A Loss of Innocence—Neville's Story

By Constant Vigilance

Ron.

Oh my friend, are you really gone? How is it possible that only two years ago, we were all just children? I remember our last night at Hogwarts. You, Harry, Dean, Seamus and I were all piled together on Harry's bed laughing and shoving each other playfully off into the floor. I remember you had just gotten together with Hermione, and Seamus was teasing you about getting into her knickers.

You grinned and flicked him off. So, he started in on me since you wouldn't give him the pleasure of being embarrassed. Me, whom he knew had never even seen a pair of knickers that weren't my Gran's, much less ever had a girlfriend. He kept pushing, nagging, harder and harder. It was quickly becoming 'not fun' for me. You saw that. You saw it and you told him to bugger off. That when I finally decided to go knicker-chasing, I'd be a sex god.

I guess you were right. Lorelei thought I was pretty good. I never left her wanting, at least. So, I guess you really did know. You always knew everything. You always saw everything. Everything, I suppose, but this, my old friend. Oh, Ron. If only. If only things had been different. If only we had remained those innocent, unknowing children. You would still be alive today. If only…

The door creaked open and a woman strode in. She wore the Auror insignia. I should know. I'd seen it every time I went to visit my parents. Gran thought that hanging it over their beds would help to bring a spark back to them. All it really ever did was make me feel more useless. I was getting pretty damn used to that feeling in my life. But, I digress.

The woman came to the table and sat down on the other side of it, laying out a sheaf of parchments and self-inking quil. She took a moment to stare at me with hawk-like eyes and I briefly wondered if my eyes were still swollen from my last crying jag. She cleared her throat held her quill at the ready over the parchment.

"Neville Frank Longbottom?" she demanded. I nodded and then flinched as she narrowed her eyes.

"Er…yes. Sorry," I croaked.

"Age?"

"Um…20?" She didn't look pleased that my voice turned that into a question.

"Occupation?"

"I'm…er, I'm a florist," I managed to get out. I'd never wished for a glass of water more in my life. She had the presence of Severus Snape and the bearing of Draco Malfoy. A combination that made me want to tremble and beg for forgiveness for…well, whatever they wanted me to beg for, I suppose.

The woman fixed me with a stern glare. "I am Chief Investigator Boadicea Basher. You are here because you are a suspect in the murder investigation of Ronald B. Weasley, age 20. Would you like to make a statement?

I blinked. "A-A statement, ma'am?" I stuttered. "About wh-what?"

She pursed her lips. Yet another horrid thing she had in common with Snape. "A statement about the death of Mr. Weasley."

"Um…I think…I think it's a horrible loss?" I tried. She rolled her eyes.

"No, Mr. Longbottom. Not a statement regarding your opinion on the death. A statement admitting guilt."

My hands twitched helplessly on my lap and my eyes grew wide. "G-guilt?" I squeaked. "B-but I didn't do it! Are you finding me guilty?"

The Chief Investigator sighed again and set her quill down. "No, Mr. Longbottom. We are not finding you guilty. You'd need to be on trial for that. What we are looking for right now is admittance to the crime or denial of culpability. The first will save a lot of time. The second means I will then have to ask you more questions." She looked thoroughly disgusted at that notion.

"Oh," I heaved a great sigh of relief. "Well, then. I'm in denial." I winced. "I mean…I'm denialing, er…I mean—"

"Yes, yes, Mr. Longbottom," she cut me off with a growl. "I think we get the point. So. That brings me to the thrilling task of asking you questions."

"All right," I nodded, folding my hands in my lap as Gran had taught me to do when I was enduring…ah, receiving a lecture.

Chief Investigator Basher looked as though she were sucking on lemon drops. "Now, Mr. Longbottom. Please describe your relationship with the deceased."

The deceased. Oh, Ron.

"Well," I began, licking my lips to moisten them. "We were great friends in school. Known each other since we were 11. Sorted into Gryffindor together." Chief Investigator Glass looked irritated and I realized I was rambling again. I flushed and tried to focus. "We sort of drifted apart after school, though."

"Why?" she barked.

I jumped a bit, which seemed to put a hint of a smirk on her lips. "Well, Ron had a falling out with Harry and Mione. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, that is," I clarified. She waved me on. "Um…well, after that, he just seemed to lose his sense of direction. He started going to bars and clubs every night. He started hanging around unsavory people. The kind that are on a path you just don't want to go down."

She had picked up her quill again.

"We had stopped seeing much of each other, really. He was spending so much time with his new 'friends' and hanging around that club Lucius Malfoy opened down in Diagon Alley." My lip curled. I could feel it. And Chief Investigator Glass didn't miss it either.

"You don't approve of clubs?" she asked, her eyes pinning me to my chair.

"It's not that I disapprove of clubs in general," I shrugged. "It's just…Malfoy ran this one. And every one knew…Ron knew what kind of person Malfoy was. And he still went there. He started…he started doing d-drugs," I felt a lump in my throat and hoped I wouldn't start crying again. "I know Malfoy let him deal in there. He let him go further down that path. I…I couldn't stand it, anymore," I whispered. "I started avoiding him. I started spending more time with Lorelei."

"Lorelei MacClaggan?" she interrupted.

"Yes." The lump was getting bigger.

"Miss MacClaggan has recently died as well, I see," she said, absently thumbing through the parchment.

"…es," I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yes. She did. She was at a get-together and h-her drink was spiked. She was rushed to a Muggle hospital, but it was too late. Sh-she d-died." I blinked rapidly, feeling my eyes begin to burn. "That's actually another reason I was avoiding Ron."

"How so?"

"His lifestyle," I looked down at my hands, fisted in my lap. "It…it reminded me of how Lorelei d-died. I lost her. And it sort of hit home that I might lose him too. That I'd lose my loved ones one at a time to something I didn't even understand." I felt the first hot tear trickle down my cheek and cursed my inability to go a day without crying.

"Hmph," was her reply. She gave me a moment to collect myself and then began shuffling parchment again. I wiped my face and looked back up at her, ready for the next assault on my emotions.

"So, Mr. Longbottom. Where were you at the time of the murder?" Her gaze narrowed on me again.

"Um…well, I don't know exactly when that was," I pointed out hesitantly.

She gave a disappointed frown before glancing down at the information in front of her. "He was found by housekeeping on Thursday, October 31st at 10 a.m. in a room in the Leaky Cauldron. We are placing the time of death between 9 p.m. October 30th and 9 a.m. October 31st." She stared at me again.

"Oh," I flushed. "Um…so where was I between 9 and 9?" She nodded irritably. "Well, I was in my flat."

"Can anyone corroborate that?" I blinked at her.

She growled. "Is there anyone that can prove your statement?"

"Oh. Um…well, Blaise, I suppose," I shrugged. "Blaise Zabini. He's my roommate. I'd just come from Hogwarts, visiting with Professor Sprout. She was my mentor at school," I smiled slightly. Chief Investigator Basher didn't seem to be interested in any mentoring I'd had so I took a deep breath and continued. "I'd been down lately and wanted to find a bit of the spark I used to have before…before Lorelei's death.

"The best times I could remember were in the Greenhouses at Hogwarts, and so I went. But, it wasn't the same." I closed my eyes briefly. "I'd become someone since my years in Hogwarts. Maybe not an important someone," I smiled wryly, "but I'd found acceptance and love. I'd grown up. It's really true that you can't go home again," I shook my head sadly. "I went to Hogwarts to find comfort, but all I found were memories of what a pathetic sod I used to be.

"So," I sighed. "I came home. More depressed than I had been when I'd left, to be truthful. Blaise sat with me for the longest time just listening to me cry. He's a bit of a player," I chuckled. "But when it comes to his friends, he's always been there for me. He was there for me when I lost Lorelei. He really was the main reason I pulled through. He never gave up on me. Anyway, he sat with me for hours. Then he tucked me into bed and just sat with me until I fell asleep."

"What time did you go to Hogwarts?"

I knit my brow, trying to remember. "Um…it was after dinnertime. I didn't want to interrupt. So, eight or so?" She nodded and made some more notations.

"All right, Mr. Longbottom. Next question. Do you have access to a length of satin rope and a small dagger?"

I frowned in confusion. "I…I suppose I could. I mean, really," I shrugged helplessly, "all I'd have to do was Transfigure it." At that, another flush washed over my face. "Ah, never mind that," I mumbled.

"Why is that?" Chief Investigator Glass jumped on my hesitation.

"I, er…well, it's not a secret, I suppose," I sighed. "I didn't get my Transfiguration NEWT, and that's public record. What isn't public record, but seems to be public knowledge," I knew I sounded bitter, but I couldn't help it, "is that I can barely make a cotton shoelace." To prove my point, I lifted my leg out around the table so she could see the hideously mangled attempt.

It was lumpy and misshapen, not flat at all like a runner lace and not rounded like a bootlace. It was rather a hodgepodge of both…and it was puce. That look of disgust came over her face again and I concentrated on replacing my foot under the table hoping it would be gone when I looked up. Thankfully, it was.

"Anyway," I forged on, "I don't see how I could have made something as rich as a satin rope. Nor could I really afford it. One doesn't make much money in a Muggle flower shop," I smiled wryly again. "As for the dagger. I know I couldn't make it. I suppose I could buy one. Or borrow one. I know that every boy is supposed to get one for his coming of age, but," I blushed. "Gran didn't think I was ready for one." One more thing to add to my humiliation. "I do have a Potions knife, though," I added helpfully. "Though it might have corroded by now. I…er, didn't take much care of my Potions things after I left Hogwarts. Too many bad memories." I couldn't help the shudder that ran through me.

"Yes, yes," she waved me quiet as she scratched some more information down. "Only a couple of more questions, Mr. Longbottom. Who do you think killed him?"

I blinked so hard that I blinked a lash loose and spent a moment or two trying to get a hold on it. "Well, I don't really know," I finally offered. "You asked about a rope and dagger, so I'm supposing that's how he died? Um…I guess anybody, really, could have killed him if I were to try to guess by the weapons alone. But as for who would have a reason?"

I shrugged. "I think that there were probably many people who were on the wrong end of a…drug deal with Ron. But it had to be someone he knew."

"Why do you say that?" the Investigator asked quickly.

"Well, he obviously trusted them enough to go up to a room alone with them," I pointed out, then frowned. "Unless, someone put him there. After they killed him, that is." Her eyes were beginning to shine like they had a Lumos behind them. I scooted back a smidgeon, wary as always of that kind of look. "So, in that case it would have to be someone strong…"

I stopped myself again. "No, I don't suppose it would have to be, would it? I mean, someone could levitate him, couldn't they?" I sighed. "Sorry," I blushed. "I sometimes forget. I don't use levitation spells very often." I knew my face was darkening again. "I sort of have a block thanks to…well. Never mind. Although…" I tilted my head thoughtfully, "he…I mean Snape, Professor Snape, worked with Ron.

"And he hated us. All of us. Gryffindors, that is," I explained. "He especially hated the friends of Harry Potter. And you know that Ron was his best friend. Now that Ron is…was working at Hogwarts, Snape may have been taking out his hatred on him."

She looked skeptical. "How do you come to that conclusion, Mr. Longbottom?"

I suppose by now I should be used to people assuming I have no deductive reasoning skills. I'm not. Her look hurt. "I saw Ron at Hogwarts," I said quietly, reproachfully. "He was storming along looking really, really angry. He was muttering about the 'Greasy Git.' That was what we used to call Snape in school. Ron was saying how that was the last time he was going to take Snape's…er, shite. He looked a bit mussed. Like he'd been roughed up, you know? I didn't think anything of it at the time," I smiled wryly. "I mean, Ron was always complaining about something Snape did. And he was never the most neatly groomed of people. But…hearing about his murder…"

I clapped my hand over my mouth and stared up at the Chief Investigator with horrified eyes. "Oh, Merlin," I breathed, pulling my hand down. "What if…what if I were actually witness to a first attempt on Ron's life? And I just brushed it off? And went home to whinge about my lot in life while…while that…that bastard was going after Ron again?"

My chest was hurting. My eyes were beginning to tear up again. "Oh dear Merlin, I could have prevented it!" I whispered in horror. The tears began sliding down my cheeks and I could barely see the Investigator as she started to squirm uncomfortably. A moment later and I had a cloth stuffed in my hand. I nodded blearily and began to mop at my face.

"Well, I suppose I still have to ask this question," she sighed, beginning to stack her parchment back up. "How do you feel about his death?"

I stared at her in disbelief. "How do I…?" I couldn't even form words. "I? How? How do you think I feel about his death?" I snapped, then flushed again. "Sorry. I'm sorry. That was rude. I don't know how we'll all get over this," I tried again, leaving the 'insolence' out this time. "He was a dear friend. Friends since we were 11. He stood by me. He was always there for me."

My eyes began to water again. "I should have tried harder. I should have tried to pull him up off of that downward spiral he was on. But…but instead, I just left him," I said softly. "I left him and now I've lost him." I looked up helplessly at her. "I've lost him."

She heaved a huge sigh and nodded. "Well, I think that will be all, Mr. Longbottom." She stood and moved to the door. Opening it, she held it for me as I walked through. "Thank you for your cooperation. Don't leave the London area in case we have more questions."

I nodded and tried to hand her back her handkerchief. She wrinkled her nose and waved me off. With a nod, I pocketed it and walked away. As I stepped outside into the crisp fall air, I turned my face up to the sky.

And mourned my lost innocence.