Harry Potter Is Dead
Chapter 7 | Moon and Sun
Hermione had brought a book with her outside that evening, under the shade of the orchard trees, to read and to think. Instead Golpalott's Third Law: A Comprehensive Study lay on top of the gnarled roots at the base of the trunk, open but forgotten. As fascinating as she found the subject, Hermione's head was simply too full of thoughts for potions to interest her at the reading the same sentence at least ten times over without taking in a single word, Hermione finally gave it up as a bad job. She pushed it aside in favor of watching the sunset, marveling that this was the first time in a long while that a book had failed to capture her complete, undivided attention.
"It's quite beautiful here." said a dreamy voice next to Hermione.
Hermione jumped violently. She had not noticed Luna approaching until she spoke, just a few steps away.
"Oh, have I scared you?" Luna asked.
"No, Luna . . . I'm fine, you just . . . surprised me." Hermione removed her hand from her wand pocket. Even now, after all she'd been though, she still leapt a foot in the air every time someone spoke suddenly. Hermione frowned.
"That's good. Lots of people liked to pop out and frighten me when I was in school. They thought it was funny. I rather disliked it." She said casually.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the grass. She had never talked to Luna much before: They were so different; Hermione had no idea how to respond. But Luna spoke again, unfazed by Hermione's silence.
"But I can see I've interrupted a deep thought. I suppose if you want we can just watch the sun. It's rather pretty today." Luna turned stoically in the direction of the fading light, closed her eyes, and began to hum. Hermione thought better than to ask what she was doing.
"It's fine, Luna, I'd love to talk to you." Hermione said awkwardly. Luna opened her eyes, ceased humming, and smiled.
"I like the Burrow." Luna chugged on, undeterred. "I remember the last time I came here, it was all cleaned up for a wedding, but I like the mess better."
"I can't say I enjoy the gnomes, though." Hermione replied.
Luna turned her protuberant eyes on Hermione, her faint eyebrows raised in surprise. "I think gnomes are fascinating. I was bit by one once. Daddy says their saliva has all sorts of magical properties, he's spent years studying them. He's discovered some incredible things."
"Oh." Hermione said. "They just keep swearing at me."
"Yes, this particular bunch is rather rude. I think they're quite funny, though, aren't they?"
Hermione gave a small, polite smile.
"Still, I do miss being able to explore. Oh, look, you can just see it from here - " Luna craned her neck, and then pointed at a little valley between two hills, from which a shimmering line traced its way lazily through the countryside. "I used to go all the way down to the end of that stream by my house when I was little, it went on for miles. Or, at least, it seemed like it did, when I was small. I haven't been in a long while."
"I haven't left this house for more than two hours in at least year." Hermione said quietly.
"Oh, I understand." Luna said. "I bet you feel as if you should be doing something, you know, to stop You-Know-Who, but instead we've all got to lay low until we can figure out a plan. You find the inaction bothersome, don't you?"
Hermione blinked. "Yes." She said, surprised. "How did you know?"
"Well, you're a Gryffindor, aren't you?"
" . . . Right. I am."
Luna made no attempt to explain further, and an awkward silence fell. Hermione, afraid Luna might start humming again, attempted to think of something else to say, but to no avail. Thankfully, after a long pause, Luna piped up yet again.
"You haven't seen Dean near here, have you?" She asked.
"No, I haven't. Why?"
"Well, I haven't seen him all day, so I thought I would go and check on him. That's what I was doing when I found you."
"He hasn't been doing very well, has he?" This was a bit of an understatement: Hermione hardly ever saw Dean; he always seemed to be up in his room, hardly speaking, even during the Order meeting, and sitting through meals with a stony look on his face.
"No, I'm afraid not. He misses Seamus very much."
Hermione did not answer, but this time, it was not because she felt awkward or unsure due to Luna's presence. Hermione knew exactly what Dean was feeling: She had felt it herself; hell, she still felt it now.
"I think he feels guilty as well, in addition to being sad." Luna said quietly.
Hermione looked up. "He must know it wasn't his fault - "
"No, I don't think he does." Luna continued. "Seamus died trying to save us all. I feel it too, a bit, but I imagine it must be much worse for Dean because he and Seamus were so close. And there's also Neville . . . "
"There's a chance he might not be dead, though, right?" Hermione said hopefully.
"I hope so . . . a lot of evidence does say otherwise, but . . . " Luna, who had gradually become more and more somber as the conversation wore on, suddenly looked away from the now dark countryside and smiled brightly at Hermione. The sun had now set, but even in the setting darkness, her eyes sparkled with hope. "I just have this feeling that Neville's still alive. I don't know why, I can't explain it. But I think he's all right."
The light of a newly risen moon filtered through the barred window with a watery sort of weakness. It did not to much to illuminate the two figures that stood inside of the small tower cell, the man slumped against a wall for support, the woman standing over him with an arm outstretched. The dim light hid their faces in shadow; it disguised the woman's rage-twisted features, and the man's many gruesome injuries.
The man was not afraid. The wand pointed at his face was surely about to do irreparable damage, as it always did, but for some reason he could not explain, the fear he had lived with, welcomed, for so long . . . it did not come.
"I offer you one - last - chance." The woman said through gritted teeth, and she punctuated each word with a curse; on the ground, the man writhed, but did not scream. Frustrated, she bent down to where he lay and grasped his head so that her fingernails dug into his face, her own inches from his. "Tell me where they are." She threatened.
Beneath her viselike grip, Neville grinned and began to laugh.
The woman screamed and threw him to the side, his head striking the floor. Stars burst in front of Neville's eyes: The woman's imposing form drifted in and out of focus; he raised shaking hand felt blood trickling from his temple. He might have lain there for an hour, or else a second, he could not tell.
"Bellatrix." The high, cold voice sounded without any previous warning of the speaker's presence; the woman, who had raised her wand in fury once more, jumped and spun around into a low bow.
"My Lord . . ." Bellatrix murmured reverently, but even in his dazed state Neville could tell she was afraid.
"He has not spoken?" Voldemort inquired.
". . . N-No, my Lord, but I assure you - "
"Why have you failed me, Bellatrix?"
She froze, eyes huge. After a very long moment, she regained her voice. "I - My Lord, I am trying - "
"Oh, you try. I am forgiving, Bellatrix, but not so much as to ignore your shortcomings simply on the pretense that you are trying."
Bellatrix opened and closed her mouth, unable to speak, and then bowed her head like a child caught in wrongdoing.
"You have served me well in the past," Voldemort said murderously, "It will not do for you to go the same way as poor Lucius . . . When I entrusted to you the job of discovering the whereabouts of the Order of the Phoenix, I expected you to bring me an answer within a week. But it has been months, Bellatrix. Months. I had expected so much more from you. Now I see that this is a task that I can not trust to any but myself."
Bellatrix backed obediently into a shadowy corner without a word.
Slowly and deliberately, Voldemort pointed his wand at Neville's face. He tilted his head, a thin smile playing at his lips, but it faltered infinitesimally as he realized that he was inducing no terror in Neville whatsoever -
"Crucio!"
And then the fear rushed back to Neville in a great wave of pain; a thousand knives pierced every inch of his body, the flames of Hell were surely burning him alive, and he screamed and screamed, burning his throat raw -
As suddenly as it had come, the curse was over, having lasted only a few seconds. Neville groaned and shifted on the floor; the pain ebbed away slowly, leaving invisible bruises on his body. But he barely had time to suck air back into his lungs before Voldemort, scarlet eyes wide with surprise and fury, yelled again:
"Crucio!"
Once more Neville could not see for the pain; he was nothing, nothing but terror and torture and fire -
Again the pain abated much too quickly, and again Neville had only a second to breathe before it returned, and was gone, and then was back once more. Voldemort tried again and again, apoplectic rage growing as his spells failed him each and every time.
At last Voldemort screamed in frustration and ceased his attacks. Neville smiled up at him through a mouthful of blood, and Voldemort brought down his wand on him once more in a slashing motion; Neville was knocked down as if he had been punched by an invisible, iron hand. Dazed, unable to get up, Neville watched Voldemort give him one murderous look before he rounded apon Bellatrix, who shrunk back like a wounded animal.
"Why does it not work, Bellatrix?" His voice was high, furious, and as cold as death.
"I - I know not, my Lord! M-My c-curses . . . as well they have n-not - they are not as strong to him as they are on others . . . please, please, my Lord . . . " She fell into a sort of subservient silence. Voldemort hovered, Neville knew, an inch from striking her down.
"You would do well to continue on." He said icily, and Bellatrix, stooped in a low bow, mustered the courage to look cautiously up at her master as if she did not dare become hopeful. But her master did not elaborate on whether or not he had forgiven her; for a moment later, with a swish of a dark cloak against rough stones, he was gone.
Bellatrix dropped to her knees. Her fingers fumbled with the key she had left on the floor when she had entered the cell early that evening, and she shook as she rose. But as she unlocked the door, Bellatrix paused. Even in the dim light, Neville could see her expression as clear as day: A look of utmost loathing, a twisted, ugly expression that mutated her normally terrifying features into something truly monstrous.
She offered Neville no taunts, no insults, no warning; her wand flashed downward in a silver blur and then everything went black.
Neville lay on his back, still stunned. How long he had been knocked out, he could hardly say; it must have been a few hours, judging by the way the moon now lit his cell considerably better - or had it been a full day? Neville did not care; all he knew right now was pain and soreness and tiredness; whatever Bellatrix's final, vengeful curse had been, it had worked considerably better than the others she had used on him that night. Nevertheless he willed himself to move again, and, with a groan, he sat up and examined the damage: the injuries stung, but Bellatrix had inflicted far worse before. Neville tore a strip of cloth from his robe and wrapped it tightly around a gash on his arm. He would be all right.
Neville propped himself up against the door of his cell, so that the light from the tiny window fell on his bruised, puffy face. He had a clear view of the moon from where he sat, full, and shining brightly. Neville wondered if Dean, Luna, Andromeda or even little Teddy were looking up at that same moon; whether it be through iron bars like himself, or through cool night air. Instinct told him that his sacrifice had not been enough, that his friends were dead or worse, and yet he could not stop himself from holding onto the tiny hope that somehow, they had survived . . .
Try it again. Said a voice in the back of his head. She'll answer back this time, I know it.
Fat chance. Sneered another, doubtful voice. She hasn't replied before, and she won't now.
But still, it won't hurt to try, will it?
This same argument played through his head several times a day, and each time, the same voice eventually won him over. Sighing, Neville pulled himself into a standing position on the bars of his cell. He walked over to the far corner of the small room, where the moonlight did not fall, and did not illuminate the small golden coin that lay there, hidden with darkness and a layer of dirt. Neville picked up the galleon and rubbed the grime away with his finger, so that the golden surface glinted a little bit even in the dark. As he watched the numbers engraved on the edge of the coin, just barely legible, began to change before his eyes, spelling out whole, tiny words. The glowed hot in his hands, but Neville held it tightly in spite of the heat, silently hoping, praying that this time it would finally work.
The moon which had sent light filtering through the bars of Neville's cell now rose above a different scene: the charred remains of what was once the house and home of Mallory Millay. Though it left no obvious signs, the Dark magic that had brought about the destruction of the little cottage was still just noticeable in the stillness of the air.
Buried beneath blackened planks of wood and the cracked bricks of a fallen chimney, a small golden coin began to glow. The words engraved around the edge of the Galleon blurred and changed, red with heat: Now a new message was emblazoned on the hot metal. Luna. I am alive and held within Hogwarts. Please, please answer. Neville.
But the entire area was deserted; none, man or beast, ever witnessed the spectacle that so often occurred beneath the ruins of Mallory Millay's humble cottage. And Luna, speaking of hope and happiness so many miles away, had no idea that the fake Galleon's light was now fading, the glow receding, and her golden ticket to Hogwarts now reverting once more into an ordinary coin.
