AN: The majority of this chapter is written from Neville's point of view. It's a long one, so be proud of me! The information in it is important, and it sets up Luna's (and eventually Hermione's) account of the time they were imprisoned. The next chapter will be posted soon, hopefully. It will be a nice one, don't worry. The angst is yet to come! This story has very little angst. I want it to be mellow. If you have any questions, please comment and review! I would be more than happy to answer them.

You indebted author,

xx

Nova

Chapter 7

Draco no longer lived in the manor. The large, old residence was far too extravagant for a man whose mother had desired to escape her past by fleeing to the peaceful French countryside, and whose father was imprisoned in Azkaban. It was far too extravagant for a man who was alone. And so he had built a residence on the back edge of the Malfoy grounds, in the furthest corner of the gardens. It was a secluded spot, peaceful and quiet. It was as far as he was willing to go from his childhood home, which although he despised it, was still a place that mattered to him.

To describe the residence as modest would be an outright lie. Unless, of course, one was comparing it to the manor. Everything was modest when compared to the manor. Draco's new home, in his own words, was reasonably sized. Neville thought it was a bit much, but then again, so was Draco. It was a large cottage, built to accommodate a parlor, three bedrooms, a grand kitchen (Draco liked to cook during his spare time), a dining room that replicated that of the manor, only smaller. And of course, the crown jewel, which was the study. Draco took pride in his study. He took pride in the privacy it provided, and the seclusion it offered. It was on the east side of the cottage, and overlooked a beautiful, natural lake that had been on the property for centuries. Draco hadn't thought much about the design scheme. He only wished it to be different from his father's cold excuse of a study. The designer had done a marvelous job. The room was warm and masculine, but not too warm. Not Weasley warm. Malfoy warm. With dark oaks and wild greens and warm beiges.

It was very warm.

Draco stood at the window overlooking the lake, with his back to the warm study. His eyes were not on the lake he occasionally swam in. They were focused on the dark, wooden bowl that stood on the window seat. The silvery contents of Neville's mind swirled around, beckoning him to dive in. Draco looked at the miniature grandfather clock that hung on the wall to his left. He was supposed to be at Mungo's at noon, and only had two hours to relive what had to be one of Neville's darkest memories. Saying a quick prayer to Morgana or Merlin or whoever could be listening, he brought his face closer to the bowl. He whispered a spell that would allow him to embody Neville in the memory.

"Possessio Omnia." He took a deep breath, and brought his face closer still to the bowl. "Here goes nothing." Sinking his face into the silvery depths of memory, Draco allowed himself to be pulled back in time.

This house was dark and musty. No light filtered through the thick drapes that covered the windows. Neville was sure they were grimy anyway. He quickly scanned the entry way and scuttled to the foyer. No movement.

"Clear," he whispered to Hermione.

She rushed past him and into the room beyond the foyer. Ron and Ginny followed, with Luna bringing up the rear. As she passed, she squeezed his hand lightly and smiled.

He smiled back, then pushed her ahead of him. Something about this house made him uneasy. He felt like they were being watched, and like he was forgetting something very important.

Beyond the foyer was a parlor, and adjacent to it was a kitchen. The entire crew had moved onto what was beyond the kitchen, but Neville couldn't see past the French doors. He heard the sound of paper rustle, and cast a nervous, yet critical eye at the windows. They weren't open. Taking a couple steps forward with the pretense of moving on, he nonverbally cast a Homenem Revelio, albeit an altered version. This spell, invented by Luna, gave off a luminescence that only the caster could sense. It revealed if an enemy was present.

Neville cursed himself inwardly. He should have done it sooner. Enemies were present, and by the look of things, he and his friends were surrounded. Trying to ignore the shifting, darkly glowing figures, Neville moved through the parlor and into the kitchen, opening the cupboards and banging them one, two, three times. Loudly. He knew that at least one member of his reconnaissance crew had received the signal because he felt his wand burning warmly, before turning ice cold, the signal for immediate group evacuation. They needed to take the Port Key out as soon as possible. Neville calmly walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway beyond. He wasn't leaving without Luna.

"Ginny! Luna?" he called. "Have you lot found anything?" Silence, then the sounds of a scuffle taking place. A shout. "Bloody-" he ran toward the room at the end of the hall, sure that his team was located there. Neville burst through the door of the room at the end of the hall and emerged breathless. He found that the remaining members of the squad were back to back, wands facing outward. It took Neville no time at all to realize that Ginny had taken the Port Key out of the situation, leaving the others behind. Presumably, she was going back to alert the rest of the Order that traps had been set at various mission locations. Neville stood still for a moment, wondering why the entire group didn't just evacuate with her, before he was harshly reminded of the situation when Hermione pointed her wand directly at him.

"Neville, duck!" shouted Hermione.

Neville quickly dropped to the ground and rolled to his right, knowing that whatever spell Hermione shot would have a blast radius. When he scrambled back onto his knees, he realized it was too late. The Death Eaters whose presence he had felt earlier started to remove their cloaking spells, revealing their horrifying visage to the tiny, surrounded squad. There must have been at least ten of them in the small room, and who knew how many more throughout the house, heading towards the commotion. Not willing to be taken alive, he and the others shot spells intended to maim, disarm, and kill the Death Eaters.

He heard a hoarse voice shout, "Alive! Get them alive! They are the important ones!"

Aiming at the voice, he shot a blasting spell. Then, Neville blindly cast disarming and stunning spells at the black figures that continued to shift around the room. Despite the volume of spells that the tiny squadron of Phoenixes were volleying, it was futile. They were clearly outnumbered, and this was a well-planned ambush. In the blink of an eye, Neville found himself slipping silkily into a loud unconsciousness, with a roaring silence pressing against his eardrums. Before he could think again about how strange it was that he was still alive, he had one thought that he tried vainly to emit to his friends, his family.

I'm sorry. It's all my fault.

Neville regained consciousness easily, but immediately wished that he hadn't done so. He had awakened in time to witness Hermione and Luna, both still unconscious, being levitated past his dungeon cell and into the one next to it. A cloaked figure followed them into the cell, and he heard the rusty doors clang shut with a dull sound. He looked around and found Ron being placed in shackles in the wall opposite him. Neville himself was already shackled. He cast his eyes about the dimly lit, criminally small room to see who was doing the shackling.

"You must be Longbottom," drawled a silvery voice.

Neville was silent.

"Very well." The figure drew a wand from the handle of his walking stick and lazily cast a Cruciatus at Neville, who tried in vain not to scream. "You have strong will." The figure stepped into the square of light cast by the lanterns hanging in the hall. It was Lucius Malfoy. He came closer to Neville, and reached a hand out toward his face. Lucius grasped Neville's chin in a gloved hand and turned his face this way and that. "You're Draco's age. He talked about you a lot. Said you were a bit of a bumbling idiot."

"Your son is a prat. Like father, like son, I guess," Neville said, wondering why his bravery decided to come out to play today.

"Ah, but you're witty. Like your mother. I like you." Lucius turned away and walked toward Ron. "And you, you are the Weasley. I can tell. It's the hair. Such an unbecoming shade." Lucius pointed his handsome wand at Ron, then used it to lift his chin. "You are Potter's man, aren't you? Tell me, what do you know?"

"I'm not telling you shite!" yelled Ron.

Neville winced. He was sure Lucius wouldn't be as kind to Ron, and he was right. Immediately, Lucius cast a Cruciatus that seemed to tear Ron's screams from his throat, his lungs. Neville began to shake with fury and helplessness. This was all his fault. He should have checked more thoroughly. He couldn't understand why he didn't.

Suddenly, the screaming stopped. Lucius turned partly to face Neville, but his wand was still on Ron. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Longbottom," he drawled. "We have our own tricks. I suppose I can tell you, since you won't be leaving here anytime soon. But we plant forget-me-nots in front of our hideouts, and, well. You should know the rest. You really should have kept your herbology hobby alive during wartime. You wouldn't be here now, if you had." Lucius paused thoughtfully. "You are right; I guess it truly is your fault." He chuckled menacingly.

Lucius, by this time, had turned to fully face Neville, and was looking at him peculiarly. His silvery orbs pierced Neville's brown ones. He could feel Lucius' cool touch sliding his thoughts around, and hastily worked to resurrect shields to protect his mind from the unwelcome invasion.

"An Occlumens?" Lucius questioned, sounding pleasantly surprised. "But are you skilled?" He walked closer, directing his wand at Neville's head, and keeping his eyes focused until they seemed to be unfocused.

Immediately, Neville put to use the training that Snape had given him. He drafted a to-do list of mundane tasks and manually began checking off those he had completed, and those he hadn't, adding notes as he went. It was an infinite process, one that Neville found he could lose himself in. It worked well to shield Occlumens from the prodding of those who practiced Legilimency because it allowed the Occlumens to focus on essentially nothing. It was one of many ways to deflect a Legilimens. To Neville's surprise, Lucius withdrew fairly quickly.

"I will come back to you, Longbottom. To have learned Occlumency means you have much to hide." Lucius continued staring at Neville for a moment, as if he were pondering something. Then, he abruptly turned to face Ron. "You, Potter's man," he whispered, before becoming silent.

For a second, Neville panicked, fearing that the Order's plans would be revealed to the Death Eater because Ron never took to Occlumency. Then, he remembered that the Order had remedied the situation by keeping Ron and Harry, as well as Ginny, out of the meetings. He continued watching Lucius read Ron's thoughts until the word "Horcrux" came unbidden into Neville's mind and he remembered why Ron's thoughts were still useful to Death Eaters.

"Oy, Pureblood filth!" Neville yelled, hoping against hope that it wasn't too late. If Lucius found out that Ron and Harry had been hunting horcruxes, the Order's eventual victory was sure to be jeopardized.

Silence from Lucius.

"PUREBLOOD FILTH!" Neville yelled again.

"I said QUIET, boy!" Lucius screamed, whirling around to point his wand at Neville. The man looked absolutely panicked, and Neville's heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. It was too late. "I must tell milord," Lucius said, before casting a final Cruciatus at the both of them and rushing out of the cell.

The sound of the door clanging shut behind him was drowned out by the screaming of the two tortured boys.

Draco felt a peculiar break in the memories that signaled that Neville had given him not one, but two strands. It was dark for a moment before the scene began to materialize.

The door to the same cell clanged open and a cloaked figure strolled into the room.

"Lucius," the figure rasped. "Which boy is he?"

A second figure walked into the cell behind the first. A steady hand pointed toward Ron. "This one, my lord."

Neville's eyes snapped fully open. Was Voldemort, of all people, in his cell? He stared at the figure as skeletal hands rose to lift its hood. It was Voldemort indeed. His red eyes glowed from his profile.

"Bring in the girl," Voldemort rasped, then turned to stare at Neville. "This is the boy who belongs to the Longbottoms." He glided toward Neville. "Bella's playthings."

Neville's eyes turned steely as they raked Voldemort's serpentine features. A monster in his cell, indeed.

Voldemort cackled. "You do not like me much." He turned around just as Hermione was being dragged into the cell. He watched silently as she was shackled to the wall facing the door. She was barely lucid. "Lucius, you have done much to harm her."

"Yes, my Lord. She is a Mudblood."

"No worse than a blood traitor," hissed Voldemort, staring at Ron and Neville. His displeasure chilled the room. "You have done a satisfactory job in harming them, but have you gained any useful information?"

"No, my lord. I-"

Voldemort stilled Lucius' words. "You failed. I see that my instructions on the matter were not clear enough." His cold gaze drifted toward Lucius, who did his best to remain still. "I will deal with this later. For now, I must verify. This one," he gestured toward Ron,"is useless."

"Yes, my lord," Lucius said.

"You are sure."

"Yes."

"He is the one that has destroyed my horcruxes, with Potter," Voldemort said, finally walking toward Ron and cupping his chin in his right hand.

Ron, to his credit, remained silent.

"Yes, my lord," Lucius repeated.

"Good. He will make a prime example to that foolish Potter."

Neville observed quietly as Voldemort inhaled deeply.

"Harry Potter, I have a gift for you." He seemed to broadcast this to the room. Then he spoke directly to Ron. "Do not touch that which is not yours," and with that, Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on him.

Ron was no more. Neville shouted, but was abruptly silenced by Lucius. Hermione, however, began wailing. Her high-pitched wails echoed off the walls and ceiling, racking Neville's brain. Her sorrow filled the room as she realized that Ron was, indeed, no more.

Voldemort glided over, and Neville heard, with cold clarity, his next words. "Harry Potter, you see what this war has cost you thus far. Come to me and lay down your wand, or this one," he paused, stroking Hermione's face and wiping her anguished tears, "is next."

With that, he strolled out of the room, with Lucius trailing after, levitating Hermione with him to place her in her cell.

The wailing continued to echo in Draco's ears long after he floated out of the sequence of memories.

He fell to the floor of his study, heart racing, sweating madly.

It was a terrible, terrible war, but Draco could finally see exactly how terrible it was for the side that fought so valiantly to save the Wizarding World.

Draco Malfoy, not for the first time, was filled with the utmost sorrow and the deepest regret for all the things he had done wrong in his life.