Chapter Thirteen

Forgiveness

Without stopping to think, Harry shoved past the adults and ran out of the door, following after Neville. He ran with surprising speed for his weak heath state, and Lily looked like she wanted to protest because of that fact. James did, too, but he let it go.

Alice sat down heavily on the couch with a pitiful wail and curled up like a cat. Lily went to her immediately, while Marauders quietly discussed waking the other three people up as well (two of which were apparently Minerva McGonagall and Augusta Longbottom. The other had yet to been identified but was steadily soaking the carpet.) Frank stood there, motionless, in the center of the room, trying to grasp what exactly all that happened. It hurt. A lot. Like a gaping, bloody wound in his chest; it hurt. Knowing his son, his precious firstborn, his only son, the light of his life, was angry—no, furious—at him, made the hole in his chest it hurt a whole lot more.

To no one in particular, Frank said the only thing he could think of at the moment.

"My son had to be a Gryffindor, didn't he?"

Harry slowed to a stop and leaned against a wall. He huffed and puffed, trying to force some air into his lungs. His mum hadn't been lying when she said his body would need to recuperate. Not that he would ever admit that. Harry looked around, trying to gain his bearings. Potter Castle, at first glance, had a very simple layout. Harry was now discovering that appearances could be deceiving. He swore he could hear the castle itself laughing at him.

Harry was on the same floor, but he figured, was somewhere near the astronomy lab, which was on the other side of the fourth floor than the study. Harry groaned. Who knew Neville was such a fast runner?

Abruptly, Harry sneezed. That damned lavender! He thought furiously, and then instantly mentally slapped himself for being so stupid. The greenhouse! Of course, Neville would go to the greenhouse!

Moving his feet as fast as they could go (about glacial speed) he made it to the entrance of the greenhouse. Harry briefly remembered the near panic-attack James had had because he had went within fifty feet of the greenhouse.

He then promptly barged in.

The greenhouse was a lot like the ones at Hogwarts. The same pseudo-sunlight that was used on the fifth floor streamed through the entire room (except with some dark corners for the nocturnal vegetation) and shone over the neat rows of plants. The rows themselves (planters, Harry supposed they could be called) were about knee-height, and the bases were made of the gray stone; while thick, rich soil gave birth to a bunch of green…things. Or whatever they were. Plants, probably - but they certainly didn't look like Petunia's flowers

There were trellises on the walls and planters hung from the ceiling: vines and other leafy branches hanging down. Despite the fact the greenhouse had not been used for twenty years, the house-elves must've kept it up, because the entire thing was in perfect condition. The whole effect would've been quite pleasant, had it not been for the fact that all the plants were…alive. And very hostile-looking.

Of course, it wasn't anything that Harry hadn't seen in the Hogwarts greenhouses, school grounds, or Forbidden Forest (with a couple exceptions. Especially that big mound of…was that shrub on fire?). And Harry was very aware and disgruntled (on principle, having been against most authority figures all of his life) that James' warning (more like heart attack) might have had merit.

After much useless and pretty whimsical ("Wow, that looks cool! I can't believe that thing is a plant! No wonder Neville likes this subject!") walking, he finally found Neville, leaning against a planter that housed what he vaguely identified as a Calming Camellia. Unfortunately, the lavender was right across from the camellias.

Harry sneezed.

Neville didn't look up, his arms were crossed across his chest and he seemed to be glaring a slow and painful death on a dandelion that had sprung up in the beds of lavender. Harry sneezed again. Stupid lavender…

"Were your parents dead?" Harry asked bluntly. He dimly registered that this may not be the best way to start a conversation, but he plowed ahead. "Mine were. And, I think, that somewhere—in the back of my mind—I always resented my parents. For leaving me, for not being there when every other mother or father would show up for Parent's Day, or Take-Their-Kid-To-Work Day. For not being there when I needed them."

Neville flinched as his own words were thrown back at him, but Harry paid no heed.

"And I suppose, when they first showed up, that was my reaction. Be angry. But then…" Harry cocked his head to the side, trying to recall exactly what happened. The memory, though new, was hazy from his sleep-deprived and physical state. "My parents…they were so…broken. Mum, she looked like it physically pained her to see me that way. The way the Dursleys had abused me. The way her sister had hurt me; her own nephew. Her sister's flesh and blood."

Neville made no outward reaction, but Harry could see that he had heard him from the glimmer of anger, shock, and even a bit of empathy in his eyes.

"And Dad…he was angry. I think…I think he's still angry. On some level, I think he'll always be. He's angry at Dumbledore for putting me there, and he's angry at the Dursleys for treating me that way." Harry neglected to mention Pettigrew, seeing as Neville didn't know that side of the story. "And he doesn't…trust anymore, I think. I don't know exactly what's gone down with Dumbledore, but something happened. And because of that, Dad's not the same man he used to be. Neither is Mum. And, in some ways, I don't think they'll ever be.

"But…when I saw them, angry for me…sad for me…hurt for me, I felt my anger towards my parents…dissipate. I realized I was no longer angry with them for leaving me, but instead, I was glad I had parents that would leave me, to save me. Many wouldn't do that. And I loved them and missed them for that."

For a moment, there was silence.

"My parents were tortured into insanity," Neville said, still staring at the dandelion, replying to Harry's first question. "About a day after Voldemort—" Harry smiled inwardly at the use of Voldemort's true name. Apparently Neville's anger brought out bravery. "—fell. Bellatrix, Rabastan, Rudophus Lestrange, and Barty Crouch Junior were looking for information about where Voldemort was. They thought that my parents had it. My mum hid me while my dad fought them off, but there were too many. By the time the Aurors got there it was to late. The damage was irreversible. They were alive…but barely. They were simply shells."

Harry - knowing the feeling of sympathetic words and pitiful glances - simply nodded, conveying to Neville his support.

"You want me to apologize," Neville said frankly.

"Not apologize," Harry mused. "Just explain. This is an once-in-a-lifetime chance. I don't think you really want to mess it up."

Neville gave him a faint smile, "No, I don't think so." He stood up and nodded at Harry, and they made their way out of the greenhouse together.

Alice was crying.

Her head was on Lily's shoulder as she leaned into her best friend's warm hug and cried for lost son. Everything hurt, all over. Everything ached. She ached. She ached with the heartbreak that flooded through her when her son stormed out, the only trace that he was once there and not some terrible nightmare were the welts where his stinging words and accusations had flown out, right onto her heart.

And she could not blame him. In some, deep, traitorous cavern of her heart, she knew it would be easier to, but Alice was a Hufflepuff. She never took the easy route out. Alice Longbottom could never blame her son. She, herself, while her husband and her sat at St. Mungo's, had had those same thoughts. It hurt, though, knowing they were true and that she heard her son say them.

"Alice," she heard her husband's gentle voice say distantly. She didn't want to open her eyes to face anyone, least of all her husband. It still hurt too much. She wanted her baby. She didn't care how old he was, or how much dirt he was covered in. She didn't care about what he had just said. For the love of Godric, she wanted her child!

Alice let out another wail, muffled into Lily's shoulder as her husband's strong arms wrapped around her. She crawled into his lap and buried her head in his shoulder like a child seeking comfort. Droplets of water, falling down on her hair told her Frank was crying also.

For a long time, both of them just sat there on the couch, crying into each other's arms. Slowly, her tears stopped coming and dried, and she watched as Lily and the Marauders talked to two of the three others that had appeared with her, Frank, and…Neville.

The four of them had filled Minerva McGonagall and Augusta Longbottom in on what had happened and their conclusions about Dumbledore. Minerva had been shaken and angry, and Augusta had stared at her and Frank long and hard.

"Frankie…Alice, honey, are you…?" she asked, her voice trailing off.

"Yes, Mum," Came Frank's hoarse voice.

A wane smile appeared on her face, but there was wetness in her eyes she refused to acknowledge. "I'm glad. I told the doctors, I told you, I told Neville you'd come around. I wish you could meet him. He's—"

"Here," a tired voice cut off from the doorway. Alice and Frank spun around to face their son, carrying a limp Harry Potter in his arms.

Of all the times.

Of all the times that Harry-Bloody-Potter had to faint, it had to be now.

How on earth was Neville supposed to make his way back to the study? In a bloody castle, no less? The first time, after running out the door, he had simply followed the smells to the greenhouse. He didn't know how to make his way around the castle. Hell, he didn't think Harry knew how to make his way around the castle.

Neville huffed indignantly. How was he supposed to do this? Sure, he could carry shovels and watering cans, but a whole human being was a bit different! Faced with no other option, Neville swung Harry up on his shoulder. Harry was about as heavy as he looked, which meant he wasn't very, but Neville could've sworn he was gaining weight just hanging over his shoulder. Neville carried him the only way he could, fireman-style, and slowly started down the hallway, cursing under his breath that Harry was the only one who didn't realize how fragile his body was. He hoped Mrs. Potter would drug him or something until he was well again.

Ah! There! Neville spotted the heavy oak doors that he had rushed out of earlier. Guilt was starting to envelope him. He shouldn't have said those things, and now he was determined to make it right. He had hurt his parents with what he had said. How long had he wished for parents? What Harry said had gotten through to him. He had missed his parents. He wanted them to tell him stories and tuck him in bed at night and comfort him through his nightmares. And Harry was right, Neville was happy that he cared that much that his parents would leave. It hurt when they did, but Neville felt a strange blissful feeling that they would.

Neville, oblivious to the dead weight on his shoulder, stared at the door apprehensively. He was scared. There, he admitted it. The minute brash, brazened boldness he'd had earlier escaped him.

He shifted from foot to foot. Maybe I could bide my time…? He wondered weakly. He then looked at the top of Harry's messy-haired head. No, not if Harry's in trouble, Neville thought firmly. But… doubt and fear dripped unhindered into his thoughts.

Unbidden, a quote from an old Muggle book came into his head. He found it, late at night, in the corner of the library at Longbottom Lodge. He had been looking for Herbology texts to distract himself from the upcoming visit to St. Mungo's.

Let bravery be thy choice, but not bravado.

Neville hadn't understood then, what it meant. He hadn't asked his Gran, either, he felt there was something special about it. But, five years ago, when he had been standing in front of the door to his parents' ward, he had understood what it meant. He had not wanted to face his parents; their blank faces would dredge up memories that would haunt him forever. He understood: real bravery came from the heart, not false visions of grandeur about it. Ever since that day, he had tried to live his life by that code.

Neville was not ashamed to be scared; he would be brave when he needed to. Neville remembered, all those years ago, when the Sorting Hat whispered in his ear, in his hoarse, wise old voice:

"'Let bravery be thy choice, but not bravado?' An interesting choice to live by, Longbottom. Wise, by all accounts. You could do Ravenclaw well. Like your father. And loyal to those you love to a fault. Like your mother…but I think the choice is clear. It better be…GRYFFINDOR!"

Neville took a deep breath and put his hand to the door. He didn't realize how heavy Harry had become. He could hear his Gran's voice (when did she get here?), muffled through the door; "…I told Neville you could come around. I wish you could meet him. He's—"

With no fear left, Neville shouldered his burden and pushed the door open. "Here," he called out.

Sirius Black had seen a lot of strange things in his lifetime.

He was best friends with a werewolf, had become an animagus at age fifteen, had almost fed a kid to said werewolf, he had owned a flying motorbike, his brother had become a Death Eater and then killed by turning traitor, his best mate and wife had been killed but their child lived, he had gone to murder someone, only to be accused of murdering thirteen people he hadn't, actually, murdered, had two of his other friends tortured into insanity, had been in Azkaban Prison for twelve years and had not gone insane, had escaped Azkaban Prison, had become reunited with his last remaining friend and godson, only to be captured by dementors, had been saved by said godson and friend going illegally back in time and rescuing an innocent hippogriff along with him, had seen his two dead best friends come back to life, had seen his godson been abused, had seen two formerly-insane friends come back to…sanity…and their son walk out on them.

Okay, so a lot of those weren't strange. In fact, they were dead depressing. But…this…this topped it off quite nicely.

And that was because Sirius Black was staring blankly at his formerly dead brother, splayed out on the carpet in front of him, passed out and soaking wet and dripping all over the place. The first thing he could think, was:

They drowned him? Dear Godric, these Death Eaters are getting creative.

And that was about where his thought process had stopped.

He could hear Lily and Prongs in the background, fussing over Harry who had fainted from overexerting himself. And Remus seemed to be there also, along with Minerva. Augusta, Neville, Frank, and Alice were all in the background somewhere. He also wanted to be there, but there was a problem.

But he really couldn't hear them.

From the moment he had laid eyes on his brother, the sound of the world had become drowned out and a simple inconsistent buzz in his ears. His eyes, too, seemed to stop seeing the world, but were only focused on his brother. Everything else seemed muted and unimportant.

He titled his head to the side, eyes wide, with the strange form of childlike curiosity he had reverted back to. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was a bit worried for his mental state. Well, he had never technically been mentally stable, and figured he'd eventually go insane like his dear old mum. Azkaban had helped him along with that fairly satisfactorily, and this was, apparently, the breaking point.

Oh dear, he thought vaguely, poking Regulus' head with his toe. If I'm going to be insane, I might as well have my brother with me, as well. Maybe he'd like to join me - I always said Reggie would go insane…

Regulus had always said his brother would go insane.

"Reg-u-lus…Reg-u-lus…Reg-u-lus…wakey-wakey!"

It was a fact of life. Like the sky was blue, the grass was green, and Mother was homicidal, bitchy, old hag.

"What are you doing, sleeping, Reggie-poo? It's not even nighttime yet! Look, the sun's still out!" Was punctuated with a loud cackle.

Regulus, however, had not expected this.

"You're being silly, Reg-u-lus! Wakey, wakey!"

He had not expected to wake up, being prodded by his big brother's toe, while said big brother was cackling madly like Bellatrix Lestrange.

Regulus scrambled upwards, almost falling down from nausea in his urgency. Whatever form of travel he had just been exposed to was not a pleasant one. Regulus took a moment to steady himself; and most of the nausea receded. He looked up into his older brother's face and it immediately came back.

His brother, once so lively and healthy, looked nothing like he used to. Sirius'ss classic Black characteristics had turned him into looking like a raving madman. His olive-skin was deathly pale and his high, aristocratic cheekbones stood out in his gaunt face; his once-filled frame of muscle and sinew was now bones held together by tendrils of skin. While he looked clean, wearing luxurious robes Regulus had not seen Sirius wear since before he was sorted into Gryffindor, there were still traces of…whatever it was. Wherever Sirius had been.

Regulus was shaken. It looked like his brother had aged thirteen years, not the thirteen days it had been since he had last saw him. Sirius looked…horrific. The most gruesome of all were his eyes.

Sirius'ss Black-family-trademark gray eyes had sparkled always with mischief and happiness. Always. They had been a beacon of happiness to Regulus as a kid. Whenever he had been feeling down, he would simply look in his brother's eyes and crack a grin.

But now…now…

Those eyes were dead. It looked like shutters had closed them from the inside out, and there was a haunted, deadened look in Sirius'ss eyes that made him want to look away. There was no sparkle of mischief or happiness; the only sparkle was the insane glitter that littered his eyes freely.

Regulus recoiled. It was only yesterday he had seen Bellatrix Lestrange with those same mad eyes, dueling some Auror and cackling with the same insanity and lunacy Sirius now possessed. The only difference, it seemed, was that Sirius had not attacked him: as Bellatrix would have surely done by now, had Sirius been as volatile as her. It was like—no, no don't think of that, Regulus suppressed the memories frantically.

Sirius cocked his head to the side like an innocent puppy, those eyes (Those eyes. Those eyes. Those haunting, unforgettable, eyes. Sirius, what have you done?) staring at him, gleaming with the wild intensity that could only come from a madman. Or when you are—don't think, don't think—

Regulus felt like crying. Where had he been—Sirius was mad, stark raving mad—where had the time gone—looking at him with those psychotic eyes—what happened—Sirius poked him again, as though he could not see he was awake—where had he been—Sirius laughed insanely without meaning again—how had this happened—Sirius was talking to him that fractured voice—who had done this, who broke his brother—Sirius stared at him with unseeing, lifeless eyes—why had this happened, who had done this, who, who, who…chanted in his mind, unhearing and unfeeling, he wanted his brother, his brother who would hold him when he had nightmares, nurse his wounds when his mother hit him, who would be his big brother, not this mad replacement—with a strangled cry, he threw himself into Sirius'ss arms, tackling him with a hug, wanting to hold his brother one last time before he—hunted down who ever made his brother that way—he could feel Sirius'ss ribs—if you be Voldemort yourself, I will kill—

His thought trail was cut off when Sirius started sobbing, and he cursed whoever it was to high hell because, goddammit, his brother does not cry—great, heaving sobs on his shoulder, running down his already wet clothes—I want Sirius back, my big brother—but leaving their stain because they were Sirius'ss tears—who does not cry, who is not dead, who knows who he is—not this shell—he knows m—

"I missed you, Reggie!" came the choked sob from his I'll kill who did this to my now insane brother—

Regulus froze. "You—you're mad," he choked, "You looked insane—"

"I'm sorry," Sirius cried, "I didn't mean that—it just happens sometimes—from the dementors—Godric, Reggie, I missed you—I don't hate you—I love you—you're my little brother—"

Regulus was vaguely aware of other people in the room, but trying to make sense of Sirius'ss words. He sounded lucid, what did he mean, 'from the dementors'? And 'I don't hate you'? What did that-?

Regulus stopped dead, recalling a memory from a raid, four years ago, that he tried so hard to repress. The one where Sirius was so alike. Like had he had been at the raid again.

Spells flew everywhere, the sky was dark, and the Dark Mark grinned maliciously over Diagon Alley. Thrill ran through Regulus' veins as the screaming of women and children hit the air, with the shouts of spells and yells to find cover from the men—"You should never find joy in another's suffering unless they give you three good reasons."

Unbidden, his brother's face came to mind along with his words when he had found him teasing a Hufflepuff boy his first year at Hogwarts. You can't talk, he thought bitterly, remembering Sirius'ss gang, the Marauders.

Suddenly, wild laughter filled the air.

Regulus' blood froze. He had heard that laughter before—no, no it couldn't be—across the street, three men entered the street from a near-by alley, all with matching, feral grins. Sparks flew from their wands as, with a wild laugh, Sirius blasted the nearest Death Eater into a brick wall with a sickening CRACK.

Next to him, Lucius growled and moved to take up the unspoken invitation for a duel with Sirius. Suddenly, fury and revenge boiling in his heart, he shoved Lucius aside.

"No," he growled. "He's mine," Regulus said, watching James Potter slam Death Eaters away with a wall of golden flames and a gleeful grin.

Lucius scoffed arrogantly, "No new recruit can duel Black."

"Maybe you've forgotten," Regulus retorted icily, "But I know his last name very well."

Lucius scoffed once more, "Be it your life, cousin," he sneered, but fell silent, instead aiming a powerful Reducto at the nearest store window.

Sirius shot a spell, an unidentifiable blood red one—whether it was a stunner or more deadly, Regulus did not know—and Regulus blocked it with a burst of violet shield that expanded the length of the whole alley. Sirius'ss eyes widened fractionally, and with that Regulus felt a surge of pride; that he managed to catch the Grim off guard.

For a moment there was dead silence.

"So," Sirius sneered, his face contorted so like their father's that Regulus almost missed the flash of heartbreak in his eyes. But he did see it, and he felt his own, and instantly pushed it down. He realized, that, with that sneer, Sirius had been trying to hide his inner hurt, "So, my favorite brother has come out to duel with the big kids. How does it feel, Reg-u-lus?" he mocked.

Regulus had never hated his own name so much, and almost wished he could run into his big brother's arms like he did when he was younger.

Instead, he sneered back at his brother, "Come to play, Si-ri-us? I thought you'd be over there," he drawled, waving a hand back towards the cowering townspeople, "With the cowards," he snarled, the memory of Sirius running to the Potters' house coming to mind.

Unfortunately, that had come to Sirius'ss mind to; and he smirked viciously, "A coward, Gus-Gus?" he cocked his head in a vaguely canine fashion, before throwing his head back and laughing manically. His spell, which was still connected to Regulus' shield, he jerked back, slicing it through the Death Eaters who were unlucky enough to be in front of the shield. He inwardly winced as the recruits' shrieks of pain hit the air. Regulus felt the hair on the back rise. He had been right; the blood-red spell was more lethal than it looked. Sirius grinned cruelly, "Really?" he said in the same drawling fashion as Regulus. "I thought the coward was you."

Regulus flinched involuntarily at the same memory and he snarled, "No, I'm pretty sure traitors and cowards are the same. Luckily, I am not one."

An inhumane smirk worked its way onto Sirius'ss face. "We'll see," he breathed, rasping, "We'll see."

And then they started to duel.

It was that duel that had made Regulus eligible for the Death Eaters, not just a recruit, and Sirius for the Order of the Phoenix; Regulus being the only one who could duel 'the Grim', and Sirius the only one who could duel 'the Panther'; who had been "been causing trouble" for the Light side.

Regulus had found out that Sirius, while not a Slytherin, wasted nothing. Any spell not used him, went to another Death Eater. Cruel and unhonorable, yes, but effective also. Regulus had not been surprised like this, like many others (including Lucius) had been. Regulus wasted no time using spells that Sirius would have a hard time recognizing. It would make Sirius more likely to duck and shield rather then counter-attack. Unfortunately, and slightly surprising for Regulus, Sirius seemed to know an unsettlingly large amount of the rather lethal spells Regulus had used.

The duel had ended when dawn had approached. Still dueling, both Regulus and Sirius had been forced to apparate away before a clear winner was determined. At the end of duel, when Sirius had been close to winning, Regulus had desperately called out the Killing Curse.

Sirius'ss eyes had widened as he dove past the spell.

Strangely hoarse, the next thing he had called out was not a spell, but the only he managed to rasp out through his shocked state was three words. Sirius'ss eyes wet with shock and hurt and loathing, he said in a rasping voice three words that made Regulus regret every action he had ever done.

"I hate you."

Regulus' throat had constricted and tears he refused to let fall fill his eyes; before either could do anything, dawn broke and dozen pops of Apparation signaled the Ministry had come. He apparated away with his fellow Death Eaters, but not to the Dark Lord's hideout.

Instead, he apparated to a park bench where Sirius and he had shared ice cream as kids. Looking down with a strangled sob, he could see where SIRI and REGGIE had been carved in with children's handwriting.

"I hate me, too, Siri," Regulus sobbed, everything coming back. Everything he had done under the mask and whenever he had thought the cruel teachings of Walburga Black were wrong came flooding back. All of his brother's teachings and moral values returned to him. He curled into a ball on the park bench, oblivious to his injuries and anything else in the world, and tears flowed down his cheeks, "I hate me, too, Siri. I'm so sorry," With a hoarse wail, he fell to his knees on the ground as if begging his brother for forgiveness, "I'm so sorry, Siri! Sirius, I'm so sorry!"

And Regulus found himself on his knees again, repeating the sentiment. His eyes wet with tears and on his knees, Regulus Black begged his only family for forgiveness.

"I'm so sorry, Siri!" he sobbed. "I hate me, too! I tried to make up for it, I did! I took his horcrux—I took Voldemort's hocrux—I hated what I'd done, what'd I become—Emme left—" he let out a strangled sound in his throat, "—when they came for me to be Branded, I told her to leave—to run—I didn't—I didn't think they'd actually—actually kill—her! I told—them—that I was done—after that. That raid. I—I—took—took the horcrux and I'm so sorry!" he howled with a wild cry, "I didn't mean it! I love you Siri, I'm so sorry! I don't know what I was thinking—you were right! Please forgive me, Sirius! Siri, I'm so sorry!"

Regulus was on his knees, tears dripping down his face, but he didn't care. He needed to hear it. He needed to hear his brother say he didn't hate him; that he'd forgive him: eventually. Regulus knew there was no way he would immediately, but he needed to hear it. His wife was dead, he was sure; he needed his brother.

He felt his brother's strong arms wrap around him, comforting him like a child.

His brother's sanity was a question in his mind still, but so was his own, he supposed, as he sobbed unashamedly into his brother's shoulder.

"You're safe now, Reggie," he heard Sirius mutter. "You're fine, now."

Neville looked carefully over at the Black brothers. Professor McGonagall had told him the whole story during Sirius and Regulus' little…breakdown. He took a deep breath and repeated Harry's words and his quote over and over again in his head. Slowly, he walked up behind his parents, who were staring disconcertedly at the Black brothers.

Frank was aware someone was tugging on his robes. He turned around, to look down into the honey-colored eyes of his son. His heart caught in his throat. Neville shifted from foot to foot, looking nervously at the ground again.

"I think," Neville cleared his throat, "That maybe I should—should talk to you."

Neville stumbled over his words a little, and it amazed Frank how much different this scared, young boy seemed from the angry young man he had met today. Frank bit the inside of his cheek. Everything about Neville amazed him. He could never be angry with his son, no matter what Neville said.

"Okay," he said, in a voice not quite like his own as Alice gripped his hand tightly, drinking in the sight of her son as though she might never see him again. And she might not, depending if he's still angry…he visibly sagged at the thought. "I know a place."

He chanced a glance over at James, Lily, and Remus. James seemed to just have had a heart attack and was plainly trying to slow down his breathing while glancing at Sirius. Remus was switching back and forth from looking at Sirius and Harry worriedly, and Lily was biting her lip, looking Harry over and chancing glimpses at Sirius, but they all seemed to know that Sirius had to be with his brother alone.

Minerva, who was sitting in the corner watching the happenings and holding back his mother, gave him an incisive nod and spoke sharply to Augusta who seemed to be straining to speak with Alice, Neville and himself. She never got the chance as he led his son out the door. Hopefully, he thought, this will go better then our last…talk.

He looked down at his son, whose face was crumpled like a tin can, and again, seemed to find interest in the stone floors of the hallways of Potter Castle. Frank inwardly frowned as he saw Neville shirk slightly away from them. Was he expecting a scolding? Frank wondered. It was all right for him to speak his mind…even if it hurt.

They rounded a corner and Frank pushed open the doors to the library. He could see Alice repressing a smirk and muttering something like, "You Ravenclaws are all the same."

Frank walked to the very back of the library, passing hundreds of books along the way. He took them to a dusty old corner in the back of the room were four armchairs sat under a grimy window that sunlight barely peeked through.

They each took one of the armchairs and sat their in silence for a while. Finally, Neville burst out, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I just—I missed you!" A tear he didn't seem aware of crawled down his cheek.

Frank felt his heart swell with happiness and pride for his son, as Alice wrapped her arms around Neville, sobbing with happiness as she hugged him tightly. Frank circled his arms around them both, and he whispered in Neville's ear, "We missed you, too."

Ron struggled against his binds and glared at his captors.

One more time, he thought, one more time, he struggled against his bonds.

"It's no use," George said, fixing him with a steely glare. "Start talking."

"Come on," Ron said, exasperated. "I thought this all was common knowledge! I mean, Harry, Hermione, and I won points for saving the Sorcerer's Stone from You-Know-Who first year! And we got points last year, for closing the Chamber of Secrets, too. Why did you think we all had exams off?" He left out the part about Sirius. Ron didn't want to get Harry's only father-figure in trouble.

Apparently, Ron thought a bit belatedly, looking at his dumbstruck brothers, I shouldn't have said that. Ron looked over his brothers carefully. Fred looked like he was having an aneurysm while George seemed to be having what one might consider a stroke. Lee seemed on the verge of fainting again.

Suddenly, Ron remembered what Hermione had said at the end of their last term. "If my parents found out I rescued a stone from a homicidal maniac, found an ancient chamber, was almost killed from a huge snake, and rescued a convict by breaking the laws of time itself, they pull me out of Hogwarts faster than you can say 'Quidditch!'"

Of course, they'd all had a good laugh, but now Ron was thinking there might've been some merit to her words. While many people knew some vague details about the extent of what they did, Ron had never shared the entirety with anyone. That was, of course, because he thought they had all known.

Evidently, he thought weakly, that's not the case.

He was debating frantically in his mind. What did he tell them with out getting anyone in trouble? Himself in trouble? They had broken a lot of rules in the last three years, not to mention laws. Could he edit it out of the story? What about telling them—?

"Everything," Fred growled. "Tell us everything."

Ron gulped. He hadn't seen Fred, George, and Lee ever been this serious before. Hopefully, the wouldn't tell—

"We won't tell Mum," George interrupted, using that uncanny ability the twins had to read people's thoughts.

Ron inwardly groaned. There was no getting out of it now.

"Well," Ron said. "Where do start?" Please say Polyjuice, please say Polyjuice, please say—

"On your train ride to school, first year." Lee said firmly, exchanging a glance with Fred and George. They didn't know what had happened, but they had seen Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle come out of the their compartment.

Bloody hell. The whole three years.

"And we want the whole truth, Ron," Fred said firmly.

"Or else we will test our products on you," George said, determined to get the answer as to what his little brother had been doing his first three years of school.

Damn.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or JKR's works.

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Terrors of the Mind and Body