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Three: Portrait of Ariana Dumbledore
All of the hangings around the room were still up, even after all these weeks, and the cots, belongings left behind too were all there, unharmed. But the walls were black, charred to a crisp, just as the Room of Hidden Things had been. The Portrait of Ariana Dumbledore smiled down at him.
"Hi, Ariana."
She nodded her greeting and sat on the floor of her portrait with her legs crossed. She smiled.
"Don't you think Aberforth misses you after spending all this time with me?" Neville asked standing in front of her, looking up with his hands dug into the pockets of his robes.
Again she nodded but she shrugged. She put her chin in her hands and her eyes glittered down at him.
Neville chuckled, trying to hide the edge in his voice. "I know you don't care but he's been good to me over the past few months, and everyone else who's escaped in here. You should spend a bit more time with him. I took his food. I won't take his sister too."
Ariana rolled her eyes and made no effort to move. She looked quite comfortable where she sat.
Neville felt his hands trembling. He shoved them deeper into his pockets, perhaps to save Ariana the worry over him. But what he'd been told, in this very room, had him in this state. Because it had nearly been him. He made his way across the room and sat himself on the cot he'd slept on for the past few months and leaned his back against the wall, ash staining the back of his shirt even more. He smiled at the portrait.
Ariana glared.
"I don't care if my shirt gets dirty, it's already grimy anyways. And it's just ash." Even as he told her this she looked as though she would leap from her sanctuary in the portrait to clean him off.
It'd taken Harry all night to give Neville every detail and now the sun was rising slowly. Neville was surely shocked at the news Harry had told him. He didn't suppose he knew what he was going to do with the information. Granted it didn't matter much, now that the war was over. And Harry had won, Harry was alive. So it wasn't as though much would change now that he knew. Harry Potter was not just the Boy Who Lived but was literally the Chosen One. He was chosen by Voldemort himself.
Professor Trelawney had made it clear that it might've been either of them. Harry had repeated it to Neville word for word.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…"
But perhaps, simply because he was a pureblood, Neville hadn't been chosen by Tom Riddle. Would Neville's mother have jumped in between the Killing Curse and her son the way Lily Potter had? Would Neville have died? Snape wouldn't have spied for Dumbledore…Snape had only done that because he was in love with Harry's mum…? Imagining the late greasy Potions-master as someone with a substantial capacity for love was a bizarre idea. Maybe this love caused the life-long bitterness he emitted upon all of his students.
Neville knew what it felt like to love someone who was dead, murdered nearly. He vowed though, to never be bitter over it.
But if Voldemort had chosen him instead of Harry…they might not have won. Neville wasn't as strong as Harry, everyone knew that.
Horcruxes. A shiver went down Neville's spine as he imagined Voldemort's torn and rotting pieces of soul strewn across the afterlife, confused and bloody and decaying and writhing on the floor, mangled in vines of pulsing black veins.
"You alright?" Harry had asked once he'd finished telling him.
"Yeah...shocked of course..."
Harry pat him on the arm. They sat together in silence for a bit, both of them mulling things over in their minds. So much had been finished. So much, and nothing left to do.
"What are we going to do now?"
Harry had been one of them. The snake, Nagini, Harry had called it, had been another one. The book, the ring…Neville tried to remember…the cup of Hufflepuff, the diadem of Ravenclaw…Slytherin's locket. Those that had been owned by Hogwarts founders now lay partially destroyed in thick magically protected glass displays in the Entrance Hall seven floors below them. The others were completely destroyed, snake beheaded, book stabbed, ring sliced, and Harry's soul completely his own.
"I wonder if there's a certain point to how many times you can rip your soul into tiny little bits before you go mad or die," Neville thought aloud. Ariana's face grew red with disbelieving rage. "I'm not going to go and be a git who tries it," Neville countered at her silent accusation. "You surely know that. Not after all the murder and madness I've seen. I'm not capable of murder."
Ariana nodded once more. She seemed to relax back into the portrait, her head leaning back while still letting her eyes linger on Neville as she laughed silently. She twirled her long golden hair between her fingers.
Neville watched her for a few moments and let his eyes fall to his lap.
The war was over.
And now he had no idea what to do with himself.
He knew though that he wasn't going to leave Hogwarts. It was his home now, as it had been for so long. He'd stay here for as long as he could.
He also was sure that he would not return to St. Mungo's. Not anymore. It was time for him to move forward with his life. He was stuck in the idea of his parents becoming healthy again and sixteen years later Neville was stuck in this ever revolving rut. Many people would despise him, feel he abandoned his parents. Gran of course would be there for them, be the first to accuse him of deserting his family. He sighed at the thought of Gran, after all this time trying to be glorified in her eyes, to be seen as highly as his parents, as a fighter. Only now, during the war did she finally see his proven abilities and he was going to shove her approval down the drain to live the rest of his life. But in his heart he knew that his parents, if they stood behind him healthy and well and saw his life the way he did now, they would understand, even probably hope he would eventually move on and passed the dreary halls of the hospital where only discouragement and sadness enveloped him.
Neville now had other reasons to live, other than for his grandmother's approval, other than to care for his insane parents, other than to achieve grades and be the simple indolent provocation of fights between Gryffindors and Slytherins, other than to lead a force against the Dark Lord. He looked intently at Ariana once more, who was gazing back down at him, perpetual in her happiness. She gave him a sad little smile, understanding all that was in his head without him having to tell her.
"I think I'll go for a walk. To clear my head. Go and send Aberforth my regards."
With a nod, Ariana stood, turned around, and began to walk toward her other portrait in the Hog's Head bar.
Neville passed the Great Hall and everyone at breakfast and left the castle, making his way out toward the Forest. He found it no surprise that he had little appetite. His thoughts jumbled around in his head as they often did, mixed up and confused. Actually, it was only the last few months where he felt the cloudiness in his head clear. Now that the war was over it was clouded it all up again.
Approaching the edge of the Forest with little worry, he held up his guard just in case but felt sure that now, nothing would really be there to accost him. Over the past few days the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army (the older bunch of the latter, including Neville) had gone into the Forbidden Forest to search for any runaways. They'd found a few and had pretty much cleared and cleaned the entire forest. While it was still dark and still crawling with dark creatures and mysterious things, Neville was no longer afraid of the treacherous dark depths of it.
Neville silently glided through without a path, thinking about what he was feeling. It was so different to him that he barely knew what exactly to think. He had feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him want to bend over and puke. But it wasn't helping him much. It was actually almost annoying. If he didn't know what was causing it he might think he was sick. Maybe he was just a different kind of sick. Like love-sick. He might've asked Harry for advice, certainly not Ron, but his situation was so much graver than what Harry was experiencing now. Neville had been the lucky one, not having been chosen but now that that was all over Neville saw Harry as the lucky one. He had what he wanted. Ginny.
The girl he was after was not attainable and his heart and stomach clenched with the pain of it. Seeing her before the battle was wonderful. He knew it right then, right as he was about to fight the worst of the evil, the Death Eaters. And after the war, death had taken its toll, making itself more present in his life than ever before. Now that the war was over he could actually mull this thought over, one that had been effortlessly pushed wayward while in such danger.
A giant spider hissed at him and he waved his wand rather simply, making it scuttle away. He heard the trees around him rustle and he knew the spider's friends had abandoned their potential meal as well. He walked without a purpose, just thinking.
Naturally stumbling, half aware of his surroundings in a dark forest, with vines like branches scouring the floor Neville tripped. Again, he hadn't been surprised really. He had, since he was a boy, been clumsy to the point that he would always have a few knocks and knees bruises. However, he was rather shocked at the gaping hole in his shin, bleeding profusely down his leg. After a moment of clear thinking, he came to the conclusion it was just one of his prior wounds re-cut open by the scraggy and rocky ground that Neville could hardly see for the thick cut trees.
After magically nursing his wound back to a scabular form and charming the threads of his pants back together, he searched for what had been so sharp to cut him.
"Lumos," he whispered kneeling close to the ground.
As the small light at the tip of his wand ignited he saw clearly what had scraped him; a small, scratched up, half cracked, stepped on stone covered in his blood. Normally, anyone would've passed right by it as just some other rock, but it was quite obvious that it wasn't. Or it could've been some other rock but not in this setting. It was much too angular and dark to be some shard from one of the larger boulders in the forest. The rock looked completely different.
"Aguamenti," he said and from his wand spouted a light fountain of water, cleansing the stone from his blood. He dried it off on his shirt and inspected it.
After a while he'd forgotten about it but absentmindedly continued to spin it in his hands. His head filled with thoughts of the girl he knew he loved and somberness enveloped him as he made his way back out of the Forest. And what he saw next would redeem his love and care for the one girl who'd captured his heart.
Hermione and Harry sat underneath the stars in the Great Hall a week later. Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys left for the Burrow to prepare for Fred's funeral. Harry and Hermione would meet them in a few days but for the time being they remained at the castle, continuing with the repair and restoration.
"I'm glad that you're okay, Harry," Hermione said. "I never got the chance to say that to you. Not really."
"Well Ron's been taking up all your free time with snogging," Harry joked and Hermione slapped his arm.
"He hasn't!" she giggled. She looked over at him and he returned her gaze with an understanding look. "It's been hard on all of us. We've really just been talking a lot. You know, about Fred, and Remus and Tonks…do you need someone to talk to, Harry? I know how it feels for me but it must be entirely different for you."
Harry offered a half smile. "I'm alright Hermione. Ginny's been great. She wants to listen. She's actually incredible." Hermione smiled, glad that they were both smitten and in love even in such a horrible time. "It's just I can't get over the feeling of being alone and she keeps saying – "
"That you have us. I know, she told me. It's true. But I can understand what you mean. Without Remus…"
"Without him it's like I've lost every bit of my parents. He was all that was left. Sirius is gone, Remus is gone…and Snape. I can't even wrap my head around it. It's all because of him that I sit here alive and I can't even tell him thank you. And I hated him for all this time."
Hermione held Harry's hand. "If it's any consolation, he hated you too."
If there was anything to laugh about now it was this and the both of them burst into a fit of laughter neither of them could control. Everything was just so obscenely outrageous. Everything that had happened in the last year was hardly comprehendible and yet they comprehended it. In due time, they'd all be happy. The whole in their hearts that this war had caused would be filled with the love each had for the other.
"Neville's been acting strange these past few days," Hermione commented. "Been quiet, keeping to himself. Luna says it's unlike him."
Harry nodded. "I would assume so. He'll be fine. I told him about the prophecy. You know," he offered.
Hermione shrugged. "Maybe that's it. Someone told me he and Lavender Brown had become a bit close hidden away in the Room of Requirement. Apparently he saw her for the first time a few days ago."
"How?" Harry asked simply.
"Greyback," she answered solemnly and he understood the gruesome image Neville must've seen.
But they both knew only time could heal their wounds. With all hope, everything would be in the past and they could move on with their lives. With all hope.
I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please tell me how you feel!