A/N: Just a warning, it gets a little dark in here. Just a wee bit. F & N

The Prince-Who-Lived

Chapter Thirty- Eight

Neville's aggression did not clear up. In class, he sat with one of the Patils. During mealtimes, he was always with Parvati and Lavender. Harry couldn't understand it, but he watched him intently. The first detention Neville was supposed to attend he skipped. McGonagall came into the common room to haul him out, apparently to another talk with Dumbledore. Neither seemed to do any good.

Harry's own detentions were mostly reorganizing the medicine cabinets under Pomfrey's watchful eyes. It wasn't hard, and he didn't complain. It had been one Hell of a fight, and one he did not want to repeat. He'd had headaches for two days straight, and Pomfrey had refused to give him any more potions for the pain because it would interfere in his own healing, so he'd suffered through them and watched.

Two days after his detention finished, the school buzzed with news: Neville and Blaise had gotten into a huge fight in the library; neither had gone to the hospital wing, but a bystander had. It took several questions before Harry found out it had been Dillan. Melanie was actually the one to answer that: she, Ginny and Luna had been studying with Alan and his when Blaise had picked the fight. Dillan had been keeping Ginny out of it when stray spell had struck him. Nobody was really sure whose spell it was, but he was out cold still. Blaise and Neville had detentions. Harry wondered how long this would continue. Neville was making a horrible mess of his life.

The mess merely expanded. Sunday, Neville ended up in the hospital wing cursed senseless. No one knew who was at fault; both Patils were in tears. Harry had to stop Hermione from cursing them. Fortunately, the effort kept him from cursing them as well. Around lunch, Hermione and Ron stubbornly went outside, but Harry wandered up to the hospital wing, wishing there was something he could do to make more sense of everything. When he entered, he paused: Neville's parents were there, sitting and talking earnestly by his bedside. Neville was feigning sleep quite well, but Harry was looking from the wrong side, and saw the light glint off his open eyes. He simply stood there at the open door, knowing Neville could see him. His parents were too busy talking. After another few moments, Harry left without ever really entering. There was nothing for him there.

Wandering aimlessly, he ended up at the library. It was almost default. It occurred to him he hadn't sat with Alan and his friends once since they'd returned. It just hadn't crossed his mind; he'd been too worried about Neville. He wandered in tiredly and began to weave through the bookshelves, not really caring where he was going until he came to a fork. He chose the left side, and apparently it was the correct one: he came out and found himself staring at Alan's little group sans Alan. Harry blinked.

"Oh, sorry." He offered. "I'll just –"

"Sit down, Harry." Blaise ordered tiredly. "You're stressed, losing marks, and Alan should be back soon enough once he finishes playing tonsil Quidditch with Luna. Or looking up a book; I can never tell with those two."

Blaise winced slightly as Ginny elbowed him, but he recovered and pulled out the chair next to him for Harry to take. Awkwardly, Harry did so but he felt very out of place. Conversation moved on, and Harry finally asked Blaise quietly,

"Are you all right? I only heard about the fight."

The group fell silent and Harry felt his face heat. Blaise put down his quill and rubbed his face gently.

"It was Jonas who cursed Neville earlier, alright?"

Harry blinked. The name meant nothing to him, and he opened his mouth to ask when Dillan spoke up,

"Hodges don't like it when perceived allies pick fights. You might want to be careful about crossing him right now; sometimes the connections they can perceive can be a tad odd."

That didn't help, and Harry said so. Blaise huffed, amused, but Luna answered, coming in from the shelves with a worried Alan.

"Jonas is a nice boy; Neville just needed to be kicked in the head again. It'll happen a few more times, and then the house of cards he built will fall down."

Harry whipped his gaze around to Luna, "You know something about what happened?"

Luna blinked and her gaze sharpened until Harry felt that she was completely coherent right then. She smiled and the expression left, but Harry didn't forget it.

"I don't know everything; I don't know why. I just know it will resolve in time. Don't all things?"

She wasn't fooling him. "You know something." Harry insisted. Alan smiled crookedly and pulled up a seat, pulling Luna into his lap and then whispering quietly into her ear. The sight tugged on Harry's heart; Neville had done that so many times with Hermione last term; he could remember it clearly. Trying to remember him this term felt like staring through tissue paper: nothing was really clear.

Finally, Alan straightened and looked at Harry again, "She's got a small divination talent with cards and looked it up after Blaise picked a fight. She's actually perfectly sane, she just gets lost in her part."

Harry understood him perfectly, but three years of friendship reminded him to listen for the sibilant speech that was parseltongue. No one else understood the admission. Harry nodded slowly, and responded in kind,

"I know something is up; it's not just him losing brain cells. Something is bothering him and I don't know what. I hate it. I can't stand losing my friend like this."

Alan nodded solemnly, and then reverted to English. "But you still need to keep an eye out for Jonas. He might be decent as a friend, but God help you if he turns on you."

"Why'd he rip into Neville?"

"It was Neville's fight; he was the reason for it. So whichever spell hit Dillan was thus Neville's fault. The Hodges and the Bakers are thick as thieves; a slight to one is a slight to the other. Sometimes they overreact."

Harry ran a hand over his face. "Alan, your friends are impossible."

Alan smiled. "Currently, so are yours."

Harry summed up his feelings in a quick gesture and leaned his forehead onto the table. "Why can't I think?"

"It's called stress." Luna piped up. "It's a bit like – like a storm cloud that won't stop raining." She smiled so wide it spilled into her voice. "You've got your own spot of rain that just follows you around like a good little pet."

Harry didn't bother raising his head to that insanity.

"Luna." Alan's voice sounded a bit despairing. "Even when you try to be sane you manage to sound completely odd."

"A storm cloud is not crazy."

"They don't tend to follow people."

"Then call it a metaphor. Writers use those all the time."

"You're speaking. Most people don't speak in metaphor."

"Would you rather I insist it was a Spearpod Halluphor?"

"Fine. Storm cloud."

"I knew you'd see things my way."

Harry raised his head. "Is there a sane person at this table I can sit next to?"

Several of the others traded looks and snickered, but Daphne immediately shoved Tracey onto Theodore's lap and raised her hand with a smile. "You can sit by me, Harry. I'm sane."

The gesture made him smile; he brushed aside the thought that she was flirting with him, and moved to sit next to her as she'd invited. Flirting was normal and sane. He'd put up with that any day. He noticed she was working on the History essay and Harry leaned onto his elbow to look it over.

"You sure that's the war he was talking about last week?" Harry asked. "I wasn't listening."

"You and the rest of the student body." Daphne laughed. "I double-checked with Su Li during Charms, so yes, it was."

Harry immediately began to ask a few more questions, and ended up borrowing paper and finishing the essay he hadn't even begun to work on. He was completely focused, and missed the amused glances everyone at the table shared for Daphne's final success at getting his attention. He probably wouldn't have cared right then either.

IIII

Classes were difficult. Shortly after they'd gotten back to school there had been another Educational Decree restricting the information teachers were allowed to impart to their students, Harry supposed in reaction to the breakout of Azkaban before Christmas. He hadn't really noticed with the issue with Neville. Also, Geoffrey had simply brushed it off, saying that politics were as much Defence as magic was. Umbridge hadn't jumped on him about it yet since no one was mentioning it to her. However, all of the teachers were agitated, talking quietly in the halls and huddling with others they trusted. Chances are, having Neville acting up was only exacerbating their stress. It certainly wasn't helping Harry's.

Of course, the other problems were side effects: their school work suffered. Neither Harry nor Hermione were getting their homework done, and none of them were on task. Through the end of January, Harry knew he, Hermione and Neville didn't do anything good for their teacher's nerves. As one, their grades completely staggered, and thus Ron's fell as well. Harry didn't think he'd have made a single potion correctly if he didn't work with Alan; Daphne had bumped out Averill as Hermione's potions partner to ensure she remained on task, and surprisingly Snape did not complain. Ron did fine with Averill as his partner; she made him less jumpy than Theodore did and Theodore enjoyed partnering his girlfriend, Tracey. Harry had to wonder just how sane Severus was in pairing Neville with Blaise; he wouldn't have recommended it with Neville sane, much less in his current state. However, apparently Blaise was more capable than Harry had given him credit for; their potions certainly never turned out correct, but neither did it ever explode despite Neville's carelessness and antagonism. Blaise's sharp retorts kept down Neville's disparaging attitude, so the class could proceed without any large disruption.

Surprisingly, that made Potions their best class by far. In no other were they on task.

Thus, while classes were miserable, they were also tolerable. Outside of them, Neville tended to avoid Harry and his group, even going so far as to leave behind Parvati and Lavender if Harry appeared inclined to approach him despite their presence. It was an interesting tactic, as it was something Harry completely didn't expect with his lackadaisical attitude during most classes. It was incredibly intelligent and highly tactical: it didn't fit with his negligent and blithe behaviour.

Of course, trying to convince the others was pointless. Ron didn't care, and bringing Neville or the Patils up with Hermione was a good way to get scratched. Alan opted out for lack of information and trying to get Blaise to talk was like pulling teeth. He admitted to trying to corner Neville and get him to fess up, but also showed the burn he was hiding on his arm from the last attempt. It didn't keep Harry from seeing the disturbed look on his face: Blaise knew something was up, too. His sadness at it made Harry wonder how Blaise's own life was going, but he couldn't add more stress right then.

Neville was stubbornly avoiding being cornered or having his act called by anyone at all; Draco had passed a comment on his attentions to the Patils and gotten hexed almost off the map. The reticence made Harry just want to smack him one, something he was certain wouldn't get him anywhere farther than the concussion he'd suffered the last time he'd pressed. His own injuries and Blaise's only reinforced Harry's conviction that it truly was an honest problem, and not just some abrupt affectation of 'growing up'.

The Saturday thereafter, however, Harry was sick and tired of Neville's ridiculousness. It had been more than two weeks, and Neville was to all appearances working his way through the Patil's robes to their knickers. Harry wouldn't have believed it if it had come from anyone but Blaise, who had caught him and Padma in a nook with his hands up her shirt. Blaise had another burn; Neville had as discerning attention to spell effects as before, and Harry didn't want to put up with this any longer.

Thus, that Saturday, he was in the library when he ran into Neville again. Finding him was an accident. Finding him snogging Parvati seemed to precede a temporary leave of his sense as he screamed at his former friend.

It was a firm reminder of just how skilled Neville was, but it also left Neville in a position to remember that just because he knew more than Harry, Harry was stronger and knew most of his arsenal. Of almost all of the spells Neville was willing to use in a library against Harry, Harry knew the counters very well. The fight was almost equal.

Madam Pince nearly killed them until it came out that apparently three students had taken it upon themselves to shield the books, one of which had been Neville. Harry and Neville were both denied the hospital wing after Madam Pince made them end the spells upon each other. Harry had had his left shoulder dislocated, and a burn across his stomach; Neville had a burn across his right arm and his left wrist dislocated. He was also sporting a black eye and singed hair. Harry's robes around his stomach were burnt, and two bruises on his chest made breathing painful, something he refused to outright admit. Each had several superficial cuts, and both of them limped as they separated after the fight, Gryffindor fifty points lighter, and expected back that weekend to serve an all-day detention dusting the library.

The Slytherins' shortly proved to Harry that a private fight didn't happen in Hogwarts. They came out of the library shortly after his eviction and tailed him to the courtyard, continuing discussin an apparent breakdown of the fight. Daphne hit him with a minor healing spell as soon as there was no one else around, and breathing quickly improved; the only things that had been healed were the dislocations, and even still his arm was sore. Harry gave her a short nod, and finally turned to Alan.

"Why are you following me?"

"Making sure you're all right." Daphne interjected. Alan sent her a quelling look and she quieted, but Harry smiled weakly at her, making her beam.

Alan sighed at her antics before answering, "We are concerned, and I also want to ask what on earth possessed you to pick a fight with him in the middle of the day in the library, of all places. You just about gave Lucille a heart attack, and I don't think Jonas is pleased with either of you two."

Harry gave a wry smile. "I'll presume those were the other two shields on the books?"

"Course." Lucille growled. "Those books are glorious holders of knowledge, and you and that punk just start flinging spells as though they were scrap heaps."

"Sorry." Harry ducked his head. "I wasn't thinking. He just … I'm still off centre."

"Off centre?" Blaise scoffed. "More like your head is in orbit."

"Sod off, Blaise!" Harry scolded. He blinked when Daphne echoed him, and then shared a wry smile with her.

He completely missed the chuckle that went through the rest of the group, and Daphne's brilliant smile was just a pleasant view.

Sighing, he scrubbed his hand over his face and shortly apologized to Lucille for endangering the books. She accepted with an amused smile of her own, before turning to scolding him for his grades. His beseeching look at Alan was met with more amusement.

'Sheesh. Slytherins.'

IIII

Harry couldn't imagine how anyone had kept Neville's fights from getting to Umbridge for dealing, but apparently they had, because two days after his fight in the library, Hermione and Parvati had a beat down in the halls before Ancient Runes. Umbridge came in. Both girls were given detentions, but apparently since they were fighting over a boy it was limited to normal lines, a thousand each of "I will not lose my head over the male gender"

Hermione found it extraordinarily funny, but was very grateful that Harry and Alan had gotten Umbridge to rescind the blood quill. As Hermione was a faster writer than Parvati, she finished easily the first day; Parvati had to return for another detention the next evening. However, when Hermione came into the common room her eyes seemed to zero in on Neville sitting and flirting with both Lavender and Sophie. He'd been watching the door, but stiffened when he saw it was Hermione. Harry noticed her pause, her eyes locked on Neville for several long minutes before she made her way back over to the chairs around the fireplace where Harry waited.

"Harry, do you still think something happened that made him turn on us so badly?"

Harry blinked; he hadn't expected her to ask that after so long. "Yes, I do. Why?"

"Because … I think he looked …" She fought with herself before admitting, "sad. He looked sad when I came through the door. And not like it was disappointment, it was just … I could be completely wrong, sorry."

"No." Harry insisted. "He is sad, he's pushing us away on purpose and I want to know why."

Hermione eyed him for a moment before nodding slowly. Ron grumbled into his essay, but didn't disagree. Harry, however, smiled weakly, and then turned curious. "What spurred you to pick a fight with Parvati anyways?"

Hermione flushed and looked like she wasn't going to answer; she turned away and had the bad timing to look straight at Parvati as she entered the common room looking tired. Neville stood and scooped her close instantly. Uncaring that he was the centre of attention once more, he kissed her thoroughly in front of the entire common room.

Hermione made a noise like an angry cat and the quill in her hand snapped as she clenched it in fury. She turned away and hissed, "That sultry little whore!" She turned back to Harry and Ron and found both of them looking at her in interest. Hermione breathed carefully through her nose and sighed. "She was lording over me the amount of time she and Neville spent in the broom closets. I couldn't believe she'd go into details."

"Jealous?" Ron asked. He was only curious, but he yelped as Hermione gave him a scathing look and then stalked off to her dorm. Harry could only shake his head at Ron and gathered up his own things, his homework simply a lost cause as usual and went to his own dorm.

This needed to stop. It was tearing them all apart.

IIII

The next Hogsmeade weekend was on Valentine's Day. It did not help matters any. Neville was restricted to the castle, but Harry had the dubious pleasure of being the friend nearest Hermione when she had a breakdown remembering the pre-Christmas promise with Neville to go out during it and mock Madam Puddifoot's. Harry certainly didn't wanted to visit the dainty little tea shop, but he did promise to go with Hermione, and at least treat her in the Three Broomsticks.

Her happiness had more than made up for having to explain it to Daphne a few days later. He was quite glad for it; Daphne was sweet and adorable, but it was a little too much at the wrong time, especially with the suspicious absence of his father's weekly letters since the last week, and his mother's rather notable silence on the matter, excluding a small praise for having made new friends even with Neville being so difficult. It was sweet, but told him nothing. Fortunately, Daphne completely understood and praised him for taking care of her.

The trip was less interesting than it had been set out as. Ron had smiled and picked up Hannah, and Susan had given Harry a wan smile when she saw him walking with Hermione, but he'd spoken with her during Herbology about the difficulties and she understood. Hermione hadn't been interested in going too many places, and Alan had expressed a need to attend to other matters during the trip. Since he was going off with Luna, Harry wondered how honest he was being but didn't press; if Alan didn't want company, he didn't want company. Most of the rest of Alan's group were paired up, so it was just Hermione and he, wandering around and feeling lonely. They made their way to a booth in the Three Broomsticks almost by default.

Sitting and nursing a butterbeer in silence was not particularly entertaining. Both of them were too melancholy to talk, and too absorbed in their own thoughts to pay much attention to the rest of the couples interspersed through the bar. Apparently Draco thought that meant they weren't interested in anything at all, as he came through with Pansy on her arm and a self-satisfied smile.

"How are you two without the whore?" He jibed.

Harry looked up at Draco and wondered how much trouble he'd get into for using the fire spell Neville preferred; the Dark one resistant to magical healing he'd thrown at Blaise. Draco had taken to calling Neville a whore with relish during the second week. He'd refrained from using it to Neville's face after getting put in the hospital wing, but talking with anyone else loosed his tongue.

"Think he's slept with one of the Patils yet, or both? I haven't seen any of them today, so maybe they're busy jumping the empty castle. Wonder how great the chances are of him knocking them up." Draco laughed bitterly; Harry fought the desire to hex him, but knew he was losing. He didn't need to get into trouble with Umbridge again. "I guess he felt they'd be a little easier to fuck than the mudblood; pureblood rides better, you know, and at least he'll be able to find the hole without fighting that damn bush."

Hermione solved his problem. She hit Draco with a hair growing curse without even looking up; he squealed ridiculously, and grabbed at the rapidly growing hair falling over his eyes as his eyebrows sprouted into growth. Hermione hit him three more times with the same curse; nothing visible happened save for a rippling in his robes. Harry strongly suspected the other targets, and quickly stood, walking over to take Hermione's hand.

"C'mon, Hermione. I think he'll need a bit of space soon, and it's gotten very windy down here."

Hermione primly took Harry's hand and they both left the Three Broomsticks. Draco didn't call after them; he was too busy fighting the rapid hair growth that was crawling out of his sleeves now; neither he nor Pansy apparently knew the counter.

The hexing was the talk of the school that evening; Alan congratulated Hermione in the library, standing and kissing her hand and imploring to know how she'd made it so hard to counter: when he'd run into Draco on the way back to the school, he'd had hair dragging on the ground behind him from his sleeves and beneath his robes. Harry watched her talk and found that he really could believe the day to be a success: Hermione was much more pleasant, and the gloom that had ridden her was finally clear, at least for the evening.

It was more than he could say for himself.

IIII

Going to sleep that evening, Harry felt like the storm cloud Luna had mentioned was hanging over his bed and promising dire things. It took him a while to get to sleep, and he woke inordinately early, which was a surprise. Even more so was that Neville wasn't out of bed yet, either. For the past month he'd woken before the rest of them. Beating him up made Harry worriedly check the clock, but, it being Sunday, it was seven. Not remarkably early, if one discounted the level of avoidance Neville had taken to maintaining.

Harry dressed irritably, and then finally tugged on his shoes and stalked over to Neville's curtains. Enough was enough. Harry tugged them open, surprised that it worked, and then froze, feeling his mouth drop loose in surprise. Tangled in Neville's sheets were Neville and Lavender Brown. They were both completely nude, and Harry had no illusions about just what had happened. His head was spinning, and he didn't note Lavender stirring until she shrieked.

"Get out!" She shrilled. Neville sat up abruptly beside her and swore, glancing at Harry and then struggling to find his wand. The one he found was likely Lavender's, but it worked to jerk the curtains shut once more, the privacy wards cutting off Lavender's frantic voice.

Harry staggered away and sat hard on his own bed, his eyes remaining wide open in shock. Neville had slept with Lavender. Neville had slept with Lavender, of all people. Harry would have felt better if it had been Parvati, but Lavender? She had a reputation for being loose through all the houses. If he wanted to place himself as another whore, he'd certainly taken a proper step towards it.

The other boys were rousing; Lavender had one Hell of a shriek, and Neville and Harry were the only two who had added outer silencing charms to their curtains. With the others rousing, Harry began to worry about the further repercussions of Neville's newest indiscretion, but apparently he shouldn't have. Without seeing inside the curtains, Harry didn't know what preceded the next reaction, but Lavender staggered out of the curtains, wearing a short bathrobe and clutching her clothes, her bra prominent and gold dangling over her arms. She snorted and glared at Neville, who was framed within Harry's view in a loose pair of pyjama pants and no shirt, glaring back at Lavender with markedly less heat but no less conviction.

"Are you so shallow you're done with me already?" Lavender scoffed. "Parvati interest you a Hell of a lot more? She won't sleep with you and neither will her sister; are you as much of whore as Draco –"

She didn't finish. As soon as her tirade moved into the last sentence, as soon as Harry could guess where she was going, Neville had shifted off the bed. When she called him a whore, he stood and backhanded her, his face a study of rage. Lavender fell against Harry; he barely caught her before she hit the bed frame.

"Do not call me a whore, Lavender, just because you're lonely. Get - out. I'm sick of your disgusting simpering."

Lavender held her reddening cheek and jerked out of Harry's reach, turning a furious glare of her own on Neville. "You certainly act a lot like a whore for someone who doesn't like the title."

Neville's arms shuddered and his eyes flashed; he was moments from violence. "Do not tempt me, Lavender. Get – out." Lavender opened her mouth again, and Neville roared, "Get out!"

She jumped and ran, barely missing getting hit again. Neville's breath shuddered in his chest, and he raked a hand over his hair, his eyes flickering to Harry, finally recognizing that he had an audience. He turned back to his bed, the sheets and blankets thrown about in careless ripples and, finding nothing to grab, he jerked the curtains shut once more and stalked out, to the showers most likely. He'd taken nothing with him save his wand, and Harry had watched. He wondered if anyone else had noticed the lost cast to his eyes, or if they'd only seen the unbridled rage. Harry couldn't imagine where to go now; whatever reputation Neville had, it was dead. Lavender would have the school calling him a whore within the week.

With his eyes shut, Harry could see the image of Neville striking Lavender again and again. That wasn't Neville. Neville was not that temperamental. He wasn't that angry. Why? Why? What went wrong? What was fucking wrong?

"Did you … Did Neville really just…?" Ron's voice trembled as he asked.

Harry opened his eyes again, and Dean and Seamus were standing past the end of Neville's bed, staring wide-eyed at Harry. He could almost feel Ron's stare on his back. He didn't want to deal with this. Harry turned and refused to answer, grabbing his bathrobe, and, on impulse, grabbing the second one he had. It was Neville's; they had one of each other's in their trunks for convenience, to make things quicker when running to the showers in the morning. He wondered if Neville had kept his or thrown it out with Hermione's watch. Harry left for the showers himself without answering; he didn't heed their calls behind him either.

In the showers, no one else was in there, although the lingering steam suggested the earliest group had probably just finished; it was barely after seven on a Sunday. Harry could hear one shower running and sighed; it was probably Neville. Tiredly, he hung his bathrobe and then Neville's, remembering his friend with a pang of loneliness. Stubbornly, he turned and entered the stall opposite Neville's, stripping off his shirt before he felt a brush of cold air. It was so out of place he stopped, and in that moment he heard a hard, choking sob.

He froze.

What?

The sob returned, and then something metal rang light and high off the floor. Harry almost couldn't think, but a bitter curiosity ate at his mind until he stepped out and crossed the room silently to the shower opposite. The air outside the curtain was bitterly cold, the puddles on the floor as well. He could hear a series of thin, choked gasps within, and finally Harry steeled himself and drew back the curtain.

Neville was as observant as ever; he lifted his head immediately upon the intrusion, but there was no anger in his face, no malice. He looked broken and tired, and his left hand was gripped tightly against his right wrist; a thin trickle of blood ran between his fingers to drip into the cold water rushing across his ankles. He hadn't taken off his trousers; the fabric was soaked and clinging to his legs, as was his hair; he'd apparently doused himself already. On the floor, against the drain, a small sliver of a razor was simply lying there, forgotten. Neville's wand was within reach on the bench, the new walnut wood darkened and wet as well. He seemed to be simply waiting for Harry to react; it was another, unfathomable turnaround in his behaviour. An angry word would almost be a relief. Harry couldn't begin to fathom what to make of the newest change, what to address first.

"Neville …" Harry began, his voice trembling weakly. Neville's gaze returned to his hands, and Harry huffed. "What the Hell, Neville?"

Neville didn't respond, but he opened his hand to stare blankly at the cut across his wrist. It was still bleeding freely; he'd cut deep, but it was short. Neville's eyes drifted shut and he leaned his head back against the tile wall with a soft sigh. His hand, now weeping blood freely, drifted back to his side. Harry's eyes followed it transfixed. Neville was sending him on a roller coaster of emotions: betrayal, confusion, frustration, and now shock and horror.

Harry closed his eyes, and ground out, "Why, Neville?"

"I'm tired." Neville sighed quietly. "I just thought it might help."

"Cutting yourself?"

Neville laughed. It was sharp, and bitter and mildly hysterical. "Do I really seem that petty?"

"Oh, so you're just going to try and kill yourself right off?" Harry growled. He was getting tired of this ride. "What the Hell is so miserable that you're making such a fucking mess of your life? Do you want to be a whore? The best friend I had wasn't."

Neville turned to him, and Harry took a step back. The anger had returned to his eyes, but it was cold rage Harry had last seen in Blaise's gaze; a Slytherin rage. "You think this is what I want?"

"Well you're making some interesting choices for wanting something else." Harry snapped, returning cold for cold.

"Well guess what? That lovely broom accident Melanie so happily told you about wasn't a fucking accident. I was playing with the wards; you remember."

Harry remembered. Neville had pointed it out when they were nine, and Harry had as much fun as he did skirting the barrier on the Western side. You could feel a faint tingle as you crossed; it'd been a great game, and so long as they kept clear of the treetops, Neville couldn't even manage to crash himself. Saying he was playing with them, however, meant that Neville had been outside his manor's protections …

"Someone hexed my broom and I fell – outside the wards." Neville's voice became transfixed; he was lost in the memory. Harry had heard his parents mention it, but he'd only thought it happened with horrible memories … "Bellatrix." Neville's voice broke. "She'd hexed my broom down."

Oh, Merlin, Mary and Mordred. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to hear the rest, but … would it explain …

"She cursed me. Cruciatus. And then guess what, Harry? Guess what she did to me after I blacked out? Because I'd fallen through the trees, and that's when I got my concussion, so between the two I was unconscious."

Harry couldn't breathe. "You weren't hurt, physically." Harry knew it, but what it meant … "Your parents would have noticed, so whatever happened, she … nothing left a mark, at least. Nothing not easily mistaken for the fall." Did he want to know what had sent Neville on such a brutal spiral? A small spark, very Gryffindor, he suspected, insisted. He wanted Neville to heal, and he couldn't have told, he wouldn't tell anyone else. This was what had screwed with his head, and clearly he needed healing. If Harry thought he was riding a roller coaster, it couldn't be worse than Neville's. "What did she do, Neville? What did that bitch do?"

Neville looked at Harry at the invective in his voice. He seemed to relax minutely as he realized Harry supported him. His voice was breathy, but he spoke. "She put me under, Harry. She used the Imperius, and then she made me do nothing. There was nothing to fight; I just lay there and … Harry, I couldn't think. But she didn't hurt me. There was nothing to fight." Neville choked and pressed his hands to his face, uncaring of the blood. "You know, you've hit that goddamn state of puberty. Anything makes you hard, right?"

Harry swallowed. The question would have made him uncomfortable if he hadn't been able to follow what he meant. "She … God, Neville, she didn't …"

"It didn't hurt, Harry." Neville spat. "I didn't have a fucking clue. I did nothing because she didn't make me do anything. I couldn't think, couldn't panic. She licked blood off the back of my neck, and I did nothing. She –" Neville choked off another sob, and then looked furiously back at Harry. The blood on his face made his look firmer, but Harry finally knew, finally understood, and he met Neville's heat with his own level stare.

"She raped you." Harry finished. "God, Neville, why didn't you say anything?"

Neville dismissed it with a gesture and looked away, back to the cold water. "What would I say? I was stupid; I shouldn't have flouted the wards. I should have fought back, something when she got me. I'm pathetic. I was stupid, and I paid the price."

Harry snarled, "Neville, that's the stupidest thing I've heard from you, and that's saying something with the atrocious idiocy you've displayed for the last month." Neville flinched, and Harry angrily grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back against the wall, "Dammit Neville!" He growled. "It – was – not – your – fault. If stupidity deserved pain, do you know how many people would bleed each year? They'd die within minutes. Everyone is stupid at times, just like I ignored you for the last month, didn't bring up my concerns. Do I deserve to get hurt for it? Does Melanie deserve something like that for assuming it was that goddamn broom accident?" Neville was shaking his head slowly, not meeting Harry's eyes but he was listening, finally. "We're human. Just human, all right? We fuck up, but we deal."

Neville nodded slowly, and calmly noted, "I did a damn good job discouraging you from pressing the point about what was wrong, Harry."

"Isn't that the same basic thing as Melanie assuming you always bugger flying? Isn't that same basic thing as Bellatrix using the Imperius? Something will always blind us, and sometimes it's too much. I should have seen past your stupidity. You should have fought the damn spell. Well, sometimes we just can't." Harry's voice fell, became soft and pleading. "Sometimes we can't, Neville. Are you to be blamed for not being capable of fighting it? Am I to be blamed for caving before your defence?"

"No." Neville whispered. "It just hurt, Harry. It hurt. She broke my wand, Harry. She released me as –as soon as she was finished, as soon as she'd made –made sure I finished, too. She was so damn pleased with herself." His arms wrapped around his chest and he bit his lip to stifle another sob. "And she took my wand and broke it in front of my face and then just left. Just ditched me, naked. I was scared she'd kill me there. Can you imagine? Dead, just like that. Naked, not having raised a hand to defend myself."

"They're called Unforgivable for a reason, Neville." Harry insisted. "Please. Neville, you need to tell your parents. They need to know."

"What good will it do?" Neville groused, but he wasn't looking at Harry and he'd tensed. He was scared again.

"Neville, you're hurt."

"She did nothing, and the cut is easy enough to heal. I healed the others."

"Neville, you know what I mean." Harry growled. "You're not this stupid. Wounds aren't all bloody cuts, and you know it."

"What do I tell them, Harry?" Neville asked brokenly. "They saw me the day it happened, and I didn't say anything. They didn't notice."

"How long does spell residue last, Neville?" Harry pointed out. "You know those numbers better than me. How likely was it to them to think you'd been attacked? It wasn't immediately after, or you couldn't have diverted them. You'd also been hurt; all of them just thought you had that concussion. Head injuries, as you showed me rather properly," Harry wryly pointed out, "are messy, they cause dizziness, distraction … I'll bet the symptoms were mistaken, weren't they?"

"Yes," Neville whispered, "yes, they were. I couldn't tell myself. Mum thought I was distraught over my wand, and dad thought it was all the concussion." Neville barked a thin laugh. "I'd fallen over twenty damn metres. I think that's a damn miserable concussion."

"Twenty metres?" Harry gaped. "Neville-"

"It was branches all the way down, Harry." Neville calmly pointed out. "It broke my fall. I hit my head on one of the branches; the blood was more of a scrape from the bark."

Harry sighed, and shook his head. "Neville, please."

"Alright." Harry looked up quickly. It was unexpected for him to cave like that, but his voice was as defeated as his posture. "Fine, I'll tell them. You want me to write a letter or something?"

Harry snorted; he couldn't help it. "Oh, I can just see your mother getting that letter."

Neville chuckled as he leaned over to turn off the shower. "That would go over rather well." He quipped weakly, warmly. He flinched as he tried to use his right hand, and switched to reaching through the frigid spray with his left. As the water turned off, he shivered and turned to grab his wand, casting a quick drying spell, and then a warming spell. His shivers stopped, and he glanced at Harry before turning his attention to his cut wrist. A negligent wave vanished the razor from the floor without him even looking at it, and then he conjured a small cloth to clean up the wound; reaching through the spray had washed off his hand. Small pink marks edged around it, a bit above and below – cuts already healed.

Harry smiled weakly, trying to ignore them. "Neville, you still have blood on your face. Maybe you should just finish your shower – or at least rinse your face, or you're going to terrify someone. We can just bandage your wrist; there's a first aid kit somewhere in here. That's a deep cut – if you miss something, it'll come back to bite you."

Neville idly touched his face and came away with the diluted, tacky blood. He grimaced and nodded; Harry turned and jogged to the sinks and returned quickly with the kit; he didn't want to leave Neville alone long. The shower had turned back on, and steam had immediately renewed itself; he'd turned it on warm, which was a good sign. It wasn't on long, though, only long enough for a rinse and then it was off again, and when Neville pulled open the curtain, he was completely dry again, and Harry had already fished out what was needed to wrap his wrist.

Despite the lack of proper clothes, Harry didn't want to dawdle and Neville wasn't fighting him. Alongside the matter, it was still before eight on a weekend; only the Ravenclaws would really be up. Wearing their pyjama trousers and bathrobes, however, was mildly embarrassing. Harry attempted his basic transfiguration and only managed to change it into something a little more refined, and several shades darker, making the aqua look far more green than before. He ignored the colour, and felt a twinge when Neville's looked almost indistinguishable from a dark orange casual set of robes. Neville merely shrugged, however and his troubled gaze waited on him to lead the way out. Harry sighed and nodded. They needed to go.

It was a lot easier said than done. With the boy's showers at the base of their tower, and the common room between them and outside, Harry and Neville attracted attention when they came out; Lavender, sitting stiffly in the midst of a group of older girls made the culprit clear. When they came out, she immediately stiffened and raised her voice to call out.

"Oh, that makes things much clearer, Neville. I'd thought you were only a whore, but I guess you were just playing with the girls for a few weeks to see if they were any better a lay than Potter. Forgive me; I'll be sure to tell Draco your price."

Neville jerked against Harry's grip on his wrist, and then flinched as it aggravated the cut. Harry growled at Lavender, promising to visit proper revenge on her later, but he simply pulled on Neville's arm again and tugged him out the portrait hole.

"Neville, just leave the little hussy alone. She's only trying to make herself feel better, and by Merlin if you do something to her without first getting my help, I will hurt you."

Neville turned to him, ready to complain until Harry's addendum registered. His face calmed, curious, and then he smiled vindictively. "Sorry. I should remember that I can ask you for help now that I'm not being stupid."

"You should." Harry scolded. "We're still going to the Headmaster's office."

Neville's face fell, and he mock whined. "Harry …" There wasn't quite as much whine as there should have been, but there was a real layer of fear. Harry tightened his grip on his hand, and continued to pull him along through the deserted corridors. He only vaguely remembered where the Headmaster's office was. He hesitated, and then corrected himself. He didn't know where it was, but he did know where McGonagall's was, and she had a floo, not to mention they were already nearby.

"Harry …" Neville began to ask, and then sighed as Harry changed direction. "Harry, McGonagall still wants to eat my organs for supper after picking all those fights, and skipping detention. Are you really sure you want to haul me over there?"

"Neville, shut up." Harry scolded. "She didn't know; something tells me you'll either lose some detentions or have the actual detention become a lot easier after this."

Neville sighed, but didn't argue. He was either just being quiet, or he agreed. Harry wasn't up to pressing the matter at the moment, and they arrived at her office soon thereafter. Harry knocked on the door and then waited, as he knew he'd have to. She might not be up, and while the knock would wake her, it still might be several minutes.

He was correct, and waited in silence until she opened the door, wrapped tightly in her own tartan dressing robe. Finding Harry and Neville standing outside, she immediately looked them over for signs of a fight, and, finding none – Neville's bandaged wrist was hidden under his sleeve – she let them in and then turned to sit herself behind her desk.

"Well, Mr. Potter. Mr. Longbottom. I'm surprised to find you both here agreeably and without having picked a fight, unlike the last month of association. What brings you here?"

"Professor McGonagall, we need to speak to Dumbledore." Harry offered. Neville had made it clear he had no intentions of speaking; apparently without holding onto his shame, he had either gone to silent and unobtrusive or defaulted back to normal. It was a relief; the world had stopped swinging wildly around him and he had ground level beneath his feet. He could do this.

"Why do you need to speak with Dumbledore?"

Harry looked to Neville immediately, and McGonagall followed his gaze. Neville couldn't look at her, but finally, quietly offered, "I need to contact my parents in person. There's … something I need to tell them."

McGonagall huffed quietly. "I suppose you mean a matter of importance, as you are unlikely to come to me frivolously. Do you want to floo them?"

"If they could come here?" Harry asked. "I think … it'd be best to talk to them face to face." A short look at Neville confirmed it, and when he looked back McGonagall was watching them both with disbelief. She shook it off and nodded.

"Very well. I'll call them, if you'll give me a minute. Dumbledore can be informed later; I have authority. Umbridge can't debate a student's request to see their parents."

Harry and Neville both nodded, and watched as McGonagall tossed the floo powder into the fire, calling the Longbottom manor. It was a tense few minutes; Harry's mind was running in circles, and Neville's hands were fidgeting with his transfigured robe. Finally, McGonagall pulled back, and the fire stayed green. Alice and Frank shortly tumbled out, and coming through behind them was James and Lily – Harry's parents. They had probably been visiting, as they tended to. Harry thought about it for a moment, and it quickly made sense: James, Frank and Alice always tried to get either Valentine's or the day before or after off, as they were married. It was a blessing that it was today.

"Neville?" Alice asked immediately. She sighed. "Minerva, did he get into another fight?"

Harry and Neville both flinched, and looked to each other. Minerva was shaking her head, but Neville spoke first; he was still looking at Harry, though, and Harry hadn't picked out the reason yet.

"No, mum. I asked her to floo you because I need to tell you something – privately." The last was another firm look at Harry, and Harry finally caught on and nodded. He wanted the Chamber of Secrets. Technically they weren't not allowed inside; hopefully neither set of parents would point it out.

Of course, their exchange had garnered plenty of attention and it was James who finally asked, "Would you like to talk about it here, or do you have somewhere else in mind?" True Marauder reasoning.

Neville nodded slowly, and Harry bit his lip before looking up at his father. James had tight lines beside his eyes, but he was more curious than anything right now - which would either change, or strengthen after Harry made a point of asking permission.

"I'd actually like to talk in the Chamber of Secrets, Professor McGonagall."

Minerva's eyebrows jumped towards her hairline, and Alice made a small, startled sound. James frowned.

"Is it safe?" He asked.

Harry shuffled a moment, debating whether to lie or not, and then settled for a half-truth. "Well, I've been down there before and never had any problems. It's useful for getting time to myself without fear of being interrupted at a bad time." He raised his eyes to his father's and quirked an eyebrow. Hopefully he'd get the hint.

James' eyebrows rose again, and he gave a small 'Oh,' Lily sent a suspicious look between her husband and son, and then sighed as well, tossing the wry look at Alice. The silent communication shortly dissolved into nearly invisible giggles on the women's part. Minerva frowned, and Frank noticed partially to escape his wife's hilarity.

"I suspect letting you in on the joke wouldn't be best here, but if wanted to visit us later I might be able to discuss it with you."

Minerva nodded slowly, and then sighed. "I suppose there are no rules against you talking in whatever part of the castle you desire. Since the Chamber has been looked over, it is most likely no danger, and thus I will not say a word for or against your choice. I do hope this means you have calmed down, Neville." She gave him a level look and Neville smiled weakly back.

"It does, ma'am. I … might tell you later, or let my parents share it. It's just …" he looked aside, and didn't finish, but Harry grabbed his shoulder and then nodded to Minerva, leading the way out of her office and through the mostly deserted halls. This early on a weekend was not usually popular with the students. Even the Ravenclaws would be holed up studying rather than wandering about.

Neither of their parents were very interested in asking questions as they walked, apparently watching the two of them leading the way, Neville staying a step behind Harry, who was paying more attention to getting them down without being seen than he was to considering talking. Thus was the walk silent but quick, and soon enough they were in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and Harry nervously glanced at the new audience and eyed the tap. His nervousness made it difficult for him to get into the right attitude for speaking parseltongue; his false starts made Neville laugh nervously, and finally his irritation brought on the sibilant tongue and the way opened. Once it was free, Harry stepped back with a nervous smile.

"The pipe's clean. I'll go down last, all right? Neville, do you want the honour of checking for rats?" Harry teased. Neville stuck out his tongue, and stepped to the pipe to slide down. Frank and Alice went next, and then Lily. Harry was awkwardly aware of it just being himself and his father, and watched James cautiously. He hadn't written the usual letters for two weeks. James just watched him for the long minute until Harry was sure his mother would be clear and coughed lightly to clear his throat.

"Harry …" James started awkward, but he shook his head and stopped himself, crouching at the pipe to simply slide down without another word. Harry watched him go, and awkwardly admitted that he likely would have to explain himself to his father. He almost wished that James might get lost in the enormity of Neville's problem, and felt immediately ashamed. But he couldn't deny the vague wish.

Neville's voice drifted up the pipe, indistinguishable after the distance, but easily warning enough that he was taking his sweet time and should be down there. Harry sat down and slid. Enough procrastination. He wasn't the one who'd been hurt.

A/N: Well, there we go. Problem solved-ish. Feel better? Was that really surprising? You can breath now, and things will be moving on and, well, I suspect the general tone will be going a tad downhill. Only a tad, but really. You didn't expect a happy war, now did you? And I'll even give you Quidditch and pranks in between.

Thank you for reading, please review?

Fire & Napalm