tongue was in the stinging stage between feeling and numbness from the hot ash that he could still taste. It was also blatantly apparent that it didn't take any coughing to produce small puffs of smoke when he exhaled.
Neville looked as though he knew something wasn't right, but couldn't put his finger on it. Harry felt this was his last opportunity to explain things and have Neville understand as much as possible.
"Neville ... We need to talk," he said, finally.
He received a funny look at this.
"You sounded just like Ron when you said that."
The tall black man gave a parting handshake and disappeared through the opposite doors, leaving the sandy-haired man to his tea. Feeling eyes on him, Harry turned and caught stern blue eyes behind red fringe speaking silently to him. Nodding, both men approached the table and were greeted a wide smile.
"Harry; Ron; please, sit down."
"Neville ... We need to talk," Ron began immediately and Harry leaned forward a little bit.
"It's just a few questions, Neville."
The smile faded, "Oh ... okay. I'm listening."
"You were talking to Dean just now," Ron stated.
"Oh, yes. Kind of surprised me actually. We don't really keep in touch, and he didn't even know I worked here until ... well, until Smyth's passing."
"What did he have to say?"
"Not a whole lot, really. He asked about Luna and if I had any kids. Which, of course, prompted me to show him all my pictures. He seemed almost impressed that I had four with another on the way. Then he asked about my work."
"What about your work?"
"Just that he thought it strange that the minister ordered that the body be brought to me – why?"
"What did you tell him?" Harry asked, folding a napkin absently in his hands.
Neville quirked an eyebrow, "Why do I get the feeling that I'm being interrogated?"
"We're not interrogating you," the dark-haired auror insisted.
"Your work is very sensitive, Neville," Ron tried, taking a different approach. "Confidentiality is imperative."
"So it's alright that I break confidence for you two, but not for anyone else? This isn't just for you. This is to protect everyone."
"No, it's not alright that we know," Harry interrupted, "but we do. It's necessary that your work remains ... unspeakable."
"I may be a little clumsy and forgetful from time to time, but I have never – and won't ever – forget my responsibilities. I don't need a rememberall for everything."
"I didn't mean to imply ..." Harry started, but Ron cut him off.
"It's not the what, Neville, it's the who."
"Now, what's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm not keen on you talking to Dean Thomas."
"Ron," Harry shook his head.
Neville scoffed and finished his tea.
"This is ridiculous. I've got to get back to work."
Harry looked pointedly at Ron and grabbed Neville's arm as he stood up.
"If you said something, we're not upset or anything. We just want to know."
"No, I didn't say anything about it," Neville sighed, exasperated. "He suggested that we meet for drinks after work on Friday to catch up. Can I please go back to work now?"
"We're just looking out for you," Harry said.
"No, you're looking out for you. I can take care of myself, thanks." The Unspeakable exited the cafeteria, leaving the aurors in silence. After a moment, Ron growled a little as he stood up and followed to the exit. Harry looked at the folded napkin in his hands and pocketed it before he, too, left.
"What do you have to say?" Neville queried, concern deepening the faint lines of his face.
"How are you doing, Neville?"
"I'm fi ... I'm ..." He looked around himself uncertainly and shook his head. "I'm not doing too well, I don't think. What about you?"
Harry saw the clear, sharp look to his friend's hazel eyes and moved to sit beside him. Taking as deep a breath as he could manage, Harry told him, "I won't be able to visit you anymore."
"Visit me?"
"Neville, listen to me. I know you don't understand completely, but you need to listen, and remember this."
"You won't be able to visit me anymore; I remember. What's wrong, Harry?"
"I ... I'm sick."
"Sick how?"
"Doesn't matter now. I want you to come with me, though."
"To St. Mungo's? Of course."
"No, Neville, we're at the hospital."
His confusion was evident, but he looked around again and said, "Then I'll get you a healer. Whatever you need."
"Don't forget," Harry persisted, taking hold of Neville's shoulders. Another fit was building up, but he had to make sure it was all said.
"I won't. Let me help you. Nurse! Nurse!" he shouted, beginning to get up, but thought better of it when Harry began coughing. "Harry? What's wrong? Nurse?!" He was reluctant, but when no one answered him, he slid away from Harry, making sure he could sit up straight and ran to the door. Seeing no one, he returned to the bed and pulled Harry to his feet. "Come on, then. Up we go." Hooking Harry's arm around his shoulders, he wrapped his arm around Harry's middle and trudged him into the hallway, as a mist of black smoke enveloped them.
"Please, someone?!" he continued to shout as he wandered, searching for a healer.
A middle-aged mediwitch came around a corner, "Mr. Longbot ... Oh! What's happened?"
"I-I don't know," Neville stammered as the fit rattled Harry's body.
"Take him in here. Orley! Put your tea down and help me!" the woman shouted, ushering Neville and Harry into an empty room. "Lay him down. Do you know what's wrong? What's the smoke coming from? Orley!" she called again, stomping to the door just as a young man appeared in the hallway.
"What is it? Is that Harry Potter?"
"Shutup, Orley."
Neville set Harry on the bed and laid him down. The coughing had begun to slow, but he was still gasping for air.
"What is happening to you?" Neville pleaded, almost rhetorically as he felt he should know exactly what was going on.
"Take Mr. Longbottom back to his room."
Orley placed a hand on Neville's shoulder and Harry grabbed at his wrist, shaking his head emphatically as he tried to control his breathing. Neville shrugged away from the young man.
"Leave us," Harry demanded quietly.
"Excuse me?" the mediwitch asked.
"Leave us."
"Get out," Neville ordered. "Don't you know who this is? He's told you to leave."
Reluctantly, they left the room and closed the door behind them.
"Neville ... I need you to do something for me."
"Anything, what is it?"
"Owl Ginny," was all he got out before he started coughing again.
Peering out the door, Neville asked Orley for parchment and quill as well as an owl. He ran to fetch them and Neville returned to Harry's bedside.
"Don't forget," Harry repeated.
"You're not visiting anymore, I know ..."
"No," Harry stopped him. "It was never your fault. Don't ... forget."
A knock sounded at the door but Neville didn't answer it immediately. He was trying to understand what Harry was talking about. What wasn't his fault? Orley stuck his head in.
"Your things, sir?"
Neville retrieved the owl, parchment, and quill, thanking him.
"Please, Neville ... quickly," Harry whispered, inhaling sharply. Neville scribbled a quick note to Ginny and sent the owl on its way.
He knew Harry should save his breath, but had to ask, "What isn't my fault?"
It was then, for a brief moment, when those familiar green eyes met his own that Neville saw Harry in a different way. His hair was greying at the temples and there were lines around his eyes and mouth, signaling many years of worry and regret.
"No one ... no one ever blamed you for what happened," Harry told him weakly. "I never blamed you."
Neville blinked.
"For what?"
"Don't ... forget."
Harry coughed only twice more, a smattering of blood on his lips. Neville watched in mute revulsion as the blood bubbled, flared and dried, leaving only ash on blistered lips.
Something connected in his brain.
He was soaked to the bone, kneeling there on the grass. It was dark, but little flames sprung up on the grass nearby, dousing almost as quickly as they'd appeared. When the lightning flashed, he found small spots of ash and clotted blood.
"Mr. Longbottom, what happened?"
Neville looked up at the mediwitch, but found he didn't know what she was talking about.
"Take him to his room," she told the young man once more. This time Neville followed without argument.