Chapter 35: The Deep Ministry
Neville had never before wanted for space, at least before turning 11 and having to share a small dormitory with Ron, Harry Potter and a handful of other boys his year. But if the Gryffindor Common Room had ever felt cramped, he had always been assured he would be returning to a sprawling mansion left almost all too himself in the summers, with only Gran for company.
For this summer, at least, a quiet, spacious Longbottom Manor was not to be.
The manse itself, as well as the isle of the Orkeney Islands on which it sat in the Scottish countryside, now possessed the atmosphere of a waystation. Hell, Kings' Cross station. People coming and going, in and out. Endless talking and chattering. The air was charged with both anxiousness and excitement, reflecting the uneasy tension of the wizarding world since the beginning of June.
In past summers, Neville had always been excited to go back to Hogwarts, in spite of all the dangers he seemed to get into every past year with such reliability, he now could practically set his watch to it. This summer, that excitement rose into anxiousness, especially in these last days of August.
Most the people who had passed through this summer had been by to see his Gran, considered a highly revered figure in many wizarding circles of respectability. No one ever stayed for very long, and though some people did stop and gawk at him whenever he answered the front, now practically revolving, door, it wouldn't take long for Gran to gently banish him up to his room so she could speak with the visitor privately.
A boy older than 15 would have called Neville's wonderings about just with whom his Gran was meeting childish nonsense; it didn't exactly help that his practical inner voice sounded a lot like Hermione Granger. He missed her, and Ron too. As for Gran, she never said what she was up to in these secret sessions, and Neville knew his grandmother better than to ask.
But now August was waning, and Neville had been ecstatic to finally learn one piece of information from his grandmother: there was to be a rather large meeting at the Manor this very evening. All the Weasleys were to come; Ron had written ahead telling Neville as much. Even better, Hermione would be in tow.
The busy-haired, attractive witch was the first to cross the threshold now as Neville yanked open the door, throwing her arms around his neck. He felt the platonic texture behind the wet kiss her lips pressed into his cheek in greeting, and he smiled, glad that their brief foray into something beyond friendship had ended with a practical, even mature, conclusion. One that had not sullied their friendship in the process. Not many best mates could say that.
Ron quickly followed with a jolly thump on the back, before he was being pushed aside by the twins so they could box Neville around the ears. Ginny brought up the rear of the redheaded brood, by now drawing nearly even with Neville in height, which sentimentally disturbed him much. Wasn't it only yesterday she had been padding about the Burrow in nothing but her bathrobe, flushing when she first caught sight of him?
The signature smirk with which Ginny greeted him now was brighter than would have been characteristic of her, and he grinned back happily. Gin was all right, one of the lads, really, this perception helped in some ways by her alto timbre and no-nonsense, almost amusingly matronly demeanor. It was sort of like Hermione, but with a feisty fierceness to it: these days, when Ginny spoke up, people listened. Still, Neville could see, just objectively, that the girl who used to chase after her brothers was now developing curves in much the same way that Hermione had filled out the year before.
Augusta Longbottom held court in the center of the foyer, the Weasleys and many other arrivals flocking to her as though they were saints on pilgrimage. It wasn't long before the adults moved quickly into the kitchen to begin their deliberations, the parents in the room politely banishing their children upstairs to the spacious rooms on the second floor. Some of the teenagers caused an uproar at this, particularly Fred and George, who complained that they were of age and had a right to hear what was going on. Without her actual parents here, Hermione was technically under no obligation to obey the adults' wishes, even as she was still decidedly under-age. In her case, maturity won out and she was the one to lead the way up the stairs.
Turning on the staircase, Neville watched as Ginny spoke in low tones to a short boy with untamed black hair and glasses. Harry Potter must have only just arrived, or glommed in on the back of the Weasley delegation. Neville nudged Ron as they climbed.
"Didn't know Potter was with you this summer."
"Oh, some of the Order managed to forcibly extract him from his relatives a few days ago," Ron shrugged. "She tries to hide it, but I can tell Ginny's relieved."
Order? Extraction? It sounded like Ron was describing an operation much like the one he and the twins had tried, and ultimately failed to execute three summers ago. "Is he all right?"
"Only if being indicted and made to stand trial by the Wizgamot is considered all right," Ron murmured dryly.
"Bloody what?! What happened?"
Ginny and Harry came up in the rear behind the boys, the pretty Weasley girl biting her lip. "Harry and his cousin were attacked by Dementors a week ago."
Neville stared. "Dementors? In a Muggle neighborhood?" Now that he thought of it, he had overheard his Gran listening to reports on the wireless of Dementor activity not to far from these Islands. But a Muggle subdivision like Little Whinging? Harry wouldn't hurt anybody; he was about as harmless as a Chihuahua.
"It gets weirder," Ron murmured on the edge of his breath. His sister heard him anyway, and blue eyes suddenly going round, she made a move to kick him, but missed.
"Harry cast magic – in front of his cousin, a Muggle – to drive them away."
Neville gawped again. "And it actually worked?" Unwisely, he stated this with his full voice and with Harry standing right there; unlike Ron, he wasn't able to dance away fast enough when it was his turn for Ginny to kick him in the shins.
Harry sniffed. "I got a letter saying I was expelled. The Wizgamot hearing may reverse the decision, but Mr. Weasley says it's a long shot."
"Rubbish, mate," Ron nudged Harry in the arm. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"No. You didn't," Ginny concurred, glaring at the others fiercely as though daring even one of them to disagree. "Frankly, you did more than I would have done for that large pig you call your cousin!"
Ron and Neville roared with laughter.
On the top stair landing, they came upon the twins busying themselves over something, a wicked gleam in their eye that meant mischief. Hermione was flitting like a human hummingbird about them, trying to reach her hand in and break up whatever they were concocting.
Even Ron – usually a supportive party to his brothers' hijinks - actually groaned. "Not again….."
But Fred and George had never been the kind to take no for an answer. Once they explained their invention and plan, the others gave into their curiosity and agreed to it. Watching what the twins called an Extendable Ear lower down through the staircase towards the kitchen door, Neville decided that his presenting them with his Triwizard winnings – blood money, as far as he was concerned – had actually been a wise investment.
Fred tinkered with the ear's frequency, and like a sort of wireless, voices began to percolate back to them.
"….. sightings and strikes near South Hampton…."
"…. Could we use a show of force as a way of making a statement?..." That was Alastor Moody – the real one this time.
"…. The Order of the Phoenix doesn't take those kinds of measures…."
Ron leaned in closer, almost into Hermione's personal space, though she didn't seem to mind. "Bugger it! Can barely make out what they're saying! George, your contraption's faulty!" George whacked on the receiver.
Meow…..
Everyone glanced down. On the ground floor, an orange ball of fur was now swatting at the Extendable Ear. Hermione went a mortified white.
"Crookshanks! No!" she hissed in a loud whisper.
But the damn cat, thinking the Ear was a toy, batted at it then pounced on it, wrestling and gnawing on the thing until the connection broke – literally, as the Ear was snapped off and carried away from its wiring.
Ron turned to Hermione mildly, sporting an exasperated glare. "I really hate your cat, Hermione….."
Hermione had the graciousness to look thoroughly mortified on behalf of her pet. "Bad Crookshanks!" she hissed down the stairs, sounding like a scolding mother.
September 1st came, and the whole horde boarded the Hogwarts Express under an overcast sky, splitting off into their respective friend groups. Luna was waiting expectantly for her good mates Ginny and Harry (vindicated and proclaimed innocent of breaking the Statue of Secrecy, and his enrollment restored), though she did bestow warm hugs on Neville and his Trio as well. The twins, entering their final year, scampered off to presumably waste not a second of it.
Neville, Ron and Hermione's compartment was quiet as they moved through the countryside, broken only by blips of Ron and Hermione speaking quietly to each other in low tones. More than once, Neville could feel their eyes on him, but they didn't say a word, and for once, he was glad of it. He made a point of busying himself over a copy of the Daily Prophet someone had left behind. The front page depicted a moving black-and-white photo of his own face, squared off to give it the feel of a mugshot – NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM: LIAR OR LEGEND?, the headline blared.
Neville huffed and crumpled the thing up with disgust. He was dismayed and baffled by how no one, other than this Order Gran was a part of, seemed to be taking any necessary measures against Voldemort's return, preferring instead to pretend as though it hadn't happened. The Ministry under Cornelius Fudge was eerily quiet on the matter.
Feeling Hermione's brown orbs on him, Neville turned away further and deliberately rose from his seat, stepping out into the hall as the Trolley lady was just coming by.
"Something sweet, dear?" she smiled kindly.
Neville dug for some Sickles. "Yes, Chocolate Frog, if you would…."
He was just paying when a curtain of red hair sidled up. "Two Pumpkin Pasties, please!" Lifting her head, Ginny Weasley met Neville's gaze and he presented her with a small smile. Her answering grin was blindingly radiant, as she absently made her own transaction before turning back up the train with a small wave.
Neville took his Chocolate Frog and re-entered his compartment, lost in his own thoughts and left with a fond grin on his face. That Gin…. She had come a long way from the little girl taken captive in the Chamber of Secrets her first year.
"Was that Gin I saw at the trolley cart just now?" Ron asked him casually.
"Hm? Oh…. oh, yeah!"
It was dark by the time the Express pulled into Hogsmeade station. Neville's Trio merged back with that of Ginny's as they all commandeered a threstral carriage together. By this time, Neville had given up trying to convince his friends that there were actual, real-live animals pulling the things. Of his immediate circle of mates and acquaintances, only Luna had ever agreed with him.
The pleasant-looking Ravenclaw witch upturned her lips into a soft smile and she gave a cheery wave when Neville plopped down beside her.
"Hullo, Neville."
"Cheers, Lu! How are you?"
"Hungry," she answered in her typically mild tone and with her refreshingly brutal honesty. A pause, and then, completely unrelated: "I predict the Nargles and the Wrackspurts will be out in full force this year. It's mating season for both."
Across the carriage, Ron sent Neville a baffled Huh? Expression. Neville just smiled softly and shook his head. That was just Luna's way.
As the carriage rumbled along, Neville found himself stealing glances at the blonde-haired, lovely, enigmatic witch. The fake Moody's words about her from last term still often rang in his ears and in his nightmares. He wondered if Luna had come to understand how she had been duped. Though wiser than most in some areas, she was also blissfully naïve in others, particularly when it came to matters of social interaction – naïve enough that she wouldn't have been able to tell who was really a friend and who was an enemy. He'd wanted to tell her, this summer, and had even started a couple letters before these drafts ended up in the wastebasket. If he told her Moody had taken advantage of her, did it matter at this point? Besides, he hadn't been sure just what he was trying to say – apologize, maybe? He felt like it was his fault Luna had been dragged into Barty Crouch Jr.'s designs, even if only on the periphery.
The Start-of-Term Feast was more subdued than in past years, the talking not even reaching a dull roar. People were glancing about at the castle as though seeing it with fresh eyes, like they were students returning after a school shooting. In some ways, it felt as though the castle had been attacked, violated in this way, with the lingering aura of Cedric Diggory's death hanging about.
Dumbledore called for quiet, as he made new introductions to the staff.
"…. And for the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts, a candidate has been put forth by Cornelius's Fudge's administration who will give our students practical knowledge for when they ultimately leave Hogwarts and go into professions. Please join me in welcoming Dolores Umbridge!"
A smattering of polite applause for the fifth Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in as many years. The woman in a pink business suit who now stepped forward at the staff table gave Neville the impression of some matronly, unmarried aunt. Her smile was almost too sweet.
Glancing over his shoulder to Hermione behind him, Neville was surprised to find his best girl's enthusiasm lackluster, her smile dipping into a disapproving frown.
"You do know what this means, don't you?"
He shook his head at her dumbly.
Hermione sighed, now almost glowering up at the staff table. "It means the Ministry is interfering at Hogwarts."