7 Welcome, Neville!

I think time slows down when I slap Neville across the face. Part of me panics, and another part of me feels as though I've relieved a weeks worth of constipation. Okay, I feel bad. But it wasn't supposed to go like this. And despite his good will, Neville sort of deserved that.

A few hours ago

Neville began moving his things from Sprouts old hut near the greenhouse. I think it's ludicrous that Sprout has taken herself up in the high tower where Dumbledore once dwelt, and that she had considered that a Herbology professor should always shack it out with the bugs and the weeds. A few of Neville's students, his army of admirers, helped move some of his things, but mostly it was just Ted Lupin.

Ted Lupin is in his last year at Hogwarts. He looks slightly skinny, until you see how amazingly muscular he is.

I once saw a wolf in the woods of deep Bavaria, when I was working for my thesis in isometric formulation of crystalloids for projection and forecasting on 11 dimension time series (i.e. I was trying to make an actual working crystal ball). I think the wolf was magical, perhaps a descendant of a permanent animagus or a werewolf. It was jet black and deep as the night, larger than a bear. Yellow eyes were sickly and odd, and shone of darkness as though projecting a dorm of 'dread'. What I remember are its eyes as it remained stationary, while its huge body paced back and forth, sizing me up. I peed myself there, petrified. But, for the life of me, the wolf didn't seem to consider me worth the effort. I think it sneered at me before it left. Teddy Lupin feels like that. He feels predatory, despite being the calmest and politest boy in Gryffindor. He feels like he would strip your bones of all its flesh, yet he timidly claims that his favorite subjects are Runes and Arithmancy. He hasn't spoken a word as we packed Neville's things into a charmed Muggle truck.

"I didn't see you at the funeral, Parvati," Neville is sheepish as always. My childhood self would have swooned being surrounded by these two hunks, but my thirty odd years have mellowed my passion for cute boys.

"And I didn't see you either, Neville," I am sorry at being cross at Neville, but the funeral was fresh in my mind, and to me he was one of the 'have's against my 'have not's.

"I was standing next to Ron and Harry," Neville seems oblivious of my predicament at the funeral, and what he had obviously spoken as a simple description of where he stood came out very very wrong to me.

"Gee-whiz, Neville!" I snap, "I wonder how the bloody hell I could have missed you, then!"

Then I remember I am at Hogwarts, surrounded by students. Neville seems alarmed, but he's bumbling and apologetic, oblivious to my anger, which makes me dislike him more.

"I think we're done loading everything," Ted Lupin steps in, talking to everyone else. "I'm going to finish up with the professors, so everyone else return to your houses."

Since Ted is driving, I find myself unable to avoid sitting next to Neville in any possible combination, and so I end up pressed between the two.

"Sorry about that," I mutter.

"No," Neville is all kind and forgiving, "I understand you're upset, Parvati. Lavender and you were really close, weren't you?"

I apologized to Neville, but that doesn't mean I have to talk to him.

"So," Ted avoids looking at us, mostly because he's driving, but he's looking at his flight plan in the most intense way. "You two were together at Hogwarts."

"That's right," Neville smiled, awkwardly eyeing me, "we were Gryffindors in the same year."

"Yeah," Ted grins, clearly uncomfortable. Am I enjoying this? I would be lying if I weren't. "Professor Longbottom talks about you alot, Professor-"

"What does he talk about, Mister Lupin?" I interject sharply, noticing the lie.

Ted tries to look at Neville for pointers, but since I'm sitting between them, he has difficulty trying to communicate with odd dorky expressions.

"Uhm," Ted's attempt number one, "he says he was really into you."

"That is very improper, Mister Lupin," I reply immediately, "and, no. Neville did not 'fancy' me."

"Okay..." Ted trailed off.

"I doubt Neville talked about me at all, did you Neville?"

"I," it was Neville's turn to make funny faces at Ted, "I'm not much of a talker, Parvati."

He grins, or I think he does. It looks more like a wince, as though anticipating a blow. He's being pathetic, and I'm being ridiculous.

"Don't worry, Neville," I roll my eyes, "I don't begrudge you of forgetting I existed."

"Don't be silly, Parvati!" Neville squeaks.

"I never imagine that I'm the topic of your discussion when you go see Harry or Hermione."

Neville tries to say something, but I cut him off before he harms himself.

"Don't lie, Neville. I don't mind. But what I do mind is that I'm here helping you move. I guess it's as a favor to Hannah, and it's a favor to you, since I'm the one who suggested you take the place. But, still I keep wondering why you have to keep feeling sorry for me because you didn't mention me to Harry."

"I," Neville tries to say something, but closes his mouth after he flaps his jaw a couple of times.

"Yes," I get it off my chest, "I am resentful that I was Lavender's best friend, but I had to wait outside the funeral circle. And, yes, I resent that Lavender's family asked Hermione to give a speech. But that mostly has to do with me, and I don't resent Hermione for making time to speak at her friend's funeral. And I don't resent Lavender's family for thinking it best that I had to wait outside. I am just resentful at myself that I had to wait outside. Am I making sense?"

The boys nod vigorously. Boys will do anything to keep a girl from talking.

A flying motorcycle pops out of nowhere and cuts past our trajectory, forcing Ted to bank hard. I knock my head with Neville, as his head ricochets off the cabin wall.

"Watch where you're going, asshole!" I vent my anger out the window, past Ted, who's barely recovering his composure.

"Screw you, witch!" the motorist gives me a finger. I return the gesture, and we part ways.

The boys are clearly uncomfortable with me.

"The sky's filled with crazies these days," I complain. "Too many charmed Muggle vehicles."

"I guess it'll pass," Neville shrugs. "It's just a fad, Parvati."

"It's not a fad," I sigh. "Why did we not use a wide area apparition to move your stuff?"

"Because," Neville scratches his head. "well, Teddy offered to help us move?"

"Because, we're using less and less of our own magic, Neville," I am ranting, I know. But, this is my favorite rant, and Neville deserves to hear it for being an insensitive jerk. "Everything is done like the Muggles. We buy charmed vehicles, and stopped using haphazard floo networks. Port-key registration is decreasing, apparition licenses are decreasing, everything is being handed over to specialists."

Neville looks uncomfortable.

"But specialization leads to so much more advanced magic, Professor," Ted argues. "When Mister Weasley first enchanted a car, it always crashed somewhere, drove off into the woods on its own, or ran off into a million separate pieces. But now, look at this. It's a marvel of precision Magic."

"And what did you do for it, Ted?" I goad him on. "What part of this truck did you enchant?"

Ted is not an idiot. I can see him trying to find another angle of approach. But this is a verbal battle that I've rehearsed several times over many a beer.

"I'm still a student, Professor," he finally speaks up, "and I may never individually reach the complexity of successfully and reliable enchanting a muggle car, but I will one day be very specialized in my own field of study. Someday, I hope, I will be able to create complex Runes that respond immediately to the Rune-wielder's demand, rather than being a stationary symbol. But that can only be achieved because I'm just one man. I can't be distracted by doing every type of magic for myself."

I am privately surprised at Ted. That was one of the best retorts I've heard from a seventeen year old. And though I would have a million things to throw back I don't want to step on a budding sapling with my jadedness.

"Ten points for Gryffindor," I smile.

"I know what you're talking about, Professor," Ted continues, emboldened by my compliment.

"You do?" Neville chirps. I swat him into silence.

"I grew up with a very old fashioned lady, Professor," Ted explains, "she's as pureblood as they come, but a kind old soul. She always used to do things with magic, and I mean everything. From dressing herself, to cooking, to doing the dishes. It's all her magic, as though she's swimming in it, you know? She used to conjure up these dancing dogs, made of clay, when I was young. And I could tell she put a lot of effort to do them right."

Wolves, honey, I think to myself, not dogs.

"You know, some days I try to do what she did," Ted continues, "but for the life of me, it's not as good. They keep on shattering. I tell myself that I don't need to make clay dogs dance. But then again, I would have liked to."

"Well, why don't you try, Ted?" I hadn't noticed but Neville's expression had become rigid.

"Sir?" Ted, I am told, is usually extremely close with Neville. Both of them had lost their parents, and grew up under their grandmother's care. Neville had taken it out of his way to always look after Ted, something of a protege. In fact, Ted had been one of Neville's star pupils being trained for the Tri-Wizard. But Neville sounded frosty and Ted grew frigidly nervous.

"I am so fed up with people," Neville stammers in a torrent of words, "about people begrudging Harry, or Ron, or Hermione, because they've gone up in the world. I am so fed up with people who think that, since they were a classmate of Harry's, they also deserve some sort of recognition in association. It's idiotic."

"What-" Ted sounds confused, but I know Neville is talking to me.

"If you want to do something about making clay dogs bark, then go ahead and try it, Ted. Don't go blaming society that since they make everything easy for you, you stopped being able to make clay dogs dance. You're inability to make clay dogs has nothing to do with this truck being enchanted by Weasley Motors. Stop associating this with how some people are better off than others. Ten points from Gryffindor!"

"Can't you see that we're becoming everything that makes Muggles Muggle, and stopped being everything that makes Magic magical?" I retort hotly. "We're practically becoming a muggle society, except for the tiny detail that our cars fly. Every new idea is just some wizard trying to emulate the success of Arthur Weasley's enchanted cars. And you think this has nothing to do with Ron or Hermione? Who do you think keeps the Muggle trade open for the Weasleys to import Muggle items? Do you think Hermione doesn't put pressure on the office of Muggle relations and trade? Do you think she doesn't-"

"Don't you dare insult my friends," Neville slams back, "Hermione would never maintain Muggle based commerce just for the sake of Ron. You know she's not like that."

"You have a deluded sense of loyalty to friends you've known fifteen years ago, Neville," I shout back, "Hermione is not a naive little school girl anymore. If you think someone in her position-"

"See?" Neville accuses me, "It's all about why Hermione is up there in the world, while you're just ..."

Neville stops himself, turning red in the face.

"What!" I nearly scream my head off. "I'm just what, dammit! Come on, let me hear you say it. Finish that sentence. What the hell am I, Neville?"

Neville is adamantly silent, flushed red and puffing. Is he flushed red, or am I just seeing red. I want to hit him, but it's too cramped in here. And I am just becoming aware that we have already landed in front of the Leaky. Outside the truck, through the dirty windshield, I am also becoming aware of Hannah and Dennis, looking appalled, wearing silly hats, each holding a part of a banner that reads: "Welcome home, Neville!"

Neville is looking at something, and I am looking at something else in the other direction, but I haven't yet made up my mind on where to fix my angry gaze on. Dennis Creevey keeps walking across my angry line of sight transporting Neville's things while winking at me once in a while. I try to remain angry, but he's such a cutey.

I don't really 'hate' Hermione. I don't hate her at all. In fact, back in the old days, I used to be more friendlier with Hermione than Lavender was. I would always find someway to defend Hermione, even when Lavender briefly dated Ron. My dislike of Hermione, I have to admit, was actually impersonal. I came to dislike Hermione as an adult, rather than a girl. And the small lack of friendship when we were girls suddenly snow-balled into a full blown disagreement of political views. I think I oppose Hermione as an idea than dislike her as a person. Does that make sense?

I still don't agree with Neville. A person in Hermione's public position, in my opinion, should still abstain from offices that might bring suspicion of favoritism. Then again, Muggle relations were always a tender subject. There's a weird atmosphere of being "muggle-correct" in the community. For instance, almost no one uses the 'M' word any more. Slughorn had banned Cormac Mclaggen from future Slug club meetings because Cormac had called someone by the M-word. It's just not an eight letter word, any more, and the Slug was always a political whore. It must have killed the Slug inside to ban Mclaggen, especially since Cormac later opened one of those Runes and Arithmancy ventures. But Slug has his principles, as I've come to learn, and one of his primary rules of conduct is "Thou shalt never associate with someone who may put your reputation at risk!".

What I can attest to is that Neville has definitely changed since I've last known him. 'Known' is an exaggeration. Neville was generally quiet, and people tend to form solid opinions about quiet people without really 'knowing' them. I can say that Neville Longbottom is a brave man, in vein that I can draw a caricature of his personality akin to someone like Harry Potter, just more shy, just more nerdy. But something has definitely changed in Neville, who had hardly ever disagreed with anyone with such passion as he had with me.

It takes a couple of hours helping Neville unpack his things. It wouldn't have taken that long, but Neville seemed uncomfortable in my presence, and I wanted it that way. Ted returned to Hogwarts, and Hannah and Dennis had retreated downstairs to prepare the Leaky for the evening customers, so our awkward silence stretched long into the sunset like lazy shadows lingering on the streets.

"Look, Neville," I give up. F*** you, Neville, I hate you. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, okay?"

Neville is being a dick and refuses to reply. Since I offered the olive branch it would be petty of me to retract it and go back to being full on bitch on him. What is it with Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter? What does he owe Them? I know that Neville, in the recent history books, is usually considered the Fourth of the Trio, (or was it the Fifth of the Quartet, the Sixth of the Quintet?) but despite his success as an Auror, he's still just a normal wage ploughing bloke like any other.

"Segregation of the Wizarding World," Neville mutters.

"What?"

"Is that what you want, Parvati?" Neville seats himself calmly on the bed, his hands clasped before him as though he had never lost composure. "Do you want us all to revert to the old days?"

He's all out confrontational mode, and he's taken the high ground, bastard. Ex-Auror or no, I've honed my skills arguing every day with Blaise, touching on all the golden goodies of modern magical civilization from 'would it kill you to take the dishes to the sink' to 'quit working for Slug and let's just get married'.

"You are confusing the issue by exaggerating my statement," I state calmly; two can play this game. "When I say that muggles are permeating everywhere, my solution does not necessarily imply that muggles and wizards should be completely segregated and we should retreat to the dark ages."

Neville's angry stare is hiding something. My eloquent, if I may say so myself, reply to his challenge should have diffused him. A lonely boy who lived alone? Auror or no Auror he didn't stand a chance against a girl who staved off marriage so she could waste her life in despair and chase away someone who loved her all through the power of words.

So.. I steel myself grimly, he is not attacking me because of my logic. He is not upset at me because I am a traditionalist, anti-corporate, liberal. He is upset because I said 'bad things' against his dear friends, and that is all the more unforgivable.

"You sound just like Voldemort," Neville states. "You sound just like a Death Eater."

Hearing the name sends shivers down my spine. Despite my tenure in Dumbledore's Army, despite having fought at the Battle of Hogwarts, I am still terrified of that name. But Neville is still just being a jerk. By stating You-Know-Who's name, he's stating how he was one of those who really stood beside Harry Potter in everything. He is a fanatic, and perhaps, like me, he too is nostalgic about the past. Like an old war-horse, he is unnerved by the calm and pleasant green pasture, twitching and unable to rest. No, this is not about me. I think it's about Neville.

I look down at myself, unpacking his things for him, sitting on the floor of his room which I procured for him, after helping to move his things for him. And all the bastard can say is how I am like a Death Eater. I can guess where this is coming from, partially I suppose. It's never something heart rending or deep. All our human emotions are just an extension of fickle desires, especially those that seem more deeply rooted.

I pull out a cigarette from my pocket. Hannah would kill me if she found out I smoked in her building.

"Incendio," I never could master wordless incantation for this single spell. I am the Professor of Charms at Hogwarts, and I have a degree in Advanced Charms from the Wizarding University, but for the life of me I can't seem to light my cigarette without muttering the spell.

Neville glares at me. His anger is running deep. I look about the half unpacked room. There are a couple of pictures hanging, but they seem random. His parents, his grandmother, him and Harry, him and Shacklebolt, him and Hermione, him and Sprout, even him and Ginny. Okay, I'm done.

"Where's Luna, Neville?" I'm done being the nice girl.

Neville's eyes shoots darkness.

"Let me guess," I exhale, "she left you? She couldn't deal with that enormous chip on your shoulder? I suppose you join Harry at Christmas but not when Luna's coming?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Neville glowers, his voice is throaty and menacing, and I think I should pull away.

"I always thought Luna was the unstable one," alarms ring in my head, abort abort abort, "but now I see it's no wonder she left you."

Neville looks like he's imagining darkness on me. His face flickers between rage and frustration and regret. But soon it settles down, washing away emotion as he turns his nose upwards and looks down at me from his perch, as though delivering my judgement in his eyes.

"Murderer."