Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters and world created by JK Rowling. Anything you do not recognise is my own creation. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

– CHAPTER THIRTEEN –

Rousing Ron

For the first time in his years working at the Ministry, Neville did not chuck a Sickle into the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Nor did he greet Eric the watchwizard as he walked towards the lift. Nor did he cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself when he arrived on Level Four. He did not even spare a glance for the giant Chimaera held in a reinforced glass cage just outside his office.

Only one thing mattered: his friend, Harry Potter.

In a few long paces, Neville traversed his magnificent marble office and collapsed into his chair.

His theory that Harry was Death had too many flaws. First and foremost, Harry had not killed Luna. That much he was certain of. The grief was too real, his lust for revenge too potent. Not to mention the fact that he was at work for the twelve hours preceding the murder, and the file clearly stated that the murderer set up the C4 mere moments before the explosion.

So Neville had two choices: rule Harry out as Death, or rule Death out as a suspect.

Perhaps Harry was not Death, thought Neville. True, he was out of his fucking mind taking Alice and Obliviating Bill's family. That very morning, Neville had convinced Bill that he needed to go under the Fidelius for a few weeks with Neville as the Secret Keeper. Neville felt a little guilty having to lie about who had threatened Bill's family, but now that he was sure that Alice was safe with Bill, he could completely focus on the problem at hand: Harry and Death.

Neville's mind whirred as he thought of ways that Harry could not be Death. Taking Alice did not necessarily mean he was Death. Just that he was out of his fucking mind. If he ignored the fact that Harry had used Alice – something that took all of Neville's self-control – then Harry's actions were not entirely irrational.

After all, Harry knew that somebody was after his Hallows. He knew that the Elder Wand was gone, and now his cloak was gone. Harry had a tendency not to trust the Ministry with things that mattered to him; it was only natural that he would retrieve the Resurrection Stone.

Neville sat back so far in his chair that he could see the ceiling reflecting the weather in the fake windows. It was filled with angry grey clouds.

There was only one way to be sure, he decided. He had no choice but to interrogate Lazarus. Only he held the answer. There was no other way.

Boom!

Neville almost fell out of his chair; with one hand, he gripped onto the table mid-fall, and with the other he drew his wand and aimed it at the heart of the intruder. To his surprise, he saw that it was Boris Bogand. For the first time in Neville's memory, Bogand looked dishevelled. His hair, usually slicked back, fell over his face, and his face was puce rather than the usual ghostly white. Behind him, the door had been blown off its hinges.

Shit, thought Neville. He knows.

'Did you really think that I wouldn't find out?' said Bogand, his voice shaking with rage. 'Were you so naive as to think that I wouldn't discover what you've done?'

Neville's heart was racing. How had Bogand found out? The fake Stone Harry had given him was goblin-made, indistinguishable from the real one to the human eye. Bogand himself had not suspected it at the time. But if he had evidence, Neville was well and truly finished.

'What have I done?' said Neville, struggling to sound inquisitive rather than guilty.

Bogand prowled towards Neville, closer and closer, until he was looming over him, more animal than human. His bloodshot eyes bore into Neville, who felt something. It was almost undetectable, but unmistakeably Legilimency. With some effort, Neville cleared his mind. There was nothing to find there now.

Bogand clenched his jaw. His hand went to his pocket, and for a wild moment, Neville thought he was going for his wand. But instead, he pulled out the fake Resurrection Stone and slammed it on the table so hard, Neville thought it would shatter.

'Well?' snarled Bogand. He was so close now that Neville could feel his hot breath when he spoke.

'I think you should treat important artefacts with more respect, sir.'

'We both know that this is a fake, boy!'

'With all due respect, sir, it looks real to me. Perhaps we should get Harry to test it …'

Neville knew he was playing a dangerous game, but to be anything but incredulous would be to admit guilt. He had a suspicion that if Bogand had proof linking Neville to the fake, they would not be having a conversation. Neville would be Obliviated.

'Do not play dumb with me, Longbottom. You come here last night, and just happen to be curious about the Stone. It is, by the way, the first time that somebody other than myself has set the alarm off since it was moved here. And then, the very next day, an expert tells me that this –' He thrust a finger at the Stone, 'is a goblin-made fake. You think that after thirty years in this department, I cannot put two and two together?'

'Look, sir, I'm not going to question whether or not this is a fake – frankly, I would have no way of knowing. All I'm telling you is that I have nothing to do with it. What on earth would I want with the Stone? I am not its true master.'

'Oh!' cried Bogand, looking quite deranged now. 'So you want to pass the blame onto Potter, do you?'

'That wasn't my intention –'

'Well, it might interest you to learn that Potter has not had access to this department since I put him on compassionate leave. Unless you're insinuating that someone acted on his behalf …'

Neville got to his feet, careful not to betray his fear and surprise. He began pacing behind his desk, painfully aware that Bogand was eyeing him like a lion does his prey.

'Let's think this through logically,' said Neville, racking his brains for an alternative explanation.

'Yes, let's. You believe that Potter's wife's killer is after the Deathly Hallows, a reasonable assumption. Their protection comes under our jurisdiction, so you would have them protected – again, reasonable. But then you come to me yesterday and make wild accusations that the killer is among us, which, of course, would jeopardise the Stone. So the logical next step would be to plant a fake and hide the real one, would it not?'

It would, thought Neville. And it was not far from the truth. Neville stopped pacing and looked imploringly at his mentor.

'Please try and look at it reasonably, Boris.' Bogand's eye twitched at the mention of his first name. 'These events would make so much more sense if the killer was one of us! Think about it: the Stone was the only Hallow he was missing, it was only a matter of time before I discovered that –'

For the first time, Bogand was not a wild animal ready to attack, he was reeling in surprise.

'Potter is no longer in possession of the cloak?'

Pressing his advantage, Neville said, 'No, this is what I was trying to tell you. The target has the cloak and the Elder Wand, and he knew that it was a matter of time before I realised that. He knew that I would urge you to put stronger defences around the Stone, so he must have made the switch last night.'

Bogand was silent for a moment, and stared at the Stone, as though asking it what had happened. Neville wished he could read his boss' mind: was he buying it?

'And yet,' said Bogand, slowly, cautiously, 'the wards were only triggered once: by you. If somebody made the switch, for whatever reason, it had to be you. There is no other way.'

'Let me get a positive ID on the killer,' pleaded Neville. 'Lazarus knows; let me prove my theory to you once and for all!'

Bogand's eyes bore into Neville once more, and this time his gaze was cold and steely.

'No. You have allowed this investigation to spiral out of control. You have been reckless and insubordinate.'

'Please don't take me off the case! I'm so close to cracking it, you know I am –'

'Oh, you're not just off the case,' said Bogand quietly. 'I'm putting you on suspension, effective immediately. I will ascertain who this killer is and retrieve the Stone myself. If, upon conclusion, it is clear to me that you are not involved, you may return in a capacity more suited to your … talents. If you are involved …'

Bogand stepped aside, showing Neville the door. Neville was numb. He could see that there was no way of convincing Bogand: his mind had been made up. His legs felt heavy as they carried him to the door. As he crossed the gaping doorway, he found himself not in the black corridor of the Department of Mysteries, but face-to-face with a caged Chimaera.

He was suspended. Disgraced. But the real kicker was that he had now lost all the resources he had had at his disposal. No potions, no special Portkeys, nothing.

Neville's feet led him to the lifts, which lurched into life when he pressed the button for the Atrium. Regardless of his suspension, he had to get to the bottom of this. If Harry was Death … He would need a way to get in to St Mungo's without alerting Bogand. He had an impulsive urge to Apparate there immediately and simply get to Lazarus by force.

But he needed a real plan, and he could not do it alone; Bogand knew his modus operandi too well. He considered Hermione: she was certainly brilliant, but there was no way Neville could persuade her to participate in such a caper. Bill … Neville could not ask him to do something so stupid and dangerous, especially after he had already been attacked by Harry.

That left … Ron. He had been a mess the last time Neville saw him, but perhaps he might regard this as a way to redeem himself. And, after all, if they got caught, was there really a difference between Azkaban and Ron's current living conditions? Yes, thought Neville, Ron would do nicely. He turned on the spot and Disapparated.

Neville gave Ron's front door three swift knocks. It slowly opened, seemingly of its own accord. The stench of rum seeped out from the dark corridor, not quite as strong as it had been the previous day, but still uncomfortable. Carefully, Neville stepped over the threshold.

Lumos!

His wandlight revealed utter devastation: shards of glass lay scattered over the floor, the wooden floorboards were carpeted with stains, and the remains of a fallen chandelier glittered nearby. It looked like the aftermath of an attack. Maybe somebody had gotten to Ron before he had?

'Ron?' he called, not very hopeful. No reply.

Homenum Revelio!

His wand spun in his hand and pointed towards the staircase off to the left. It did not look particularly safe; there were two steps missing and the others were so worn they looked as though Alice's weight would break them, let alone his own. Not for the first time, he wished Snape had passed on the knowledge behind broomless flight.

Gripping on to the banister for support, Neville climbed the stairs one by one. They creaked mutinously, but by some miracle, none collapsed. Once on the landing, his wand directed him through the first doorway to the left: no door, just a doorway.

Beyond was a bedroom that matched the hallway below. The wallpaper was peeling, there was no bed: a battered mattress lay where a bed might have been, and the window was blocked by a wooden door, presumably the one that had once lived in the empty doorframe. Ron was splayed across the floor, surrounded by photos. He was examining one so closely that his long, lank hair completely covered it.

'Ron,' said Neville quietly.

With visible effort, Ron raised his head and peered at Neville through red, blotchy eyes. There was no recognition there.

'Ron,' said Neville, 'it's me.'

And then Ron did something unexpected. He drew his wand and threw what looked like a Stunner at Neville. In his surprise, Neville barely had time to bat it away. Before Ron had another chance to strike, Neville Disarmed him. Neville did not know what was more disheartening: the fact that Ron had tried to attack him, or the ease with which he was overcome.

Ron's shoulders hunched in defeat, and he looked back down at the photo. 'Kill me, then.' It was an order, not a request.

'I'm not here to kill you,' said Neville. He edged closer to Ron, and his nest of photographs, until he could see them quite clearly in the wandlight.

There were pictures of Molly Weasley – both in her prime, surprisingly slender and reminiscent of Ginny, and as Neville remembered her: frumpy, worried, but full of love. He spotted the twins, young and wholesome, faces alight with mischief. There was a photo of Ron and Harry playing exploding snap, with Hermione nose-deep in a book. Neville smiled sadly. The Hermione in the photo shot increasingly annoyed looks at her friends as the game got out of hand. In another photo, Ron had Harry in a headlock and was grinning victoriously at camera. There were many other photos, partly hidden: the Quidditch team in their sixth year, a picture of the entire DA just before Christmas and – Neville's heart somersaulted – Luna and Hannah.

With some effort, Neville tore his eyes from Hannah. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind of the bubbling memories.

'Ron, I'm here to ask for your help.'

Ron looked up at Neville as though Neville had told him that Voldemort had returned.

'My … help?'

'Yes, if you're prepared to give it.'

Ron's eyes narrowed. 'Who are you?'

Neville gaped. True, it had been some years since Ron had seen him sober, but to forget who he was completely?

'It's me, Neville … Neville Longbottom.'

It was Ron's turn to gape. 'Neville?' he whispered. 'But you were … and now you're … is that really you?'

'Yes, Ron, it's really me.' Neville's curiosity got the better of him. 'What – What happened to you, mate?'

'You haven't heard the rumours?' muttered Ron bitterly.

'I have, but I'm not one to believe them.'

Ron's face contorted with grief. The lines were so deep, Neville would not have been surprised if he learned that this was his resting expression.

'We may have won the war,' said Ron quietly, 'but we lost in the end.'

The photo Ron was holding dropped out his hands. Neville crouched down and picked it up. Ginny was wearing a dress of purest gold and, unusually, her flaming red hair fell in loose curls. She made a series of faces up at Neville, who felt a chill run down his spine. She looked so … alive, so unlike the girl who lay in St Mungo's, never to speak again. And this time, Neville was unable to quell the memory of that night …

Neville was duelling furiously with Fenrir Greyback. He had lost his footing. The werewolf, sensing victory, sent a purple, sickly-looking curse at Neville. It met a shield that Neville had not erected. He looked up.

'You're welcome!' yelled Ron, who sent curse after curse at Greyback.

Neville joined him and, for the first time, Neville saw fear in Greyback's eyes.

'Stupefy!' cried Neville, and his spell struck true, right in the groin.

'NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!'

Neville spun around, bewildered, and spotted Molly Weasley throwing off her cloak and running straight at Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix spun on the spot, roaring with laughter at the sight of her new challenger.

'OUT OF MY WAY!'

Dumbstruck, Luna, Hermione and Ginny stepped aside, and with a swipe of her wand, Molly Weasley began to duel. Neville was rooted to the spot as Molly Weasley's wand slashed and twirled, and Bellatrix Lestrange's smile became a snarl. Jets of light flew from both wands, and the floor around the witches' feet became hot and cracked: both women were fighting to kill.

A few students ran forwards, trying to come to Mrs Weasley's aid, but she rebuffed them. Neville started running towards them: it was him, he had to kill Bellatrix. It was his right.

'What will happen to your children when I've killed you?' taunted Bellatrix, capering as Mrs Weasley's curses danced around her. 'When Mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?'

'You – will – never – touch –'

Bellatrix's Killing Curse soared beneath Mrs Weasley's outstretched arm and hit her squarely in the chest, directly over her heart.

Mrs Weasley's mask of fury froze, and her eyes seemed to bulge: for the tiniest space of time, she knew what had happened, and then she toppled, and silence swept across the Great Hall.

'NO!'

Ginny's scream tore through the Great Hall, terrible and wounded. She charged at Bellatrix, her wand held aloft like a sword. Bellatrix laughed again and danced around Ginny's curses with ease.

Neville was there, but before he could raise his wand, Bellatrix lassoed hers and Neville, Luna, Hermione, and all the other students who were clamouring to help Ginny were pushed back. The air around the duelling witches crackled. Neville charged again, but was blasted backwards from the glass-like prism. He tried again, and again, and again, but could not break through.

And meanwhile, Ginny was ducking and weaving Bellatrix's spells, but her luck was running out.

'Miss your mummy, dearie?' cried Bellatrix. She slashed her wand through the air, and her curse hit true.

Ginny flew, almost gracefully, through the air and landed practically at the feet of her brother Bill, who was desperately muttering counter-jinxes to Bellatrix's construction.

But Ginny was not done. Through a veil of tears, she spluttered, 'Avada Kedavra!'

A feeble jet of green light shot past Bellatrix's ear, and she laughed harder than ever.

'Stupid girl, you've got to mean it! Crucio!'

Ginny writhed in pain, Neville threw every counter-jinx he knew at the barrier, and Weasleys were throwing themselves at it, and Harry appeared from the dead, and still Bellatrix held the curse. Longer, and longer.

And, finally, Bill brought down the enchantment, and bodies were rushing at Bellatrix, whose smile froze. She locked eyes with Neville, whose heart was thundering against his chest. His Killing Curse struck her neck, and in its cruel light, her face registered fear, and she crumpled to the ground, never to move again.

Ginny never recovered.

'Yes, we lost too much,' said Neville, his throat constricted. He placed the photo of Ginny back on the ground. 'But you know what I realised? They – all of them – would want us to live our lives to the fullest. Otherwise they'd have died for nothing …'

'Save it,' said Ron, 'I've heard it all before.'

Neville took one look at Ron and stood up. It was hard to look at him and not be utterly disgusted.

'Look, I'm not here to save you, Ron. I'm here because I need your help. By all means drink your life away when we're done, but I need you sober for the next few days.'

Ron glared up at Neville like a cornered animal. 'You think I'm just some … some drunk?' Neville gestured to the empty bottles of Firewhiskey that lay strewn around the bedroom. 'That … that just helps me to sleep, mate. You don't understand …'

'I don't?'

'You don't know how it feels!'

Neville glowered at the snivelling wretch that was once a war hero.

'I don't know how it feels?' breathed Neville. He was struggling to keep hold of his anger.

'You've never had … you've never lost … you don't know …'

'My parents were tortured to insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange! I can't even remember what they were like! My mum's still in St Mungo's a few beds down from Ginny, who I know you haven't so much as visited since it happened. Did you know that Harry visits every week? Some brother you are.'

'I –'

'My wife was killed by Rodolphus Lestrange a few years ago, but you didn't know anything about that, did you? You weren't at the wedding and you certainly weren't at the funeral. Tell me, do you even remember her name?'

'Of –'

'And Luna was killed a few weeks ago while you've been holed up in here. Harry could have done with his best mate's support, but you were here mourning those who you lost years ago. And you know what? Harry doesn't resent you for it. The rest of us – me, Bill, your father, even Hermione – were there for him, and we couldn't believe that you weren't. But I guess that's you, isn't it? When things get tough for Harry, you're the first one to walk out on him –'

Ron snarled and pounced at Neville, who sidestepped. He watched without pity as Ron crashed into the broken door, which snapped in two and fell away. Moonlight poured into the room from the window, and in it Ron looked quite demented.

'You've thrown everything away,' said Neville. 'You could've had it all! You were the best young Auror recruit of the generation. And she loved you!'

Ron clutched the golden locket around his neck and let out the moan of a wounded dog. 'Stop!'

'Nobody knew why, but Hermione loved you with all of her heart. You threw it away, and for what?'

'Don't!'

'She moved to Australia so she didn't have to see you like this. She wanted to preserve her memory of you – Ron the hero who helped bring down Voldemort. Ron the Gryffindor. She didn't want to see what I see now: a snivelling little coward.'

Ron looked utterly helpless and broken. He was adrift in a sea of wood and glass.

'Did you know that I came here yesterday?' pressed Neville. 'The guy who killed Luna kidnapped my daughter and I wanted your help tracking her down. You were too fucking wasted to regain consciousness.'

Ron's mouth kept opening and closing gormlessly. Neville sighed and turned away. It looked as though he would have to break into St Mungo's without Ron's help.

He was halfway to the door when Ron cried, 'Wait!'

Neville turned back to him. There was a look of confusion etched across Ron's face.

'Your daughter's still missing?'

'No, I found her, and I've hidden her now.'

'Why do you need my help?'

'I'm hunting Luna's killer.'

'Why?' said Ron. 'You're not an Auror … don't you work in the Department of Mysteries?'

'Yes,' said Neville, 'I'm doing this as a favour to Harry. He's too torn up to do it himself, and he doesn't trust the Ministry to catch the guy.' Ron snorted, and for a fraction of a second, Neville saw the old Ron. 'I'm close to finding her killer. The problem is that the only eye witness is lying in a bed in St Mungo's, and he's heavily guarded by Aurors. I have to get at him, but I need a distraction. And I have to act quickly, or Death will have the eye witness killed.'

Ron paled. 'Death?'

Neville sighed: he had not meant to let that slip. 'Yes, it's my understanding that the killer is someone masquerading as Death. He's after Harry's Hallows, and he's got his hands on two of them already.'

'But … Death? Isn't that just an old witch's tale?'

'Of course it is. It's a Dark Wizard hiding behind the old fairy tale.'

Ron's chapped lips set into a grim line. 'Do you have Polyjuice?' he asked.

'No,' said Neville, 'I've run out, and it takes –'

'A month to brew, I know. D'you reckon a month will be too long? Won't this Death guy have killed the eye witness by then?'

Neville leant down and helped Ron to his feet. Ron swayed momentarily, as though not used to being upright, before steadying himself.

'I bloody hope not.'