Disclaimer: Nope.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for the awesome reviews! I'm glad you liked the chapter between Snape and Draco. Yes, Snape definitely has to go through a lot of stresses.
There is one comment I disagree with, but I also understand where you're coming from. I think it's true that it would take an awful lot for Harry to give up the Marauder's Map. It's beloved to him, and it's one of the only things he has of his father. However, Snape used the one thing that will always make Harry upset - the fact that him having the map could put the people he cares about in danger. Despite the fact that it has a password to lock and unlock it, Harry knows Peter Pettigrew knows them both, and he went unnoticed for three years as Ron's pet rat. Harry isn't willing to take chances with stuff like that anymore. So I do think he would give up the map, but as you can see, he didn't want to.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. This tries to fill in a plothole I've always noticed about Rowling's novels. Why is it that no one really knew what happened to Neville's parents? Frank and Alice Longbottom were apparently two beloved Aurors, but yet, no students, other than when Harry found out in fourth year and the rest of his friends found out when they visited Arthur in fifth year, knew that they had been tortured into insanity? Bellatrix and her cohorts were horrible, notorious monsters who got sent to Azkaban for life for what they'd done, and their trial was very public. Yet no one stares at Neville or mentions it to him? I've always found that strange. This is my attempt at an explanation for it, but I still don't really like it. If anyone has any thoughts on this, please let me know.
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Harry was fuming as he and his friends entered the Great Hall. How dare Malfoy say those things! It wasn't like it was anything new - it was Draco Malfoy, after all. He was always spewing a fountain of nasty comments, but ever since the ferret incident, his tongue had only become more vicious. The look on his face just now had been so ... horrible.
And to add insult to injury, Snape was completely back to his old self. It was as if Harry had never stayed in his quarters. Well, if the end of last night was any indication ... he remembered how Snape had called him stupid before he'd handed over the map. He hadn't even owned it for a year, but he couldn't deny that there was a hollow, empty space in his heart where it had once been. It sounded rather silly and melodramatic, but he wanted something else of his father's so badly. And worse still, Snape was the person who now had it, a person who despised the very ground James Potter had walked on. Harry didn't know the history between the two men, and right now, he honestly didn't care.
Isn't this what you wished for? Harry thought to himself. He remembered yesterday morning when they'd been sitting in Snape's kitchen, and Harry had spat at him to act normal. Now he was, and it was hurting Harry. Make up your damned mind, he told himself furiously.
But indeed, Snape was being a right bastard again. It took an awful lot of guts for Neville, of all people, to stand up to him; he knew how afraid the round-faced boy still was of his Potions teacher. The boggart incident had only made Snape act even worse towards him, if that was even possible. And the nerve, the unmitigated gall of the man to take so many points from Gryffindor when it had been Malfoy who was the aggressor! Snape was always doing things like that - refusing to see who was at fault. His precious Malfoy could do no wrong.
Harry was just so angry, and there was a fierce scowl on Ron's face. Neville looked sick, and even Hermione, who often tried to reason away Snape's behavior, looked upset. Ron kept muttering under his breath, calling Snape many foul words that Harry knew he'd never say in front of Mrs. Weasley. He described Malfoy using the same terms, snarling, "How dare he accuse you of wanting to die to get attention! That little ..."
Harry knew Ron and Hermione had told the rest of the Gryffindors over breakfast yesterday about what had happened on Friday night, and so he was prepared for rumors to spread. Malfoy must have found out, he reasoned, the boy's malicious taunts still filtering through his mind. He couldn't be angry with his friends, though - he had agreed that it was okay if they spread the word. Thankfully, though, they had spent the majority of the day away from people, so Harry hadn't had to bear the brunt of all the gossip. However, he knew he couldn't hide away forever. If there was one thing Harry Potter wasn't known for, it was cowardice.
But he wasn't prepared for what happened when he stepped foot into the Great Hall. The sound was so loud that he wanted to turn around and step back out. "What is going on?" He had to shout to make himself heard over the noise.
Hermione was running to the Gryffindor table, her face full of anxiety. Feeling like he had no choice but to follow, Harry walked at a slower pace with Neville and Ron beside him, dreading what he would hear.
When people noticed that he had walked in, all the noise died down while everyone stared at him. Harry, unfortunately, was used to these looks by now. Whether he was being looked at in awe because he'd apparently vanquished Voldemort, or accusation because he'd talked to a snake without realizing he'd spoken another language and Slytherin's monster was on the loose, everyone was always staring at him. And now, as he was experiencing his fourth year of this, he was getting bloody sick of it.
When he realized that many people had the latest edition of the Daily Prophet in front of them, Harry groaned inwardly. Oh no. Had Friday night's events somehow made the paper?
"It wasn't us. We swear it wasn't us, Harry!" Hermione babbled instantly as soon as Harry reluctantly took his seat at the Gryffindor table. "We never told the Daily Prophet about Friday night."
Harry nodded at Hermione, not even needing her to say that - his friends knew better than to do such a thing.
"So it's really true, then," Parvati Patil said from down the table. "Ron and Hermione were telling the truth? You were really going to be Hogwarts champion?"
"And there really was a Death Eater masquerading as Professor Moody this whole time?" Dean exclaimed.
"Why would we lie about something like that?" Ron barked at them. "Of course it was true!"
"Give it here," Harry said, knowing that he should at least be aware of what the stupid paper was saying about him now.
Unfortunately, the article was written by Rita Skeeter. Harry despised her style of writing, and this one wasn't any better. She painted Harry as an attention-seeker who was always looking for enemies, and it was just his luck that he happened to find one this time. There was one part, though, that he agreed with - she discussed how lax the security must be at Hogwarts in order to allow a Death Eater to have so much access to the school. She lambasted Dumbledore for the problems, and speculated on how much longer he would be the school's Headmaster.
Harry could barely eat his breakfast due to all the stares and whispers he was receiving. Now he realized why Malfoy had said what he had to him. Of course he would believe Skeeter's drivel about him being an attention-seeker. He still remembered the glower on Malfoy's face, but he couldn't help but feel that there was something more to it. There was an extra energy to the animosity Malfoy had displayed, but Harry couldn't put his finger on what it was.
"How do you think Skeeter got her information?" Hermione asked, a deep scowl contorting her features.
"Maybe one of the staff told her. Bet it was Snape," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of French toast.
Hermione frowned at Ron, but didn't say anything. After how Snape had treated them moments ago, Harry appreciated that she didn't come to his defense. Harry wasn't about to, either - the anger he felt towards the man bubbled inside him like one of the stupid cauldrons he'd had to clean last night.
"I bet it was," Ginny agreed from next to Ron. "Don't listen to him, Harry."
"You all right, mate?" Fred asked. "You're not letting all those tossers get to you, I hope?"
"Yeah, we're the attention-seekers around here, not you," George added.
"Good on you for catching that monster," Fred said.
"We'd love to know how you did it," George said.
"Bet Percy won't be so pompous now, eh?" Fred chortled. "His oh-so-wonderful boss doesn't look so squeaky clean anymore."
"He sure as hell won't be asking Mr. Crouch to wipe his arse from now on," George snickered. "He'll be joining his son in Azkaban, I'll wager."
"You two, don't be so mean about your brother," Hermione chastised.
"Oh please, Hermione. Percy's a git and you know it," Ron snorted.
"Indeed, little brother," Fred chuckled.
"And git is being nice," George laughed. Ginny giggled at her brothers' antics.
Hermione just scowled, but didn't say anything else. Harry had to agree with the Weasleys - he had never liked Percy as much as the rest of the family, and the way he hero-worshiped Mr. Crouch, like he could do absolutely no wrong, was rather ... disturbing.
"Say, where's Neville?" asked Ron suddenly. "He was just with us a minute ago."
Harry stared around, realizing that indeed, Neville wasn't there. He gazed around the Great Hall, but didn't see him anywhere. "He must have left," he said, feeling supremely guilty that he hadn't noticed his friend do so.
"Why would he do that?" Ron asked. "It's not like he's the one getting stared at."
Hermione was continuing to read the paper, and she let out a horrified gasp as she did so. "Oh, my God," she breathed.
"What? What is it?" Harry asked as he skimmed through the rest of the article. "Oh no," he said as he realized exactly why Neville had left the Great Hall.
The crimes of Barty Crouch, Jr. were listed in black and white, including his hand in the torture of Neville's parents, Alice and Frank Longbottom.
"What? What's the matter?" Ron demanded. "I don't understand."
It seemed like not many people at the table had seen what Harry and Hermione had yet. To Harry's sheer irritation, they were too busy gawping at him to continue reading the article. But maybe that was a good thing - Neville didn't need all the unwanted attention. Unfortunately, though, he knew this wouldn't last for long. Before the end of the meal, everyone would be talking about it. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that the Gryffindor fourth-years would share the fact that Neville had been the one to raise his hand and name the Cruciatus Curse as one of the three Unforgivables. He still marveled at the sheer bravery that must have taken.
"I have to find Neville," Harry told his friends as he instantly got up from his seat.
"He may want to be alone right now, Harry," Hermione said quietly.
"And I'll leave him alone, if he wants that," Harry reassured her. "I promise."
He left the room very quickly, paying no attention to the continuous stares and whispers that buzzed around him. Incredible sympathy rose up inside him - this was the last thing he wanted to see Neville go through.
If he had learned anything about the shy, quiet boy at all, it was the fact that Neville liked to hide away when he was depressed. Today was Sunday, so he knew many of his classmates would be hanging around the common room and the grounds. He figured the dormitory was the best place to look first.
As he was walking back, he couldn't help but continue to ponder on how Skeeter had gotten her ruddy information. She knew an awful lot about the confrontation between McGonagall, Snape, Dumbledore, Harry, Neville, and Crouch - the amount of detail she knew made Harry sure that the person who had told Skeeter had been in the room during Crouch's confession. But how was that possible? He and Neville sure as heck hadn't said anything, and obviously, McGonagall wouldn't do such a thing.
That only left Dumbledore and Snape as the culprits, unless someone else had snuck into the school and made themselves invisible. Harry wouldn't put it past them - the oh-so-wonderful wards Hogwarts was famed for having weren't much good, were they? Peter Pettigrew had been able to sneak in undetected, and Quirrell had had Voldemort on the back of his head for almost an entire year. And now, Crouch had been added to the mix with Dumbledore being none the wiser. What was one more person?
Because as much as Harry was furious with both Dumbledore and Snape, he was doubtful that either of them would have told the press. He couldn't blame Ron for thinking it was Snape, but Harry truly didn't think it a possibility. Harry's instincts screamed that Snape just wouldn't do such a thing. His contradictory emotions about the man were driving him into utter madness.
His heart still ached when he thought about the Marauder's Map. If he'd still had it in his possession, he would have used that to find Neville rather than just taking a guess on where he'd be. He remembered how Snape had snapped and snarled last year about what an arrogant brat James Potter was right in front of Harry - the memory still made him seethe. How lovely, to disparage an orphan's dead father straight to his face.
Harry did notice, though, that Snape had never said anything about Harry's mother. They'd gone to school at the same time - been in the same year, in fact - so why had Snape never said anything about her? Well, maybe that's a good thing, Harry reasoned as he arrived at Gryffindor Tower. Maybe he doesn't have anything nice to say about her either, the bloody arsehole.
When Harry muttered the password and climbed in through the portrait hole, the common room was thankfully empty except for a very few students. They called out to him, but Harry only waved at them and continued on his way. He had to find his friend; Neville might need him.
He entered his silent dormitory. "Neville?" he called softly. "Neville, are you here? Are you okay?"
"Harry." Neville's shaky voice came from behind his bedcurtains. Obviously, the boy was not at all okay.
Harry came walking over to Neville's bed. "I can leave you alone if you want," he said, unsure of how to comfort the other boy. He knew how traumatized Neville had been by the whole experience of being taught by Crouch, and now, having the entire school know about it ... Harry shuddered, barely able to imagine what the other boy was going through.
"No, it's okay. You can come and sit with me," Neville said.
So Harry did. He sat on the edge of Neville's bed, his heart clenching when he saw that his friend had been crying. There were still tear tracks on his cheeks, and he looked devastated. Harry didn't comment or ask any questions, knowing that if Neville wanted to say anything, he would. Harry would just sit here in silent support for as long as he needed to.
After several minutes, Neville finally spoke. "I left breakfast as soon as I realized the story was in the Prophet," he said quietly. "I didn't even read it, but I knew that Crouch's crimes were going to be mentioned. I'm right, aren't I?"
Harry nodded sadly. "I'm sorry, Neville," he murmured. "I don't know who told the press. Skeeter wrote as if she knows exactly what happened, including the part about me realizing that something was wrong that night and how me, McGonagall, and Snape went to investigate."
"Do you reckon it was Snape?" Neville asked, sniffling.
"Ron thinks it was," Harry replied. "But I ... honestly, I don't think so. He was acting like a right git as normal today, but I kinda ... I'm so confused, Neville. He's being as horrible as he usually is, but I somehow don't think it was him."
Neville nodded. "I don't think so either," he admitted.
After another long silence, Neville sighed dejectedly and looked at Harry. "I never thought it was fair that for all this time, people have done nothing but whisper and stare at you. I felt awful when all everyone did was hero worship you and call you the Boy Who Lived. It's almost mocking, isn't it? You lived, while your parents died. It almost sounds like a taunt. I know how much you hate the attention, but the people in this school just won't stop doing it. And two years ago, I didn't think for a second that you were attacking anyone. So you can talk to snakes. So what? Who cares? The day before, everyone had been worshiping the ground you walked on. Then, just because you talked to that snake, they all looked at you like you'd suddenly gone evil. And remember first year, when we lost all those points for Gryffindor? A bunch of the Gryffindors looked at you like you were a traitor."
Harry nodded, remembering that all too well. It had bloody hurt when Angelina, Alicia, Oliver, and Katie had started referring to him as simply "the Seeker" during their Quidditch practices. It was petty, vindictive, and so unfair. He hadn't meant to lose all those points; they acted like he'd done it on purpose. "They treated you horribly, too," he told Neville.
"Not as badly as you," Neville protested, gaining momentum as his tone grew more confident. "They're all just so fickle about you. They can't seem to make up their minds whether they like you or they don't. You're either a hero or a villain, no in-between. I always felt awful for you."
Harry sighed. "Sometimes I don't know what's worse, being worshiped or despised," he whispered. "I know what you mean about the whole Boy Who Lived thing. I've always loathed that title. And I hate how they look at me like they're so sorry for me."
"I know," Neville said, his voice growing quiet again. "And do you know what the worst part is, Harry? There's always been this awful, selfish part of me that was glad that many of the students don't know my story. Honestly, I thought more people would. The trials of Crouch and the Lestranges were very public, and my parents were very well-loved in the wizarding community. I suppose that many parents didn't want to tell their children about what happened to my parents. To them, yours is a story of triumph, while mine is one of sorrow. But really, our stories are the same. We both lost our parents to You-Know-Who's reign. Gran's always telling me to count my blessings, because mine are still alive. Maybe she's right, but ..."
"You still lost yours, Neville," Harry said softly. "Yeah, they're still alive, but they don't know who you are. And it sounds like they ... they can't be healed, right?" he said, hating to say those words.
Neville nodded miserably. "No," he whispered.
"We are the same, Neville," Harry said sadly. "And I don't think you were being selfish to be happy you weren't getting all the attention. There are times when I think I've gotten used to it, but then days like today happen and I know I'm not. Believe me, I'm not angry with you for being glad about that. I'm just sorry you'll have to deal with it now."
Neville's eyes were full of a mixture of sadness and anger. "I can't stand all the questions I know I'm going to be asked," he said bluntly. "They'll ask me what it was like to have tea with Crouch. They'll ask me how I feel about the whole thing. They'll say how sorry they all are, and that they can't believe the Death Eaters would do such a thing." His face grew red with fury. "And my Gran will expect me to answer every single one of them," he said, his voice shaking with barely suppressed rage.
With dawning horror, Harry came to a sudden, terrible conclusion. It had been poking at him for a little while, but it was only now, looking into Neville's face, that it truly hit him. He realized that the expression Neville wore when talking about his Gran was the same one Harry wore when talking about the Dursleys. "The more I hear about your Gran, the more I want to yell at her. You don't deserve to be treated like that," Harry said with conviction.
"She hates me because I'm not my dad," Neville blurted out, but an instant later he looked truly horrified that such a thing had come out of his mouth.
"You want to know a secret?" Harry asked on a whim, suddenly feeling like if he could tell anyone about this, it was Neville, a boy whose eyes spoke of demons no one should have to face. "It's something Ron and Hermione don't even know. Promise you won't tell anyone?"
"Of course, Harry. I won't tell a soul," Neville swore, and Harry knew he was telling the truth.
"My aunt hates me because she hated my mum," Harry admitted, feeling a sudden weight lift off him. "She and my uncle don't treat me very well. They're always yelling at me and blaming my magic for everything. They make me do all the chores, and they don't make my cousin Dudley do any at all. He and his friends are always bullying me."
Harry did not speak of his ten years living in the cupboard under the stairs, however. Neville had shown himself to be more than trustworthy, but Harry couldn't help the deep pit of shame and despair that always swallowed him whenever he remembered those years. He did not want a single soul to ever find out about that.
"That's just horrible," Neville gasped, his eyes wide. "Have you ever told anyone?"
"I tried, once," Harry admitted quietly. "I told a teacher in primary school. She called my aunt and uncle, and they told her I was lying. She believed them. After that, I never told anyone again. Ron and Hermione know a bit, but I don't think they realize how bad it is." Slowly, he explained what had happened the summer before his second year - Dobby, the Masons, the bars on his window, and the Weasley boys coming to rescue him in the flying Ford Anglia.
"Merlin," Neville breathed. "How could they have not seen it after that?"
"Because I didn't want them to," Harry said softly. "I downplayed it. I didn't want them to feel sorry for me." He sighed. "What about you? Have you ever told anyone?"
"I've made jokes about it, or made it sound like it's no big deal," Neville said somberly. "Remember when I talked about my great Uncle Algie dropping me out of a window to see if I had any magic?"
Harry nodded, the memory of his first-year Welcoming Feast flying into his mind. "I thought that was rather strange, at the time," he said, feeling terrible. "You made it sound like that was what wizarding families did to see if their kids had magic. I'm ... I'm so sorry I didn't realize."
Neville shook his head. "I'm glad you didn't. Like with you and the Weasleys and Hermione, I didn't want you to." He looked stricken. "And now, Gran is going to say I'm ashamed of what Mum and Dad did for me, the sacrifice they made for me, because I don't feel like answering a thousand questions about having tea with Crouch and how I feel about him going back to Azkaban."
Everything Neville was saying made a horrible kind of sense. Neville's low self-confidence in his magical skills, the way he was always downplaying his good qualities, the fear in his eyes whenever he mentioned the woman, the incredible longing when he talked about his parents that reminded Harry so much of whenever he looked in a mirror ... Merlin, this was all so awful.
Harry was incredibly unsure of what to say to make Neville feel better. Another memory came to mind - last year, when Professor Lupin had asked him to picture his grandmother's clothes, he'd said in a terrified voice, "But I don't want the boggart to turn into her, either!" The fear in his voice had been palpable, and Harry could, unfortunately, understand it much better now.
"Your Gran doesn't need to know whether you're answering their questions or not," Harry finally said. "You're not with her, are you? My aunt and uncle are always telling me not to ASK questions. I think I've been obeying that a little too much." He thought of last year, and all the questions he should have asked Professor Lupin about his parents when he had the chance. "But that's not the case anymore. I'm sick of Hogwarts' security being the way it is. Mountain trolls, rat Animagi, polyjuiced Death Eaters - you name it. I'm going to start asking why such things keep happening, and why nobody does anything about it. So I get to ask questions that concern the security of this entire school, and you don't have to answer questions that are none of anybody's bloody business. Is it a deal?"
Neville looked close to tears again. "But I'm not brave like you, Harry. I can't be like you."
"It's not about being like me, Neville. But you are brave, and the fact that you think you're not is rubbish," Harry told him bluntly. "It doesn't matter what a certain stupid woman thinks. I'm your friend, and I'm here to tell you that you are brave."
Neville smiled tremulously at him. "Thanks, Harry," he said quietly. "That means a lot."