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The Art of Self-Fashioning	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 26077 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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Chapter Forty-Three—Blind To the Danger
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Longbottom.”
Augusta was adjusting the shawl around her shoulders, watching Harry as if she could block out Black and Professor McGonagall being in the room that way. She’d agreed to come to Grimmauld Place, but only into the first drawing room, and she sat in a chair that would let her have a direct line of flight to the door.
Harry approved. He hadn’t realized the woman was so sensible.
“I want to know what you mean by thinking that Neville can help the war without fighting.”
Harry nodded. He also approved of her getting right to the point. “The Death Eaters attacked this house a few nights ago. We managed to capture the Dark Lord’s snake—the one that goes around with him everywhere,” he added, because Augusta’s eyes had widened so much that he wasn’t sure she knew what he meant. “Something strange happened to the snake—”
“How did you manage to capture it?”
Harry cocked his wrist, and the wasp queen he’d made to replace the one Lucius had killed flew over and perched on his wrist. Augusta recoiled. Black chuckled, and she glared at him before she turned back to Harry.
“I didn’t realize you were so skilled in Transfiguration.”
“Well, of course, Professor McGonagall has been teaching me,” he said, with a smile at the professor. She nodded back, but her forehead was a little wrinkled. “But they were mostly going after the Death Eaters. It was my eagle that attacked the snake. One of the Death Eaters tried to stop her by using the Killing Curse. The curse hit the snake instead. It died, and came back to life.”
Augusta sucked in her breath enough to make her chest inflate a lot. “That is impossible.”
“But Neville did it. That’s why I want him to come here and see whether he can help us figure out why the snake came back to life.”
Augusta’s eyes darkened. “I can assure you that plenty of magical theorists have interviewed Neville. He has no idea about why he survived. No ‘secret’ he remembers from being one year old and seeing his mother die in front of him.”
“I know. But I think that maybe, with someone else to compare himself to—”
“How dare you!”
“Something else,” said Harry, a little surprised, but he couldn’t think of any other reason she would be objecting. Augusta calmed down and sniffed a little, so yes, it must have been the words. “Maybe he would find something to do with his scar when he can examine this snake.”
“Why would you think it had anything to do with his scar?”
“Well, it must, mustn’t it? I mean, he told me his scar hurt him when Lord Dudders was around, and gave Neville a connection to him. It even hurts when he touches Neville. So that must be the source of whatever Dark magic Neville has on him.”
“My grandson is not Dark!”
Harry cocked his head. By this point, he thought Augusta was just acting. She had to know he wasn’t saying Neville was Dark—not that it would matter a lot to Harry if Neville was—and that he also wasn’t saying the Dark magic was Neville’s. But Harry would make sure, just in case.
“What I mean,” he said, as politely as he could, “is that Lord Dudders put some kind of magic into the connection. His magic affected Neville somehow when he died the first time—and in fact, he came back to life, too, so there must be some connection that ties him and the snake together, and probably him and Neville, too.”
“Again, magical theorists have investigated this.” Augusta had her arms wrapped around herself. “None of them could find anything wrong with Neville.”
“It’s not normal to have a connection to the Dark Lord who tried to kill you,” Harry pointed out. “I’m saying that it’s something we should look at, not that it’s wrong. Come on, Mrs. Longbottom. You said that you wanted to figure out a way Neville could help without fighting in the war. This is the way.”
Augusta said nothing for long moments, her eyes fixed on her hands. Then she looked up. “I’m afraid of what you’ll find.”
After thinking about that for a minute, Harry supposed he could see it. Not for himself, because he couldn’t recall being afraid for a long time, but for someone normal like her. “I know. But I think Neville deserves the chance to try and find it.”
“You don’t care that much about him,” said Augusta in a low voice. “You would do anything to achieve your own goals.” She glared at Black, which made Harry want to laugh. Did she think Black was influencing him in some way?
“And you don’t care that much about him, either,” said Harry, and ignored the way her eyes came back to him. “You’ve made sure that he went through so much extra training that he’s shaken and exhausted and terrified half the time.”
Augusta gaped at him, and then closed her mouth with a snap and a snort. “Keep in mind that you need my goodwill for Neville to come here, Mr. Potter.”
“I’m only telling the truth.” Harry met her gaze, unblinking, and ignored the way Black had slapped his hand over his face. It wasn’t like Black would have any greater power to convince her. “You did encourage extra training, and you kept it up even when you should have known it wasn’t working. For example, Neville is never going to be good at Potions as long as Snape is the one to train him. He despised Neville, and undermined his confidence.”
Harry didn’t know if it was his tone or his words or that particular example, but Augusta slumped against the back of her chair a little and bowed her head. “That’s true,” she whispered. “But I hoped…Frank was wonderful with Potions. I hoped that Neville had inherited his father’s talent.”
“Neville is not his father,” Harry said, and thought for a moment that he wasn’t much like James Potter, either. But he brushed that thought aside. Of course he wasn’t, because he wasn’t drooling in the Janus Thickey ward. “I know you love him, and he doesn’t want to disappoint you, which is one reason that he never complained. But I think Professor McGonagall will back me up as saying that the lessons don’t work for him all that well.”
Augusta was staring at him again. “How would you know? If he never complained?”
“Because he would be stronger and more self-confident if it had,” Harry said simply. He would never want to be the Boy-Who-Lived, but the one thing that he wished was that someone had given him the extra training that Neville had had. Maybe he would have had a way to cure his parents by now. “Anyway. Do we have your permission to bring him here?”
Augusta scowled. “I’ll need a reason to withdraw him from school. Dumbledore won’t want to let him go.”
Harry shrugged a little. “Say that you’ve heard the Defense professor for this year is incompetent and you think Neville needs better training than she can give him. After all, he’ll have to face Lord Dudders in battle someday.”
Augusta gave him an expression that Harry couldn’t recognize, and then sighed and stood. “That might work. I’ll see you later.” She turned and walked out of the room so quickly Harry didn’t have the chance to ask her if she would do it.
“Will she do it?” he asked the adults instead. Terry wasn’t here, because he had seemed scared of Augusta. Harry didn’t think she was scary, but he didn’t know what her reaction to Terry would have been, so it was probably a good thing he’d stayed out of the way.
“She will,” said Black, voice strong and unshaken. “If she wasn’t, she would have told us so.”
“What did that look she gave me mean?” Harry had to admit that the adults would probably know better than he would about this. He was great at reading animal body language, but still not always more than adequate at humans.
Professor McGonagall and Black exchanged glances. “To you,” Professor McGonagall finally said, “it seems so simple to think of these plans.”
“It is.” Harry frowned. “This isn’t like the magical theory I was trying to explain to you. It isn’t hard.” He had accepted that not everyone saw Transfiguration and animals the way he did and they would need explanations, but this was a bit ridiculous.
Black and Professor McGonagall treated each other to glances again. “Why did you think of using Umbridge as an excuse?” Black said.
“Because it’s obvious.”
“Not obvious to everyone. Augusta hadn’t thought of it.”
Harry shrugged. “She also didn’t think that the training wasn’t doing Neville any good, or that he was different from his father. Sometimes people don’t see everything.” He knew that was true of himself. “I need to go talk to Snape again.”
“I don’t think that’s wise,” Black said at once, in that annoying manner he had of opposing everything Harry wanted to do. “I visited him last night, and he’s—I think he’s gone insane hoping for vengeance on you. You’re not safe alone with him.”
“So come with me,” Harry snapped over his shoulder, and started walking out the door. Sometimes, it really did feel like everyone else was stupid, even if he did know that people had different strengths and levels of intelligence.
“It’s not safe,” Black insisted, but he had to follow if he didn’t actually want to be left behind.
“But with you and Professor McGonagall with me, why not?” Harry asked, once he saw that they were both following him. Professor McGonagall did roll her eyes a little, but she also smiled at him, so Harry felt secure smiling back.
“I suppose he does often ask intelligent questions.”
Black didn’t bother responding to Professor McGonagall, and just kept walking downwards with grim stamps of his feet. Harry shook his head. He honestly didn’t know what Black’s problem was. No one was making him follow Harry around. He could give up his “guardianship” at any time.
Not that Harry really wanted him to, since he liked having Grimmauld Place as a secure stronghold and it was Black who was really keeping Bellatrix and the rest of the Death Eaters prisoner. But it would be Black’s decision if he wanted to walk away, and Harry would figure out a new way to heal his parents.
Indeed, he thought he might already have, if his theories about Nagini were right.
*
Neville stared in shock at the letter in front of him. It was from his Gran, but he had cast several spells that detected charms and curses on it, because he couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t like any letter she had ever written him.
“Nev? Are you all right?”
That was Ron, sitting down next to him at the Gryffindor table, face full of concern. Neville swallowed and looked at him, then silently held out the letter to Ron. Ron knew what his Gran was like. If he had some kind of advice, Neville would be happy to listen to it.
“Wow,” Ron said, after he’d read it through.
“I know.” Neville huddled a little. He thought the only consistent thing about Gran was that she would get angry if he didn’t follow the commands in her letters. But how could he go up to Dumbledore and tell him he would be withdrawing from the school? Dumbledore was the wise old man he had always looked up to.
“I think your Gran’s barking if she thinks you can just march up to Dumbledore and do this,” Ron said, handing Neville the letter back.
“I know,” Neville whispered.
“Who’s barking?”
That was Hermione, coming down from the library late to breakfast as usual. Neville gratefully gave the letter to her. He didn’t think there was much Hermione could tell him to do that he hadn’t already thought of, but like Ron, she would be sympathetic to why Neville couldn’t just do what Gran requested.
Surprisingly, though, Hermione was thoughtful as she handed the letter back. “You have to think about who you’re more afraid of.”
“What d’you mean?” Ron leaned past Neville to frown at Hermione, the way he did when she started talking about how important to one’s future homework was.
“Your grandmother, or Dumbledore. Who are you more afraid of?”
Neville swallowed slowly. That hadn’t been the kind of advice he’d hoped for from Hermione, but with the direct way she was looking at him, he knew she wanted to hear the answer to the question. He hesitated, then spoke the truth. “Gran. Dumbledore can be disappointed in me, but she can make my life hell, and she’s my legal guardian.”
“It’s not right, the way she treats you.”
“She’s trying to protect him!”
“But she shouldn’t be able to make his life hell if he doesn’t want to do something that does seem strange—”
Neville tuned their bickering out, as usual, while he stared down at the letter. Gran was frank. She didn’t tell him where he would be going, but she did say that she was going to pull him out of Hogwarts, and she said he had to “tell” Dumbledore that it was because of Umbridge and the way Dumbledore wouldn’t stand up to her. That meant there was really some other reason.
Neville was horribly afraid it was more tutors—tougher ones, who would be disgusted by the fact that he hadn’t advanced in the Arts so far when he’d tried and tried and tried with the Hogwarts professors teaching him.
What can I do? And what if Dumbledore just reads the truth out of my mind when I go up to talk to him? Gran hadn’t said what he was supposed to do about Dumbledore’s Legilimency.
“Don’t look so worried about it, Neville.” Hermione put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure your grandmother won’t set you any impossible tasks.”
Neville squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t help thinking that the tasks wouldn’t be impossible for Hermione. She was a lot smarter than him, and a lot braver. She would go and confront Professor Dumbledore if she thought she had to.
“Blimey, mate, she’s coming today?”
That made Neville open his eyes, fast. He didn’t remember seeing anything about that in the letter. “What do you mean?”
“That’s what it says,” Ron told him with a slightly confused glance, holding the letter out again. Neville snatched it and let his eyes focus on the last paragraph, which he had skimmed over before when he was shaking with fear.
We are on a time limit, Neville. I will be coming to collect you this evening, so make sure you tell Headmaster Dumbledore right away.
Neville gave a little moan and squeezed his eyes shut. His scar seemed to throb in time with his pulse. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him. He had tried so hard to be a good Boy-Who-Lived, even though he knew how disappointing he was. He had tried, and tried, and tried, and now he was going to have to confront Headmaster Dumbledore and tell him he was leaving.
And what about Ron and Hermione? Neville opened his eyes and looked at them a little helplessly. “Will you come and visit?”
“Of course,” Ron said at once, comfortably. “Mum wants to send you biscuits and Christmas jumpers, anyway. You know I can’t just let you go.” He smiled at Neville and went back to eating. You could always count on Ron to be solid and reassuring like that, thought Neville, a trembling part of his mind firming a little.
Hermione was biting her lip, though. “I don’t know, Neville. How does your Gran feel about Muggleborns?”
“She has no problem with them,” said Neville firmly. He didn’t think Gran was enthusiastic about them, either, but she had no blood purity prejudices. It was just that the Longbottoms had always tended to marry other people with generations of magical ancestors behind them. And Gran would be enthusiastic if Neville said that he needed Hermione to visit sometimes and, in return, he would work harder at his lessons.
Even when it does no good at all.
“Oh, good!” Hermione’s face cleared, and she smiled at him. “Then I think this is the best decision she could make, really.”
“You aren’t going to miss me?” Neville asked wistfully. He knew he had sometimes disappointed them both, that he hadn’t always been the best friend to Ron and that Hermione had expected a better Boy-Who-Lived than him, but he thought their friendship was stronger than that.
“Of course we are!” Ron clouted him on the shoulder. Neville rubbed it, but smiled.
“But this is really the best thing for you right now, Neville.” Hermione leaned towards him and spoke quietly. “We both know that Umbridge isn’t going to give up on punishing you until she does something unforgivable. Or maybe even kills you. And for whatever reason, Dumbledore won’t stand up to her.” Her eyes had a peculiar shine to them for a second, like Dumbledore had actually disappointed her, too. She cleared it away with a blink and charged on. “You need to be safe.”
“We’ll visit you as soon as we can,” said Ron. “Count on that, mate.”
Neville nodded slowly. Then he picked up the letter and looked at the Head Table. Dumbledore had already left, and Neville knew the recent password to his office. He didn’t talk often with Dumbledore anymore, but he always sent an owl each week with the new password. “I need to go do this before I lose my nerve.”
“Good luck, Neville.”
“Good luck, mate.”
Neville nodded, and noticed with relief that Umbridge was also missing from the table. At least there were only the randomly hostile eyes of students to watch him leave.
*
Albus shut his eyes and sighed out slowly. Even though the disappearance of Severus and Minerva’s betrayal had stung deeply, he had the rest of the staff united now. They would stand against Dolores, and finally force her out of the school. He’d arranged the confrontation for that night, right after dinner, before Dolores could get to any detentions she had scheduled.
He had intended to take the morning to prepare contingency plans, and so started when someone knocked on his door. More than that, Fawkes immediately popped his head out from beneath his wing and crooned. He only reacted like that to a few special people.
“Come in, Neville,” Albus called. He was taking a chance, but most of the other people Fawkes reacted to like that weren’t here in the school.
When the door opened, Neville marched in with a clenched chin that made Albus’s heart stir. Perhaps the boy had found his courage after all, and had come to offer to stand beside the professors when they confronted Umbridge. But then Albus had to shake his head. He’d told no students about the confrontation. How would Neville know?
Fawkes immediately shot across the office and caused a scene by sitting on Neville’s shoulder and crooning at him. Neville looked startled, probably by the vehemence of the greeting, and then smiled and stroked Fawkes’s neck.
“Have a seat, Neville.”
Albus could have sworn his phoenix looked at him sulkily before he flew back to his perch and let Neville sit down. Then Fawkes turned his back and began to groom his feathers energetically. Albus shook his head—even after so many years in a phoenix’s company, he didn’t always understand them—and then turned back to Neville.
“Um. My grandmother wanted me to tell you that—that I’ll be leaving the school, Headmaster.”
“What did you say?” Albus felt as if he were falling down a deep tunnel.
“That’s what she said,” Neville said, rushing through the words as if he knew that Albus would try to stop him and thought he would never recover his confidence if that happened. For that matter, Albus didn’t know how he was supposed to get the ability back to close his mouth. “She said she was going to take me away from the school because she didn’t like Umbridge teaching me. She thinks I need to be better at Defense to defeat V-Voldemort.” He ducked his head and played with the fringe of a shawl hanging over the back of the chair.
“Neville…you can’t go. Your presence in the school means so much, to all of us.”
“Does it, though?” Neville never looked up from the fringe he was braiding across his lap. “Half the other students think I’m an attention-seeking liar. I don’t think they’ll be that upset I’m gone.”
“Your friends—”
“They said they would visit when they could. I’m sure Gran will allow them. She has no problem with the Weasleys, or with Muggleborns.”
“But you can’t want to leave Hogwarts. Not when you haven’t finished your education and you’re having so much fun here.”
Neville sighed and looked up, his chin steadier than before. “I’ve never had that much fun at Hogwarts, Headmaster, except in Herbology. That’s the only thing I’m good at. All I’ve done is disappoint the professors—and you. And I can’t really learn anything now without Umbridge taking notice.”
Albus decided to take a risk. No one better than Neville to confess the secret to, anyway, since he was on the verge of disappearing from the school. “My professors and I are confronting Umbridge tonight, in fact. We’ll be sending her away.”
“Why didn’t you do this before?”
“Pardon?”
“Why didn’t you confront Umbridge before now?” Neville’s eyes were deep and sad. “Wasn’t she causing enough trouble for you? Or did you just not care?”
Albus shook his head rapidly. “I needed firepower behind me. With all the professors, I have enough.”
Neville remained silent for long enough that Albus thought he could go on to explain the outlines of his plan, but when he drew breath to start, Neville shook his head and stood up. “I think this should be a school, not a battleground, and right now, I’m glad I’m leaving. Good-bye, Fawkes.” And Neville walked out the door.
Albus remained as still as a toad in mud for long moments. Then he stood up and turned to the fireplace.
No. He could not lose the Boy-Who-Lived. And he could not allow him to withdraw from the war, which he feared would happen if he let Neville back into Augusta Longbottom’s clutches. She would keep the boy safe and work out some way to defeat Voldemort that would lead to bloodshed and chaos—much more than Albus’s way.
No. He would not lose now.
*
Severus was ready when the boy came through the door. He only had to lure him close enough, and he could do something.
He didn’t have his wand, but he could accomplish some things with wandless power; he had always been able to. He had used an instinctive Body-Bind on himself to keep his body still during his branding with the Dark Mark, and the Dark Lord had praised him for his control afterwards. He had reached out to Lily many times with accidental magic before Hogwarts.
He only needed Potter close enough, now.
This time, the boy came in without the krait, but with Black and Minerva not far behind him. Severus tensed, and then relaxed again. Well. It does not matter so much what they do to me after I have my vengeance.
“I want to know what else you can tell me about Nagini,” Potter said, and sat on Severus’s table and swayed his legs back and forth.
“I have told you all I can tell you,” Severus said, but he let himself sound hesitant and offended enough that the boy would ask again.
Potter fell for it. “I don’t think you have,” he said, with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “You were close enough to Lord Dudders to impress him when he returned and convince him of your loyalty even though you spent all those years serving Dumbledore. You would have picked up more than the other Death Eaters.”
If this were anyone else, Severus would have thought they were trying to flatter him. But he knew Potter was simply speaking the truth as he saw it, and with no intent to make Severus care—only to let Severus know that Potter knew what he assumed was the truth.
I have never met someone so arrogant. Even the Dark Lord.
Severus clung to his plan, and said simply, “There is one thing I will tell you about Nagini that I have not told anyone else, because the Dark Lord would know the information came from me. But since I do not think that you will let me go anytime soon…”
He let his words trail off pointedly, but Potter didn’t deny it. He only nodded, unblinking. “What is it?”
Severus glared at Black. “I don’t want him to hear it.”
“Why? Regulus might be the only other Dark wizard in here, but I don’t think he’s going to use it. Unlike some people, he actually walked away from Lord Dudders when he had a chance.”
Severus clenched his shaking hands together behind his back. “Will you let me speak it to you only?” he asked harshly.
“With the proviso that I’ll only tell them later.”
Severus nodded as if that was acceptable to him, and moved a step closer to Potter, until he loomed above him. Potter gazed back at him with the eyes of a great animal who had never known fear.
Severus knew he would only get the one chance, but he was close enough now, and he only needed his wandless magic to strengthen his hands. Potter was a small thing—probably the legacy of being starved as a child, if the rumors Severus had heard were true. Severus could still get his hands around Potter’s neck and squeeze and twist fast enough to kill him. It was the way he killed rabbits and pheasants and other animals for the Potions ingredients he needed, after all.
He bent over, opened his mouth as if to speak, and then shot a hand forwards.
He pulled it back with a shout of pain. Potter’s hand had shot out to meet his, and there was the scrape of claws down the back of Severus’s knuckles. He didn’t mean to pull back that way, but it was simply instinctive, and it left him staring, for a moment, at the line of blood scored across his hand.
He had a moment to do it, because Potter leaped off the table and knocked him down. Severus found himself lying on his pallet, grunting, and then looked up. There was another sharp descent of Potter’s hand.
A second later, Severus found himself screaming, as blood drenched the left half of his face.
“Regulus insists on keeping you alive,” Potter’s cool voice said. “And you’re useful if you can brew potions, so I won’t cripple your hands permanently. But I never heard that you needed two of these to brew potions.”
And with a flex of his claws, he took Severus’s left eye.
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The Art of Self-Fashioning