Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness, page 21
"And that's very noble of you, but I'm not a Gryffindor, Neville." She fingered the golden hem of her sleeve, holding it up in the firelight. "Maybe I won't be as quick to leap into danger beside you as Ginny would be, but I'm also not about to just accept that of course the noble and chivalrous path is the right one. It's worth it for me to risk being hurt a little more to know I've been there for you. What tore me apart these last weeks wasn't that I'd lost you, it was that I'd lost you because I'd left." Her eyes bore into him with an intensity that made his heart nearly stop. "Don't make me leave again."
Neville didn't know what to say. He hadn't been prepared for this, for her to refuse to accept what he was trying to do to spare her own feelings, and he stared at the little strip of yellow satin as if it would somehow explain what he should do next. "But, Hannah," he protested, "It's not the same for us as it is for Ernie and Susan -"
She cut him off with a little laugh. "I'd hope not! If you're asking me to marry you after one kiss, I'm going to have to let you down, whether or not I love you, and whether or not you're a good kisser!"
"No...." he floundered, "...I'm not...not to say I won't...I mean, I might someday...you know, if we...I mean, I don't plan on...not that I don't...."
"Neville -" She had leaned in close now, and their faces were only inches apart, "-- shut up."
He did. What they had to say to each other now really didn't need words anyway.
OOO
November rolled on, and snow fell over the grounds of Hogwarts, softening the bare earth and stringing sparkling icicles to hang from the leafless branches of the trees. To an outsider, the castle appeared unchanged, but students now scurried to Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures in silent lines of steaming breath, no longer dallying or laughing, and there were no clusters of snowball fights, no snow wizards or witches with bright scarves wrapped at their necks. The reign of Snape and the Carrows had placed a heavy pall over the once-lively school, but sparks of resistance continued to flare in the darkness, and glints of defiance could be seen in even the downcast eyes.
Every restriction Umbridge had ever laid on them had been returned, and more. Students were now forbidden to speak to one another in hallways or at meals. The Houses had been strictly segregated, visits between them banned, and a curfew of nine o'clock had been laid, requiring all years to be in bed with lights out by that time each night. Classes that had once been shared between two or more Houses were now divided. Not only had clubs been disbanded, but all extracurricular activities had been stopped, and even bathroom visits had been limited to no more than five minutes in an attempt to prevent them from using that meager time to communicate.
Yet to Snape's fury and frustration, all the rules and regulations did nothing to stop the constant level of rebellion. He knew where it was coming from, but despite having all but attached Crabbe and Goyle to the hem of Neville's robes, he was unable to catch any sign of he, or any of the suspected D.A. members actively engaged in wrongdoing. The two additional batches of leaflets, the graffiti in the hallways announcing that Kingsley Shacklebolt had taken down three Death Eaters, the charming of the suits of armor to broadcast Potterwatch at ear-splitting volume...it all seemed to happen entirely on its own.
Once, he had even caught Neville with a smear of lipstick down his neck and a hair ribbon of Hufflepuff yellow in his pocket on the way down for breakfast, but an interrogation of the Fat Lady had revealed no breach in security of Gryffindor tower. Snape was beginning to stalk the hallways himself, patrolling the corridors at night, his sallow face growing paler from the stress and lack of sleep, but this only seemed to fuel the rebels, and he received an anonymous gift: a Sleeping Draught, some chamomile tea, a copy of the latest Easy Listening music from the Chesterfield Charmers, and a note cheerily suggesting that these things might be useful if some remains of a conscience were giving him trouble at night and signed "You-Don't-Know-Who."
The Room of Requirement had proven to be more versatile and useful than any of them had initially expected. Neville had discovered that the trick lay in asking it for exactly what was needed, down to the tiniest detail if at all possible. The most valuable thing so far had been the ability for the door to open again into any part of the school, which had made their efforts possible now even under the new, tighter security.
As long as someone could get into the room -- usually a Ravenclaw or Gryffindor due to their closer proximity to the seventh-floor entry, and usually aided by a Disillusionment Charm or Susan's old cloak - they could open it into each common room in turn, allowing the D.A. to gather without anyone having apparently left their approved areas. Only the two Slytherins faced greater problems in joining them, but their House was not being as closely monitored as the others, and so far, though Braddock had missed several meetings, Runcorn had found a place to meet up with the magical doorway every time.
By the end of the first week in December, the disappointment of finding out that Snape had sent the Sword of Gryffindor to Gringotts for safekeeping had been entirely overshadowed by their subsequent victories, and they were beginning to feel like they might even be winning; one small, nagging step at a time.
Decorations had been banned from the rest of the school, but the Room of Requirement looked like the holiday displays of Diagon Alley had exploded; garlands and tinsel hanging from every available surface, and Neville sipped at a cup of warm eggnog Dobby had provided as he sat casually draped over one of the large couches in the Room of Requirement, Hannah's head on his lap. At the front of the room, Michael Corner and Terry Boot were giving a spirited performance of some of the unique Christmas carols they had written to be sung by the armor over the holiday season.
"Carrows roasting on an open fire,
Doxies biting at their toes.
You-Know-Who is feeling quite blue,
'Cause he knows his reign is at a close
They say that Harry Potter's on his way
Bringing Aurors here to help the D.A.
And every mother's child is gonna spy
To watch him making Amycus cry...."
Something began to heat up against Neville's thigh, and he shifted, fishing the charmed Galleon from the pocket of his trousers. The numbers along the rim had turned to letters, and he frowned as he read the message. They got me. T.R. Nudging Hannah off his lap, he sat up straight, looking around the room. Sure enough, the young Slytherin was missing, and his frown deepened.
Drawing his wand, he tapped the Galleon, and the letters glowed briefly as he sent his own message in return. Where are you?
He had to wait less than a minute before the coin heated again, and he had his answer. Hosp. wing.
Reaching down to Ernie, who was sitting on the floor with Susan in front of them, he tapped the Lieutenant on the shoulder. "Renny's in trouble," he whispered, "I need your help." He nodded his head towards an empty corner, and Ernie got to his feet, joining him away from the others, who were still absorbed in "Carrows Roasting on an Open Fire", now into the final verse with great gusto.
"What's going on?" Ernie asked.
"I don't know, exactly." He held up the Galleon. "I got a message from Renny saying 'they' had gotten him, and that he was in the Hospital Wing. I need to find out what's happened."
Ernie nodded in understanding, but his tone was skeptical. "Problem is, mate, they're not going to let you just casually fraternize with Slytherins, especially ones who've gotten in trouble for some reason. You're tops on Snape's list, but it's not the good one."
"I know," Neville agreed. "That's why you're going to punch me."
"Wait a second...."
"I need to get into the Hospital Wing. I'll tell Madam Pomfrey I had an accident with my Charms homework, that I put a Jumping Jinx on a book and didn't get out of the way in time. I've been in there enough with backfiring homework that there won't be any problems believing me." He gave Ernie a pleading look. "Come on, we owe it to the kid."
Ernie sighed deeply, then before Neville quite knew what happened, he had cocked back one massive fist and let fly. Pain exploded through Neville's head, and he dropped to his knees, clutching his face in both hands as he gasped for air, blood pouring through his fingers to spatter the stone floor in fat, scarlet drops. "Dabbid, Erdie!" His mouth had filled with bittersweet copper, and he spat, another thick gob of red joining the growing mess on the floor. "I dik you broke by dode!"
The Hufflepuff looked at him in widely exaggerated innocence. "Dreadful thing, those homework accidents. I reckon you should get yourself to the Hospital Wing, old chum. That looks rather nasty."
Shooting a filthy look at his friend, Neville pulled out his handkerchief and balled it up against his gushing nose in an effort to stem the worst of the bleeding as he approached the blank wall. "I deed do go do de 'allway by Gryffiddor Dower!" he announced. Thankfully, the room seemed to understand him well enough, and when the door opened, he was standing only a few feet from the Fat Lady, who began humming rather loudly as she made an elaborate show of looking away and seeing nothing.
By the time he had made his way down to the Hospital Wing, the handkerchief was sodden, and he had begun to silently curse his friend for hitting him quite so hard. His entire face had begun to swell, his nose was unquestionably broken rather spectacularly, and it had begun to throb with deep, painful pulses that stabbed through his entire head. When he pushed open the door, he found Madam Pomfrey bent over a single occupied bed at the far end.
She looked up as he entered, her eyes widening. "Mr. Longbottom! Good heavens, what in the name of Merlin has happened to your face?"
"Jubig Jix wed bad. 'obework." He tried to manage a sheepish smile as she pulled his hand away from his nose and surveyed the damage, clucking her tongue fussily.
"Well, it's certainly broken." She shook her head and sighed. "Nothing I haven't fixed before...no different than what a Bludger will do to you, really -- not that you want to get me started on letting children play such a dangerous sport." Motioning him towards the opposite bed, she turned and started towards the dispensary. "You just wait here a moment. You can take the bed next to him as long as you promise not to get into some silly House nonsense."
He nodded solemnly. "I brobise."
With a satisfied little sniff, Madam Pomfrey bustled into the other room, and he hurried across to where Runcorn lay. The young Slytherin looked as if he had taken several solid hits with a Bludger himself. His entire face was swollen and discolored, his arm splinted, his ribs bandaged, and a bottle of Skele-Gro sat on the bedside table. Neville reached out a hand and gently shook the boy's shoulder. "Reddy, whad habbed?"
Runcorn rolled over gingerly, clearly in a great deal of pain as his face paled beneath the bruises and he clutched at the bandaged ribs. "They noticed I kept going missing." When he spoke, his mouth was bloody, and Neville recognized the slightly too-white shine of newly repaired teeth. "Searched my bag. Must have missed a grain, because they found a flyer." He grimaced. "Decided to teach me a lesson about House loyalty. Their teaching methods involve a lot of hitting."
"I cab see dad." Neville said. "Who wad id?"
"Crabbe and Goyle. We've all really started missing Malfoy. He kept a leash on them, but now they think they're practically Prefects...which is a problem, because thinking is not their strong suit." Runcorn gasped as he accidentally shifted the broken arm, then gritted his teeth, bitter resentment flaring in his dark eyes. "Why couldn't they have left with him? You're not supposed to leave your pets behind at school."
Neville gave a brief chuckle, then his expression turned serious again. "Do de Carrows dow?"
Runcorn nodded. "Slughorn wasn't going to say anything. He took me up here...I think he's sympathetic, but don't trust him. He's just a fussy old socialite in wizard robes. But Crabbe and Goyle told the Carrows, and they told my father, and...." He hesitated, and the bravado cracked, the pain and fear leaking through at the edges of his eyes and voice. "...They're coming for me."
Before he could say anything more, Madame Pomfrey came back into the room, a goblet of potion in her hand that was sending up faint blue tendrils of steam. The boys sprang apart at the first sign of a creak from the door, and she showed no sign of having noticed anything out of the ordinary as she handed the goblet to Neville and waved her wand at his nose. "Episkey!"
Instantly, the worst of the pain subsided, and she motioned to the goblet. "This will take care of the rest of the pain, as well as the swelling and the blood in your throat and sinuses. The blood on your robes, I'm afraid, is another matter."
"How touching: you're afraid for stains on a known Blood-Traitor's robes, but you'll let the son of a Death Eater lay here in agony when his father's on the way? Father will love to hear that, I'm sure. God, I should be grateful they're pulling me out of school...it really is still going downhill here, isn't it?" Neville's eyes widened as he drank the potion, but Madam Pomfrey had turned pale with both anger and fear, and she gave a resentful little curtsey.
"I'll get you some more Painkilling Potions then, sir. I didn't realize you were still in pain."
His face twisted into an exaggerated look of terrible suffering. "Agony."
She disappeared back into the dispensary, and the moment the door shut behind her, Runcorn actually giggled. "I think Malfoy had the whole school trained. Just imitating him still makes people jump."
Neville grinned back, fingering his now-repaired nose cautiously. "I thought I recognized that god-awful little drawl. Quick, though, I'll send word to the D.A., we'll hide you in the Room of...."
Runcorn shook his head, his face now ashen. "They'll kill my Dad if you do that, Neville. I just wanted to give you this." He held out the Galleon. "So they don't find it when they search me. I'm sorry I never managed to do anything much for you guys."
There was a terrible finality in his tone that sounded utterly wrong coming from the lips of a boy of fourteen, and Neville nodded, his voice low with saddened understanding. "You're not coming back, are you, Renny?"
The response was a slow, wordless shake of the head as the Galleon was pressed deep into Neville's palm, but the look of fear and loss and betrayal in his eyes said it all. He wasn't just being pulled from school, he was going to be punished, or his father was, and it was going to be a lot worse than anything the Carrows or Snape dished out on their worst days. He reached down and carefully squeezed the younger boy's shoulder. "Well, you did manage to make history before you left...I think this is the first time a Gryffindor is going to be sorry to see a Slytherin go."
The tiniest ghost of a smile crossed Runcorn's swollen lips. "Don't get sentimental, Longbottom. I was fighting for the right to hate you."
"And you're nasty, conniving, Muggle-hating slime. But you've got guts," Neville replied. "Hang in there as best you can, okay?"
Runcorn nodded, and Neville took the charmed coin, slipping out of the hospital wing and turning back towards the stairs with a look of sadness on his face. Up in the Room of Requirement, he knew, the rest of the D.A. would be laughing at carols and preparing for further adventures, and he wasn't looking forward to the news he would have to bring them. They had lost their first.
OOO
"'...they just drop dead.' The Healer thinks about it a minute, and suggests she try Silencio the next time things are gettin' to that point. Well, the Banshee comes back the next day, and he asks how it worked. 'Not half bad,' she answers, 'they don't make near so much noise when they're fallin' off the bed.'"
Neville barely caught himself in time, burying his face in the pillow until he got himself under control again, then raised his head as he wiped the tears from his eyes and turned back towards Seamus in the darkness of the tower dormitory. "I've got one, I've got one..." he whispered eagerly. "So this wizard goes to the Ministry of Magic and offers ten Galleons to any Auror who'll watch his house while he's at work in the morning. 'I think my wife is having an affair with the milkman,' he says. 'Every time I open the door to get the milk, my Kneazle goes mental.' One of the Aurors agrees to watch, and the next day the wizard asks what happened. 'I have good news and bad news,' the Auror answers. 'Your wife is faithful, but you don't want to know what the milkman is doing to your Kneazle.'"
Seamus let out a tremendous snort of laughter, and Neville grabbed at his pillow, flinging it at the vague outline that was all he could see of the other boy. "Idiot! It's past ten! We're supposed to be asleep!"
"Sorry!" He did not sound the least bit sorry, but the last of the giggles were suitably muffled behind his hands, and at last he drew a great, shuddering breath. "Anyway, I've got another. There were these three witches who decided they wanted to go out and buy new broomsticks, see? And so the first one goes into the store, and the salesman shows her the latest -"
Seamus' joke was interrupted by a sudden crash against the window, and Neville heard the bedclothes rustle as they both sat instantly bolt upright. He snatched his wand off the bedside table, leveling it at the curtains as he reached out and parted them cautiously. The light of the half-moon through the blowing snow outside cast crazed shadows on the stone floor, and he hardly dared breathe, unable to tell if any of the wavering figures belonged to more than snowflakes.
There was the sound of bedsprings creaking, then bare feet hitting the floor, and then Seamus cried out. "It's an owl!"
Neville blinked, slipping out of his own bed and hurrying across to join his friend at the window. "At this time of night?"
But sure enough, it was an owl. A large tawny owl lay on the windowsill outside, a heavy-looking bundle tied to one leg as it lay motionless against the glass in a deep drift of snow. Neville's initial fear and confusion vanished, and he cast Seamus a stricken look. "It's hurt! It's going to freeze out there!" Without a moment's hesitation, he tapped his wand against the window latch, barely even feeling the icy blast that tore into the cozy room as he opened the window and gathered the owl gently into his arms.
