Chapter Four

A Questioning

Neville was sweating. It was something he did when he was nervous, and so it was something he did often, because he was nearly always nervous. But at that moment, sitting next to Amycus Carrow's classroom, listening to him question and berate a first year boy until he was in tears because the child couldn't remember if it was is grandmother or his grandfather that had been a muggleborn, Neville was not nervous. No, he, Neville Longbottom, was angry. Angrier then he had ever been in his life. So angry that he was shaking. And that is why he was sweating.

He only had to endure a few more seconds of the boys tears before the child came hurrying through the door. Not even glancing at Neville he made a mad grab for his things and ended up dropping them, scattering them about the hall.

"Here, let me help you." Neville said kindly, dropping to his knees and beginning to gather the boy's things for him, ignoring the male Carrow's calls for him to come in.

"Hurry up will you, got hundreds of you little bastards to do before-" the man stopped short when he saw the scene before him. The boy gave a squeak of fear and began gathering his things more quickly, managing to tip over a bottle of ink in the process.

Carrow swore and, brandishing his wand, pointed it directly at the boy.

"No!" Neville shouted, reaching out a hand to protect Carrow's potential victim. For a moment, all was still. Carrow was staring at Neville, who stared right back, as if he had never seen anything quite as shocking as someone risking their necks from someone else. Then, as though realizing how silly he looked, frozen in the hallway with a half

formed curse on his lips, he lowered his wand, and sent the now terrified boy away with a gruff "Off with ya."

"You, in here." He said gesturing Neville into his office as they watched the boy scamper away with his ink soaked things.

Carrow's office reminded Neville strongly of a dark, dank cave. The curtains were drawn, casting the room in shadow, cobwebs graced every surface, and a thick putrid odor hung in the air. Even Carrow himself, a sallow, pockmarked man with a potbelly, seemed to embody the overwhelming sense of decay in the room.

"Bet you thought that was mighty clever of ya." He sneered, throwing himself into his chair and examining a still standing Neville through still narrowed beady eyes.

"No." Neville replied shortly moving to sit in the chair across from the desk, which had been vacated moments before by the crying boy.

"Did I say you could sit down?" Carrow snapped.

"I-No."

"Then why are yer sitting down?" he growled, grinning a toothless grin when Neville rose from the chair, "What's your name cheeky?" he laughed, glancing down at his list, "Longbottom is it? Longbottom…" and it was as though a light bulb (albeit at very dull and dingy one in need of new wiring) had gone off in his head, "Longbottom," and he stared at Neville now with a mixture of glee and incredulity, "Your not, but you must be-"

"My parents were Frank and Alice Longbottom, if that's what you're asking." Neville said stiffly, clutching his firsts to his sides.

A look of shock crossed Amycus's ugly visage before he was laughing as though Neville had told the greatest joke in the world.

"Sit down boy, sit down." He giggled; waiving a stone faced Neville into the seat across from him. It took a few moments for Carrow to gain control of himself, but once he did he simply stared at Neville across the table, an evil grin still playing on his dry and bleeding lips.

"So your the son of the famous Frank and Alice Longbottom. You. Forgive me," he chuckled, wiping his eyes, "It's almost too good to be true! Frank and Alice Longbottom, protégées at the Ministry, blood traitors, part of Dumbledore's inner circle, and you're their son? HA! It's beautiful really, the dark Lord was right, though he always is of course," he muttered, correcting himself quickly, "Let's have a look at your charts, shall we Longbottom?" he asked brightly, rummaging though the papers before him, "Hmmm, none to bright are we now?" he asked in mock disappointment, a chuckle escaping him, "but you can't 'spect much from scum, now can you?" and he leered down at a trembling Neville.

"Can you?" he prompted, when Neville remained silent.

When Neville still did not speak, Carrow let out a dismissive sound from the back of his throat, "Ah well, don't strain yourself there boy. You're pureblood, though the bloods tainted," he eyed Neville over shrewdly, "But you're harmless enough aren't you?"

And Neville said nothing.

"Aren't you?"

And he remained silent.

"Answer me boy!" Amycus yelled, standing and reaching for his wand.

"Yes Professor Carrow." Neville murmured so quietly that if one was breathing to loudly they would have missed it.

'What was that?" barked Carrow, craning his neck as though to better hear the boy before him.

"I said," Neville said, raising his head to meat Carrow's eyes "Yes, Professor Carrow."

Satisfied, Carrow dismissed him, and Neville walked away feeling more hollow then he had in his life.

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