A Wizard Song

Chapter 18 - What Neville Hid

By Telanu

       

April 4, 1997

Dear Harry,

I can hardly believe it -- I'm writing you a letter and I don't have to worry about anyone intercepting it. This all hardly seems real. I feel as if any moment I'm going to wake up and find myself hiding out in some cave or jungle again…or worse, be back in Azkaban. But it's real.

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write to you -- I wanted to send you a letter first thing, believe me. But they've kept a close watch on me and limited my communication with everyone; they practically sat on my head when I talked to Dumbledore. I'm still not allowed to leave Ministry grounds, or I'd come and visit you like a free man (and a proper godfather). I don't know when all this rigamarole will be over and done with, but I've made a promise to myself. I've told Dumbledore, and I'll tell you -- no matter what happens, if you don't want to go back to those Muggles you hate, you don't have to. I'll assume legal guardianship of you, so even if I'm not free by the time your summer holidays roll around I can allow you to stay at Hogwarts or with the Weasleys. How's that for good news? Of course, I hope everything is straightened out by then and you can come live with me. I'd like that very much, if you want to as well. I know we haven't had a chance to get to know each other as well as we'd like, but my home will always be yours.

They're calling me again. It seems like it never stops, all their questions. Not that I can blame them. Anything we can do to stop the Dark Lord, we have to do, and at least there are some people in the Ministry willing to acknowledge the problem. (If you're reading this sentence, you know they haven't censored my letter.) I'll get back to you when I can. I can't wait to see you again. It's been so long.

Write back when you can. You can even send Hedwig now -- it's been a while since I've seen her.

Yours,
Sirius

Harry put down the letter and spent a few minutes staring out the window of his dormitory room, watching the sun set, trying to compose his reply in his head before getting out his parchment and quill. He didn't write anything very interesting; just true things, about how happy he was to hear from Sirius at last, how happy that things were going along, how of course he'd be happy to live with him if it became possible.

He kept stopping to think, though.

I can allow you to stay at Hogwarts, or with the Weasleys.

It was very wrong, Harry was certain, to let a tiny part of him hope that Sirius' business with the Ministry went slowly. Slowly enough that Sirius would be finished eventually, of course, but wouldn't be able to set up house for himself soon enough that Harry could come and live with him. And staying with the Weasleys would really be too dangerous, wouldn't it? That was why he'd had to come back to Hogwarts so early this summer, after all. No, staying at the school would no doubt be the only choice. And Harry should feel like shit for even thinking that, for thinking only of his own selfish pleasure instead of hoping that Sirius got out of his confinement and could start living a normal life again.

How could it be that he felt both things? How could he want Sirius to be free, and also want not to be with him? Maybe because --

We haven't had a chance to get to know each other as well as we'd like.

That was true, too. Ever since Severus had said it, Harry hadn't been able to keep the thought out of his mind. Now Sirius had mentioned it himself. Harry and Sirius had never got to know each other properly -- they'd never even talked, not really, apart from the letters, which were few and far between. That couldn't be helped, of course, but now it left Harry feeling that Sirius was a stranger, or the closest thing to it.

It was odd. At the end of third year, he'd nearly got himself worse than killed in an attempt to protect Sirius, a man he'd just met, from the Dementors. During fourth year, he'd felt a close and deep bond with Sirius that even their physical distance from each other hadn't been able to quash. It helped, sort of, knowing that Sirius was quite prepared to drop everything and rush straight to Harry's side if he thought Harry was in danger. Harry had felt the same way; still did, he supposed. It was as if Sirius was all he had left of his parents.

But Harry was older now. Sixteen years old was a little bit late to be getting a full-time parent when he'd never had one before. If that was what Sirius even wanted. Maybe Sirius didn't want to be his dad, even if that was what "godfather" seemed to imply; maybe he felt the same way Harry did, about the time and the distance, and they could learn how to be friends instead. Harry just didn't know. He knew Sirius was important to him, in a way that nobody else quite was -- as if he represented something, something that was lost forever.

And then there was Severus, of course.

Harry closed his eyes. That was all part of it. Every once in a while he'd catch himself wishing he could tell Sirius about what was really going on with Severus. He so desperately wanted his godfather to understand. But that wasn't going to happen. Judging from the Howler Sirius had sent Harry last year, that really wasn't going to happen. The memory was still upsetting. It had been the only time Sirius had ever really become angry with Harry. And it had been because of Harry's feelings for Severus, even if Sirius hadn't known that.

Next time, let the bastard die!

Harry shuddered at the memory of his godfather's enraged voice. No. Sirius might be able to understand everything else Harry told him -- but he wouldn't understand this. Not yet. Maybe in a couple of years, when Harry was older, and it wasn't against the rules any more, and Sirius wouldn't think Harry was being taken advantage of. But if Sirius couldn't accept it then…well, Harry didn't want to think about that right now, even though he already knew what he would decide, and who he would choose, if it happened.

He really didn't know Sirius that well, after all, and Severus was…Severus. Harry thought back to the night before.

Under the blankets, lovemaking finished, fire burned down, candles snuffed. Talking came easier, they had discovered, in darkness.

"Why'd you join Voldemort? Did you -- did you really believe all that stuff? About Muggles, and Mudbloods, and…you know."

"I suppose I didn't know what I believed. It didn't seem to matter at the time. I was young. I was stupid. I was very, very angry. He seemed to think I had talent, and my family said it was a good idea. Have you never been lied to?"

"Of course I have."

"Well then. I believed them all. And some of the things he made…let…me do…I do not wish to speak of them, Harry. I hope you never find out what I did and what I was. I have tried very hard to put that time behind me. I am not that person any more."

"I know you're not, it doesn't matter, I wouldn't care if you told me."

"Wouldn't you?"

"Well, I…I don't think so. But if you don't want to say, then I reckon I understand. Oh, please, come here. Okay. Mm. But why did you leave him?"

"The things I did…some of them I hated. Others I enjoyed. I won't lie to you about that, and it was just as bad. I hope you never have to see the darkest places in you, Harry -- I hope you do not have such places as I do, or that you -- I -- "

"Severus. Severus."

…

"Yes. Well. At any rate, I went to Dumbledore and signed my life away. I have been a long time paying for that mistake."

"Which mistake? Going to Voldemort, o-or going to Dumbledore?"

"One led to the other. If I had never been stupid in the first place, it wouldn't have mattered. Hindsight is ever perfect, as you will come to learn."

"Okay. Thanks. That'll do, I suppose. Erm…your turn. What do you want to know, now?"

"Are you going to tell me how you helped Black escape?"

"…Yeah. Yeah, I'll tell you."

Harry hadn't told Severus about Hermione's part in Sirius' escape, though -- just that he'd "been given" a Time-Turner (as if it had appeared out of thin air without any help from Hermione or Dumbledore) and had flown on Buckbeak to Sirius' rescue. He figured it was better that way, and besides, Severus hadn't been tremendously forthcoming himself. But at least they were talking now, and they seemed to be getting better at it. He didn't know if Severus felt like this, but for Harry it was easier -- he almost felt as if he'd made some kind of decision, or realised something important, now that he knew…what he knew. About how felt, about wanting to stay.

No, he didn't want to lose Sirius, not ever. And he wouldn't let anything happen to his godfather if he could help it. But if he had to choose…if he had to…

Harry shook himself back into the present. No use dwelling. He'd deal with that if -- when -- it became an issue. In the meantime, he finished penning his reply, hoping it sounded enthusiastic enough. It looked okay. Just as he was signing his name, Ron came into the room, dumping his Transfiguration text on the bed.

"Sixth year and I still haven't worked out how she can study for hours," he said. "Lucky you skived off. What have you been up to? Oh -- finally wrote you, did he?" Ron's eyes had fallen on the letter lying at Harry's elbow.

Harry tried to quell his irritation. "He said he wanted to write before. The Ministry wouldn't let him."

"Bet not," Ron said absently as he brushed a speck of fluff from his robe. "Going to the Owlery? I'll come with. You can use Pig."

Now Harry had to grin. "Don't have to any more. Now he's free, I can send Hedwig." It was odd, he reflected, as he left the room with Ron hot on his heels. It seemed strange to swing back and forth between extremes, between being so happy that Sirius was free, and so worried about what that might mean. Under the circumstances, though, he supposed it made sense.

He and Ron chatted about the upcoming Quidditch Cup final as they ascended the many steps that led to the Owlery. Gryffindor would be playing Ravenclaw at the end of the month. Hufflepuff's performance that year had been decidedly lacklustre, and Slytherin's had been dismal. Harry was almost disappointed about that -- he still remembered the incredible thrill that he'd felt at the end of his third year, when Gryffindor had defeated Slytherin by such a narrow margin. Part of it had been the joy of winning, of course…but there was just something about defeating someone you really hated that made it all the more special. He could remember Draco Malfoy's scream of humiliation and rage so clearly.

Well, maybe it was for the best, Harry decided as he pushed open the heavy Owlery door. Even though it would have been wonderful to embarrass Draco again, it probably would have made things more difficult with Severus all round. Harry knew his lover was in a very bad mood about his House's poor performance this year. He didn't quite dare bring it up, knowing he would be accused of gloating, and that the accusation would have more than a grain of truth to it.

As they entered the Owlery, Ron and Harry saw that Hedwig was perched very close indeed to another owl. Their heads were bent together. When they got closer and Hedwig saw them, she quickly took a decorous step away from the other owl and ruffled her feathers, as if embarrassed. Harry's heart gave an alarmed little leap when he recognised the other bird, a large, brown barn owl: it was Acheron, Severus' owl, who had delivered their letters to each other all last summer! It looked as if he and Hedwig had resumed their friendship. Or maybe they'd never left off. Harry wouldn't know.

Ron sniggered. "Hedwig's got a boyfriend, eh?"

"Guess so," Harry said feebly, giving Hedwig an awkward pat on the head as a sort of apology. She nipped affectionately at his knuckle in forgiveness and took the parchment.

"Hullo, you're a big fellow, aren't you?" Ron was asking Acheron, still wearing a big grin as he reached out to pet him. "Nice big fellow. Hedwig must go for the brawny type -- ow! He bit me!" Ron pulled his bleeding hand back and stepped away quickly. Acheron glared at him. "Nasty little…wonder whose owl that is, anyway?"

"No idea," Harry lied, trying to hide a smile as he watched Hedwig flying off into the dusk.

Acheron hooted mournfully after her.

       

April passed quickly. Harry busied himself with the routine he was used to by now: Quidditch, studies, friends, Severus, with meals and increasingly-lessening sleep. In between, he wrote another two letters to Sirius, who didn't seem overly optimistic that his detainment period would be over by the time Harry finished school for the year. He was talking to Dumbledore about letting Harry stay at Hogwarts, he said, although nothing was definite yet, of course.

Now that exams were getting closer, Severus allowed Harry to spend less time in the dungeons at night, and actually made Harry spend most of his detentions studying instead of doing more fun things, marking essays at his desk while Harry revised curled up in one of the armchairs by the fire. Sometimes it was cosy and pleasant, but mostly it irritated Harry, who felt that he got quite enough of that from Hermione anyway. Combining all the reading he did in detention, with what he studied when he was with Ron and Hermione, plus his nighttime studies in the library, Harry sometimes felt as if he was living inside the pages of a book and he didn't like it one bit. He loved what he was learning, especially the stuff he wasn't supposed to be learning, but what he liked best was sex, Quidditch, actually performing magic instead of just reading about it -- physical stuff. Harry supposed he was what Hermione called a "hands-on learner." Although when he'd suggested that to Severus in bed once, he'd got his bottom swatted. Perhaps he shouldn't have been grinning so much.

Harry was heading out of the dungeons after one such detention when he heard two familiar voices down a side corridor. One was high-pitched and trembling, the other smooth and arrogant. Neville and Malfoy!

It sounded as if they were just around a corner. Nobody else was about -- it was just before dinner was due to start. But no matter who was or wasn't around, it seemed that Neville and Malfoy were talking about things that shouldn't be talked about in a public corridor.

"…Of course, my father was under the Imperius curse," Malfoy was saying in what was, for him, a low, earnest voice. "He never wanted to serve You-Know-Who, Longbottom, no matter what his ideas are about Mudbloods. No offence to your friends, of course, but you're from a good family -- you must know what I mean -- "

"I -- I suppose so," Neville said haltingly. "So…your family never really…"

"Certainly not," Malfoy said smoothly. "The Malfoys are well-respected pillars of the wizarding community. But the Snapes…"

Harry's eyes widened.

Malfoy lowered his voice a little, as if he feared to be overheard while talking about his Head of House. As well he should, Harry thought savagely, curling his hands into fists and straining to hear what Malfoy said next.

"Professor Snape comes from an old family, and a wealthy one, there's no doubt of that, of course," Malfoy said in his oiliest tone. "But the Snapes have always been such a misanthropic bunch…well, you've seen the results of our little researches, haven't you, Longbottom? Not the most charming group, are they? And this chart seals it. Now do you believe me?"

A rustling of paper. Harry yearned to charge over and find out what was going on, but something inside him whispered, Wait…wait…not yet…Well, it probably would be better to wait, when he could get Neville alone…

Then Neville whispered, "You were right. It's all right here. Hi-his great-grandmother killed my great-grandf-father…"

"Are you surprised?" Malfoy asked snidely.

"N-no, not really. But…but there's nothing on my parents anywhere? Nothing about him and my mum a-and dad?"

"I've told you, Longbottom," Malfoy said in an exasperated tone of voice, "Dumbledore would have kept that knitted up tighter than a Hufflepuff's knickers. You'll never find anything official. Snape's his little personal improvement project, after all. But use that Gryffindor intuition. Why else would Snape hate you so? What have you ever done to him?"

"You're right," Neville whispered. "You're right. Thank you, Draco -- "

"Don't mention it, Longbottom. I mean it. Don't. Especially not in front of your friends."

"I-I won't! They wouldn't understand. They all think," Neville quivered out an uncertain laugh, "I mean, they all still think you work for You-Know-Who!"

"Of course they do," Malfoy said, in a long-suffering tone. "But it's got to be that way, doesn't it? They believe only what they're told. Not like you,Longbottom. You see what's right in front of you and you judge for yourself, there's a good lad." Harry heard the mocking laugh in Malfoy's voice, even though he was sure Neville didn't, and saw red. He forced himself to stillness again. He and Neville were going to have to have a talk. A long one. "No," Malfoy continued grandly, "we're the secret warriors, Longbottom, the ones who can really make a difference. But we must keep it under wraps. Always."

"Always," Neville breathed.

"So you'll tell me," Malfoy said, and there was a new undertone of urgency to his voice, "when you find out where Potter's going this summer? Back to those Muggles, or to live with his godfather, or with the Weasleys?"

"Oh, yes," Neville said. "I mean, I don't -- I don't agree with what Harry's doing, but…he's always been so nice to me. I'd hate to see anything happen to him. And you know I don't really think it's his fault…"

"Well, and we must protect him, mustn't we?" Malfoy asked. "Don't worry, Longbottom, and leave it all to me. Everything will work out for the best, you'll see. And you'll have been part of it."

"Yes, of course, great," Neville said. Then, in a smaller voice, he added, "Draco?"

"Yes?" Malfoy sounded impatient.

"Do you…I mean have you…spoken to Blaise?"

"What? Oh. No, not yet. But don't worry, Longbottom, I'm sure after I have a word with her she'll be willing to have a butterbeer with you next Hogsmeade weekend."

"Oh, thank you," Neville gasped. "Will you really? She wouldn't mind? Do you really think -- "

"Quite," Draco said, and Harry heard footsteps heading farther down the hallway.

"Thanks…thanks for being my friend, Draco," Neville said quiveringly.

"As I said," Draco said dryly, "don't mention it." The footsteps continued on their way, and soon all Harry could hear was Neville's own rather puffy breathing down the corridor. His own head was spinning. Since when were Neville and Malfoy friends? What was all this stuff about Snape and his family, and Harry's summer plans, and -- and Blaise Zabini?

Harry heard Neville's footsteps approaching him. He took a deep breath and stepped into the mouth of the corridor, facing Neville dead-on, feeling like a cowboy in one of those Muggle Western movies.

Neville was carrying a heavy book and a piece of parchment, passing by a statue of Deadric the Darling. When he saw Harry he went as white as ash and clutched both book and parchment to his chest, stepping back with a little gasp.

"What about where I'm staying this summer, Neville?" Harry asked quietly.

Neville looked around, eyes wide with terror, as if seeking for help, or hoping Malfoy would come back. Harry almost hoped he would, too. But the corridor remained quiet; dinner would have started by now.

"What are you doing here?" Neville squeaked.

"Detention," Harry said shortly, striding forward and snatching the parchment away before Neville could object. He stared at it; it appeared to be some kind of Longbottom family tree, and someone had circled a branch from a few generations back. Wilfred Longbottom, 1864-1923, k. by Hecuba Snape. In fact, every dead person had a little notation that explained how they'd died, all the way back to the time of William the Conqueror. It was a little spooky. Harry wondered if this was how all wizards made up their family trees. A few of the branches on the parchment waved gently in the breeze.

"What are you doing, Neville?" Harry asked angrily, shoving the parchment back at Neville, who looked more terrified than ever. "What are you talking to Malfoy for?"

"Well -- I -- we've been Potions partners for so long, and -- Harry, he's really not so bad, really, I promise you he's not." Neville began to babble. "He's good at lots of magic, and he's a prefect you know, or did you know?, and he's helped me with Potions and -- "

"He's Malfoy!" Harry snapped. "Have you lost your mind?"

To his surprise, Neville didn't cower before his tone of voice. Instead his plump, pale face went a delicate shade of red, and he choked out, "Why do you care! Why do you care what I'm doing? You never cared before! Nobody in Gryffindor did! And now I've finally got a real friend, you just want to come along and mess everything up!"

"I don't want to mess anything up for you, Neville, that's the whole point," Harry exploded. "That's not a real friend, that's Malfoy! Didn't you notice? Or have you forgotten how he's been such a rotten shit to you since first year?"

"Doesn't stop you and Snape!"

Silence fell between them, thick and suffocating. Harry stared at Neville, who suddenly looked as if he'd give anything to take back his words.

"What did you say?" Harry asked.

"N-nothing," Neville stammered, his blush getting even brighter. "I didn't say anything -- "

"What did you say?" Harry repeated.

Neville began to tremble. "Harry, I don't blame you," he whispered. "Honestly, I don't. Nobody would. Snape's a Dark wizard, everybody knows -- he must have put some kind of spell on you -- but don't worry, Harry, Draco and I will sort it out, and you'll get better in no time, we'll stop him -- "

"Is that what Malfoy told you?" Harry spat. "These -- these filthy lies -- " Although he wasn't sure if he meant to say the idea of him with Snape was a lie, or if he wanted to condemn the very idea that Severus had him under some kind of mind control. "You believed him?"

"Draco doesn't lie to me!" Neville bristled. "He said he saw you both. He said he saw you kissing one time." Neville's face contorted in a grimace of disgust. "And he says the walls around here have eyes, and he sees you going in and out of Snape's rooms all the time, at all hours of the night sometimes -- oh, how could you, Harry?" Neville looked as if he was about to burst into tears. "No -- no, I don't blame you, forget I said that, it's not your fault…"

"It isn't true!" Harry cried, almost in a panic, and resolved that he would have to tell Severus at the earliest opportunity. The walls had eyes? What did that mean? Had anybody besides Malfoy seen them? How could they find out? "Why's he been telling you all this? What have you two been doing?"

Neville jostled the heavy book in his arm. "It's a genealogy book," he said, his voice trembling. "Family trees. Some old news clippings. It's got my family history in here, and…and Snape's. Harry, they were all Dark wizards to a man! And so is he -- look, on my family tree, you see that, one of his ancestors killed one of my -- "

"I don't care," Harry said angrily. "Neville, can't you see how Malfoy's using you?"

Neville paused, and clutched the book closer to his chest. "Using me?" he whispered.

"Yeah! Using you! You can't believe all this stuff -- you can't believe he and his family don't really support Voldemort! After all those times he's bragged about it!"

Neville shook his head vigorously. "Oh, no. He explained all that, said it was just a show he had to keep up so that nobody would suspect -- "

"And he wants to know where I'm going this summer? Completely innocent, right? And he's just going to get you a date with Zabini out of the goodness of his heart?"

"Well, we've got to protect -- " Neville stopped. "What about Blaise?"

"He's using you," Harry said with exaggerated patience. "Can't you see? He's a Malfoy, he doesn't care about you! He's just promising you whatever he thinks you want to hear!"

It all made perfect sense to Harry, but apparently Neville didn't see things the same way. He drew himself up as straight as he could, considering that he was trembling harder than ever. "I know what you think of me," he choked. "I know you think nobody could ever like me, or want to be friends with me, unless they wanted something from me or felt sorry for me!"

Harry opened his mouth to deny this convincingly, and found he couldn't. "Neville, no," he said weakly.

"Well, you'll see!" Neville cried, his voice going high and shrill. "You think I don't know how you all think of me? But I'm not as bad as you think! Draco and I are secret warriors, and we're going to make a difference, and you'll see! You want to be nice to me! Or I'll -- I'll tell everyone all that stuff about you and Snape is true! And they'll investigate again, and I bet this time you'll be caught, and he'll be sacked and have to go away, and it will be wonderful, you'll see, you'll wake up and see, and I bet -- " Neville was wearing a ferocious expression Harry had never seen there before, "I bet as soon as he steps out the front door the Aurors cut him down like the Death Eater he really is -- "

Before Harry knew what he was doing, he'd knocked the book and parchment from Neville's chubby hands, and had pinned him up against the wall, nearly gripping him by the throat. Neville struggled, but although he was taller, Harry was stronger. He could feel power thrumming within his veins, coursing to and from his heart, singing in his blood. He'd learned curses that could fell a man in ten seconds. He knew spells that could kill someone with agony. He had nothing to fear from Neville Longbottom. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name.

Harry dropped his voice to a low, menacing hiss.

"If you repeat such filthy lies to anyone, ever," he whispered, "I'm going to ask you a question, Longbottom. In front of everyone. The whole school. Want to know the question? I'll ask, 'How are your parents doing in St. Mungo's, Neville? Are they still raving mad?'"

Neville's red face went deathly white.

"What'll you say to that, eh?" Harry pressed, hearing the cruelty in his own voice, unable to stop himself. "Think you'll be able to lie your way out of it? I don't think so. Be a bit embarrassing, wouldn't it?"

"How," Neville croaked, "how did you know -- "

"Never mind how I know," Harry said.

"You -- I haven't told any of the students, nobody knows -- s-someone must have told you -- Snape, it was Snape --"

"Wrong. Guess again," Harry whispered.

"But -- but only someone really high up could have known -- "

Harry could almost see the word 'Dumbledore' forming in Neville's mind. Suddenly he felt a sharp pang of regret; it got more pronounced when the expression of utter betrayal crossed Neville's face.

Neville went bright red again, and his face crumpled. He whimpered softly, and tears began falling from his eyes.

Part of Harry wanted to tell Neville that Dumbledore had not betrayed his trust, that it had all been an accident, that he'd only stumbled into the headmaster's Pensieve by mistake. But he was so angry that the words wouldn't quite come. And if Neville thought for one second he was going to hurt Severus, well, maybe it was better if Harry showed him just how painful such an effort would be. For his own good.

He let go of Neville and stepped away. "Just you think about that," he said in a low voice. Neville was still whimpering, and his eyes were full of pain and rage as he stared into Harry's face. Harry realised, with a sinking feeling, that they would never be able to trust each other again.

Malfoy. It was all his fault. Again. Of course.

Harry was going to kill him for this.

"I'll see you at dinner," he managed, turned on his heel, and walked away, leaving Neville alone in the corridor.

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