"[I]EXPELLIARMUS![/I]" roared the Headmaster, and Neville's wand went
flying out of his hand.
Without a second glance, Neville turned tail and ran, ducking and leaping athletically through the criss-crossing supports of the bleachers.
"[I]Impedimenta![/I]" "[I]Petrificus totalus![/I]"
The teachers' spells came fast and strong, but they had no hope of a clear shot. The spells were harmlessly absorbed by the wood, as the shadowy, running figure negotiated the labyrinth of timbers.
Harry simply stared, his brain skipping over the same thought, like a scratched record.
"[I]Why?[/I]"
"Harry, are you alright?" Professor Dumbledore asked sternly, looking slightly to his left. Harry saw Professor Vector, Flitwick, and another teacher he didn't know stumble past, trying to follow through the bleachers.
Harry shook his head to clear it.
"I'm...yes...I'm okay."
But his shock was suddenly replaced by urgency, and anger.
"Come on! He's getting – "
But there was a blood-curdling screech from outside the Quidditch arena.
"Harry, [I]stay here![/I]" Dumbledore said sternly.
"I can't," Harry said, meeting Dumbledore's eye. His scar burst into searing pain, and he felt a surge of irrational fury. He wanted to murder this man.
Harry jerked his eyes away, as did Dumbledore, and he tried to squash the feeling down.
"I can't," Harry shouted angrily, as he ducked out of the bleachers, and began running towards where the screech had come from.
"Harry!" bellowed the Headmaster, but Harry again pushed it out of his ears.
"What does he know about it?" Harry found himself screaming inside, "He just wants to keep me safe, but he doesn't understand – no one is safe. No one is safe anymore, and it's because of me, and to shut me up in the common room and expect me not to –"
Harry had exited the Quidditch pitch and began running towards the Whomping Willow, where the scream had come from. For a moment he was panicked as he stopped to scan the grounds – where had he gone? Did he know about the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack? How could he? Who would have told him?
"[I]NO! NOOO![/I]" came the shrill shrieking.
Neville wasn't on the grounds.
With horror leaking into his heart like ice water, Harry slowly craned his head back, and looked up to see the same four Dementors, holding Neville's feebly struggling body high in the air. Two of them were clutching his arms in their bony, slimy claws, while the other two were sucking out his soul.
Harry whipped out his wand.
"[I]Expecto patronum! Expecto patronum![/I]"
But his heart was full of dread. He couldn't think of a single happy thought – all was cold and dark. His wand let out a feeble white glow, then subsided. Once more, he heard his mother's dying screams echoing in the corridors of his mind again...he seemed to see Sirius falling in a graceful arc once more...
"No!" he thought, "Stay awake! Expecto patronum! [I]Expecto Patronum![/I]"
Then, to his horror, one of the Demetors pulled back their hoods, to reveal a scabby skull, glistening moistly...stray strands of hair straggled out of the half-rotten patches of skin, half sloughing off of the greenish-gray bone – Dark, wrinkled depressions where there ought to be eyes, and worst of all, a gaping, sucking maw, reeking of death –
-- clamped over Neville Longbottom's mouth.
Harry felt the bile reaching the back of his throat, and his stomach wrenched, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. His head was swimming,
With an ear-splitting shriek of triumph, the Dementors released Neville's limp body, and went wheeling off into the clouded sky. Harry watched helplessly as Neville fell to the ground, and landed with a sickening crunch.
"Harry!"
Harry didn't even turn around as the Headmaster knelt by his side, the other teachers racing towards Neville's limp body.
"He'd [I]dead![/I]" Harry stammered in disbelief, shaking his head to clear the darkness, and still shivering from the cold, or what else, he couldn't tell...
With a tricky little wave of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a chocolate frog, which he wordlessly passed to Harry. Harry didn't dare look him in the eyes, but he felt, more than saw, the helpless anger and disappointment emanating from Dumbledore.
"He's still breathing," Professor Vector said, "But not really alive...we were too late. Looks as though his arm's broken in several places...it's a mercy he can't feel it."
"Why?" Harry asked, through clenched teeth. He felt as though he were going to go mad.
"[I]WHY?![/I]" He stood up and strode over to Neville's limp body, the Headmaster following close behind.
Harry got a shock when he saw Neville's face – it was completely pallid and devoid of expression, his blue eyes fixed pointedly somewhere beyond the sky. But worst of all was his lips – they were blue, his veins standing out by stark contrast – totally frozen.
Harry was suddenly struck by an odd realization – Neville could have killed him at any time today – in the locker room, at lunch, even during the game.
"Maybe he just didn't want to get caught," Harry reasoned with himself, "He wanted to wait until we were alone."
"But how would he know that [I]I[/I] would be the one to find him, under the bleachers?" he asked out loud.
"What?" Professor Vector asked, looking at Harry with a cautious expression.
"You'd best eat that," Dumbledore said briskly, pointing at the chocolate frog. Harry was momentarily taken aback – the Headmaster had never spoken to him that way before. He might have pushed him too far this time. He obediently took a bite of the chocolate frog, and felt warmth returning to his limbs.
Dumbledore knelt down next to Neville's body, and reached into Neville's pocket, which was a difficult feat – Harry noticed that Neville's uniform seemed quite a bit tighter than normal. Had he gained weight?
Dumbledore took out a scrap of paper and what looked like a few Bertie Bott's beans. But Harry was still looking at Neville's uniform...
"Slytherin!" Harry shouted, pointing at the crest on Neville's sweater.
They all turned their eyes to the green and silver crest, the snake hissing, it's teeth bared.
Dumbledore took the orange candy, delicately lifted Neville's tongue with his long fingers, and pushed it underneath his tongue near his gum line.
For a moment nothing happened. Then, suddenly, Neville seemed to start growing.
"No," Harry said, realization dawning, "But how would he get them?"
Dumbledore looked at the few Bertie Botts beans in his hand, which were not candy at all, but were the separated purple and orange ends of Fred and George's Polyjuice Snackboxes.
Neville continued to grow taller and taller. His boyish face elongated, becoming more sallow, darker. He sprouted thick, stringy black hair, and his blue eyes became dark, like empty holes. There was a slight ripping sound, as the seams of the sweater were stretched to their limit.
Harry was shaking with anger.
"It's Nott," Harry said, clenching his fists, and glaring hatefully at the Death Eater's soul-less, still-living body, squeezed painfully into the Slytherin uniform.
Dumbledore passed Harry the scrap of paper. He opened it up, and read the word scrawled in green ink across the parchment:
"Nebulus...That's our password," Harry said, a chill running down his spine.
"It seems he wasn't planning on encountering you until later tonight," Dumbledore said.
The Headmaster's jaw was set, and his normally sparkling blue eyes were cast carefully at the turf – though his voice seemed calm as ever, Harry knew he was angry, though at him or at Voldemort he couldn't tell. It was as though the sun had gone behind a cloud – Harry actually felt cold.
"How?" Harry asked, racking his brains, "How could he get the Snackboxes? Fred and George only sell them to the Order – and how could he get the password? And a uniform?"
"And why would he get the wrong one?" Professor Flitwick asked, examining the Slytherin crest on the torn sweater.
"More importantly," Dumbledore said, worry and exhaustion shading his impassive face, "Where is Mr. Longbottom?"
"Neville was normal all through lunch today...and even during the game, when Ron got hit in the head – he spoke, I heard his voice."
"But the person might have gotten his hair ages ago – they have the Gryffindor password," Professor Vector said doubtfully.
"Yes," Harry said, "But they'd need to..."
He stopped himself. He'd been about to say, "They'd need to get rid of the real Neville first."
"Let's return to the Quidditch Stadium," Dumbledore said evenly, "And search where we first found the impostor. Perhaps we can find where the real Mr. Longbottom is hidden."
Harry noticed uncomfortably that he said "hidden" rather than "hiding."
"Err, Professor...may I...that is, if it's alright..."
Dumbledore turned his eyes to Harry's shoulder.
"It seems that I am unable to stop you. Therefore, you are welcome to come along. If you would, please, stay with us, however?"
Harry almost wished the Headmaster had yelled at him, or given him detention...his disappointment was eminently worse than his anger. He was reminded of Lupin's words to him in third year...his parents had died to protect him...so many others in the Order were risking their lives on a daily basis, in part, trying to keep him safe. The least he could have done was gone to the common room...
But something about this didn't sit right with Harry. Go to the common room, like a good boy...
"It's just like shipping me off to the Dursleys every summer, and cutting me out of all contact with the wizarding world...People don't like being shut up and closed off, even if it [I]is[/I] safer."
Besides...wasn't this all about him in the first place? If he was the cause of all this, how was he supposed to sit idly by and do nothing to [I]stop[/I] it? Honestly, had that ever worked in the past? He always ended up right in the thick of it, whether he wanted to be or not.
His mind wandered to Sirius, going stir-crazy in his family's old home. "Sirius would never just stand idly by," Harry said to himself strongly, "and hide when his friends needed him most...He came for me, so I came for Neville. Sirius would never cower in the attic while I was in danger."
"And look what it got him," said the nasty little voice in his head.
"It doesn't matter," Harry argued viciously with himself, "It was the right thing to do."
"And it was your fault he had to do it..."
They had passed through the wooden archway, and reached the Quidditch pitch. Harry looked up to see the Headmaster peering down at him over his spectacles. He flinched at the eye contact, expecting his scar to hurt, but there was nothing – apparently Lord Voldemort's thoughts were elsewhere.
With a little hope, he realized he could read something besides disappointment in Dumbledore's eyes – just the slightest trace of sadness, and understanding. Harry knew, instinctively, that Dumbledore had also been thinking about Sirius.
"This way!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, from beneath the bleachers.
Professor Vector emerged from the bleachers, Neville's unconscious form in his arms.
Without a second glance, Neville turned tail and ran, ducking and leaping athletically through the criss-crossing supports of the bleachers.
"[I]Impedimenta![/I]" "[I]Petrificus totalus![/I]"
The teachers' spells came fast and strong, but they had no hope of a clear shot. The spells were harmlessly absorbed by the wood, as the shadowy, running figure negotiated the labyrinth of timbers.
Harry simply stared, his brain skipping over the same thought, like a scratched record.
"[I]Why?[/I]"
"Harry, are you alright?" Professor Dumbledore asked sternly, looking slightly to his left. Harry saw Professor Vector, Flitwick, and another teacher he didn't know stumble past, trying to follow through the bleachers.
Harry shook his head to clear it.
"I'm...yes...I'm okay."
But his shock was suddenly replaced by urgency, and anger.
"Come on! He's getting – "
But there was a blood-curdling screech from outside the Quidditch arena.
"Harry, [I]stay here![/I]" Dumbledore said sternly.
"I can't," Harry said, meeting Dumbledore's eye. His scar burst into searing pain, and he felt a surge of irrational fury. He wanted to murder this man.
Harry jerked his eyes away, as did Dumbledore, and he tried to squash the feeling down.
"I can't," Harry shouted angrily, as he ducked out of the bleachers, and began running towards where the screech had come from.
"Harry!" bellowed the Headmaster, but Harry again pushed it out of his ears.
"What does he know about it?" Harry found himself screaming inside, "He just wants to keep me safe, but he doesn't understand – no one is safe. No one is safe anymore, and it's because of me, and to shut me up in the common room and expect me not to –"
Harry had exited the Quidditch pitch and began running towards the Whomping Willow, where the scream had come from. For a moment he was panicked as he stopped to scan the grounds – where had he gone? Did he know about the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack? How could he? Who would have told him?
"[I]NO! NOOO![/I]" came the shrill shrieking.
Neville wasn't on the grounds.
With horror leaking into his heart like ice water, Harry slowly craned his head back, and looked up to see the same four Dementors, holding Neville's feebly struggling body high in the air. Two of them were clutching his arms in their bony, slimy claws, while the other two were sucking out his soul.
Harry whipped out his wand.
"[I]Expecto patronum! Expecto patronum![/I]"
But his heart was full of dread. He couldn't think of a single happy thought – all was cold and dark. His wand let out a feeble white glow, then subsided. Once more, he heard his mother's dying screams echoing in the corridors of his mind again...he seemed to see Sirius falling in a graceful arc once more...
"No!" he thought, "Stay awake! Expecto patronum! [I]Expecto Patronum![/I]"
Then, to his horror, one of the Demetors pulled back their hoods, to reveal a scabby skull, glistening moistly...stray strands of hair straggled out of the half-rotten patches of skin, half sloughing off of the greenish-gray bone – Dark, wrinkled depressions where there ought to be eyes, and worst of all, a gaping, sucking maw, reeking of death –
-- clamped over Neville Longbottom's mouth.
Harry felt the bile reaching the back of his throat, and his stomach wrenched, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. His head was swimming,
With an ear-splitting shriek of triumph, the Dementors released Neville's limp body, and went wheeling off into the clouded sky. Harry watched helplessly as Neville fell to the ground, and landed with a sickening crunch.
"Harry!"
Harry didn't even turn around as the Headmaster knelt by his side, the other teachers racing towards Neville's limp body.
"He'd [I]dead![/I]" Harry stammered in disbelief, shaking his head to clear the darkness, and still shivering from the cold, or what else, he couldn't tell...
With a tricky little wave of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a chocolate frog, which he wordlessly passed to Harry. Harry didn't dare look him in the eyes, but he felt, more than saw, the helpless anger and disappointment emanating from Dumbledore.
"He's still breathing," Professor Vector said, "But not really alive...we were too late. Looks as though his arm's broken in several places...it's a mercy he can't feel it."
"Why?" Harry asked, through clenched teeth. He felt as though he were going to go mad.
"[I]WHY?![/I]" He stood up and strode over to Neville's limp body, the Headmaster following close behind.
Harry got a shock when he saw Neville's face – it was completely pallid and devoid of expression, his blue eyes fixed pointedly somewhere beyond the sky. But worst of all was his lips – they were blue, his veins standing out by stark contrast – totally frozen.
Harry was suddenly struck by an odd realization – Neville could have killed him at any time today – in the locker room, at lunch, even during the game.
"Maybe he just didn't want to get caught," Harry reasoned with himself, "He wanted to wait until we were alone."
"But how would he know that [I]I[/I] would be the one to find him, under the bleachers?" he asked out loud.
"What?" Professor Vector asked, looking at Harry with a cautious expression.
"You'd best eat that," Dumbledore said briskly, pointing at the chocolate frog. Harry was momentarily taken aback – the Headmaster had never spoken to him that way before. He might have pushed him too far this time. He obediently took a bite of the chocolate frog, and felt warmth returning to his limbs.
Dumbledore knelt down next to Neville's body, and reached into Neville's pocket, which was a difficult feat – Harry noticed that Neville's uniform seemed quite a bit tighter than normal. Had he gained weight?
Dumbledore took out a scrap of paper and what looked like a few Bertie Bott's beans. But Harry was still looking at Neville's uniform...
"Slytherin!" Harry shouted, pointing at the crest on Neville's sweater.
They all turned their eyes to the green and silver crest, the snake hissing, it's teeth bared.
Dumbledore took the orange candy, delicately lifted Neville's tongue with his long fingers, and pushed it underneath his tongue near his gum line.
For a moment nothing happened. Then, suddenly, Neville seemed to start growing.
"No," Harry said, realization dawning, "But how would he get them?"
Dumbledore looked at the few Bertie Botts beans in his hand, which were not candy at all, but were the separated purple and orange ends of Fred and George's Polyjuice Snackboxes.
Neville continued to grow taller and taller. His boyish face elongated, becoming more sallow, darker. He sprouted thick, stringy black hair, and his blue eyes became dark, like empty holes. There was a slight ripping sound, as the seams of the sweater were stretched to their limit.
Harry was shaking with anger.
"It's Nott," Harry said, clenching his fists, and glaring hatefully at the Death Eater's soul-less, still-living body, squeezed painfully into the Slytherin uniform.
Dumbledore passed Harry the scrap of paper. He opened it up, and read the word scrawled in green ink across the parchment:
"Nebulus...That's our password," Harry said, a chill running down his spine.
"It seems he wasn't planning on encountering you until later tonight," Dumbledore said.
The Headmaster's jaw was set, and his normally sparkling blue eyes were cast carefully at the turf – though his voice seemed calm as ever, Harry knew he was angry, though at him or at Voldemort he couldn't tell. It was as though the sun had gone behind a cloud – Harry actually felt cold.
"How?" Harry asked, racking his brains, "How could he get the Snackboxes? Fred and George only sell them to the Order – and how could he get the password? And a uniform?"
"And why would he get the wrong one?" Professor Flitwick asked, examining the Slytherin crest on the torn sweater.
"More importantly," Dumbledore said, worry and exhaustion shading his impassive face, "Where is Mr. Longbottom?"
"Neville was normal all through lunch today...and even during the game, when Ron got hit in the head – he spoke, I heard his voice."
"But the person might have gotten his hair ages ago – they have the Gryffindor password," Professor Vector said doubtfully.
"Yes," Harry said, "But they'd need to..."
He stopped himself. He'd been about to say, "They'd need to get rid of the real Neville first."
"Let's return to the Quidditch Stadium," Dumbledore said evenly, "And search where we first found the impostor. Perhaps we can find where the real Mr. Longbottom is hidden."
Harry noticed uncomfortably that he said "hidden" rather than "hiding."
"Err, Professor...may I...that is, if it's alright..."
Dumbledore turned his eyes to Harry's shoulder.
"It seems that I am unable to stop you. Therefore, you are welcome to come along. If you would, please, stay with us, however?"
Harry almost wished the Headmaster had yelled at him, or given him detention...his disappointment was eminently worse than his anger. He was reminded of Lupin's words to him in third year...his parents had died to protect him...so many others in the Order were risking their lives on a daily basis, in part, trying to keep him safe. The least he could have done was gone to the common room...
But something about this didn't sit right with Harry. Go to the common room, like a good boy...
"It's just like shipping me off to the Dursleys every summer, and cutting me out of all contact with the wizarding world...People don't like being shut up and closed off, even if it [I]is[/I] safer."
Besides...wasn't this all about him in the first place? If he was the cause of all this, how was he supposed to sit idly by and do nothing to [I]stop[/I] it? Honestly, had that ever worked in the past? He always ended up right in the thick of it, whether he wanted to be or not.
His mind wandered to Sirius, going stir-crazy in his family's old home. "Sirius would never just stand idly by," Harry said to himself strongly, "and hide when his friends needed him most...He came for me, so I came for Neville. Sirius would never cower in the attic while I was in danger."
"And look what it got him," said the nasty little voice in his head.
"It doesn't matter," Harry argued viciously with himself, "It was the right thing to do."
"And it was your fault he had to do it..."
They had passed through the wooden archway, and reached the Quidditch pitch. Harry looked up to see the Headmaster peering down at him over his spectacles. He flinched at the eye contact, expecting his scar to hurt, but there was nothing – apparently Lord Voldemort's thoughts were elsewhere.
With a little hope, he realized he could read something besides disappointment in Dumbledore's eyes – just the slightest trace of sadness, and understanding. Harry knew, instinctively, that Dumbledore had also been thinking about Sirius.
"This way!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, from beneath the bleachers.
Professor Vector emerged from the bleachers, Neville's unconscious form in his arms.
