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Still Life	By : Pat Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 2374 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Title: Still Life
Author: Lillian
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Neville/Hengist
Warnings: AU, Angst, Sap
Spoilers: None that I can think of
Feedback: Lillian02025@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Not owned by me. No infringement intended. No money made *sigh *.
Archive: Please ask first.
Summary: Neville is an outcast at Hogwarts. Can another universe provide him with the life he's always wanted?
Authors Notes: Part of the Neville FQF at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/gardenersdelightslash/ This is challenge #45--Neville causes an explosion in Potions, and is drenched. Snape sends him off to Madam Pomfrey. Neville vanishes somewhere between the Potions classroom and the hospital wing. Apparently, he tripped on the stairs and fell against a portrait. The potion interacted with the magical nature of a wizard portrait, and poor Neville got sucked in. What is the portrait world like, whom is there with him, and will Neville ever want to return to reality? (Carly)
Please note: Some of you may be wondering who Hengist of Woodcroft is---he isn't my invention. Hengist appears on the chocolate frog wizard cards as a famous medieval wizard who founded Hogsmeade. I've borrowed him for my story. Also, in my AU, the portraits are a world unto themselves, a parallel universe if you will. It should be understood that unlike canon, my portrait people are not able to move from one frame of existence (pardon the pun) to another. They are totally separate from one another and are not aware of any existence other than their own. A very special thanks to my wonderful friend and beta, MeLi. I couldn't have done any of this without her. And thanks to Linda as usual for her brilliant ideas and support. Believe me, any remaining mistakes are clearly my own.
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Green and black stripes covered Neville's face, and the remaining gobs of the smelly botched potion clung to his robes as he shuffled up the stairs towards the infirmary. Why oh why had he made such a stupid mistake?
Snape had instructed them to add armadillo bile to the wit-sharpening potion, but Neville had added ashwinder eggs instead to the mixture. The results was predictable as far as Neville's history in potions classroom was concerned; his cauldron had bubbled over and spat out the now volatile mixture faster than a blink of an eye, and Neville had ended up covered in slime.
Neville hunched his shoulders as he remembered Snape's voice hissing at him, "Longbottom, you fool! Can't you even follow simple instructions?" Even his friends had laughed at the multi-coloured stripes that had appeared on Neville's moonshaped face.
Not for the first time in his Hogwarts career he felt like an idiot. No one respected him, not even his Gryffindor friends, not really. They felt sorry for him perhaps. Look at Neville, poor Neville, can't get anything right. Not much more than a squib really.
Neville used a clean spot on the robe sleeves to wipe his face clean with an agitated gesture.
He hated it here. He wanted to go home, but his granny wouldn't have welcomed him. She expected him to "make something of himself". He'd always known he'd been more than a bit of a disappointment to his granny.
Her son, Neville's father, had been a famous and talented Auror. But that was before the Cruciatus Curse had been employed upon him, and Neville's mum, during a torture session by Death Eaters. What remained of Neville's parents currently resided at St. Mungo's, their vacant expressions forever fixed upon their countenances.
As a young child, Neville evidenced no real wizarding talents, and his caretakers had been more than a little distraught at the idea that the next generation of Longbottoms had produced a squib. His Uncle Algie had nearly drowned Neville as a child trying to bring forward some sign of ability.
Eventually, to the great relief of his relatives, Neville had finally evidenced sufficient talent to receive his Hogwarts invitation. Their duty done, Neville's relatives turned him over to the tender mercies of the Hogwarts professors.
At first Neville had harboured hopes that Hogwarts would be different, his chance to vindicate himself. He'd been thrilled when he'd been sorted into Gryffindor House and happy that he'd made friends with Ron, Harry & Hermione.
But then, his pattern of failure reasserted itself as a first year. Neville had a great deal of trouble concentrating in class. His thoughts skittered here and there, never wanting to settle. Only constant revision kept him from failing most of his classes and he was quite hopeless in spontaneous situations. Hermione, a muggle born, had done some research on his problem and suggested that Neville suffered from what the muggles called a "learning disorder".
Neville had been intrigued by the idea, and had asked Hermione if there was a potion that might make him better. Hermione had replied that she didn't know of any and that muggles had medications they could use, but she wasn't sure what the effect would be on a wizard. She had even suggested speaking to Professor Snape about the subject, but Neville had vetoed the suggestion immediately. He shivered at the idea of asking the nastiest Professor at Hogwarts for help. No, he would continue to go along as he had.
Just then, a small first year Hufflepuff came bounding down the stairs past Neville carrying a note. She giggled at the sight of Neville's dishevelled and dripping robes. Right. Well, that was it. When Hufflepuffs started to laugh at you there was no further down you could fall.
Neville picked up speed, trying to get up the stairs quickly to avoid further encounters. As he did he found his feet slipping on the stairs, he tried to slow down but became unbalanced, slowly he toppled backward, his arms wind-milling as he fell.
His right arm reached out desperately for some support to break his fall, and in doing so, struck one of the paintings lining the stairway. Sparks and a bright violet colour shot out from the painting. Neville felt a violent suction first on his arm, then his entire body. He felt as if his plump body was being squeezed through a tiny keyhole. The last thing he remembered was the feeling of being quite breathless before he lost consciousness.
Several minutes later the students broke from the muggle studies classroom on the first floor, making their way towards their potions class in the dungeon. One sharp eyed fifth year Ravenclaw made a mental note to have the Hogwarts house elves clean up the green slime that covered the lower area of the main staircase. That could be a potential hazard for the little ones.
None of the students passing, however, noticed the addition of a small robed body in the portrait that contained Hengist of Woodcroft standing in the medieval village of Hogsmeade, which was located half way up the stairwell.
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Neville's mouth was resting against the rough dirt and, consequently, he was breathing in dust as he came back to consciousness. He felt very woozy and nauseous and disinclined ake ake any sudden moves until his world stopped spinning. Had he fallen off of his broom?
His body ached as though he'd been beaten with several bludgers. He heard a voice ask a question but he only grunted in response. Maybe his hearing had been affected, too. Where was Madam Pomfrey? Surely somebody had called her.
The impatient voice said something again. Neville shook his head slightly, trying to indicate he didn't understand. A strong hand grabbed Neville by the shoulder and turned him over.
Neville blinked, blinded temporarily by the strong sunlight. A shadow fell over him as a man blocked out the sun. He was only a few inches taller than Neville's height but was broader in the shoulders and upper arms. He wore a longish tunic that was split down the middle towards the bottom, a sort of woollen trouser and, on his feet, some sort of leather boots.
His hair was bright gold and he had the bluest eyes Neville had ever seen. Neville tried to lift his head but groaned and fell back.
The blond vision barked what appeared to be a command but Neville couldn't comprehend what he was babbling about. He appeared to be quite upset with Neville. Surely, this foreigner knew he was a student at Hogwarts? Neville's cloudy memory tried to piece together how he ended up in this situation but a pounding headache precluded serious inquiry for the moment.
Neville tried to sit up with more success this time. He pushed himself up on his hands and stared at this golden vision.
"Look, there's no use in shouting, I don't understand a word you're saying," said Neville, and then he sneezed.
The brawny man jumped back and whipped out his wand from behind him. Obviously, the wand had been located in the rope-like belt around the tunic.
Neville held up both his hands in a gesture of good will.
Again, the man spoke in what appeared to be a form of garbled English, or was it German? Oh, where was Hermione when you needed her?
Neville looked up as he heard an impatient hiss come from above him. Before he could duck the stranger had intoned a spell while directing his wand at Neville. Neville felt a pop in his ears but otherwise felt all right.
"Now," said the man. "You'll tell me who you are, and what you're doing here, before I lock you away in the root cellar," he continued gruffly.
Neville's confusion was growing in leaps and bounds.
"Why would you lock me away? I've done nothing wrong, and just where am I?" Neville stammered.
Hengist kept his wand directed at the stranger but he relaxed his guard marginally. The boy's eyes were honest, and Hengist had learned years ago to trust his instincts in these matters.
Still, the young man was a mystery; he was well dressed, too well dressed for the village he was in. Hengist knew everyone in the village personally and this stranger's appearance spoke of rank and wealth far above the rough folk that lived here.
Plus, the boy stank of magic; it clung to him tightly along with the drippy remains of what appeared to be a potion of some kind.
"Where is your wand?" Hengist asked gruffly.
"My, my wand? In my pocket, I think," said Neville starting to reach for it.
"Hold!" shouted the older man. Neville nervously put his hand back down to the ground rather than risk a having a hex directed at him.
Keeping his eyes on Neville, Hengist squatted down and started feeling around into Neville's robes, searching for the wand.
Neville squeaked as he felt the stranger's hands roaming over his body. What on earth was he doing?
Hengist eventually felt the opening in the robes and stuck his hand in, withdrawing the eleven-inch wand. He looked thoughtfully at it. Holly. A fine quality wand. The mystery continued to deepen.
"Core?" he rapped out, startling Neville.
"Dragon heart-string," said Neville quickly.
Hengist got up out of his crouch. He'd best keep a close watch on this puzzle.
"Stand up," he said sharply.
Neville raised his chin with a recalcitrant expression appearing on his face for the first time.
"Why, where are you taking me?" Neville said with a small quiver in his voice.
"To my home," said Hengist shortly. "Unless you'd rather stay out here to be soaked."
For the first time Neville felt a cool breeze blowing against his face. He turned his face upwards and noticed several dark clouds beginning to scud across the skyline.
Neville looked down at his gooey, smelly robes and thought that a soaking was the last thing he needed.
Neville looked up and saw that the older man was offering his hand. Neville took it and felt the warm strength of the man as he drew Neville to his feet. Neville stumbled a bit and almost fell forward into the man but was steadied at the last second by the blond stranger.
The blond vision wrinkled his nose.
"You stink. Take those robes off. I'll have to find you some clean clothes at home," and with that he turned his back on Neville and started to walk down the road towards the centre of what appeared to be a village.
Neville scrambled to unbutton the heavy winter robes and pull them over his head. By the time he finished his would be rescuer was halfway down the road and moving at a brisk pace.
"Wait, wait for me," Neville bleated as he raced after the man.
Neville caught up and had to trot to keep up with the man's long strides.
"I don't even know your name," he said puffing. "Mine's Neville Longbottom," he said, sticking out his right hand to introduce himself.
The blonde abruptly stopped. He stared at Neville's hand for a long minute. Neville started to blush and wished he'd never offered it. Neville started to pull his hand away when it was grabbed strongly by the blonde. He gripped Neville's forearm instead of his hand.
"And mine is Hengist of Woodcroft. I am the leader of the village of Hogsmeade," he said.
"Hogsmeade?" Neville said faintly. For the first time Neville took a good look around him. There were a group of one-story dwellings along what appeared to be a dirt road that made up the main street. The houses, if they could be so labelled, were one-story dwellings made of thatch and dried mud. There were no glass windows to be seen in any of the homes. Rather some sort of hide was tied back to keep them open, at least during the daylight hours.
Chickens, sheep, pigs and goats were kept in small wooden enclosures near the dwellings. Towards the end of the street, Neville could see what appeared to be a blacksmith shop. He could distinctly hear the clanging of metal and see the light of what looked like a forge.
Several women were walking towards a well near the centre of the village. One of the largest of the buildings in the village appeared to be an inn with a crude wooden sign hanging out front that consisted of a carving of a boar or a hog's head but no writing. Neville's stomach cramped and growled as he caught a whiff of some kind of stew being cooked.
This wasn't the Hogsmeade he knew. Where was the Three Broomsticks? Zonko's? Honeydukes? Neville started to feel cold. Something was wrong here. Something was very wrong. His head still throbbed badly and he could feel Hengist's watchful eyes on him.
Hengist released Neville's arm. The boy looked genuinely confused and almost frightened. Hengist felt a touch of pity for the stranger.
Neville's stomach chose that moment to growl again loudly, protesting its empty state.
"Come, we'll go to the Inn and get something to eat, then you can tell me your story," said Hengist, guiding Neville by the arm towards the Inn.
With a throbbing head and growling stomach, Neville could only hope that a little nourishment would help clear his cloudy memory, or else he still might end up locked in Hengist's root cellar.
TBC
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Still Life