Chapter 12 - Questions and Answers

TW: This chapter contains brief descriptions of past torture.

That evening, after Hermione went to bed, Neville did his customary rounds to check the wards around the house. As he passed through the sitting room he spotted the copy of Herbologist's Helper magazine Pomona Sprout had forwarded to him, asking for his opinion on one of the articles. He decided there was no time like the present to tackle the request and made himself comfortable on the divan.

Soon the stress of recent days combined with the warmth of the fire and the dry, technical nature of the reading took its toll. He was on the verge of dozing off when he heard a soft voice call his name.

"Nev?"

He jerked awake, almost knocking over the tea on the table next to him. "What?! Who?!" He exhaled in relief when he saw Hermione standing in the doorway, half covered in darkness. "Oh. It's you. You startled me."

"Sorry." She sounded hoarse and Neville wondered if she'd come downstairs for a drink.

"No worries. I know you'll find this shocking but the article on ten new uses for gillyweed that Professor Sprout sent me wasn't nearly as scintillating as I'd hoped it would be." He gave an awkward smile when there was no sign of amusement from her. "Are you okay? Do you need some..."

He stopped short when she moved into the light. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face blotchy and her hair tousled even more than usual. She stood with her arms wrapped tight around herself, fingers twitching nervously.

Neville was immediately on his feet. "Hermione? What's wrong? What happened?"

"I - I had a dream."

"A nightmare?"

"Y-yes."

"I'm sorry. Can I get you something? Would you like some tea? Hot chocolate? A draught of..."

"What did it feel like?" She asked suddenly, taking a step forwards.

"What did what feel like?"

"When - when you were hit with the cruciatus." She shifted uncomfortably and kept her eyes fixed on the floor between them.

Neville lowered himself back onto the divan and took a moment to organize his thoughts before answering her.

"It was different depending on who was casting the spell, I suppose. In general I'd describe it as the most intense, all-encompassing pain imaginable. Like thousands of..."

"White hot knives repeatedly piercing every inch of you," Hermione finished.

"Pretty much."

"Were Bellatrix's...different from the others?"

"They were all bad but - yeah. Hers were particularly nasty. Left this..." He gestured towards his throat.

Hermione took another hesitant step towards him. "Foul aftertaste in your mouth. Like you'd been forced to drink sick."

He nodded as she began wringing her hands.

"How - how many times were you hit?" she asked.

"You mean, altogether in my life? Couldn't tell you. Lost count once I hit double digits. That last year at school was...bad."

She took another step closer. "What was the worst time?"

"I suppose that was when I got hit with three at once."

Hermione gasped as her hand flew to her mouth. She barely managed to get out the word, "When?"

Neville stared into the fire. "One day the Carrows decided to demonstrate the Imperius in class. Drug in a bunch of first and second years and started forcing them to do vile things to each other. When they wouldn't stop I fired off a curse at Amycus as a distraction so the little ones could escape. As punishment for ruining their 'fun' they imperiused a Hufflepuff and all three crucio'd me simultaneously." He dropped his head. "I almost didn't make it back from that one."

Hermione sat next to him. "How did you come back from it?"

Neville ran his hand through his hair. "Don't really know. I woke up later in the Room of Requirement. Apparently one of the first years ran into Seamus as they were trying to get away and he managed round up enough DA members to cause a distraction so they could get me out. They got word to Professor Sprout and she brewed up some sort of tonic that they forced down me while I was unconscious. When I woke up I didn't know where or even who I was for a little while."

"Neither did I," whispered Hermione. "Fleur and Luna brewed something similar for me at Shell Cottage. A powerful combination pain and sleeping draught." She scooted closer. "Did you have trouble afterwards with muscle spasms?"

"Yeah. They were pretty bad at first. Got better after a while although I've been informed I still thrash about in my sleep from time to time."

Hermione burst into a flustered combination of laughter and tears. It took a moment before she was able to speak. "I'm so sorry, Nev. I don't mean to...But it feels... I'm just..."

"Just relieved to find someone who knows what you're talking about?"

She wiped the back of her hand across her face and nodded. "Yes."

He opened his arms and she threw herself into them, tears flowing freely. "It's okay, Hermione," he assured her. "I understand. Really."

He held her and let her cry for as long as she wanted, shedding a few tears of his own on the way. From time to time she'd stop and share something from her experience at the Manor then she'd cry a bit more. Eventually she sat back and stared at him. He waited patiently as it was evident she was working up the nerve to ask another question. She finally pulled up her sleeve to reveal the scar Bellatrix had carved into her.

He reached out but before actually touching her he looked her in the eye.

"May I?"

She took a deep breath and gave a cautious nod. He gently took her wrist in one hand while running his fingers tenderly over the word carved into her skin. "Those cursed blades really hurt, don't they?"

"Almost worse than the crucios," she agreed. "And the bleeding..."

"Seems like it will never stop," he finished.

He watched as she struggled to put another thought into words and finally said, "It's okay, Hermione. Ask whatever you want. If I can answer it, I will."

She averted her eyes and asked, "The - the cuts on your torso. Did they all happen at once?"

"No, thankfully. I'd have bled out for certain, I think. No, I got those a little at a time. Sometimes as punishment for standing up to them. Sometimes they'd recover a new dark object during a raid and want to try it out. Sometimes they'd need blood for a ritual. Sometimes just out of pure spite."

"Why did they always choose you?"

"They didn't. Not once they figured out how to get us to volunteer."

"What do you mean?"

"Another one of the Carrows twisted games. They'd line up a bunch of us they suspected of being in the DA then they'd drag in the smallest, most frightened first years they could find and give us two options. Volunteer for the knife willingly or watch as they cut up the little ones. Not much of a choice really."

Hermione looked as if she were going to be ill. "Sweet Circe...So you..."

"In fairness, it wasn't just me. Seamus, Terry, Ernie - quite a few of us have souvenirs from that time. It was just their perverse interest in what happened to my parents that got me to the front of the line a little more often."

"I wish I would've been there to help you."

He took her hands in his and squeezed. "I'm glad you weren't. As much as I missed you I thanked Merlin every day that those bastards never got a hold of you."

She dropped her gaze. "I suppose I just had to content myself with Bellatrix and Greyback."

Neville felt his jaw clench as he prepared to ask a question he was afraid to hear the answer to. "Did he..."

Hermione spared him the rest. "No. Although if Dobby hadn't shown up when he did that was to have been my fate. If I survived Bellatrix I'd been promised to Greyback to use...however he wanted."

Neville wished the little elf were still alive, if for no other reason than to thank him for sparing her that. He gathered her back into his arms. "Is that another reason you're so passionate about the werewolf act?"

He felt her nod against his chest. "I suppose. If things had gone differently and Fenrir hadn't killed me outright then it's quite possible I would be exactly the sort of person who needed this kind of help."

He adjusted their position so she was beside him yet still in his arms. He ran one hand down her arm and rested it on her scar again. "May I ask you something else?"

"Yes. Of course."

"If you could get rid of this - would you?"

She considered the question carefully before answering. "No."

"Why?"

"Because it should serve as a reminder. A reminder of our history and a warning to not let it repeat itself. A reminder of what happens if good people don't stand up for what's right. A reminder that they may have hurt me but they didn't break me. A reminder to never give up." She laid a hand on his chest, feeling the largest of his scars through his shirt. "What about you?"

"Same I guess. Although I confess I dread people seeing them for the first time. I hate the look in their eyes. That combination of disgust and pity always makes me cringe."

"Sorry. I suppose I did that too, didn't I?"

"No. Your's was more a look of..."

"Sadness and understanding?"

He nodded as she snuggled closer to him. She rested her head in the crook of his neck and whispered, "Neville...Do you think any of this will ever get easier?"

He sighed and ran his fingers through her hair.

"I don't know. I hope so but...I honestly don't know, Hermione. I wish I did."