Losing Faith

Chapter Thirty-One : Heir of Gryffindor / Homecoming

Padfoot and Moony arrive in Peterborough after two days of solid running. The rest of their journey crossed no snags--they weren't caught or followed, they ran under the security blanket of the star littered sky, and they hunted small rodents. Padfoot carries the supplies bag between his jaws and drops it as he yawns enormously. Beside him, Moony whimpers from exhaustion and lets himself drop to his side on the ground.

Daytime stretches out in front of them, wakening from its slumber. It wraps Moony and Padfoot in a warm hug, pulling them close to its bosom as they revert to their human forms. Across the faded blue sky, the sun's lover, the moon, shines dimly before preparing herself for her rest.

Sirius and Remus keep cover inside a ruined house outside of the Northern border of Peterborough, waiting the day through. They dream fitfully of blood and Death Eaters and carefree days, nightmares of death and confinement and betrayal. They sleep for thirteen hours and could sleep for more; they awaken as the sun and moon are passing ways again.

They emerge from the house, surveying the land stretching out before them. The red brick fence of Camp Beta draws across the horizon, and lying behind is the small metropolis of Peterborough. A blanket of fog not seen since the late 1800's in London covers the visibility of the Death Eaters in the city, and streetlamps slowly flicker on, but their light is faint and doesn't make a difference.

As they have many times before, both Sirius and Remus Change into their animal selves.

Their movements are masked by the mistress of night as they march slowly towards the Southern gate of Camp Beta, their bodies pressed to the ground. They travel alongside the brick fence, only a blurry silhouette to eyes that would have to squint to see them. As they round a corner and approach the gate, muffled voices reach their ears. Within a few passing minutes, faces are attached to those voices.

One of the three Death Eaters is somehow familiar to Moony, with his pale, flawless skin and slender bone structure. His hair is spun as golden threads, sitting just past his shoulders. He appears to be in his middle twenties and has eyes that reflect anything that shines brightly around him. At this moment, they reflect a flagon of fire whisky

"Raventon!" one of the elder Death Eaters speaks curtly. "MacNair wants to see ya in his office. I got the feelin' that it was something important, but he didn' tell me any details." He jabs a stubby finger towards the Death Eater headquarters in the centre of the camp.

It's then that Moony realises where it was he had saw this wizard. He must've been the beautiful blond boy's brother, the beautiful blond boy who he killed only a few days ago. The sudden feeling of remorse deepens inside of Moony's gut. The Raventon Death Eater was that--only a Death Eater. But it's still his blood that stains Moony's teeth.

Twig Raventon wheels his head around, and Moony gawks at his Nordic face. His eyes are the colour of faded emeralds, and a silver hoop is pierced through his nose. His lashes are long, and he appears to be wearing black eyeliner, but that's only how his eyes are. His lips are full and stained the colour of dried blood.

Twig nods to him, salutes, and takes his leave immediately. Only two Death Eaters are left for Moony and Padfoot to contend with, but they are too engrossed in their heated conversations to notice what is happening around them. They sit idly in their comfortable guard stand, a pack of cigarettes next to them on an oak table and a carafe each of beer, fire whisky, and brandy sitting at their heels. Weak flames from street lamps hazily light the area, and blurry lines of Death Eaters occasionally patrol the silent streets. Only a few lights shine from inside the buildings of Beta; curfew went into effect an hour ago.

Moony and Padfoot watch the undisciplined wizards in disgust before making their ways towards the guard stand, keeping pressed to the ground and against the brick wall. As loud laughter and voices erupt from inside, Moony and Padfoot slink past the stand and into Beta.

"I'm tellin' ya I've never seen anyt'ing dyke it!" one shouts. "Fuckin' scared to the wits he was, I don' t'ink Tweaf or Leig knew what had hit 'em. Of course, that was a specialised bomb of Lucrece's."

Laugher rises from a grey-haired Death Eater. "Poor blokes," he mutters.

Moony didn't have to be told; he knew the beautiful, dead blond boy was Leaf.

Above them, a lamp flickers, and Moony and Padfoot continue on their way, venturing deeper into the camp. They discretely slip into an alley, the stench of blood and feces blaring strongly in their nostrils. They choke and quickly rush back into fresh air, gasping. Beside Moony, Padfoot whimpers, inclining his head towards the East. Moony rears his head up, sniffing deeply.

A familiar scent fills Moony's senses, a scent that he hasn't smelt since 1993. Neville Longbottom. They bound off towards Neville, running at full speed, twisting in and out of streets and alleys to avoid the semi-watchful eyes of the patrolling Death Eaters. Although it's been six weeks since the attack on Phi, Moony reckon'd that the Death Eaters would be a bit more watchful of what was happening around them.

They screech to a halt before a trashed house that used to belong to an elderly Muggle couple. But they were killed during the purge, and their humble abode is now used to house the last of the Longbottom family; Neville lives alone. No lights shines from the tattered building, and the locks have long-since rusted away. The door swings open with a helpful nudge from Padfoot, and they enter, the floorboards groaning like ghosts.

The house is one-levelled, and Neville sleeps in a small room to the left of what Moony assumes is the kitchen. Torn brown curtains cover the cracked windows, and dust envelops the house in a sneezed hug. A small red light, grey in Moony's eyes, flickers from Neville's bedroom, and as the werewolf and canine prod their way into the room, they notice that the light comes from a species of firefly known as hotaru that's imprisoned in a glass jar.

Neville stirs in his sleep, but his eyes remain relaxed in a peaceful slumber.

Padfoot glances over at Moony before transforming. As Moony suffers the Changes of a werewolf into a human, Sirius gently wakes Neville.

Neville's hazel eyes flash open in fear, and he yelps, collecting the sun-washed sheets to his bare chest and backing into the headboard. His facial muscles twitch nervously as he watches with numb horror. Neville stands as a deer caught in the headlights before dashing off towards the exit, only to be stopped by Sirius's hand covering his wrist.

"Neville!" Sirius cries frantically, his face paralleling that same desperation. "It's okay, Neville! Calm down! Hush! Stop running around in circles! . . . Thank you. Now--close you're mouth, you're gonna catch flies--thank you. Do you know who I am?"

Neville nods quickly, and keeps nodding as he replies, "S-Sirius Black. Th-the convicted k-killer."

"Ex-convicted killer," snarls Sirius, baring his teeth. "I was pardoned by Fudge, thank you very much."

"You were?" Neville asks in boyish confusion.

Remus steps from the shadows, his face shining with the sweat and panic of Change. "Sirius, maybe I should handle this," offers Remus, placing a restraining hand on Sirius's bicep as his eyes remain on the shaken Neville. "Now, we're not Death Eaters, Neville. We're not here to hurt you. We don't have much time, though; I'm sure the Death Eaters in the next town over heard your screams," he says curtly but politely.

Neville's wide eyes dart back and forth from the ex-professor and to the ex-killer. "I-I don't understand what you are talking about," he stutters, brushing his light brown fringe away from his face and tucking it behind his ears with a shaking hand. "Why-why are you, uh"--he swallows--"here?"

"I believe you know why we are here, Neville. I think you understand more than you're letting on," Remus says in a comforting voice, taking a careful step towards the young, freshly awakened wizard. "Would you care to tell us what happened a month ago?"

Neville searches his memory and finally something makes sense. "H-how'd you know a-about-about that?" Fear suddenly surges through his body; he forgets the comforting words first spoken by Remus as he shakes uncontrollably.

"I must admit, even I don't know how he discovered you were the heir to Gryffindor. But he believed his mother told him the identity," Remus answers, his eyes studying Neville's movements. He notices that the young wizard hasn't stopped fidgeting since their arrival.

"Naked mother," Sirius interjects. "Sodden hell, I think he needs a vacation."

Remus smiles and chuckles lightly. "That's why he went to Hagrid's place."

Neville watches their conversation with confused, bright eyes, chewing on his lower lip. "Wait. Stop. What are you talking about? Whose mother was naked? Who are you talking about?" he asks, pressing his questions.

Remus frowns. "We cannot speak his name for fear of the Death Eaters finding out. You will meet him soon. Tomorrow morning, to be precise. Now Change, we must be off. This mission has just been one mistake after another." Remus sadly shakes his head, wanting to erase his memory of the past few days, but knows he never can.

"Change?"

"The griffin, Neville."

Neville starts, taking another step back and bumping into the brown dresser, knocking off an old ornament--it rolls into a mouse hole. "H-how'd you know about th-that?"

Remus smiles warmly, but his eyes are on the fleeing dusk outside. "A legend, Neville. Now come, all will be explained upon our arrival into Marseilles." He wrings his hands, the foul odour of Death Eaters becoming stronger. He hears footfalls in the distance, the sound of someone cursing and crying, and the breaking of wood against wood.

"I-I don't want to Change. It hurts," Neville whispers, suddenly the thirteen-year-old child that Remus remembers him as. Neville hasn't changed much over the years; he's lost all baby fat and grown more defined, but he has not grown much taller--he stands barely past five foot six. He still has that innocent façade with eyes that reveal a wonder for the world and a need that could never be fulfilled.

"Yes, Neville, it does hurt," Remus begins evenly, glancing at Sirius who stands impatiently behind Neville with crossed arms. "It hurts, and I know death would be welcomed. But do you know why it hurts?"

"Because all my bones are breaking?" asks Neville timidly, kicking at an imaginary stone with his right foot, and clasping his hands behind his back.

"No, it's because you are special. You and Snape and Lockhart, in his own special way, of course, are all special. You three are the heirs to the founders of the great school of Hogwarts, descendants of some of the strongest wizards to grace the earth. You three, along with the heir of Merlin and Ravenclaw, will be part of something grand.

"Your hereditary Animagi form will always hurt when you Change. Hereditary Animagi are different than the Animagi we know today. Regular Animagi don't know real pain, and that can be unfair, Neville, but they will never know the power that you can know. Still, I can't answer all of your questions, and I won't even begin to try. Maybe our commander will be able to help you; he understands much, and I think he's an old mate of yours. Now, are you willing to Change, Neville?"

Neville doesn't have to stop and think--Remus had him convinced halfway through the speech. He bobs his head excitedly, grinning from ear to ear at the prospect of being free.

"Excellent," Sirius says. "Is there anything you wish to bring with you? We can place it inside of our supply bag." Sirius motions to the pitiful sack in his hand, now empty, torn, and wasted with holes from travel and wear.

Neville scans his bare bedroom and makes a mad dash towards his bed, throwing his pillow to the side to grab for a wand that's hidden beneath it. "I only want to bring this with me!" He holds it up to the window with both hands, inspecting it as a small child would, then showing it to Sirius and Remus.

Remus's eyes become saucers. "H-how did you get that? No prisoner is allowed wands or magical supplies--they were all destroyed in the purge!"

Neville's cheeks burn apple red, and he drops his eyes towards the floorboards. "Well . . . I received it from the ghost of Godric Gryffindor," he admits sheepishly. "A-about a month ago. I-I know it sounds w-weird and . . . false."

Sirius smiles, seizing Neville's shoulder. "It makes more sense than you think."

Remus swiftly turns his head towards the window, where the approaching footsteps of a troop of Death Eaters can be heard. He averts his attention back towards Sirius and Neville, and the looks on their faces tell Remus that they heard them as well.

"We have to leave quickly!" Sirius presses, staring pointedly at Neville.

Neville nods, and begins his Change into the fabled golden griffin.

Screams of agony fill the house, cutting through the silent night. Remus and Sirius clench their eyes, shutting out the gruesome sight of human becoming beast.

Outside, the approaching Death Eaters stop short and whip their heads towards each other, frightened questions appearing in their eyes. They start into a sprint towards the source of the terrible, painful screams.

Where Neville Longbottom once stood now stands a mythical beast worthy of admiration. The griffin stretches his wings, his hazel eyes staring down at Remus and Sirius as he crouches. Wrapping their hands around the golden mane, the wizards pull themselves onto his back. After they've adjusted their seating and the Death Eaters burst through the door and into the house, the griffin leaps into the air, crashing through the thatched roof.

"Avada Kedavra!" shouts one of the Death Eaters.

The curse smacks the griffin on the flank and bounces off without any effect.


The griffin flies through the night, reaching Marseilles by mid-morning of March 31. He lands gracefully on the balcony of the highest level of the Delacour Manor, letting the frozen Remus and Sirius slide off.

Rubbing their hands together and breathing warm air on them, Sirius and Remus lean against the rough stone wall.

In a cry of pain that echoes across the land, Neville kneels where the griffin once stood. His naked body convulses with shivers, and he wraps his arms around his knees, drawing them to his chest.

Remus rushes forward, wrapping the young wizard with his cloak and helping him to his feet. He leads Neville inside and Sirius follows, closing the balcony's glass door with his foot.

From across the marble-floored room, a wizard the same age as Neville Longbottom stands, ruffling through sheaves of parchment, reorganizing them into piles. Neville suddenly stops, his hands shaking and sweat beading along his hairline. With a deep breath, he gaily bellows the name of this wizard in greeting. . . .