Chapter Two – Out of the Bag
As the smoke cleared, Harry recognised the room after all. It had been almost four years since he'd had a conversation in this small parlour with Cornelius Fudge, then Minister for Magic. On that occasion, Harry had expected to be expelled from Hogwarts for accidentally using magic to blow up Aunt Marge. Today, all the furniture had been pushed to the edges of the room, save for four tables arranged in a square in the centre. A large microphone hung down in the middle, suspended from the ceiling. On one of the tables lay an unsteady pile of ancient-looking equipment. The other three tables held sets of bakelite headphones: a faint glow emanating from the earpieces. These were connected to the other equipment by long strings, which reminded Harry powerfully of Fred and George's Extendable Ears.
The interview went surprisingly smoothly. Luna proved to be adept at encouraging Neville to talk about his family and childhood without the need for inquisitive questions. Her normal air of disconcerting candour seemed softened into a neutral directness that banished both Harry's and Neville's self-consciousness. Harry found himself explaining his own connection to the Longbottoms without difficulty, even though it touched closely on painful memories of Sirius's final unhappy months at Grimmauld Place. He described the photograph he'd seen, in which both Alice and Frank appeared, smiling and happy, alongside his own parents. Harry also mentioned having seen them in St. Mungo's the Christmas before last. He was grateful that Luna did not ask him to describe the change that time had wrought in their condition.
Towards the end of the agreed half-hour, Luna asked them about school. "Of course, you both started at the same time, and were sorted into Gryffindor together…" "Yes!" Neville confirmed eagerly. "Harry's always been brilliant at everything – flying, obviously – and Defence Against the Dark Arts ... he taught us loads one year when …" Neville trailed off as Harry kicked him sharply under the table.
"Rubbish," said Harry in a firm voice. "I'm not good at most things – not compared to some people. Besides, Neville's excellent at Defence too. His shield charms are rock solid. And he's a genius at Herbology."
"But you were the only one in our class who managed to throw off the Imperius Curse – " This time Neville's voice ended on a squeaky note as Harry dug him in the ribs with his wand.
"The Imperius Curse …?" Luna's eyes bulged. "When did that happen?"
Harry was thrown by this departure from the prepared script. He weighed his options frantically. Would any Death Eaters listening to this broadcast learn anything important from the answer to that question? Bit late to worry about that now, he thought wryly. Thanks Neville. Harry tried to think what Sirius would have advised him to do. Unaccountably, it was Snape's voice that came into his mind. The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing and eternal ... your defences, must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo … Harry made up his mind.
He spoke slowly and clearly. "It was our fourth year. We had an impostor as our Defence teacher. Polyjuiced. A fake Alastor Moody, you know the famous Dark Wizard catcher. It wasn't his fault, it was two against one. They used the Imperius Curse on him. One of them was Peter Pettigrew. The one who betrayed my parents and killed all those people – then pinned it on Sirius Black. The fake Moody was a wizard called Crouch – Barty Crouch – Junior, that is. He's a Death Eater too – well, he was until that idiot Fudge set the Dementors on him before he could stand trial again . Crouch did the Cruciatus Curse in class too, on a spider. In front of all of us, including Neville."
"And – and th-the killing curse …" Neville added.
"That's right." Harry thought he'd probably said enough and inwardly thanked his lucky stars that he'd be moving around a lot during the next few months. He didn't like to think about Moody's reaction to hearing him spill the beans.
"Wait – Barty Crouch Junior – wasn't he one of the people who…"
"Yes." Neville voice was low but controlled. "He tortured my Mum and Dad."
"You've been victims of the Cruciatus curse yourselves I believe?" Luna stated the question in a bland and unemotional tone.
"From Voldemort." Harry used the name deliberately. Luna didn't flinch.
"Bellatrix Lestrange." When he spoke this name, Neville's voice was strangled. Harry looked at him, expecting to see terror. However, the emotion choking Neville was not fear. His eyes were dark with rage, his mouth set in a grim line.
"Right. That should do it." Luna plucked the Extendable Ear strings from the headphones and stood up. "Thanks Neville. And you Harry – that was wonderful. Pure dynamite as my Dad would say."
Harry and Neville stood up slowly, a little dazed, gazing at each other as though meeting for the first time. "Wh-what now?" Harry asked.
"Well, I've got to head off in a bit," Luna replied. "There's a lot to do to get this ready for broadcast – and I'm not very experienced at audio transfiguration. But why don't you two get yourselves a drink? You look like you could do with one."
"Yeah, sounds good," Neville sighed, stretching and rubbing his rib cage with a pained expression. Harry remembered that it wasn't that long since Neville had recovered from the injury he'd sustained during during the Death Eaters' attack on Hogwarts and felt extremely guilty.
"Um. I didn't bring any money…sorry for poking you by the way."
"That's OK, Harry. Let me buy the drinks. It's the least I can do." Neville led the way down the corridor to the main pub. It was as empty as Harry had seen it on the trip to Diagon Alley last August.
Luna stood chatting to them for a few more minutes. Before saying goodbye and going back to her recording equipment, she warned them solemnly to be on their guard. "Against what, Luna?" asked Neville, politely.
"Well - one theory is that the rise in cases in London might simply be due to a recent migration of Wrackspurt to urban areas. It's well-known that they prefer damp, dark conditions and wine cellars provide an ideal atmosphere. I wouldn't like anything to happen to either of you, at least not before the interview comes out!"
"Oh, I dunno. It might be good for publicity." Harry had no intention of listening to the broadcast if he could avoid it. Luna beamed, still clearly delighted with her joke. Harry caught Neville's eye for a second, then quickly looked away. Neville said in an admirably sober tone,
"Don't worry, Luna. Wrackspurt won't know what hit them if they try anything on with us two."
Neville's Butterbeer and Harry's mead arrived and they found a small table tucked away behind a pillar where they had a good view of the main door. "Is it safe here? Should you put on that cloak thingy of yours?" Neville asked.
"Nowhere's safe really – not for any of us. I'll put it on if someone comes in."
Harry felt a little awkward. It felt weird to be here, just him and Neville without anyone else from school. Neville seemed to guess what was on his mind. "Why don't you ask Ron and Hermione to join us?" he said timidly. "It'd be nice to catch up." Harry suspected that Neville was finding it hard to make conversation too.
"Um ... yeah … s'pose I could."
"You can use the fire like we did earlier. There's loads of Floo powder left."
"Be right back."
Harry made his way back up the corridor to the small parlour. Luna was tangled up in several yards of the flesh-coloured string and barely glanced over when Harry came in. Harry approached the fireplace, knelt down, and dropped a handful of powder onto the logs. Ugh. Here goes. "The Burrow!" he yelled and stuck his head into the flames. When the spinning stopped, he opened his eyes, expecting to see the familiar sight of Ron sprawled on the carpet, Hermione seated at the table, in all likelihood engaged in a full-scale bicker.
Harry choked back the greeting that had sprung automatically to his lips. Ron was sitting cross-legged against the far wall, facing the fireplace. Hermione was crouched forward on her knees, with her back to Harry. Both were engrossed in a game of chess laid out between them, their heads almost touching. Hermione reached out a hand towards one of her pieces and made as if to nudge it forwards. The piece, a knight, turned round, presumably to argue. However, before Hermione could finish the move, Ron's hand closed over hers, trapping it beneath his. Without speaking a word, Ron lifted his eyes. At the same moment, Hermione's head jerked upwards.
There was no danger of Ron noticing Harry's presence in the fireplace. The exceptionally hot muffler around Harry's head suddenly felt a lot more constricting. He wondered if that was how he looked at Ginny. If so, it was a wonder her hair didn't catch fire. Embarrassed at intruding on this moment of intimacy between his two friends, Harry dragged his head back out of the fire so quickly that the revolving sensation made him queasy for a moment. He went back to the bar and sat down, shaking his head in answer to Neville's unspoken question. "They can't make it," he said abruptly.
"Oh. Why not?" Neville looked surprised. Harry pondered what to say. Finally, he told Neville what he'd seen. When Harry had finished, Neville looked mildly sympathetic but merely said placidly, "Well, you must have seen it coming. Everyone else in the common room thinks they're already together. Ever since Lavender dumped Ron because they were up in our dormitory."
Harry pondered again. Neville didn't know that Harry had been up there too, covered in the cloak. But he supposed it was possible – something could have happened ages ago – he'd been a bit preoccupied lately, to say the least. Wouldn't Ron have said something? Unless he was worried you'd be a prat about it. He felt a flare of annoyance at the thought of Ron and Hermione discussing his possible reaction. Harry dismissed the thought, realising he was jumping to conclusions. Still, it looked like something was definitely happening now … it would take some getting used to … Too used to being centre of attention, that's my problem… Harry thought ruefully, then – oh please … don't tell me Snape was right about that 'n all…
… Brrr, enough, thought Harry, shaking his head. "I'm afraid it's your round again, Neville. I can't go back through that fire for a while yet. What plans have you got for next year?"
"What – you mean apart from rounding up Lestrange and her cronies single-handedly, chucking them in Azkaban and getting the Order of Merlin First Class?"
Harry looked blank for a second as Neville's round face spread into a daring grin. Harry chuckled appreciatively. Maybe this evening wasn't going to be so bad after all. "Hey, Neville … did Ron ever tell you the one about the Hag, the Healer …"