He arrived at the Headmaster's office with no trouble. He hadn't been in this room since his seventh year. Gazing around the room, he decided not much had changed. The portraits of the past Hogwarts' Headmasters slept quietly in their frames. A musical warble came from the corner.
"Hello Fawkes," he said. The phoenix nodded his head and whistled a reply. He sat down in the armchair in front of Professor Dumbledore's desk. Sighing deeply, he slouched farther into the chair. He had a feeling he was not going to like this little talk with the Headmaster.
Sensing his discomfort, Fawkes jumped down from the perch and landed in his lap. The phoenix nibbled at his ear and cooed affectionately. He reached up to pet the magnificent bird, already feeling a bit better. The bird responded by singing more enthusiastically.
"Thanks Fawkes," he said to the bird. The phoenix's song was very soothing, and took away all his apprehensions. He sat like that for a while, mindlessly petting the magical animal who had fallen asleep in his lap, and he waited for the Headmaster to arrive.
At last, he heard the large doors behind him open as Professor Dumbledore entered.
"I apologize for keeping you waiting," the Headmaster said and took a seat behind the large desk. "Ah, I see Fawkes has made himself quite comfortable." The bird's head rose at the sound of its name, but decided nothing needed its attention, and went back to sleep on his lap.
"You wanted to speak with me, Headmaster?" he asked. Professor Dumbledore bridged his hands across his chest.
"Yes, I did," the Headmaster said and stared at him for moment. The old man's eyes held none of their usual merriment; they were calculating. Irritated at being observed like a lab rat, he began to shift uncomfortably in his seat. Fawkes woke up and huffed at him before flying back onto the perch. Professor Dumbledore still silently watched him.
"About what, Sir?" he asked annoyed. The Headmaster quirked an eyebrow at him, as though he should already know.
"I wanted to know," Dumbledore started, "how much of the Azkaban incident was your doing?"
The blood drained from his face... Dumbledore was always suspicious of his powers. And judging by the intense expression, the old man knew now. Even if he knew how to respond, he wasn't sure if he could. He merely raised his eyebrows.
"As I thought," Dumbledore said. "In that case, I am in your debt. Many of our best people were freed that night, and it may be what we needed to turn the tides on Voldemorte." He still could not say anything. He couldn't even make eye contact anymore; his gaze was locked on his feet which he shuffled around nervously. Professor Dumbledore rose from behind the desk and began pacing.
"I would recommend you to the Ministry for the Order of Merlin, First Class," the Headmaster said. He felt his heart sink in his chest. To refuse such an offer was unheard of, but how he hated people knowing anything about him. How he despised unwanted attention.
"But I suspect you wouldn't want that?"
His fidgeting stopped immediately, and his head shot up at the question. He gave a mental scream as his eyes locked with the Headmaster's. The old man was reading him like an open book, and that pissed him off to no end. The walls he had so carefully constructed around him were crumbling under Dumbledore's scrutiny.
He mentally braced himself for the argument that was coming. He'd had this conversation so many times before with his family.
"I'm afraid I don't understand your ways," the older man said, and sighed deeply. "In my opinion, you are undoubtedly one of the strongest wizards of this time. Yet you keep everyone from knowing." Again, he found himself looking down at his feet. He was tired of hearing this same speech over and over.
"You keep yourself hidden," Dumbledore continued. "You do extraordinary deeds for wizarding-kind, and then you conceal any trace of your involvement." Dumbledore stopped his pacing directly in front of him.
"Why do you insist on hiding you talents?" Dumbledore demanded. He snorted and rolled his eyes (which were still fascinated with his feet).
At some point he must have stopped paying attention to what was being said, for several minutes had passed. And now Dumbledore was watching him... waiting for an answer, or possibly an explination.
"With respect, Headmaster," he said condescendingly as he brought his gaze to match Dumbledore's, "if I had flaunted my powers, as you're suggesting, the Azkaban break would have never been possible. I certainly wouldn't have been able to pull it off. My hands would have been mutilated the moment I arrived, and we'd all still be stuck there," he said angrily. Professor Dumbledore looked taken aback; not many people these days had the gall to argue with the Headmaster.
"My secrets have their benefits, as you well know now."
After a very tense moment, the old man nodded his head in grudging agreement.
"True. Very true," Dumbledore said and sat down again. The Headmaster continued to observe the young man before him. "If you will not accept my offer for recommendations, then at least consider my other offer," the Headmaster said. He sighed in defeat, and settled more comfortably into the chair. He would have to hear the old man out, whether he wanted to or not.
"I want you to join the Order of the Phoenix." He immediately stood objecting to what was being said, but before he could get in one word of argument the Headmaster was already motioning for him to sit.
"You may as well have the title," Dumbledore said. "The information you provide the Order with is always more accurate than what our spies report. You've fought with us in every major battle, and you've saved our necks more than a few times." Dumbledore paused a moment, letting the younger man digest what was being said.
"You are one of our best spies and greatest fighters. At least, officially, be part of the Order."
This was not as simple a question as Dumbledore made it sound. This was a major decision for him. It went against all he had strived for. He was used to living in the shadows, and the Headmaster was asking him to walk out into the light, to leave the comfort and protection of his world.
It was not his way, and Dumbledore knew that. But Dumbledore was also offering him a better life, one of hope and promise.
"I'll consider it, Sir," he said after a long delay.
"That's all I ask, my boy. That's all I ask," Professor Dumbledore said cheerfully. He rose from his seat, and gave Fawkes one last pet on the head, and then fastened his cloak around him.
"I'll be in London all week... trying to restore my old contacts," he said still not meeting the Headmaster's gaze, "but I'll give you my answer no later than Friday." Dumbledore rose to walk him to the door.
"That would be most appreciated," said the headmaster, but the old man's eyes twinkled as though he had already given his answer. Reaching the door, Dumbledore once again held him by the shoulder. The old man gazed deep into his eyes, as though truly seeing him for the first time, and then smiled broadly... proudly.
"It's good to have you back, Mr. Longbottom"
"It's good to be back, Sir," Neville said. He brought the hood on his cloak down, obscuring his face from view.
And then he left the Headmaster's office; he still had much work to do. He walked through the familiar halls of childhood at a confident pace. His steps didn't falter until he was outside the great castle. The night air filled his lungs, and he was once again overjoyed. He was not yet used to breathing as a free man.
Overhead, the stars shone brightly, and Neville found himself looking for the familiar silver of the moon. He saw a sliver of her in the distance. While gazing at her, an overwhelming feeling of gratitude came over him.
"Thank you," he whispered, and then he bowed deeply to her.