Lost: One Godson, Answers to Harry
-------------------------------------
Neville was walking down a long grey path, with darkness all around. He moved in a slow, stately stride, as if he was floating across a frictionless surface. A deep thumping rung out, which might have been a heartbeat. Slow, steady darkness, and the pumping heartbeat…
And then things began to clarify. He could hear the crunch, crunch of gravel underfoot, and realised that the track was a normal garden path winding through a moonlit field. Ahead, a metal archway reared up and he passed underneath it. A sign went by, but he noticed it too late and it was gone before he could read it.
The gravel path was split into straight lines in each direction, and grey obelisks lurked in the faint mist that had formed in the air. A stone angel, its face worn featureless, watched him from atop its marble pillar, and rows of headstones vanished away into the darkness. This was a graveyard, and it was familiar. He had seen that stone angel, the particular alignment of those obelisks. He'd been here before.
Two black-clad shapes slid out from behind the tombstones. They both knelt before him, white masks obscuring their faces and distorting their voices.
"He did not get far, my lord," one said in a distant, barely intelligible voice. "He escaped over the wall but we caught him before he reached the village."
"Thank you," Neville said, his voice cold and high and seeming to echo. "Where is he now?"
"A little way along, my lord. By your father's grave," the second kneeling figure replied.
"You are both dismissed. I will kill him alone," Neville said.
The two figures nodded, stood and melted away into the mist. Neville walked onwards, feeling cold draught flow past his cheeks and a rich, wonderful feeling rising in his chest. There was anger mixed in too, but most of the feeling was a perverted lust for death, and the energy gained from destroying the life of another.
The headstones seemed to part before him, all except for one, at the end of the row. A space was set around it, as if a bad smell had driven away the other corpses buried here. At the foot of the tombstone, a skinny figure lay in a tangled mess, bound, gagged and barefooted.
At the sound of the footsteps, Harry turned his head and opened his eyes.
"Welcome back," Neville said, bending down on one knee. A thin-fingered white hand emerged from his robes, grasped a handful of the boy's hair and pulled his head back to look at his face. Harry's breath came in heaving gasps through his nose, but his eyes were full of fury. "Come now, Harry. Where did you think you would go?"
With the gag bound tight across his mouth, Harry could not answer. But his body jerked and he tore his hair out of the grip of those long, spidery hands.
The cold high voice coming from Neville's mouth gave a soft laugh. "If you had only stayed put, I might have spared you. But it is clear you will never be obedient, and now you are useless to me. I'm going to kill you, Harry. Right here, this night. And it will not be quick – we have all night, Harry, just the two of us."
From within the robes, one of the white hands drew out a long wand and raised it towards the boy curled on the ground. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face towards the earth of the grave. There was a moment where the sound of the heartbeat rang out again, going on forever. Then pain erupted everywhere, in every fibre of Neville's body, flowing out from his forehead like liquid, red-hot rock, and coursing through his limbs…he could hear Harry screaming and his voice joined in so that the chorus pulsed with the pain, and he seemed to be falling backwards so fast he knew that when he hit the ground he would die and that would end it, and he was glad, to make everything stop…
"Neville!" someone was screaming. Hands were trying to smother him, strangle him, and he wriggled and fought against them. A high, terrified voice wailed, "Stop it! Neville, stop!"
"Get something…"
"My wand, give it to me…hurry…Neville!"
Stabbing cold water sloshed over his face and into his open mouth. There was a gargling sound as his throat hastily tried to close his lungs and keep screaming at the same time. His lungs won out. The scream was cut off and he opened his eyes, coughing.
Hermione's face was looking down at him. She had her wand out and was spraying him with what seemed to be several buckets of icy water. Ron was leaning over him, pinning his arms to his sides. They both looked pale and shocked. Cautiously, as if afraid he was going to get hit, Ron released Neville's arms and helped him to sit up.
They were in the common room, and the fire had burned down to embers. There were no other Gryffindors in sight, as they had all gone to bed. Several textbooks and sheets of parchment were spread across the table nearby. Neville remembered only that the three of them had stayed up late to finish their potions essay, which they hadn't started earlier in the day because they had been at the funeral. He rubbed his head, where the scar above his eyes was still throbbing. He must have fallen asleep…and the dream…
"Neville?" Hermione squeaked. "You…you're not hurt, are you? You were flopping everywhere…you tried to punch Ron…"
"Whas' goin' on?" A sleepy voice rung across the room. Fred and George had appeared at the bottom of the dormitory stairs, both of them yawning in unison. "Who was shouting?"
"It's nothing," said Ron hurriedly, trying to smile in a reassuring manner. "Neville fell off his chair and stubbed his toe."
"Well, next time don't be such a blimmin' pansy. You woke half the dormitories up," George said grumpily, scratching his neck beneath his yellow striped pyjamas. Ron made an apologetic face and the twins, after scanning to room to make sure they couldn't catch Ron out in some way, retreated back up the stairs. Ron turned back to Neville, who had been sitting in a daze.
"Was it another dream?" The red-haired boy asked eagerly. "What did you see?"
Neville's head throbbed harder as he tried to focus his scattered thoughts. "Yeah, it was. Something…someone…ah!" his eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking Hermione over. "Harry!"
"What?" Hermione asked as Ron echoed. "Harry?"
"He's going to be killed!" Neville cried, pushing past Hermione towards the portrait hole. He threw it open and tumbled out into the dark corridor beyond. Hermione and Ron chased after him, both of them looking wildly at each other.
"What did you see?" Hermione asked in a terrified voice. "How did you know he was going be killed?"
"I saw Him. I was Him! You-Know-Who…" Neville plunged down a flight of stairs so fast he nearly tripped and had to grab the handrail to keep himself from falling the rest of the way. "He said he was going to kill Harry…he's going to kill him slowly…he's in the graveyard…"
"That's not right!" Ron interrupted, sounding angry and disbelieving. "You-Know-Who wouldn't ever kill Harry. We know he wouldn't. He wants him alive."
"That's right!" Hermione nodded feverishly. "They're connected. Kill Harry and he kills a part of himself." They were heading down a long corridor with windows along one side. Neville stopped outside a stone gargoyle.
"Look, I don't know," he said, glancing back at Ron and Hermione. "All I know is what I saw. He's going to kill Harry before the night is over, but I know where he is. It's a graveyard. I've been there before."
Hermione and Ron looked at each other as Neville recited the new password to Dumbledore's office and the gargoyle leaped aside. They followed him up the revolving flight of steps beyond until they reached the great oak door at the top. Neville seized the knocker.
"Professor! I've had a dream, Professor! It's urgent!"
Hermione and Ron, beginning to shiver from the cold, stood silently behind him. Neville kept knocking until suddenly the door was pulled out of his grasp as it swung inwards. Dumbledore was standing there, wearing a long purple and gold dressing gown embroidered with tiny hippogriffs around the hem.
"Neville," he said, his white eyebrows contracting. "Come in."
Neville did not waste a moment. Before he had even stepped over the threshold he was explaining the events of his dream to Dumbledore, who nodded seriously like a kindly grandfather listening to a child's story of school bullies. As he spoke, his voice growing faster and higher, Neville took a hold of Dumbledore's sleeve, clinging to it fearfully. It was his left sleeve, because the Headmaster was holding his right hand somewhat awkwardly at his side.
Hermione and Ron followed Neville into Dumbledore's office. Having never visited it before, Hermione looked around in awe, open-mouthed. Ron was watching Dumbledore, waiting to hear the Headmaster's interpretation of the dream. He could not believe that Harry was in such danger. It just didn't make sense, after all this time, for You-Know-Who to simply kill him.
"Professor, I knew the graveyard," Neville said in a frightened whisper. "I've been there before. When I was four years old…right after He killed my mum and dad. They took me to that graveyard and they did some kind of ritual to bring him back. I know where it is, I can lead you there," if Neville thought there was something strange about being able to remember directions to a place he had not visited since he was four, he did not say so.
When Neville's babbling subsided at last, Dumbledore was silent for a moment, his expression grimly calculating. Then he strode over to the fireplace, hurled a pinch of powder from a box on the mantelpiece onto the flames and called, "Minerva! At once, please!"
Ron and Hermione huddled together nervously, watched as the seconds ticked by. After about a minute, a dark shape appeared in the flames, spinning and growing larger. Professor McGonagall climbed out of the flames, brushing soot off her tartan dressing gown.
"Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly. "Is Severus still staying Hogsmeade? I need you to fetch him here at once."
McGonagall's sharp eyes swept the room and she pursed her lips as she took in Neville clinging to Dumbledore's sleeve and Ron and Hermione standing behind his desk. Then she shook her head. "No, Albus. He's already gone."
"Gone?" Dumbledore frowned. "Where did he go?"
McGonagall looked a little confused. "Why, wherever you told him to go. He said he was running an errand for you before he left."
Dumbledore shook his head slowly. He turned away from McGonagall and paced across the room with Neville still clutching his sleeve. "I gave Severus no orders," he said heavily. "And he did not tell me he was leaving. Perhaps there is something wrong…"
"Of course there is!" Neville said, sounding surprised. "He's going to kill Harry! You have to go and help him!"
"We will, Neville," Dumbledore said soothingly. He glanced at Hermione and Ron. "Please make sure Neville gets back to Gryffindor tower. Do not let him leave his dormitory."
"You don't think Harry's in danger?" Ron asked nervously. "You think he's alright?"
"That is what I am trying to find out," Dumbledore replied. "For now, just do as I say. Do not let Neville leave Gryffindor tower."
"But he's being hurt!" Neville wailed. "He's torturing him! We don't have time!"
"Neville, come back with us," Hermione said plaintively. "It's alright. Dumbledore will sort things out."
"Don't worry," Ron took a hold of the other boy's arm. "He's got everything under control."
Neville did not resist when Ron steered him back towards the door, but he looked back over his shoulder at Dumbledore with the expression of one betrayed.
When they were back in the hall, Neville shrugged Ron off and stood looking at the entrance to Dumbledore's office, as if he wished for nothing more than to go running back up to shake some sense into the old man.
"We've got to do as he says, Neville," Ron said, folding his arms. "He knows what he's doing."
"How can he not believe me?" Neville asked faintly.
"He does believe you, but he's sorting things out himself…"
Neville wasn't listening. "He's not going to do anything. He's going to let Harry die. I have to do something."
"Neville, there's something wrong with your dream," Hermione said anxiously. "We know Harry can't be…what you said…because look," she pointed at the tall windows along the hall. Bright silver light was pouring inside, as outside, nestled in the clouds, glowed a perfectly round full moon.
"What do you mean?" Neville asked. "What's the moon got to do with anything?"
Hermione and Ron glanced at each other. "We'll explain when we get back to the common room," Ron grunted.
"No," Neville took a step away from them. "I'm going down to the entrance hall. If Dumbledore doesn't believe me, I'm going to Hogsmeade right now to find Harry's Godfather. He'll help me."
"Are you mad?" Hermione gaped at him. "You can't leave the castle!"
"I'm not going to let him to die!" Neville growled.
"Neville, you have to trust us. Dumbledore will fix things. There's nothing you can do!" Ron said angrily.
"There's never anything I can do!" Neville shouted. "I'm never any use except to sit here and act as Dumbledore's personal radio with V-voldemort!" both of the other children winced at the sound of his name. "I've never been brave or clever or anything because everyone else always has things under control. Well, I'm not going to let Harry die!" he turned on his heels. "I'm going to go and help him."
Hermione grabbed his arm as he made to walk away. Neville plunged his hand into his robes, drew out his wand and cried an incantation. There was a crack and Hermione toppled to the ground.
Ron, who had barely had time to draw his own wand, dashed to her side. She seemed to have been completely paralysed – only her eyes were moving, and they were darting frantically from side to side. Ron could almost hear Hermione's unspoken words, Hurry up and unfreeze me, Ron!
"I can't remember the counter-curse!" Ron said furiously. Hermione's eyes flicked upwards. Ron glanced up and realised Neville was gone. He swore very badly. "Stay here," he said rather pointlessly to Hermione. "I'll go and find him."
He pushed himself up and sprinted down the corridor, trying to think what was the fastest route to the entrance hall.
---------------------------------------------
But Neville wasn't going to the entrance hall. He scrambled around corners, knowing Ron would soon be in hot pursuit, and hurried through a door pretending to be a bit of stone wall. He emerged into a third-floor corridor. And there, straight ahead, nothing more than a black shape in the dimly-lit hallway, was the statue of the one-eyed witch that Fred and George had shown him just that morning when Ron had asked them how to get into Hogsmeade in secret.
He ran along the dirt tunnel as fast as he could manage, but it still seemed to take an eternity before the tunnel began to rise again. He fell over several times; with the result that his hands and knees were filthy by the time he got to the trapdoor at the end. All he could think about was the white-spider hands and the graveyard where Harry was going to die if he didn't get there first.
He climbed up into Honeydukes shop. Lit by the moonlight coming through the window, the sweets and boxes had been drained of all colours, turning them to painted streaks of black and white. The empty silence seemed to cling to him like invisible cobwebs, making him shudder as he passed. He reached the front door and went to open it.
Except that it wouldn't open. Neville shook the handle furiously. It was locked. In his impatience he had to resist punching his fist through the glass window. He cleared his mind until he could remember the spell to unlock doors that Hermione had taught him the year before. He muttered it and the door clicked and swung open.
His throat was starting to hurt from the cold air as he jogged down the main street of Hogsmeade, which was as silent and empty as Honeydukes had been. A few warm yellow lights glowed in the houses down side streets, but the shops facing the main street were dark and empty. It felt as if everything around him was dead. Neville was starting to feel panicky. He quickened his pace, even when a stich began to bite into his ribcage.
Ahead, he finally saw the low lights of the Three Broomsticks. Sirius Black was staying there. He would help Neville reach Harry. Help Harry…find Harry…that was all that mattered…that was…
Neville stopped. He suddenly realised how very cold he was, and that he had brought neither cloak nor shoes. His socks were filthy and a hole had opened up in the heel of one. And his forehead was still dimly throbbing.
Find Harry…help Harry…Why? Neville thought. What am I doing? He suddenly realised how stupid it was to be running around at night with no shoes on, looking for a place whose location he wasn't even sure of. And he really didn't have any clue where the graveyard was. It could be twenty miles away, or two hundred.
He was beginning to shudder now. The sound of Harry screaming was echoing in the back of his head but his power of reason had returned to him and was doing its best to make itself heard. He had been abysmally foolish to leave the castle, alone, at night, without any warm clothing. Why hadn't he listened to Dumbledore? What on earth had possessed him?
He could see the entrance to the three broomsticks not far ahead. The door swung open as a late-night customer stepped outside for some fresh air and warm light seeped into the surroundings. Neville, thinking of a roaring fire, a mug full of butterbeer and a very humiliating return to Hogwarts once Madame Rosemerta had called Dumbledore to say he was safe, stumbled on towards the inviting light. He reached the door of the Three Broomsticks and pushed it open, wondering whether the Headmaster might not consider locking him in his bedroom at night after this night.
And then a firm hand came down on his shoulder and he felt a wand-tip in the small of his back. He turned his head and looked up into the face of the customer who had stepped outside a moment before. He was a blonde man with a long face and cold grey eyes, and he was smiling a little. Neville did not register the resemblance to Draco Malfoy, but if he had, he could have guessed that the man was Draco's his father.
"Mr Longbottom," the man said in a smooth, cultured voice. "We were expecting to catch you at the gates of the school. Lucky I stayed behind for a drink or we might not have found you at all. How did you slip past us?"
Panic exploded in Neville's chest and he tried to struggle and break away from the man. His wand was still in his hand but all the spells that might have helped him had fled his mind. The man held on more tightly. Neville saw a flash of light and felt his body go numb and limp. The grey-eyed man caught him under the arms as he fell and lowered him to the ground.
"Never trust your dreams, Neville," the silky voice said somewhere near his ear as he felt his wand lifted from his unprotesting fingers. "Especially when they aren't your dreams at all."
--------------------------------------------------
The basement of the Riddle House suddenly seemed a lot smaller.
Greyback had bought a number of friends. Lupin couldn't pick their faces. It wasn't a lack of light – there was a reasonable amount of sunshine creeping in through the high window – he simply couldn't get his eyes to focus. Even raising his head took enormous effort, so he let it sort of lean sideways until he could make out Greyback's face on an angle.
The older werewolf seemed to have aged since Lupin had last seen him, barely a month ago. His hair was a little lighter at the temples and his torso a little thinner. But his cheeks were as rosy as a schoolboy's, and he was grinning.
Lupin let his head droop again. He didn't have the energy for this any more. Let Greyback kill him. He wouldn't get any gratification out of it.
The weeks in this grim little basement, chained in this miserable cellar, had blurred until they were unrecognisable. His wrists and ankles had chaffed until they bled, every joint aching from lack of movement. But he'd still been aware of where he was. Every day, Pettigrew had brought him food and let him out long enough to take a piss in the bucket in the corner.
And Pettigrew talked. He talked like he hadn't met another soul in weeks. The first time Lupin saw Pettigrew, he was only restrained from throttling the man by the chains. Soon he realised that his old school friend could be his only chance to learn about his predicament, so he let him talk. At first it was all, "forgive me, Remus," and, "There's nothing I can do, Remus," but Lupin soon prompted him into more useful topics, such as what Pettigrew was doing living in this run-down manor in the first place.
Pettigrew avoided that subject for several days, but Lupin knew Pettigrew. Eventually, he slipped up, and Harry's name popped out.
Knowing Harry could be only a wall away was agony for Lupin. If he could just get a message out to Sirius! He had learned enough to know the name of the nearest village. He could guess a description of the house. But it was all useless information, locked in this cellar, waiting for someone to come and finish him off…
And now Greyback had come. It was fitting – tonight, Pettigrew had said in an idolatrous whisper, was the full moon. And what his Master was doing…Lupin could barely believe what Pettigrew was suggesting…
Lupin heard Greyback say something derogatory about his masculinity but he couldn't be bothered listening to the man's insults today. He felt grimy claws on his wrists and ankles as the other two werewolves fumbled to unlock his chains.
"Get him on his feet," Greyback grunted, perhaps a little put out that his verbal taunts hadn't had any effect. Lupin was lifted upright, but as soon as the other two werewolves loosened their grip his weakened legs collapsed and he crumpled. He lay in a heap at Geyback's feet, his head throbbing. He could hear the gravely laughter above his head and he pushed himself up until he could at least see his antagonists.
And that was when he saw Maud. She was standing behind Greyback, huddled against his elbow. She was still wearing the dress that Hestia and Sirius had bought her from Diagon Alley, though it was now torn in two places and marked with unidentifiable stains. He matted hair was not tied back, but straggling loose over her shoulders.
His breath caught in his throat. One chance, Lupin thought. I've been given one chance…
"Maud," he croaked. "Maud."
Greyback's laughter faded, and he grinned down at the waif clinging to his sleeve. "Did you hear that? He recognises you."
A horrified look came over Maud's plain face and she drew back, staring wildly between Greyback and Lupin. But Greyback encircled her with one arm and pulled her forward again. "Don't be shy," he smirked. "Go and talk to the scum. I'm sure he wants to thank you."
"Uh," Maud made a wordless noise of protest, but Greyback was pushing her toward Lupin. Glancing at him with wide eyes, she shuffled forward and stopped just out of Lupin's reach. Unable to stand up, he extended one arm plaintively towards her.
"Maud, please…"
"He wants to talk to you," Greyback leered at Maud, who was looking terrified now. "Don't disappoint him," he bellowed with laughter. The other two werewolves joined in.
Maud scowled at Lupin as if he had forced her into this uncomfortable position. She shuffled forward again and leaned down towards him, growling, "Don't you…"
Lupin grabbed her collar and dragged her towards him until they were nearly nose-to-nose. Maud squealed and turned her face away, but she seemed too frightened to struggle. The other two werewolves made to pull them apart, but paused when they saw that Greyback was still laughing. Lupin blocked out the hoarse chuckles.
Knowing he had mere moments, he hissed into Maud's ear. "Go to Sirius in London and tell him Harry is in Little Hangleton. He has to come before dawn. Go now. Please."
He released the collar of Maud's dress and she staggered upright, squeezing her eyes shut as if bracing herself for a blow. When nothing came, she opened her eyes to see Lupin slumped against the wall, his face looking drained of blood. The whole thing had taken about twenty seconds, and Greyback didn't seem worried. Good, Lupin thought.
"What'd he say?" Greyback asked, still sounding amused.
Maud shuddered and her expression became derisive. Lupin's heart sunk and he closed his eyes. Once again he had misjudged her…she would tell Greyback…
"He said-" Maud's voice cracked for a moment, then she continued, "He was begging for his life, the coward." Lupin opened his eyes and saw Maud looking down at him pityingly. "You're pathetic," she said convincingly, and spat on his robes. Lupin flinched, but it was an automatic movement.
"Please, Maud," he croaked. "Please." Please don't let Greyback become suspicious…
Maud turned away and reattached herself to Greyback's elbow. The other two werewolves grabbed Lupin under the arms and pulled him roughly to his feet again, pinning him to the stone wall.
Greyback gave a smug smile. "You should have known not to turn on us, Remus," he said, pulling out his wand.
Maud squeaked, "Wait!" and when Greyback looked at her, she wailed, "I don't want to see this!"
"Maud, my girl," Greyback put one huge hand on her shoulder. "That's why I brought you here. To see what it is we do with traitors."
Maud screwed up her face and began to cry. "I don't want to see! Fenrir, I want to go upstairs!"
Greyback released her shoulder. "Go on, then," he said, and Lupin, who was feeling so ill he thought he would pass out soon, was surprised to hear an almost fatherly tone in Greyback's voice. "It's your loss, girl."
She wriggled away from him and started up the stairs out of the basement. Looking back over her shoulder, her eyes met Lupin's for the briefest moment, but her expression was unreadable.
--------------------------------------------------
Wormtail had been lurking in the corners of the front parlour. The rest of the Death Eaters were in other parts of the house, and Wormtail was glad of it. He hated all of them, arrogant, vain snakes that they were. They were cruel and they always talked to him as if he wasn't clever enough to understand what he was saying. He wished for the umpteenth time that his Master would come. They wouldn't be so demeaning then. They'd all get into line and speak in respectful tones as if they'd never acted any differently.
Fenrir Greyback was coming through the parlour now, accompanied by two of his werewolf cronies. Wormtail shuddered. Of all the other Death Eaters, Greyback was the most terrifying. Wormtail could only hope Greyback hadn't done any damage to Remus Lupin. His Master would be furious if Lupin died before tonight. Full moon tonight…he'd have to convince Greyback to leave soon…
He steeled himself and moved to intercept Greyback, who was grinning his cruel grin to himself. "You were told not to h-hurt him," Wormtail said, as bravely as he could manage. "Y-you can h-have him tomorrow, but not before."
Greyback squared his shoulders. His expression was pleased, like a bully who had pulled the wings off a fly and was now watching it stagger across his school desk. "Don't worry, rat," he scoffed at Wormtail. "He'll live. Long enough for you to see your results, anyway. Now, where's my girl gone to?"
It took a moment for Wormtail to figure out what he was talking about. The other werewolf, the ragged, misshapen girl who had come upstairs early. "She's gone. I let her o-out of the e-estate like you said," he muttered.
Greyback frowned. The frown frightened Wormtail even more. "What d'you mean, you let her out?"
"She s-said she was going to fetch y-you your brooms from the village," Wormtail said sulkily.
A muscle was twitching in Greyback's neck. He was neither frowning nor grinning now, he was simply blank and seething.
"She's gone…?" one of the other werewolves gaped.
"No," Greyback hissed. "She wouldn't…"
Wormtail realised he had messed up again. His eyes flickered towards the open door of the parlour, then he made a break for it and dashed towards the exit. Greyback grabbed his robes and hauled him back, shaking him like a dog with a toy. "You imbecile!" Greyback roared as Wormtail struggled, gasping for breath. The werewolf lowered his voice. "Don't you tell anyone that she's gone, you understand? We will go and fetch her ourselves. You understand?"
Wormtail nodded. The werewolf released his robes and the short, balding man dropped to the ground. Greyback beckoned to his two companions and they strode past into the front hall.
--------------------------------------------------
Murray Dunham was grinning to himself as he drove down the small sealed road, his truck growling as its tyres dug into the tar-seal. He had been at the Little Hangleton postshop, picking up a letter, and the letter had contained very good news about the sale of his farm. Murray Dunham couldn't wait to get home to tell his wife, who had not had any good news come up since she and Murray had been married. Murray thought of the things she would say when she read the letter and his grin grew even wider. He tapped the ash of his cigarette out the window and took another puff.
So when he saw the ragged girl standing by the road with her thumb stuck out, he thought, who am I to drive past some poor wretch? She's just a little scrap of a thing! Feeling even better that he was doing a good deed for someone, Murray slowed down and came to a halt beside the girl. She was just a kid by the looks of her, wearing a filthy dress and with hair the colour of mud. Definitely not a local, Murray decided.
The girl opened the door. "I need to get to London before moonrise," she snapped as she climbed up into the passenger's seat.
"Well, I can't take you more'n five miles in that direction," Murray shrugged, the cigarette wobbling on the edge of his lip as the girl closed the door. "I'm just heading home now. I'll drop you at the crossroads, tell you what. You should be able get another ride from there, but I doubt you'll get to London before tomorrow afternoon all the same, even if you find someone to drive you through the night."
The girl gave him a sneering look. Murray decided he didn't feel so sorry for her after all. He turned to put the truck back in gear and felt something sharp against his neck. He turned his head quickly to find a long, shining kitchen knife at his throat, the tip jabbing straight into his jugular vein and the girl holding it with a very, very serious expression on her face. The cigarette dangled freely for a moment and then dropped onto to his lap.
Take me to London," she said coolly, "or I'll stab your friggin' eyes out."
It's five hours drive!" Murray squawked. He'd never squawked before in his life. Squawking was something his wife did. His hands were clutching the wheel so hard his knuckles were practically bursting through the skin.
"Then you better drive fast," the girl hissed.
--------------------------------------------------
TBC
A/N: HOMG I love Maud. I still want to kill her, yes, but she's so much fun to write. Yeah.
Does anyone have questions about why Neville was so darn silly? I hope it's clear that he was genuinely convinced Harry was gonna die if no one did anything and also, he was under a very mild mind-control curse from Voldemort through the dream.
I also forgot to mention in last chapter's author's notes about Moly. The herb Moly is not something I made up, it was a mythical herb used in Homer's The Odyssey. Homer says that Athena gave Odysseus the herb so that a) Odysseus would be protected from Circe's magic and b) the herb would return the men Circe had transformed into pigs to their human form and restore their minds. So I think it's perfect as something that would help cure a werewolf, since it both turns you human and helps you remember you're human. Just my two cents. :D
Long reviews, please! I love them as much as I love you!