peb 3

by Lazydaily

hp

11. Chapter 11

Neville glances up from his book at the sound of the train compartment door sliding open, and smiles when he sees that it's Harry standing there, trunk in hand. "Hey," he says, and shoves his bookmark into place so that he can stow his book. "Had a good holiday?"

"Hi, Neville," Harry says, grinning back. The expression brightens his whole face; it's a relief to see. He'd seemed… washed out, before the break. Tired, distracted—but now, dressed in stylish casual robes and with light back in his green eyes, he looks much better. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

Harry shoves his trunk—featherlight, obviously—up onto the shelf and flops down onto the seat across from Neville. "That's good. Get up to much?"

"Not really," Neville says. "Just, you know, homework. My gran didn't really… want me going out, so I didn't." She's been paranoid since the Azkaban breakout, and it's not like Neville doesn't understand, so even though it was frustrating to be stuck inside and not be able to do much of anything over the break, he didn't complain.

Harry looks sympathetic, at least. "I suppose she'd be worried."

"Yeah," Neville says, and looks away for a minute, out the window. They're still at King's Cross, though set to pull away any minute; he's not sure where their other friends are. Then again, the absence of Ron's presence is probably why Harry didn't just skip past the compartment entirely—he's been surly recently any time Harry shows up to study with them. Still angry about his distance at start of term, maybe. "Was Sirius the same?"

Harry gives a half shrug. "He's never been one to stay inside just because someone wants to kill him," he says, and Neville snorts—it shouldn't be funny, but it sort of is. "And anyway, I got invited to the Farleys' ball, so we had to go out at least for that. And if we didn't get murdered there…"

"Oh, right," Neville says—Harry had mentioned briefly being invited to the ball before the break started. "How'd that go, then?"

"Alright." Harry scrunches up his face briefly. "I never really know for sure how well I actually managed not to look like an idiot, but I think I did okay."

"I'm sure you did fine," Neville says, as reassuring as he can be. He can't imagine any situation in which Harry would look like an idiot—he's always so polished nowadays, so clever. He's… calculated, even when he's speaking without really thinking like he does in Umbridge's class.

"Glad you think so," Harry replies, grinning. "Oh—and I've got something to share with you, Hermione, and Ron."

"What?"

"It's…" Harry hesitates, glances at the compartment door, and says, "Hold on." He gets up and locks it, then pulls down the blind. "Sorry."

Neville shrugs. "I get it."

"Yeah." Harry takes his seat again and says, "Remus started teaching me the Patronus Charm. I… still can't join your club, but if I teach you—or try, anyway, I still haven't entirely got it myself—will you teach everyone else?"

Neville blinks, and then begins to smile. "That would be brilliant. You know, Hermione and Penelope—Clearwater, I mean—they'd been looking it up in books, because it's supposed to be such a powerful protection against Dark creatures, but they couldn't make sense of anything they found."

"Remus showed me some of the passages," Harry says with a nod. "But it doesn't really make sense unless you have an explanation of what it all actually means, practically, I mean. But I can try to help."

"Great." Neville beams. "Reopen the blinds? Just in case—better not make people suspicious, right?"

Harry laughs. "Even a Gryffindor can learn!" And hops up again to reopen the blinds and unlock the compartment door. "Just didn't want anyone walking into the middle of us blatantly undermining Umbridge, you know."

"I get it," Neville says. "Merlin, she's been tough on you. Maybe she'll have calmed down over the break?"

Harry snorts. "Be worse, probably."

"Probably." Neville sighs. "Just wish there was something I could do."

Immediately, Harry shakes his head, even bringing up a hand to wave Neville off. "Better not," he says. "You're better off without her attention on you."

"You're probably right."

"Of course I'm right," Harry says, affecting Draco Malfoy's snide drawl. He manages to hold a straight face for about five seconds before laughing, and Neville joins him, happy to see his friend happy. "In all seriousness, though, Neville—don't get on her bad side." As he speaks, he touches the back of his left hand lightly. Neville can't see anything there when he looks, but Harry's gaze has gone a little distant in the way that speaks of one of his secrets.

"I'll do my best," Neville promises. It's the least he can do. Harry doesn't ask for much, but… there's some hidden burden on him, something he won't talk about—Neville doesn't know what it is, but something kept him away at the beginning of term, and he suspects it's that same something that causes his attention to drift off in conversation sometimes, and that drives the studiousness he'd been showing before Christmas. He spends a lot of time reading now, or… off somewhere by himself. It's not obvious, not really, but Neville knows Harry well by now and knows when there's something on his mind.

Beneath them there's a shudder and then the train starts to move, and they exchange an excited glance. It's always a bit thrilling, even now in their third year, to be headed back to Hogwarts on the train. Neville knows that he can't feel the same as Harry does about the castle, having been raised in the magical world—he's heard Harry and Hermione talk together about their introductions to magic, and the real magic of Hogwarts beyond all else, the way it stood head and shoulders above the rest. For Neville, it's more… the legacy of the place. The school his parents had attended, and his grandparents, and generations of Longbottoms stretching back hundreds of years. His family is old and has had plenty of talented wixen, and almost all of them attended Hogwarts. So for Harry and Hermione, the castle is magic itself; for Neville, it's history. And he loves it. He loves the excitement of the journey to get there, and the freedom from his grandmother's expectations to be found within the castle's walls. Not, of course, that the school doesn't come with its own set of expectations—there are always eyes on him, because he's the Boy-Who-Lived and everyone still gets a bee in their bonnet about it every once in a while. But he'd been around in the magical world, and so some of the shine at least has worn off, especially in recent years as everyone has gotten to know boring dumpy Neville Longbottom, and not Heir Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived, who'd occasionally made his appearance in the papers growing up.

They sit together in silence for a while, listening to the rumble and clack of the train as it makes its way out of London and into the countryside, picking up speed once it's free of the city. Soon hills and fields are rolling past outside the window, and rain begins to fall from the heavy grey clouds above, a little slushy from the January cold—it's probably snowing at Hogwarts, and the thought makes Neville smile.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Harry says, and Neville looks over at him, meets his eyes. Something about his expression, his intent green gaze, makes Neville's gut squirm a little. It's startling, and hastily he looks down.

"Oh, just… looking forward to the snow," he says. "It was brilliant last Christmas, getting to see it all frozen."

"Yeah," Harry says, enthused. "Maybe there'll be snow enough for a snowball fight before classes start tomorrow morning?"

"Maybe," Neville says, and glances back up to share a smile. "That'd be fun—remember Sirius's snowball battle last year?"

"Oh, yeah! Remember when Malfoy—" Harry starts, and launches into a recollection. Neville settles back against his seat to listen, watching Harry gesture as he talks.

Part way through the story, there's a tap on the door and then it slides open. Harry pauses and looks over, as does Neville, to find a blonde Ravenclaw girl with strange jewelry and prettily braided hair has appeared, who Neville thinks he recognizes as… something Lovegood?

"Luna," Harry says, surprised—Luna, that's it—and then smiles. "Couldn't find a compartment?"

"I had one," she says, her voice soft and sweet, "but it developed a Nargle infestation, so I thought I might come find you."

Neville mouths Nargle to himself, confused, even as he sees Harry's expression turn stony.

"Do you want me to go get rid of the infestation?" he asks. "Sirius taught me another jinx over the break that might work nicely."

"Oh, no," Luna says. "It's fine. But, do you suppose I might sit with you?" She's looking at Neville.

"Yeah, come on," Harry says. "Neville, Luna; Luna, Neville. You two'll probably get along—I should have introduced you earlier, really."

Luna smiles brightly and comes to sit down. She sits next to Harry and nods politely to Neville. "Hello, Neville," she says. "Do you mind if I call you that?"

"Not at all," he says. "If you don't mind Luna."

"It is my name," she says, and both Neville and Harry laugh.

"How was your Christmas?" Harry asks her, and they settle into catching up a little, sharing stories—Neville ends up talking about the book he'd read over the break about the cultivation of roses.

"Oh, roses are one of my favourite flowers," Luna says, her dreamy voice suddenly filled with enthusiasm. "They're home to all of the most delicate creatures—excellent habitats, you know."

"Oh, uh, like what?" Neville asks, and then listens to a brief and bewildering lecture on something called a Tintabell, which is maybe some sort of fairy. He's never heard of them before, but Luna seems very knowledgeable.

As she comes to the end of her little speech, she says, "If you're interested, Neville, you should read my daddy's magazine. Here." She digs into the slightly worn leather backpack on the seat next to her and draws out a few copies of a magazine with a bright abstract design on its cover; the title declares it to be The Quibbler. "It's an excellent source for news about all the most important goings on."

"Okay," Neville says, and takes a copy; she hands one to Harry, too, and watches them keenly as they flip through. Neville thumbs past a few pages with stories and illustrations about hunts for rare magical creatures that, like the Tintabell, are either extremely obscure or imaginary. Neville decides to withhold judgement—he's taking Care of Magical Creatures this year, but can't call himself an expert. And then, on page six, he comes across an article entitled, Abbey Family Still Absent. His attention caught, he reads the article. It's about the disappearance of a small family, two muggleborns and their three children, from a town just outside London. The article doesn't state anything specific, but there's a clear implication; they'd disappeared just after Halloween, and the author, name unmentioned, had clearly considered something about it worth reporting. He looks up, startled, and finds Luna is still watching him. Harry is absorbed, and peering over the top of the copy of the magazine that Harry holds he finds that he's on the same page that Neville had found.

"This is very interesting," he tells Luna. "How often does your father print?"

"Not very often," she says, sounding regretful. "We don't have many subscribers, you see. But myself and my daddy consider ourselves to be seekers of truth in a world that's… sometimes blind. We see the hidden things others prefer to pretend don't exist at all."

"I see," Neville says, and carefully closes the magazine, folds it, and tucks it into one of the deep pockets in his robe. "I'll give it a read. And maybe you can get some more copies? I know some people who'd probably like it."

"I'll do that," Luna says. She smiles, first at Neville and then at Harry when he looks up from reading and gives them both one of those inscrutable looks he's developed.

"Definitely interesting," he says. "Maybe I'll send a copy to Sirius. Or tell him to subscribe."

Luna beams. "My daddy would be very pleased."

"No doubt." Harry puts his own copy of the magazine away, with the same care Neville had taken. "Thank you, Luna."

None of them really feels the need to address what Luna's given them directly, so they fall into easier chat, talking about winter holiday assignments—Harry and Neville sympathizing with Luna, remembering the second year classwork—and their hopes for the new term, mostly that Umbridge will get what's coming to her. Harry suggests that Luna's Nargles, which Neville has begun to suspect is code for something, should probably get the same, but Luna just shakes her head with a faint smile on her lips.

Intermittent conversation and breaks for the snack cart and then visits to the loo to change into school robes carry them all the way through the afternoon, past sunset. The lights flicker on in the compartment once it gets dark enough to need them, which Luna takes as a sign that she should be using the light for reading, not talking, and proceeds to immerse herself in a book. Neville suggests a game of cards to Harry, and they play a few hands of muggle Speed, which Hermione had taught them all—and regularly won at, her mind working faster than the rest of theirs could, so it was nice to have some fairer competition. And then Neville spots the lights of Hogsmeade approaching out the window, points it out to Harry, and they put away their cards and get ready to leave the train. It's not long after that that the train slows to a smooth stop in the station, and the three of them pile out of their compartment and onto the platform together, joining a laughing, chatting crowd of returning students headed for the roadway where the horseless carriages await to take them up to the castle.

Along the way, Neville spots Ron and Hermione, walking with Ginny, and waves at them; they press over through the crowd to join them. Hermione greets Harry warmly; Ron greets him warily, though with less hostility than he'd shown in the fall. Maybe the holiday had been enough time for him to calm down. Harry greets them in return and makes introductions; it turns out that the Weasleys already know Luna, and she and Ginny get to chatting, falling a little behind the third years as they wait in a queue for an empty carriage. Finally, their turn to all pile in comes up, and Neville clambers up first into the warm dim interior of the carriage, followed by Hermione, Harry, and the Weasleys. Luna is a minute behind, and when she finally joins them, she's greeted with raised eyebrows from both Harry and Hermione.

"Oh, I was only greeting the thestrals," she says, which causes Harry's expression to clear. Hermione, though, still looks as confused as Neville feels.

"Thestrals?" she says.

"Oh, yes," she says. "They pull the carriages. Lovely creatures, really—very gentle."

"Not that they look it," Harry mutters, drawing a soft laugh from Luna. Hermione just looks concerned for his sanity.

"Er, sorry," Neville says, because he can see Hermione gearing up for a comment that'll probably be rude in that unintentional way she sometimes has. "But what's a thestral?"

Harry turns a surprised look on him. "You can't see them?"

"… No?" Neville says, hesitant. "Should I?"

"It's not always straightforward," Luna says to Harry. "You couldn't until you came back to school, remember."

"Right," Harry says. "I'd just thought, well." He glances at Neville, uncomfortable. "But I suppose you were a baby when your parents died—you wouldn't remember it."

Neville flinches back a bit, shocked at the non sequitur. "What?"

"Thestrals are only visible to those who've witnessed death," Luna says, in a gentle voice. "Harry and I can see them, is all."

Neville swallows. "Oh."

"Sorry, Neville," Harry says. He leans forward and clasps Neville's arm briefly, his hand warm even though the fabric of Neville's winter robes. "Didn't mean to bring it up like that."

"S'alright," Neville says. "No harm done."

Harry just gives him a look, but doesn't contradict him, for which Neville is thankful.

The journey up to the castle is short and, after a brief awkward silence, filled with soft chitchat about everyone's holidays. Hermione had, predictably, spent most of it reading; Ginny and Ron's brother Charlie had made it up from Romania for Christmas, though Bill, their oldest brother, was still in Egypt, and given that they'd used some lottery money they'd won over the summer to visit him, he hadn't had an excuse to get away. It sounds to Neville like it was a restful time for everyone—which is a relief, honestly. He knows, from the Quibbler article and from his own gut, that things won't stay peaceful for long... best to take advantage while they can.

The carriages arrive at the castle and everyone piles out and streams up into the building, laughing and talking. Neville and Ron reunite with the other third year Gryffindor boys, exchanging greetings; somewhere in the crowd Harry slips away and Neville spots him a few minutes later as they head into the Great Hall for dinner, walking with Zabini and Nott. They all find places at their own House tables, chatting and waiting for Dumbledore to rise and give his usual start-of-term address—always less momentous than the one he gives in September, but still always interesting, if a bit barmy.

But it's not Dumbledore who stands. It's Umbridge. She clears her throat with her usual false hem-hem, and then waits with clear impatience as murmurs pass around the hall and fail to subside entirely.

"Is she going to talk?" Hermione whispers, incredulous, leaning in so that Neville and Ron can hear.

"Looks like," Ron says, scowling. "Who died and made her Headmistress?"

"Not Dumbledore," Neville says, because Dumbledore's right there—but he's not standing up.

Finally, up on the staff dais Umbridge gives up and says loudly, over lingering whispers, "Well then, children! Listen carefully! Welcome back to another term here at wonderful Hogwarts. I look forward to returning to class, as I'm sure all of my colleagues do.

"But before we are able to do so—and before we indulge in one of the castle's... excellent meals—there are a few announcements that I must make." She clears her throat again, hem-hem, though most everyone's already listening, and those who aren't aren't going to start. "First of all, it is to my dismay that I must announce that over the break, several students remaining in the castle were caught plotting a prank most foul against my person, using contraband materials brought into the castle by owl order! Such a thing is of course quite forbidden, and so I have enacted measures to prevent future attempts.

"Some of you may have seen the next Educational Decree which Mr. Filch has so obligingly put up on the wall outside the hall. If not, I shall state it clearly: that henceforth, to prevent students from bringing contraband into the castle, all mail, especially packages, shall be searched. I have already had a Ministry warding team come to the castle to place the owl ward. Fear not, I shall not prevent your mail from reaching you, or the letters you send from reaching your parents! Mail will only be arrested if it contains illicit materials."

"Interesting that she doesn't specify what illicit materials are," Hermione mutters, and Neville shoots her a glance—she's right, of course. She'll be searching all packages, and probably reading their letters, too, especially the students she doesn't like. Bugger.

"I see some dismay on your charming faces!" Umbridge says, sugary. "I hope that you will not feel too inconvenienced by this unfortunate necessity, but it is indeed a necessity, children!"

There's a murmur of discontent in the room; Neville can hear it and he's sure that Umbridge can too, but she ignores it and ploughs onward. "Secondly, as you are aware, I have been conducting inspections of Hogwarts staff over the past term. I shall be continuing to do so in this coming term, especially for those about whom I have... concerns. And fear not, children, for I was also granted over the holiday the authority to deal with any professor whose conduct the Ministry deems utterly unacceptable! Thus the quality of your education is certain to improve in the near future. Thank you! Enjoy your meal!"

And then she sits down and food appears on the tables. Neville lets out a breath, unaware until then that he'd been holding it; he'd honestly been concerned that she might have been made Headmistress or something over the break. But still, authority to fire professors? Not good, not at all, and the look he shares with Ron and Hermione suggests that they feel the same.

"Who d'you think's in trouble?" Ron asks, starting to fill his plate.

"Not sure," Neville says. "Maybe Hagrid?" Umbridge has been particularly sniffy in his classes.

Ron nods. "That'd make sense. Maybe Trelawney, too—Umbridge doesn't think much of her, so far as I can tell."

"Professors Babbling and Vector are probably safe," Hermione says. "They just do their jobs, really."

"Yeah," Neville says—he can't speak to Professor Babbling, who teaches Ancient Runes, but he's taking Arithmancy. "Snape's fine too, I'm sure. And I don't think she could fire any of the Heads of Houses, though maybe she'd try."

"They're careful," Hermione says. "McGonagall has been very diplomatic, I think."

"McGonagall's strict enough that Umbridge likes her," Ron says, rolling his eyes. "That's all."

"Well, maybe," Neville says. He doesn't think it's that simple, but he doesn't want to argue about it. "So: Trelawney and Hagrid. We'll keep an eye out."

"Yes," Hermione says and then eats a bite of food with an air of contemplation that Neville has learned means she's not quite done talking. "What do you think about our... other endeavours?"

Ron leans in a bit more and says, quietly as he can, "You mean the DA?"

"Shh," Hermione hisses. "Yes, but don't say that."

"We'll meet soon," Neville interjects quickly, before the two of them can start bickering; Ron looks mutinous but doesn't snap at Hermione. "First week. Hermione, set the coin tonight?"

"Okay," she whispers, and then all of them set about their dinners, as if they hadn't just been planning something illicit, to use Umbridge's word, right in the middle of dinner.

As it happens, it's not possible for the DA to meet in the first week back. There's a flurry of whispers and passed notes and shifts of the date on the coin; everyone is busy in the first week with catching up after the holiday, and the meeting ends up being set for the end of the second week of term. In the end, though, this is for the best, because Harry slips Neville a note on a torn scrap of parchment on the first day of class that says in handwriting that's scribbly in the way his gets when he's rushing, Our classroom, tomorrow during the spare. Bring Hermione and Ron.

Neville shares the note with his friends after class and after Harry has walked away, because he's learned something about being subtle after all the time he's spent with his Slytherin friend, and quietly tells them about Harry learning the Patronus, because he suspects that that's what this is about. Hermione's face lights up with academic glee, and Ron looks impressed. They both agree immediately of course to come along, and the next day after Charms all of them head for the abandoned classroom that they'd all often used to meet in last year.

Harry's already there when they arrive, busy pushing the table and chairs out of the middle of the room, his sleeves rolled up to bare his forearms, and he looks over and smiles when they enter the room. Neville shuts the door behind them and locks it, and then says, "Hi, Harry."

"Hey," says Harry. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course," Neville says, and then something occurs to him. "Wait, doesn't Slytherin have Herbology right now?"

"Yeah," Harry says, and shrugs. "I'll get the notes from Blaise. This is more important."

"The Patronus?"

Harry grins. "Exactly."

"That's brilliant," Hermione says. "You said Mr. Lupin taught you the trick?"

"Remus, yeah," Harry says. "You can just call him by his name, you know."

"Oh, I know," Hermione says, looking bashful. "It seems strange to be so informal with other people's parents, is all."

Harry beams, the smile lighting his eyes. It's probably not often, Neville thinks, that Harry hears someone referred to as his parent, or even that he gets to think of someone that way. He can understand the pleasure that must be in it. "Well, he wouldn't mind." Then he clears his throat and sets his face into a more serious expression, and says, "Come on, I'll teach you what I know."

The lesson takes a while—the wand movement has to be really precise, especially at first, or so Harry says, but he manages to teach it well. In fact, he teaches well in general, explains things clearly and in multiple ways when they need it, shows them physically what the movement is and helps Ron with pronouncing the incantation precisely, something he always struggles a bit with. And then he explains about happiness. About needing to really conjure pure happiness.

"But not joy," he says. "I know that that's a really fine line to draw, but... well, the memories I was trying at first don't work, because they're joyful, but not really truly happy."

"How do you mean?" Hermione says. Her wand is still out, and she's leaning in, intent.

"Well," Harry says, and then frowns, looking down. "I was using memories of things like flying, or spending time with you guys. Those are things that make me happy. But... I've gotten better results from the spell with things that are more... I don't know, complicated? I suppose that's the right word."

"Like what?"

Harry shakes his head. "It's kind of personal. Sorry."

"Oh," Hermione says, startled, and then looks embarrassed. "Sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to pry."

Harry just waves the apology away. "It's okay. Look, just... give it a try, alright?"

So they do, though with little to no effect. Neville digs deep, trying to come up with a happy enough memory or thought, but the best he can come up with is the feeling of bittersweet joy he gets whenever he looks at a photo of his parents. That produces a flicker of light and wisp of silvery mist from the tip of his wand, and Harry nods with an encouraging smile and says that that's really pretty good.

"I didn't get any better than that when Remus first taught me the spell," he says. "It's hard. It takes a lot of willpower and focus—I bet you can do it, Neville, since you've got—" and he cuts himself off, glances at Ron and Hermione.

"Oh," Neville says, and holds up the hand not holding his wand and murmurs, "Lumos." A ball of light appears in his palm—he's gotten good at the trick. "I told them."

"Okay," Harry says, nodding. Ron and Hermione have looked over, Ron frowning. "Right—well, it's really the same amount of will that it takes to do wandless magic, or nearly. So... keep that in mind when you're practicing, and I think you'll get it."

"Can you do a proper one?" Ron asks, coming over from where he'd been standing. "Give us an example?"

Harry gives a half-shrug. "I'm still getting better—I can't do corporeal yet, but Remus thinks I'll be able to with practice."

"Show us?" Hermione asks eagerly.

Harry takes a step back and flicks his wrist to summon his wand to his hand from the holster visible on his still-bared forearm. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath first, and Neville watches his face intently as it settles into lines of serenity. Some emotion flickers there, barely hidden by projected calm, and then he opens his eyes and raises his wand, swirls it in a practiced gesture, and says forcefully, "Expecto Patronum."

There's a bloom of light and silver mist from the tip of Harry's wand, forming first a shield and then a condensing cloud which swirls around him—it almost forms a shape, the shifting silver mist suggesting a large creature of some kind before it dissipates, vanishing back into the air. Smiling another of those luminous smiles of his, Harry turns to them and says, "That's the best I've ever managed, I think!"

"It's amazing," Hermione says. "All the books say even just a shield is very difficult, even for adult wixen! That's so wonderful, Harry, really. You must be very powerful."

He shrugs. "I don't know about that. But I've spent a lot of time learning to hone my will with Neville, for wandless magic."

"Have you learned any other wandless spells?" Neville asks. He'd continued working on wandless magic himself, of course, though with less success than they'd had last year. Without Harry to practice with regularly over the summer and last term, it had been harder to feel sure of himself, or to feel comfortable working through ideas out loud, discussing problems—Ron and Hermione just wouldn't understand.

"Not yet," Harry says. "I'm working on Accio, but it's really hard."

"Merlin," Neville says, startled. "I can imagine." Accio is a fifth-year charm, usually, though it's definitely possible to learn it earlier; a lot of pureblood kids learn it early because they've seen their parents use it so often. Neville knows it and has practiced it a little, and it requires pretty strong willpower even with a wand.

Harry shrugs. "It's pretty much a pure will spell, and I'm good at those."

"That's true," Neville says. "Well, good luck. Maybe... we could start getting together again to work on wandless magic? I've been trying to learn Aguamenti."

"Sure," Harry replies, and they smile at one another before Hermione clears her throat.

"Maybe you could give us some tips, based on your study of wandless magic?" she says. "Neville, you could talk to the—um." She looks at Harry.

He sighs. "I know your club exists. I just don't want to draw any extra attention to you—Umbridge is too bloody suspicious of me all the time as is. I'd only get myself and you in worse trouble if I joined, and I get plenty of extra Defence from Sirius and Remus, obviously."

"Right," Hermione says, though Neville thinks she's blushing, not that it's easy to tell with her dark skin. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make your position more difficult."

"It's okay," Harry says. "I know I could have joined, it just... it was a bad idea, and it still is."

"You said it when I first mentioned the club to you, though," Neville says. "You have to be more careful now, being in Slytherin. There are a lot of eyes on you because of your speaking up about Voldemort, and because of being friends with me. Us."

"Exactly," Harry says, though with a regretful look. "I... never apologized for how harsh I was about it in the fall. I'm sorry."

"I..." Neville rubs the back of his head. "Well, it's okay. We're friends again, aren't we? And things are better now."

"Yeah," Harry says, but he looks away, hiding whatever's on his face, and something goes tight in Neville's gut.

"Well," says Hermione briskly, "shall we practice some more?"

"I think it's almost time for our next class," Neville says, still watching Harry carefully. "We should probably go."

"Oh!" Hermione casts a quick Tempus, and seeing the time immediately begins bustling around, chivvying Ron into getting ready.

"I actually do have a spare next," Harry says, looking over at her. "So I'm going to stay here and work for a bit, I think. But we'll talk later?"

"Definitely," Neville says, and steps over toward Harry, restricting his voice so that Hermione and Ron won't hear. "Listen, Harry..."

Harry looks up, meets his gaze with shadowed eyes. "Yeah, Nev?"

Neville pauses, then sighs and reaches out to clasp his hand around Harry's wrist for a moment, feeling almost startled by his own boldness. "We are friends," he says, quiet but fierce. "I care about you. So don't... just, I don't know what's been going on with you, but be careful? For my sake?"

"Things are hard right now," Harry replies, equally quiet. "Slytherin, the war, Sirius... it's complicated."

"I understand." Neville squeezes Harry's wrist, ignores the impulse to slide his hand down to squeeze his hand instead, and then lets go. "Ask if you need help, okay? You help us so much, I feel like I never get to do anything to help you."

"You help me," Harry says, immediately. "A lot. You're... you're my best friend, Neville. Just, there's some things I have to do on my own."

"I don't think that's true, but okay, Harry," Neville says, and then across the room Hermione calls his name. "I've got to go. Will... do you want to meet here after dinner tomorrow? If Umbridge doesn't nail you with a detention before that?"

"Sounds good," Harry says, and waves to them as they leave, the door clicking shut behind them.

"What was all that about?" Ron says, as soon as they're a ways from the door and definitely out of Harry's earshot. "Was he being a jerk again?"

"No, no," Neville says immediately. "Things are just sort of weird right now. You know."

Hermione sighs, long and a bit sad. "I do feel bad for him, down there by himself."

"It's not like he doesn't fit in," Ron says. "I mean, he's a decent guy and all, better than most of the snakes, but he's still one of them. He's got friends down there and he's just like them sometimes—I mean, you saw the way he got all weird when Neville said that we're still friends with him, didn't you?"

"I suppose..." Hermione says, looking down. "I only—well, I don't know."

"Look," Ron says, gesturing expansively, "I don't think he's going to go fight for You-Know-Who or anything. He isn't evil, fine, whatever. But you can't pretend he's really like us, and he's figured that out too—that's why he's stopped spending so much time with us, and I think that's probably for the best."

"He is our friend, though," Neville says. "We can't abandon him."

"Do whatever you think's best." Ron shrugs. "I'm just saying—if in another year or two, when he starts thinking about the future, don't be surprised if he decides that chasing his ambition, whatever it is, is more important than you."

"That won't happen," Neville says quietly, because he's sure it's the truth, but Ron just shakes his head. Hermione just sighs again and says nothing. Ron's pessimism about Harry is exhausting, and though he's definitely gotten a bit better, he still says these things sometimes. But time would prove him wrong, Neville is confident.

"Let's just get to class," Hermione says. "And at the next DA meeting, we can share what Harry taught us—and maybe you could talk a bit about wandless magic, Neville?"

"Maybe," he says, because he remembers how hard it was, how much dedication it took, and how his progress had fallen off almost as soon as he'd stopped working at it all the time. He's pretty sure that he's only done as well as he has with it because of Harry, Harry's dedication and his help, their relationship fuelling his efforts; he's not sure anyone else will be capable of the same. But he'll tell them what he can—it's not like it's not a good thing to know, and maybe some of the students in the DA will be capable. "Yeah. Alright—next meeting, or the one after, depending."

"Perfect." Hermione sounds satisfied, and Ron looks pleased too. Neither of them had gotten more than a faint light from their attempts at the spell, but seeing that Harry could do it was encouraging. If any third year could do it at all, maybe all of them could, and Neville settles himself to his determination: by the end of the year, whatever else happens, he'll be able to cast the Patronus Charm.

The second week of term passes quickly. Umbridge has stopped visiting several of the classes, focusing her attention on Trelawney and Hagrid as Neville, Ron, and Hermione had guessed, though she continues to attend Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout's classes as well. "To keep them in line," is Hermione's theory, and Neville reckons she's probably right—outside of Harry, all the most vocal opponents of Umbridge's increasingly strict regime are in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Maybe she thought that by intimidating their Heads of House, they'd be quieter, but it doesn't work very well.

Even less well when, after a few days' delay in any mail being received at all, certain people start receiving letters with passages blacked out. There's an uproar in the Great Hall at breakfast on the first day, and people stream en masse to complain to their Heads of House. Unfortunately, the Heads don't seem able to do anything—Umbridge insists that the redacted sections contain forbidden knowledge or inflammatory lies on the parts of their families and friends outside of school. She also, part way through the second week, stands up at breakfast one morning to announce a new Educational Decree: that any student found in possession of a copy of the "inflammatory and false publication" the Quibbler will be punished and have the magazine confiscated immediately. Carefully, Neville hides his own copy at the bottom of his trunk, and wonders how Umbridge had discovered that the magazine was printing the truth that the Prophet wouldn't admit to in amongst all its bizarre near-fiction.

With that in mind, he quietly approaches Luna Lovegood when he spots her in the library on that same day, sitting down at the table as if to join her in studying, and asks what she thinks happened.

"Oh," she says, blinking at him. "I owled daddy asking for a few more copies to share with people. She must have looked at them when they arrived. I'm very sorry."

"It's alright," Neville says. "Good to know, I guess. Do you... well." He digs into his pocket and pulls out his own DA galleon—he can get another from Hermione, and Luna needs one.

"Ooh," she says, and immediately flips it over her fingers in a deft and graceful gesture that leaves him staring. "This is quite fun!"

"How'd you—" then he cuts himself off, shaking his head. How she learned to do that doesn't actually matter. "Sorry." He leans in across the table and whispers, "Do you know where the Room of Requirement is?"

She shakes her head, so he explains, and then about the coin, and says that she should come along to the meetings. She hasn't been, so far—not an incredible surprise, as there aren't very many students below third year in the club, but she's smart and he thinks she'd be a good addition to the group. She agrees to come along to the meeting and stows the Galleon, and says a little more loudly, "Thanks, Neville. I promise I'll pay you back!"

"Oh, no problem," he says, catching on. "Um, listen, I said I'd go meet Hermione, so just come find me when you're ready."

"That sounds good," she says, and smiles at him warmly. Then she wiggles her fingers in an odd little wave. "Bye!"

"Bye." He gathers up the books he'd dropped on the table and takes them to be checked out, and then goes to find Hermione—he had, in fact, been telling the truth about meeting with her. Now that spring term has arrived she's redoubled her usual craziness about studying, with the added complication of her wanting to do extra research for the DA, and he needs to soothe her nerves before Ron snaps.

A few more days pass like normal, and then finally Friday evening arrives, and Neville, Ron, and Hermione slip away one by one to the seventh floor. Going places together is expected of them by this point, but also very obvious, so they try to be a little more stealth. Hermione goes first, right after dinner, because she claims she likes to sit in the DA room and read before everyone else gets there. Neville joins her after a stop at Gryffindor Tower to make some performative small-talk with Dean in the common room and drop off his bag in the dorm, and then he goes too, leaving Ron finishing a game of chess started this morning against Seamus; he'll be along in another half-hour or so, just in time for the meeting.

Slowly, the DA gathers. There are about three dozen people at this point, at least who attend regularly, and some others who come when they can. This being the first meeting back, there are a few more than usual, and so the DA room is quite near capacity, people gathered to talk about Defence reading done over the holiday, spells practiced, and their hopes for the term.

The Slytherins trickle in near the start of the meeting, Gemma Farley the last of all, and she shuts the door behind her and says, loudly, "Are we waiting for anyone else?"

Up at the front of the room, standing on a slightly raised platform that the room gives them for the use of whoever's leading the group when it's this busy, Penelope shakes her head. "I think most everyone is here."

Neville glances around, spots Luna, and heads over toward her. She smiles at him when he arrives at her side, and then turns her attention to Penelope, who's continuing.

"Welcome back, everyone," she says. "I'm not going to echo our most beloved Inquisitor's welcome address, because I think everyone's pretty tired of talk by now, but we've obviously got some problems."

"No kidding," says Seamus, somewhere near the middle of the room. "We're buggered if we don't find a way around that mail ban."

"Oh, don't worry—" says Fred, leaning casually against the wall beside his brother.

"—we're working on it," finishes George, and there's a chuckle.

"Well, good to know," Penelope says, smiling. "Keep us updated, lads."

Next to Neville, Luna raises her hand and waits patiently. Penelope spots it, raises an eyebrow, and says, "Oh, Lovegood. Hello. What is it?"

"Well, I don't know about the mail," she says, "but if anyone does want a copy of the Quibbler, I have some."

"That's... good," Penelope says, sounding doubtful. "I apologize, Lovegood, but I can't say I know much about the publication—why exactly did Umbridge ban it?"

"Well," Luna says, "my daddy and his writers produce articles about creatures that the Ministry doesn't recognize, the hunt for obscure and forgotten magics that they would probably like to make illegal, and the disappearance of muggleborns that the Prophet isn't reporting on."

Neville had been able to see Penelope and others dismissing Luna's words, right up until she got to the last thing on her list, and he reaches out to pat her shoulder when she's done. "She's right," he says. "I've a copy myself—it's, um, in amongst other stuff, but the Quibbler's a source of news Umbridge probably doesn't want us to have. She doesn't believe anything is happening out there, and doesn't want us to believe it either."

"... Right," Penelope says, a bit taken aback. "Well, if you have some spare copies, Lovegood, please hand them out. We'll share them around—carefully, people, we don't want anyone getting in trouble."

There's a round of nods.

Cedric, standing to the side, steps forward a bit and uncrosses his arms. "We'll work on other solutions to the lack of real news, too," he says. "I'd bet we can come up with some way to find out, no matter Umbridge's censorship. Forewarned is forearmed, after all."

"Quite right," Penelope says. "Maybe we can devote some time tonight to a bit of a group brainstorm about the issue—Weasley twins, perhaps you can lead, share your thoughts so far?"

"We'd be delighted," Fred says, and they both sweep one of their theatrical bows.

"Wonderful." Penelope turns then to look at Neville again, and says, "Right, we've one other thing as well. Neville, perhaps you'd like to share?"

"Ah, right," he says—Hermione must have told Penelope about the Patronus; they'd been talking when he arrived. "Well, you see, I've gotten some information about how to cast a Patronus charm."

There's a lot of interested murmuring and people shuffling about, excited.

"I'll do my best to teach it, but it's really very hard—so, if everyone can be patient?" Neville says. "Um, should I—"

"Yes, yes, come here, get started," Penelope says, and makes some space on the platform.

Neville moves around past a few people, murmuring his excuse-me's and sorry's as he goes, and eventually comes to the front of the room. He looks around at the expectant faces, swallows, and then tries to summon the same confidence and clarity that Harry had projected when he was teaching them the spell just last week. Once he feels he's got at least some grasp on it, he starts up talking, explaining shakily at first, bolstered by Hermione's smile and Ron's subtle thumbs up from across the room. Once he's explained as best he can, the incantation and wand movement and Harry's little tip about happy memories, people break up and start to practice, and Neville is able to relax a little, with no more crowd of eyes on him.

Cedric claps his shoulder as he steps off the platform, says, "Good work, Neville."

"Thanks, Cedric," Neville says, smiles at him, and then takes a deep breath and starts to go around and help people with wand movements as the DA begins to practice.