They stood in silence for a while, Neville with an arm around Harry's shoulders to keep himself upright despite his injuries. The lake was tranquil, the sky clear; it did not seem like a day for a funeral.
"I'm not coming back to Hogwarts, even if it does reopen," Harry said then.
He had been expecting the wide-eyed stares, and even Ron's jaw dropping. He had not expected Neville's sad nod, or Hermione's next words.
"I knew you weren't going to," she said simply. "But...where will you go?"
Harry stared off into the distance, trying to think. "I've got to go back to the Dursleys, at least until I'm seventeen. It's safe for me there until then. And then...I think I'd like to go back to where I was born. Where my parents were buried. It's where everything started, and if I'm there...maybe I'll get an idea of how to finish it, too."
"And then?" Neville asked in a thick voice. Harry looked up at him, his chest feeling oddly constricted.
"There are still four horcruxes out there," he said. He gestured to Dumbledore's tomb on the other side of the lake. "He was teaching me about them, what they might be, where I might find them. They need to be found and destroyed before I can..." he took a deep breath. "I'm going to be the one to kill him. I have to be. You could say it's in my blood, but it goes deeper than that. I'm going to find the four horcruxes, and then I'm going to go after the last bit of soul he's got, the one in his body. And if I see Snape along the way..." he gripped his wand so tightly a knuckle cracked.
"We'll come with you," Neville said suddenly. Ron and Hermione nodded. Harry gaped.
"What? No. Absolutely not."
"We'll come with you to your aunt and uncle's, and then we'll go where you go. That's how we do things," Ron said.
"You can't," Harry said, a small note of panic rising in his chest. Why hadn't he foreseen this? "Someone needs to be here at Hogwarts, someone needs to make sure everyone's protected. You're the best ones for that."
The other three looked at each other. Harry knew he'd hit a sore spot and ruthlessly pressed his advantage. "They're going to need someone. You can't think with Dumbledore gone that the school is going to stay the same."
These words melted into the summer air, and the four of them darted glances at one another, not sure what to say.
"I'll stay," Neville finally said in a small voice. Harry's eyebrows flew up in an expression of surprise that was mirrored on Hermione and Ron's faces. "You're right, someone's got to do it - and the Death Eaters have no reason to think I'm anything of a threat, nearly everyone still thinks I'm still a bit of a joke -"
"I'll hex anyone who says that," Harry said firmly. Neville smirked sadly.
"You'd have to hex most of Hogwarts, mate. At least the Slytherins. But they're the ones the Death Eaters will listen to. The Gryffindors know better, and Luna will bring the Ravenclaws round..." Neville seemed to be deflating as he looked down at Harry hopelessly.
Harry swallowed, giving Neville a hug from the side, suddenly feeling very empty. It hit him in full force, at that moment, that this may be one of the last times he would see Neville alive. The enormity of it, and of the possibilities they could have had, the moments they could have stolen, the time they could have had and had refused crashed down around him.
Ron cleared his throat. "We'll at least see you again once more, Neville," he said. Neville broke his gaze away from Harry and looked at Ron in confusion, an expression mimicked by Harry. "Bill and Fleur's wedding, remember? It's this summer, at our house. They'll go nutters if you don't come."
"That's right," Harry said, relief washing over him. He smiled. "We really shouldn't miss that, you know."
Neville's face melted into a relieved smile much like Harry's. "Gran likes weddings," he said inanely, and nodded. "We'll be there."
"Neville," Ginny said, "You're doing it again."
"Oh," Neville said, looking down at the shredded paper napkin in his lap. "Sorry." He plucked the napkin pieces from his legs and the floor and deposited them on the table with the other napkins he had inadvertently destroyed over the past half hour.
"It's hard, waiting," said Ginny. She glanced at the clock, where every hand that represented the Weasley family members was firmly pointed to "Mortal Peril," including her own. Neville bobbed a quick nod.
"I wish I could have gone," he said quietly. "I..." he trailed off. There didn't seem to be anything to say.
Mrs. Weasley paced through the living room of the Burrow again, fretting loudly. "Any minute now, oh I hope they're all right, the plan has to have worked..."
"They're fine, Mum," Ginny piped up, but Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to hear her as her path took her into the kitchen.
Neville checked his watch, then craned his neck to look at the Portkey landing site in the front yard for the eighth time that minute. As the minute hand crept infinitesimally slowly toward the arranged time for the first Portkey, he felt his heart beat more quickly.
"There's more to you and Harry than meets the eye, isn't there?" Ginny asked suddenly.
Neville felt as though someone had just tossed a bucket of water over him. "What?"
"You and Harry. You're more than just friends. You try to hide it, but..." Ginny twisted the tassel on the pillow she held in her lap. Neville licked his lips, stalling for something to say. The piercing look Ginny was giving him made it clear that subterfuge was out of the question.
"I...don't know," he said finally. "I don't know what we are. I wish sometimes...but...I don't know," he said again. He looked out the door again at the empty yard. "Sometimes it seems like we are. More than friends, I mean. But I think..."
"You're both scared," Ginny finished. Neville twisted his mouth slightly and nodded. "I had feelings for him once, you know," she continued, staring very intently at the tassel. "I still do, a bit. But..." she looked up. "I think he belongs with you."
Neville found it very hard to swallow all of a sudden. "I...Ginny, he..." he shook his head to try and clear it. "He doesn't want anyone right now," he said dismissively. "He's convinced anyone he cares about will be a target."
"I think that's just an excuse," Ginny said softly. "I think he doesn't want to hurt you or me by choosing." The binding of the tassel came loose and threads sprung over her hands in a frizzy ball. She made a small sound of exasperation and tossed the pillow back beside her on the couch. "I don't want to be your rival," she said firmly, her face set.
"We're not rivals," Neville protested. "We -"
Suddenly, blue light glowed in the yard. Mrs. Weasley seemed to materialize next to the door and she hurried out, Neville and Ginny in tow, conversation forgotten for the time being.
The blue light grew from a pinprick to something very small, spinning very fast, and then an empty, rusty oil can floated in midair for a moment before falling to the ground.
"That was Ron and Tonks's," Mrs. Weasley said, a little catch in her voice. "They're..."
Neville put an arm around Mrs. Weasley's shoulders. "They're fine," he said, trying to inject calmness into his voice. "They just missed the Portkey. They're all right."
"Of course they are, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, reaching up to pat his hand. "Don't you worry." Neville smiled slightly.
"There's another one," Ginny said anxiously as another point of blue light appeared. This one, too, was far too small - a very ratty trainer spun to a halt in the air before falling next to the oil can.
"Fred and Arthur's," Mrs. Weasley said faintly. She squeezed Neville's hand on her shoulder, and Neville squeezed back. His stomach felt very empty, but not from hunger; more like the bottom had fallen out of it and he was being consumed from the inside.
Another blue light appeared, this one much larger, and now the vast expanse that had been his empty middle was promptly filled with butterflies. The light spun and two figures, one so large it could only be Hagrid, the other smaller, touched down with a thud in the yard.
Neville's heart leapt into his chest and he found himself running forward. "Harry!" he cried. He stopped just short of a collision, skidding to a halt in front of a very disheveled-looking Harry. "You - are the real Harry, right?" he asked. Harry nodded once, pushing his glasses up with one finger. Neville knocked them askew again as he pulled Harry into a very enthusiastic embrace. "They wouldn't let me come, because I won't be of bloody age for three more days -"
"Where's everybody else?" Harry demanded, absently pushing Neville away and looking frantically around the yard. Neville felt as though he'd been punched in the gut, until he saw how wild Harry's eyes were as they landed on the used Portkeys. He looked to Mrs. Weasley with pain in his eyes. "The Death Eaters were waiting for us, they knew it was tonight, four of them were chasing us, and then Voldemort was there-" Neville could hear the plaintive undertone in Harry's voice, the plea that Mrs. Weasley please not blame him for all that had gone wrong...
Mrs. Weasley had gone pale, and she drew him into a hug as well. "Thank goodness you're all right. And you, Hagrid?"
"Would'n say no to a bit of restorative brandy," Hagrid said, sounding quite shaken. Mrs. Weasley nodded and rather than summoning it to her, she ducked into the house to retrieve it.
Harry looked between Ginny and Neville anxiously.
"Ron and Tonks were supposed to be back first," Ginny said, pointing to the oil can, "and then Dad and Fred. You're the first ones to get back."
"Death Eaters were already waiting for you?" Neville asked, his mouth feeling very dry. Harry nodded.
"They knew the plan had changed. It was all of them, and then Voldemort -"
Harry was interrupted by another flash of blue light behind them. Mrs. Weasley rushed out, thrusting a bottle of brandy at Hagrid as she stared intently at the incoming Portkey. Neville watched the two spinning figures grow larger, but something was wrong -
"GEORGE!" Mrs. Weasley cried. Lupin shoved George, bleeding profusely from the side of his head, into Mrs. Weasley's arms, who immediately began to half-carry him into the house, then rounded on Harry with his wand.
"Hey!" Neville protested, drawing his own wand uselessly and stepping between Harry and the advancing Lupin.
"Get out of the way, Neville," Lupin said, roughly shoving him to the side, pointing his wand at Harry's forehead. "What creature was in the tank in the corner the first time you ever came to my office?" he demanded of Harry.
"What are you on about?" Neville asked angrily. Lupin shot him a glare with a shocking amount of anger in it, and Neville fell silent.
"Tell me!" he said to Harry, taking a step closer.
"A - a grindylow!" Harry said, eyes wide. Lupin relaxed and lowered his wand, looking around at Neville and Ginny, who were both pale.
"Someone knew that we had changed the plan. I had to be sure you were actually Harry."
"What happened to George?" Harry asked, turning to stride toward the doorway, grabbing Neville's arm and steering him that way as well.
"His ear was cursed clean off. It was Snape that did him, his Sectumsempra curse..."
Too much was happening at once for Neville to keep track of. The breakneck pace of events, combined with too many people rushing about the Burrow, combined with too little sleep and food in the past several days due to nerves, combined with the almost dismissive way Harry was treating him, all closed in around him like a heavy blanket. He sank down onto a chair across from the couch where George was spread out, Mrs. Weasley attending to his wound, and simply stared into space as everything went on around him. People came and went, confusion and questions permeating the air, and it occurred to him that aside from Ginny and Harry, he was the only underage wizard present, and probably the most useless at this point in time.
Hermione sat down on the couch next to him. "You look glum," she commented. Neville shrugged, his eyes following Harry as he and Ginny went back out to the yard to wait for Bill and Fleur, the only two who hadn't yet made it back. Hermione followed his gaze and a flash of understanding shot through her eyes. "Ah," she said.
"No," Neville said, knowing what it must look like. "But..." he sighed. "He's changed, hasn't he? Just in the last few weeks."
Hermione nodded. "I think he's going to try and do a runner. That's why he's being so distant. He's not pleased that he's put everyone in danger tonight, even if we made him."
"Except me," Neville said bitterly. "I got to stay here, safe and sound."
"Do not start that again," Hermione scolded. "You've been going on about it all week. You've got the Trace right now, same as he has - you would have led the Ministry straight to us -"
"I know," Neville said quickly. He didn't need to have his current inadequacies enumerated to him yet again, and the argument about the Trace was the worst one, as it appeared Harry had gotten away with a great deal of underage magic unscathed. "It was still hard...waiting..."
Hermione gave his arm a squeeze. "I know," she said. Her gaze went past Neville to the door and her eyes widened. "Bill and Fleur are back," she said, standing quickly. Neville stood as well, turning toward the door.
Bill was supporting Fleur as she clung to his arm, burying her face in his shoulder.
"Mad-Eye's dead," Bill said gravely. "Mundungus took one look at Voldemort and Disapparated."
Hermione sat back down hard, as though her knees had given away. Neville continued to stand, numbly. He'd never been able to feel close to Mad-Eye, not even in the weeks when he'd stayed with him and Gran after Dumbledore died and Grimmauld Place was no longer safe...and now he never would...
Someone shoved a tumbler of firewhisky into his hands and he took it, staring down into the amber liquid.
"To Mad-Eye," someone intoned soberly.
"To Mad-Eye," the rest of the room murmured, and drank. Neville threw his back in one gulp, too shocked to even cough as the sharp liquor burned his throat. He stared into the bottom of the glass as though the answer to everything was there, though of course, it was just a glass.
Hermione prodded him in the shoulder. When he looked over, she nodded at the back door, through which Harry was slipping. Neville put his glass down on a table and started for the door himself.
"Harry," Hagrid said from the corner of the kitchen, "Where are you going?"
Harry looked trapped. "I've...I've got to go."
"Go?" Mrs. Weasley said. "You've just got here."
"I can't stay here," he said, rubbing his forehead in a gesture that always made Neville's blood run cold. "You're all in danger while I'm here. I'm not -"
"The whole point of tonight was to get you here safely," Mrs. Weasley said almost snappishly. "And thank goodness it worked. And the wedding is in only a few days, and we've arranged it so that everyone can be here and look after you -"
Neville winced. That was possibly the worst way she could have put it.
"If Voldemort finds out I'm here -"
"There are a dozen or more safe houses where you could be hidden, Harry," Mr. Weasley assured him. "He's got no way of knowing which one."
"And if he goes to each one? Killing every member of the Order to try and find me?" Harry demanded. "It's not me I'm worried about!"
"We know that," Lupin said kindly. "But if you were to leave, it would make all our efforts rather pointless, and Voldemort would come anyway - unless, that is, you plan to let him know you're leaving."
"You're not goin' anywhere," Hagrid growled, "Not after all we wen' through ter get you here."
"Yeah, what about my bleeding ear?" George demanded jovially, propping himself up to look over the back of the couch.
They weren't handling this well at all. Neville almost wanted to wave his arms to get them all to stop.
"I know, and I'm sorry -"
"Mad-Eye wouldn't -"
"I KNOW!" Harry bellowed. Neville winced again. Yeah, he had seen that coming.
There was an awkward silence in which everyone looked at each other, trying to find someone who would say something comforting. Finally, Mrs. Weasley tried to give it a go.
"Where's Hedwig, Harry?" she asked kindly. "We can put her up with Pig, give her a bit of a nosh..."
Harry stared blankly, threw back the last of his firewhisky, and stepped outside through the kitchen door.
"What did I say?" Mrs. Weasley asked, tears in her voice.
"I'll go talk to him," Neville said, striding across the room. Ginny gave him a knowing look as he passed her, and he gave her a tiny nod.
Harry was kneeling on the ground in the garden, his face in his hands. Neville hurried his steps and came down on one knee next to him, a hand on his back. "Harry?" he asked. "Are you all right?"
Harry jerked and looked up, and Neville nearly sighed with relief. Not crying, then. He was never sure what to do on the rare occasions that Harry let himself go.
"Better than Ollivander, I'd wager," Harry responded shakily as he pushed himself to his feet. Neville did the same, noting Hermione and Ron leaving the house through the back door to join them.
"What exactly do you mean by that?" Neville asked, brushing a bit of sod off his knee.
He wished he hadn't asked. By the time Harry was done explaining what he had just seen, Neville felt ill, and Hermione and Ron didn't look much better.
"Don't let him in again," he said in a tone somewhere between a demand and a plea. "You can't. He's taking over everywhere else in the world, don't let him take you over too."
The days leading up to the wedding were a flurry of activity that Neville suspected had been entirely engineered by Mrs. Weasley to keep everyone separate and unable to talk about whatever Harry, Hermione, and Ron were planning. Neville felt his exclusion keenly, even though it had been his idea to begin with - as the one remaining member of the quartet at Hogwarts, he knew that he'd be the first targeted for information concerning their whereabouts, particularly Harry's. It was best for him to know absolutely nothing. The logic of it, and the necessity, didn't make him feel any better.
It was even worse when, on his birthday, Mrs. Weasley cornered him in the garden shed and begged him to talk sense into the other three, to get them to go back to Hogwarts that year.
"You can't stand by and let them abandon their education! You're going back!" she said plaintively. Neville put down the sack of dragon manure he'd been carrying and brushed off his hands, carefully considering his answer.
"Hogwarts isn't going to be safe, especially not for Harry," he said finally. "Considering Hermione's a Muggle-born, it's not safe for her, either. And the Weasleys...sorry, Mrs. Weasley, but you're considered blood traitors." He hated seeing Mrs. Weasley flinch like that. "Fact is, I'm probably the only one within twenty miles of here who'd be considered harmless enough to attend school - I'm pureblood, my gran keeps her head down, and I'm not especially magically talented. At least, that's what they think," he added as an afterthought. He hesitated. "In fact, if they weren't making Hogwarts compulsory, I'd be begging you to keep Ginny home this year too."
He could see that the same thought had occurred to her by the way her lips tightened. "I'll keep an eye on her," he promised. "That's the main reason I'm going back. There are a lot of kids that will need a friendly eye on them."
Mrs. Weasley clenched her jaw and her eyes filled with tears. "You've grown up so much, Neville," she said in a tight voice. She patted him on the upper arm, one of the only parts of him that wasn't covered in dried fertilizer. She let out a little sigh and seemed to shake herself. "Anyway. Don't think I haven't forgotten - but yours and Harry's birthdays are so close together, and with the wedding and all, I was hoping you wouldn't be too put out if we combined the celebration?"
Neville sputtered. "I - honestly, Mrs. Weasley, I didn't expect - you don't have to - you're so busy -"
"Seventeen is too important to just let go by without noticing it," she insisted. "Harry tried to give me this same speech too, you know." She smiled and turned to leave. "Oh, and Neville? My rosebushes have never looked better. Thank you, dear...for everything."
"Of course."
The wedding was very much a wedding. Neville had concluded long ago that weddings are only really exciting to those in them and those related to those in them; while Neville liked Bill well enough, they weren't at all what one could call close.
The reception was nearly as boring, once Ron and Hermione had gotten up to dance and Neville had lost Harry in the crowd somewhere; he kept forgetting what the Polyjuice Potion had made Harry look like, and there were a great many people with red hair in the pavilion that he didn't recognize. It wouldn't do to try and approach the wrong one...especially not with the things that he needed to get off his chest before they went their separate ways for what could very well be the last time.
And with that thought, the reality of why he wasn't enjoying what was really a wonderful party came crashing down. Tomorrow morning, early, Harry would be leaving to go on what equated to a suicide mission. His every intention was to weaken and kill the most powerful Dark wizard of all time. And try as he might, Neville could not truly wrap his mind around the fact that he was not likely to see Harry alive again, but enough of him understood it - and understood that if he was going to tell Harry what he'd been trying to suppress for years, it had to be tonight.
Determination set his jaw and he rose from his chair.
"Where are you going?" Gran asked.
"I'm...I see Hermione on the dance floor," he said evasively. "I'm going to go see if I can cut in."
Having trapped himself in this falsehood, he headed to the dance floor, realizing that it actually probably was a very good idea - Hermione had an eye for all sorts of details he missed, she probably knew which of the many unrecognizable redheads was currently Harry.
"Mind if I steal you for a moment?" he asked, holding out his hand as Hermione turned away from Ron. Ron raised an eyebrow and Neville shrugged. Hermione giggled - actually giggled, what was the big deal with girls and dancing - and he took her hand, vastly grateful that the Foxtrot was one of the dances that had been beaten into his head several years ago.
"So you can dance," Hermione commented as Ron mumbled something about going to find drinks.
"I told you. Listen, I need to find Harry," he said seriously. Hermione picked up on his tone and squinted slightly at him, and then her eyes went wide.
"Oh god," she said, stopping still in the middle of the dance floor. "You're going to tell him, aren't you?"
Neville felt no surprise at all that she already knew. She'd known before he had known himself, years ago. "Yes. And it has to be tonight, before -"
"Of course it has to be tonight." Her tone clearly said there was no question about it. Hermione went up on her tiptoes to look around the pavilion. "There - oh, bollocks, he's with Ron's Auntie Muriel..." She bobbed back down to her normal height. "Listen, I'm going to go get him alone. Meet him over by the broom shed and if he's not there in five minutes, you'll be able to find his pieces over by the broom shed in ten." She gave him an impulsive little hug, then slipped away.
Neville's heart started to pound as he watched her approach a pudgier redheaded boy at one of the tables and sit down, talking very rapidly. Harry-in-disguise glanced at Neville and he felt a spike of adrenaline -
At that moment, something large and silver bounded into the very center of the dance floor. Heads turned to look at it, and Neville backed slowly away.
The Patronus's mouth opened and it spoke with Kingsley's booming, slow voice:
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimegeour is dead. They are coming."
The next few minutes seemed to happen in disconnected fragments:
- Screams issued from many guests; loud cracks of Disapparation began to echo across the pavilion.
- Gran somehow pushed through the mass of people and grabbed Neville's elbow.
- Neville could see Harry and Hermione searching frantically through the panicked crowd, Hermione screaming for Ron with tears running down her cheeks.
- Ron collided with Hermione and Hermione grabbed hold of Harry's elbow.
- Harry's eyes met Neville's for a split second before he disappeared with Ron and Hermione with a CRACK.
- Gran said, "Time to go," and then Neville himself felt the terrible constriction of Apparation take hold.
As soon as he was able, he gasped a huge breath, falling to his knees as he lost his balance when the Apparation ended and he was in the living room of the house he grew up in. Slowly, what had just happened began to register in his mind, each image with crystal clarity. A great sense of loss wrenched his breath from him and he sagged to the side against the couch.
"Are you all right? What's the matter?" Gran demanded.
Neville ignored her, swallowing hard to get past the tears swimming in his eyes.
He'd never even gotten to say goodbye.