Chapter 9

Neville's Story

The next day Harry told Hermione and Ron that he would have to go and talk to Moody again for another training session. Half true: he was going to talk to Moody, but it wasn't necessarily about his training. He didn't want to lie to his best friends, but didn't want to talk about Neville without him knowing about it either. He wandered out of the dormitory and towards Dumbledore's office after supper. He wasn't in a hurry to get there, even though he knew they were probably all already waiting for him.

He rarely took the time to think about how Neville got through everything, with his parents there physically, but incapable of taking care of him. To tell the truth, Harry thought his classmate deserved more of the sympathy than he, Harry Potter did. He hadn't even known his parents while Neville…well, Neville had to live with the fact that even though they were still alive, neither Frank nor Alice Longbottom would ever be able to take care of him the way real parents would. He must have had to grow up too fast for his liking, Harry thought. Even with his grandmother there, it wouldn't be the same.

All too soon, Harry found himself face to face with the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. "Uh—" Harry mumbled. He realized at that moment that he didn't know the password.

"There you are, Potter, we were starting to worry about you," came Moody's raspy voice. Before he knew it, the gargoyle had sprung open. "Come on in."

Dreading what was at the top of the rotating staircase, Harry hopped onto a step next to Moody. He would rather face a hundred dementors than make Neville recall his attack and his past.

"There you are, Harry. Good, time to get started then. Thank you, Alastor." Moody growled and sat in a straight-backed chair next to Dumbledore. Neville was facing the headmaster, a steaming cup of cocoa in front of him. He turned around to face Harry. The expression was heartbreaking.

"Hi, Harry," Neville said, his voice cracking only slightly. All Harry could do in return was nod his head.

"Sit down, Harry. Now, you are aware of Neville's attack this summer, correct?" Dumbledore knew that Ron and Hermione had overheard the conversation during the summer about Neville's attack. He probably told Moody about it too, Harry thought.

"Yes." He couldn't face Neville. Not with the memories he would have to recollect.

"Now, Neville, you are aware that Harry is training to become an Auror upon graduation from this school?"

"Yes."

"We're here under your suggestion, Neville. You may proceed when you're ready."

Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Neville's chest heave with a deep sigh. "I've never truly known my parents. Sure, they're still alive, but they will spend the rest of their lives in St. Mungo's. I've never known a life outside of that of my grandmother's house. She has shown me pictures of when they were in their prime and fighting for the Order of the Phoenix, but it wasn't the same. I lived a life almost like yours Harry: alone, stuck with my relative, parents as good—as good as—dead." At this Neville croaked. His voice cracked and became high pitched.

"You don't have to do this you know, Neville," Harry found himself protesting. "I know what it's like to encounter Voldemort—it really isn't necessary," he added quickly.

Looking back at him, Neville sent out a sheer look of determination, even more so than when he had his Quidditch tryout. "Yes, Harry, I'm afraid it is necessary. You've always slipped away at the last minute. I wouldn't be here right now if the Aurors didn't come to help me. Besides, I could provide an asset to you if you let me."

"Sit down, Harry," Dumbledore said calmly. Harry hadn't realized that he had stood up, so he sat down again, very slowly.

"It didn't really hit me that my life was that different than my peers until I came to Hogwarts for our first year. Everyone else had their parents at the platform while I only had my grand-mum in her hat with the stuffed vulture. I had never really shown much magical talent, unlike both of my parents. Grand-mum was afraid I was a Squib—we were both relieved when I got the Hogwarts acceptance letter." He took a deep breath. "My life at school really wasn't much different than my life at home. I had some friends like you, Harry, and Hermione and Ron and Ginny and everyone else. I spent my life away from the limelight, away from publicity, as different a life from Harry Potter as one can be.

"I didn't mind sticking to the shadows; I had gotten used to being at the tail end of classes and living an invisible. Life was fine until fifth year came along and Harry taught us Defense Against the Dark Arts in what we called 'Dumbledore's Army', or the D.A." He looked from Moody to Dumbledore curiously.

"We are aware of that, Longbottom. Continue," Moody growled.

"My vengeful feelings against Voldemort resurfaced. I remembered my parents, stuck in St. Mungo's forever. Harry had started that Defense Against the Dark Arts league, and I knew I could do it. I was determined to live up to the expectations from my family to do well. So, after learning the spells a year and a half ago, I practiced them diligently at school because I knew I couldn't practice over the summer last year. This year, however, I turned seventeen, and I practiced the hexes and charms like there was no tomorrow. I also hopped on Dad's old broomstick when grand-mum wasn't looking, so I could practice Quidditch."

Dumbledore smiled. "Frank Longbottom was always a great Quidditch player. He could have played as Beater for Ireland if he had wanted to, but he insisted on helping me and the Order."

"I was tired of being the klutzy one, tired of getting laughed at for my quirks, and tired of not fulfilling my family's wishes. They all want me to be just like Dad: strong, talented, and intelligent. They want someone just like Harry here." Feeling himself blush, Harry looked at the floor briefly. Neville continued: "I tried my hardest last year to get any extra practice for spells in whenever I had extra time, knowing that for half the summer I wouldn't be able to practice them. I noticed my grades slightly improving in most of my classes, so I was bound and determined to keep on improving them. When I got home for the summer, I kept on counting down the days until my birthday in July so that I could keep on practicing every day.

"The day of my birthday I just practiced and practiced, keeping my parents' memory in my head at all times. Some days my grand-mum would take me to St. Mungo's to see them. I would only talk to them quietly about what I was trying to do with Quidditch and Defense Against the Dark Arts whenever grand-mum walked out of the room to get some coffee or talk to a Healer. She had seen how clumsy I could get when it comes to magic. If I just stepped near a broomstick I used to trip over my own two feet and fall flat on my face. She wouldn't have approved of what I was trying to do. Mum and Dad, on the other hand, couldn't retaliate because of their—status." Neville gulped. Another wave of sympathy coursed through Harry. "They would be the only ones who would be proud of my efforts.

"Now, my grandmother was proud of my parents' story. She would tell anyone who stood still long enough about it and how brave and courageous they had been in their youth. I, on the other hand, haven't ever told anyone about it. Well, until today. It wasn't because I wasn't proud of what my parents had done, I just was afraid that their insanity would lead to more jokes and teasing directed towards me. I saw Harry and Hermione and Ron at St. Mungo's once during the Christmas holiday. They saw the state of mind my parents were in, and my grandmother told them how my parents became estranged like that."

"So tell us about the day you were attacked, Neville," Dumbledore said kindly.

"Yes, well I was practicing one afternoon in the middle of August when grand-mum was out shopping. Someone banged on the front door and before I knew it I was surrounded by Voldemort and two of his Death Eaters. They asked me if I was Frank and Alice Longbottom's son. I said yes. Although I was afraid, I didn't want fear to get in the way. They taunted me. I tried to defend myself, but my spells were still too weak. The used the Crucius Curse on me to get me to talk about Professor Dumbledore's secret group of Aurors, but I refused."

Not able to control himself, Harry spit out, "They know about the Order?"

"They've known we have a secret group of defenders for years, but they haven't done anything about it," Moody said, grinning his crooked grin. "We're just too well hidden for them to find us. Don't worry, Potter, you're completely safe."

"The pain worsened, since they wanted me to tell them where the Order of the Phoenix was hidden, or anything else I knew about it. I still wouldn't talk. They would have killed me if it hadn't been for Professor Moody here, who chased them all off." So Moody had saved Neville's life…Harry tried to think of time when Moody hadn't been at Grimmauld Place, but couldn't recall a moment when Moody wasn't prowling the hallways and rooms of Number Twelve. "He took me to St. Mungo's where they quickly resuscitated me." Harry could tell this was hard for Neville to remember. He instinctively put a comforting hand on his classmate's shoulder in the same manner Sirius had done for him in this same office. Neville looked at it for a second and then continued. "I was there for about a week and a half. Professor Dumbledore came to visit me, and he told me I had extraordinary courage to face Voldemort and his supporters alone. Also he told me about the Order of the Phoenix and how they had regrouped only two years before. It has just given me more reason to study and practice those spells Harry had taught us. And here I am now, part of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and still working hard at those spells. If ever I encounter those Death Eaters again I'll be ready."

He fell silent. Harry looked at the floor. At the D.A. meetings during their fifth year, Harry had been aware that Neville worked twice as hard as most people, but he hadn't known how much he had taken it to heart. Harry felt stronger in a way, like he had an ally—and someone who shared his burden of growing up without parents. Harry looked up at Dumbledore, who was looking intently at him. The old man's eyes swerved to look at Neville's defeated form; after the completion of his story he began looking off into the distance at the gadgets on a table behind Dumbledore. Harry knew for a fact that Neville wasn't examining the gadgets. "Thank you, Neville for willing yourself to share your story with us," Dumbledore said quietly. "Now I suggest you boys go back to your dormitory and finish up any unfinished assignments you may have. Alastor, I would like to talk with you before you go. Good night, Neville, Harry."

"Good night, sir," Harry said. All Neville could do was grunt.

The two boys walked out of Dumbledore's office together in silence. They walked through the nearly deserted hallways and towards the common room. Neville didn't say anything until they were halfway there. "I'm sorry, Harry," he said faintly. His eyes still gazed straight ahead.

Harry turned his head to face his classmate, surprised. "For what?"

"That I didn't talk to you about my parents earlier." He looked over at his classmate, his eyes not shedding a tear, but filled with pain. "I could have talked to you, we could have helped each other through…everything. Living knowing that Voldemort is still out there, knowing that he changed your parents' lives and your life forever, and having to face that every day."

"I don't blame you for not telling me," Harry said quickly, "you have so much more to deal with than I do. Your parents are still alive. I never knew mine, so it is easy for me to accept the fact that they're gone and have been gone for sixteen years."

"You're so much smarter than me, Harry."

Chuckling, Harry said, "That's Hermione you're confusing me with. She's the one with the quick wit. Without her I definitely wouldn't be where I am today." A small grin crossed Neville's face as they turned towards the portrait of the Fat Lady. Harry knew now that he respected Neville twice as much as he ever did, and the two befriended each other once again, a bond stronger than time can tell.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry to bug you again, but what do you think??? I am so curious to know if people like it or not. I…well…haven't been getting any reviews! I know I'm getting rather bossy here, but if you're a writer yourself and have ever had an idea which you think is brilliant and you really want to see if others like it or not (such as my little twist involving Neville), you know my dilemma. OK, OK, I hear you: I'll get back to my own writing/proofreading before this ickle little "author's note" ends up longer than my chapter…