LOST PERSPECTIVE

PAYBACK TIME

By Bellegeste

A/N: We cut from the Potting Shed back to Neville, Harry and Hermione. This episode is based on an early canon reference to Gt. Uncle Algie. I just felt it was important to try to flesh out Neville's background to give some insight as to why he is like he is.

Chapter15 : DEBTOR'S PRISON

Neville shivered, buffeted by a salty wave of memory that slapped into his ears, his eyes, up his nose and left him choking on the dead taste of brine. The water had been cold then, that summer in his childhood, cold and deep and dark as it sucked him in and down and under; it had been even colder yesterday, in December…

…they'd both had a moderately successful morning walking in Stanley Park - Neville had sneaked a couple of cuttings from dormant shrubs in the Italian Garden, and then he had stood on the look out for the Park-keeper while Uncle Algie had extracted some pinion feathers from one of the Chinese Geese on the lake. After lunch ('taterash(1)' and strong tea) in a 'greasy spoon' on the front, Algie had proposed a stroll along the Pier. Halfway down the Promenade they bumped into Wigan Parbold(2) taking his four Jarvotts – Dandie, Ball, Fancie and Tibb(3) - for a walk along the beach. Seal brown, lithe, sinuous and smooth-coated, these creatures were a cross between the common Irish Jarvey and a sea otter, which gave them the questionable ability to curse underwater and to lie floating on their backs in the sea cracking rude jokes. Wigan had earned quite a reputation in South Lancs as a champion Jarvott breeder - (rumour had it that after his last run-in with the Committee for the Control of Experimental Breeds he'd even applied for a licence) - his pups were much in demand amongst the fishing fraternity: they could be trained up to check the lobster and Malaclaw pots, and were equally useful on land for gnome clearance.

"Eighup, Wigan!"

"Eighup, our Algie!"

In a silence born of nearly a century of companionship, the two old wizards stumped along, side by side, leaning into the wind. Neville struggled on behind them, pulling his hood more closely around his freezing ears. The Jarvotts wove and meandered in and about his legs, never quite tripping him up but constantly underfoot. Muggles kept mistaking them for Dachshunds. With tails like that? Wigan must have been using a Disillusionment Charm.

They reached the end of the Pier and stood gazing out over the open-cast quarry of the sea. The waves were choppy, rough-hewn, slate-grey. The four Jarvotts blithely dived off the edge and moments later their dark heads could be seen bobbing amidst the white-flecked rollers or gambolling in the surf, catching the light and gleaming silver like Hermione's Patronus. To Neville's acute embarrassment, Uncle Algie had begun to tell Wigan the story of his first, early, unintentional plunge from that very spot. Shame-faced he concentrated his attention on the cavorting, brown curves of the Jarvotts, but he couldn't escape his uncle's scathing commentary.

"…reet t' bottom, like an owd iron clog! Ah had ter levitate t' lad up an' out messen… Aye, ah sed : 'Laddie, tha mun sink or swim - show us the magic as th'art made on… Same as goes fer them pups, eh Wigan? Too much Jarvey, and them's jiggered! Us'll nay be having squi - "

"I'm not a squib!" Neville had shouted, raising his voice to be heard above the bitter wind. "I never have been. And you didn't have to throw me in the sea to prove it! For Merlin's sake, Uncle, witch-dunking went out in the middle ages!"

But neither of them had forgotten the fact that he had nearly drowned. A canny gleam highlighted the old wizard's sunken eyes and his weathered, red-veined cheeks creased into a grin.

"Aye, an is that so? 'Arken t' lad, Wigan! Is that what them's learning yer at that fancy skewel? Th'art purrin' lad(4)… Let's be seeing some o' this gradely(5) Hogwarts' magic - or is tha yed as full of blether as tha belly?"

And without any warning he had whipped out his wand, cast a lightning 'Toes-up!' (which Neville only later recognised as a simple form of Inverto!), flipped his Great nephew upside-down and pushed him over the wrought iron balustrade. For the second time in his life Neville felt himself falling from Blackpool Pier into the icy waters of the Irish Sea…

"Neville?" It was Hermione's voice, soft and very far away, calling him back. "Neville, what is it?"

Neville still had the taste of salt in his mouth; hot humiliation was stinging at the back of his nose, making him sniff more than ever.

"Neville? What's wrong?" Hermione's hand was on his arm, warm and concerned.

"I fell in," he mumbled.

"In where? Into the sea?" exclaimed Harry, laughing. "Grief, Neville you're a loser! How on earth did you manage that?"

"Oh do shut up, Harry! Can't you see he's upset?"

"Off the end of the Pier… it was a long way down. I got all wet…"

"Mmm - water can do that!" Harry's instinct was to joke his friend out of it, but Hermione was shooting daggers in his direction… "But surely you did a Flotation Charm, or Accio Life-belt! or something?"

Neville's lips drooped.

"I just heard this voice in my head yelling at me - it was Fudge ranting on about 'the penalties for the improper use of magic by underage wizards'. My brain's that stuffed with rules and regulations… It put me off. By the time I got to doing an emergency levitation spell I were full fathom five… And then the Jarvotts grabbed me by my sleeves and towed me ashore. Called me ' a blithering pink bag of blubbery shark-bait' they did."

While Harry side-tracked Neville onto the subject of talking otters, Hermione revived the tea. By the time she pressed another hot, steaming mug into Neville's hands he was looking less shaky.

"Didn't your Uncle try to save you?" she asked.

"Save me?" Neville choked. "He thought it was the funniest thing since fish fingers! He and Wigan were laughing so much they almost fell in too. Wigan said if I ever wanted to give up being a wizard I could have a job as a stick - he'd chuck me in and his Jarvotts'd fetch me…"

"That's not very nice," commented Hermione tartly, taking an instant dislike to Wigan Parbold.

"No, but… 'appen they're right. I'm not cut out to be a wizard. It's what they all think – my Gran and Uncle Algie, and Wigan - and Snape…"

He sounded forlorn and despondent, as though his self-esteem, wobbly at the best of times had been run over by the carrier's cart – not only knocked for six but crushed by the carriage wheel, trampled by the horses' hooves and left for dead on the dirt-track.

"Don't listen to them, Neville - focus on your strengths not your weaknesses," Hermione encouraged, trying to be constructive, though aware that she sounded more like a careers' advisor than a caring friend. She reminded Harry of the fake Mad-Eye, advising him before the first challenge in the Tri-Wizard tournament. 'Play to your strengths' he'd growled. Sound advice, even from an impostor.

"What about Herbology? You're streets ahead of us all there."

"I'll say," agreed Harry. "Professor Sprout thinks you're a prodigy. And what about the DA? You were easily one of the best - I'm sure Remus would agree. Pity he's not here - he'd get you to see sense." Harry spoke the name defiantly, still refusing to acknowledge Hermione's suspicions. "Anyway, it doesn't matter what people think…"

Neville's gaze had been fixed on his mug, his thumb tracing slow half-circles around the slim, porcelain rim, studying the entwined Celtic knot pattern as intently as if he were about to set up a cottage industry reproducing it. Now he lifted his eyes and let them settle heavily on Harry.

For as long as they could remember, Neville - nerdy, nit-wit Neville - had been the long-suffering butt of everybody's jokes. And, by and large, he had accepted the role of classroom duffer, realising that he was destined forever to play the Fool and never the romantic lead or tragic hero. In the face of mockery, he fell back on a rueful resilience, a kind of buoyant innocence that kept him afloat. But now even that seemed waterlogged. His dampened spirits were weighing on him, but, it seemed to Hermione as she watched him, that there was something extra dragging him down. It was as though a part of his youth had drowned in that dunking, and the Neville that had come shivering to the shore, bruised and bedraggled, was wrapped in clammy disillusion, burdened with a new and sobering maturity.

"That's right rich, coming from you, Harry," he said at last. "You of all people should know - it shouldn't matter, but it does. Destiny's like a prison - you can't escape. You could forget all about the Prophecy, if you wanted… disappear off into a normal, humdrum life - go to Somerset and work as a volunteer inthe Snidget Reservationor something. But you wouldn't do that, would you? Why not? Because you've got this idea that people think you're their saviour. You've got this responsibility; you can't just abandon it. It's a bit like that with me. Oh, I may not be 'The Boy Who Lived' - nobody's looking to Neville Longbottom to save the wizarding world - good thing too - but there are still… …expectations. And I keep letting everybody down. I'm a dead loss."

Harry and Hermione exchanged baffled glances. This was more than the understandable post-holiday depression, compounded by the prospect of special tuition with Snape.

"You just have to do your best, Neville. No one can expect more than that." Another trite platitude - Hermione wished she had not said anything at all. She didn't know what she was dealing with here, and without details she couldn't work out a solution. Harry adopted a less circumspect approach.

"Come on, mate - spit it out. This isn't about being pushed off a Pier. What've they been saying?"

In his experience - with one notable exception - words could leave a more lasting scar than mere blows. Neville didn't quite hold his nose, but he seemed to be taking a deep breath, preparing for another plunge…

"It's like they've all got their hopes pinned on me. Like I'm their last hope. Like I've got to represent the whole family - and it's so much worse because of my parents - all their potential just cursed into nothingness - they were both really bright, you know… Aurors and everything. Clever and talented - not a bit like me - that makes it harder too…"

He was swimming against a current of failure, straining to keep his head above water; short, snatchy strokes, gulping explanations…

"My Gran never says anything right out, but I know what she's thinking: that I owe it to them to be a success, so that their… 'sacrifice' wasn't a complete, darned waste… Surely you can see that, can't you, Harry?"

Harry could, too clearly now. He stared at his friend in mute sympathy, relating to him on a fundamental level, stunned to hear his own demons struggling from Neville's trembling lips.

"And it's even worse with Uncle Algie - he sees me as this squibby runt - probably thinks I should have been left out for the dragons at birth - and it really saddens him that I'm the only one left to carry on the bloodline. He said as much to Wigan. I heard him. He said: 'There be more magic in them Jarvotts than in that lad!'

He sees me getting all this attention, and being given opportunities that he never had… and then being so useless, squandering my chances… and it rankles… He's bound to be jealous. It's not like he hates me or anything, but I know I'm a big, big disappointment. He reckons I'm soft - a 'nesh jessy' he calls me - that's basically like saying I'm a wimp. And then he throws me in at the deep end - literally, yeah! – to see how I'll cope. I don't even think he means to be harsh - it's his way of trying to spur me on, to goad me into being more magic - like he thinks I'm not really trying and if he provokes me enough…"

Harry could relate to that too.

"What does he think I am - some Muggle conjuror who's got a magic egg hidden up his sleeve? Or does he expect me to produce it out of a hat, or from behind my ear?"

With a sharp, irritable gesture Neville plucked an invisible spell from near his hairline and snapped his hand open as though releasing an explosion of magic into the Common Room. Despite themselves, Harry and Hermione ducked.

"There's all this pressure… all these expectations," Neville grumbled. "I feel like I owe it to Uncle Algie to take advantage of all the opportunities he never got; and I owe it to my Gran to, kind of, repay her for looking after me all these years… And I even owe it to Snape because he let me back into Potions… And I owe it to my parents because… well, because I just do… It's like my whole life is one massive debt!"

Neville surfaced for air and stopped speaking. Harry and Hermione didn't know what to say. Seeing their quiet, unassuming friend peeling off his outer layers of ineptitude and stripping down to the bare truth had shocked them into a guilty but supportive silence. They could see what he meant. And however much they wanted to reassure him with something ego-boosting, they could both identify too strongly with the concept of parental 'pressure' to find it in themselves to disagree.

It was a relief to them all when an insistent tapping on the glass gave them an excuse to change the subject. Harry got up and pulled open the window. A rather seedy owl stepped over the sill and was airborne once more, gliding across the Common Room directly to Neville and landing neatly on his knee. A whiff of smoke and darkness wafted from his wings.

Neville read the note, his face falling like a suicide from a bridge.

"It's pay-back time. Snape wants to see me in his office this evening…"

End of chapter.

1 Taterash – traditional Lancashire dish made of corned beef and potatoes

2 Wigan Parbold - there's a roadsign off the M6 Motorway on the way to Preston which directs to 'Wigan, Parbold'. It always sounded like a name to me…!

3 Dandie, Ball, Fancie and Tibb - named after the familiars of the four witches who stood accused in the infamous Pendle Witch Trials of 1612.

4 Purrin – putting (your head in the dog's kennel) i.e. asking for trouble

5 gradely - fine

Next Chapter: THE BUTTON. It's the last one folks. And it's a sad one. All will be reveealed.