The Mark of Courage

The Mark of Courage

Chapter Six

Neville sprinkled brown sugar over his morning porridge, listening to the incessant Quidditch talk between Harry and Ron. It was Saturday morning, and tryouts for the Gryffindor Quidditch team were taking place that afternoon. He had spent the entire week dreading this day, once he had reluctantly decided to try out for the Quidditch commentator position. He had told no one of his decision, wanting to surprise Ginny and hopefully make amends with her, no matter how dreadfully the actual audition turned out. That was the other reason he hadn't told anyone. He didn't want to hear the inevitable laughter and teasing until after the final moment of doom.

He couldn't understand why he was putting himself through this misery. He had spent his entire life perfecting the fine art of blending unnoticed into the wallpaper. He hated being the center of attention, especially since it tended to be mostly negative. Surely there were better ways to make Ginny smile at him again besides riding off into potential catastrophe, emotional trauma, and certain mental anguish.

It wasn't as though Ginny would fall into his arms in ardent admiration, even if the impossible happened and he didn't make a complete idiot of himself at the audition. She appeared genuinely fond of Dean Thomas; the pair was inseparable. They spent each evening together in the Gryffindor common room, laughing and teasing each other as they studied. They were together at every meal in the Great Hall. Dean walked with her to almost every class, usually carrying her books for her. He brought her trinkets and fresh flowers, and had even done a lovely watercolor portrait of her from memory. Neville couldn't even draw a decent stick figure.

"Neville?" Ron's voice pulled him back to the here-and-now. "You can stop stirring your porridge any time now."

He looked down into his bowl, where the porridge sat congealing into a lumpy, unappetizing mass. He dipped his spoon and took a bite without tasting it.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. "You've been really jittery lately."

"N-nothing's wrong," Neville replied. "It's the...the homework. I don't have a clue as to how I'm going to write that essay for Potions. 'Describe all the uses for each ingredient in the Polyjuice Potion?'" He was afraid he'd be spending the remainder of his weekend in the library, researching the myriad uses of boomslang skin and lacewings. "Did Snape intentionally choose the potion with the longest ingredient list?"

"Probably," Ron said, successfully diverted from the original topics of Quidditch and the reason behind Neville's distractedness. "His sister isn't much better. They must have done homework for fun when they were children. Why else do you think they would assign so much of it now that they're grown up?"

Harry wasn't fooled as easily. "You've had no problems keeping up with the rest of us. Something else is on your mind."

"It's nothing. Really." Neville suddenly decided that Quidditch wasn't such a bad topic after all. "Do you think Ginny will make the team?"

"Oh, yeah," Ron said confidently. "It's practically a family tradition. Her flying style is a lot like Angelina's was; and she's got great hand-eye coordination. I just hope we can get a decent pair of Beaters this year. Andrew and Jack played almost as well as I did last year." He snagged another strip of bacon and bit into it. "Which isn't saying much."

"Jack Sloper left after last year though," Harry said. "I think Andrew will do better with another partner."

Neville relaxed as the conversation finally turned away from himself and into safer territory. Finishing his porridge, he made his apologies and left, wanting to make some headway on his Potions essay before lunch.

The library was quiet and nearly empty, an unsurprising discovery since it was still early and a Saturday to boot. Neville saw only Madam Pince and a pair of Ravenclaw second years as he set his things down at an empty table and began perusing the shelves for the books he needed for his essay.

An armload of dusty tomes later, Neville turned and started back down the aisle to his table. It would probably be best if he took the Polyjuice Potion recipe itself and started with the first ingredient listed, he thought. That way he wouldn't accidentally overlook any potion component. He smiled, recalling the marks he'd received thus far in Potions. Snape still didn't know what to make of him; and while he hadn't yet suffered a heart attack at the markedly improved potions samples Neville turned in, the puzzlement in his dark eyes whenever he looked at his formerly favorite target was nearly as enjoyable. Though Neville didn't think he would ever be truly comfortable around the Potions master, the mindless fear he'd carried for so long was gone.

It was yet one more thing he owed to Bellatrix Lestrange. For someone he'd vowed to destroy, Neville mused, he certainly owed her a growing debt on a number of personal matters. Vengefulness was a tricky, mysterious emotion.

A grunt of amusement made him pause in the aisle. He stood still, listening, and paled as he heard a laborious voice reading, "...they've noticed the weight loss..."

He recognized the reader's voice as Vincent Goyle, which meant the laughter had to belong to Gregory Crabbe.

What are those two goons doing in the library on a Saturday?

They've got my journal! Merlin, how much have they read?

Quietly, Neville set down the library books and pulled out his wand. Taking a deep breath, he eased his way down the aisle as noiselessly as possible and peeked around the corner.

Books and rolls of parchment lay strewn in mad disarray, scattered around the study area. His bookbag was torn apart at the seams, every quill was broken, and ink was spattered everywhere. Neville gulped, seeing the destruction. Where was Madam Pince when he needed her?

He tightened his grip around his wand, glad he hadn't left it on the table with his other belongings. Two against one, yet the element of surprise was on his side, if he could take advantage of it.

"I got an E for my first Potions essay," Goyle continued reading aloud. "You should have seen the look on Snape's face when he handed it back. You would have thought his best friend had died, always assuming he has friends to begin with..."

Neville shook in silent fear and growing anger. How much had they read? How dare they? How dare they?

Shoving himself away from the bookshelf, he sprang around the corner, wand hand extended.

"Accio journal!" he shouted. Crabbe and Goyle looked up in stupefied shock as the journal jerked itself free from Goyle's grasp and flew into Neville's outstretched hand. Neville hugged it to his chest and advanced on the two Slytherins, eyes blazing.

"Don't you ever---touch---my---stuff---again," he said loudly, through gritted teeth.

Realizing too late that they had tarried too long, Crabbe and Goyle scrambled to escape the scene of the crime, only to run directly into Madam Pince, who had finally come to see what all the noise was about. She took in the scene with one sweeping, scandalized glance before her thin, ascetic face pinched even more tightly than usual. Reaching out, she grabbed Crabbe's ear with one set of bony fingers and Goyle's in the other.

"We'll just see what Professor Snape has to say about this," she said as she dragged them away. "Destroying that poor boy's things without cause and vandalizing school property! You should be ashamed of yourselves. Ashamed!"

Neville slumped into a nearby chair once they were gone, shaking. He hoped that they had only read the entries he'd written since school started. They were mostly innocuous writings, full of lists intended to help with his homework and improve his memory as well as chronicling his first week back at Hogwarts. If they had seen anything he'd written over the summer, however....He rocked back and forth in the chair, still hugging the journal to his chest. His mind raced in newfound panic. Crabbe and Goyle were Draco Malfoy's closest confidants.

And Draco Malfoy was Bellatrix Lestrange's nephew.

He rocked faster. How could he have forgotten? How could he have been so careless? This was worse than when he'd lost the list of passwords his third year, after Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban. The possibility of his plans falling into the hands of real Death-Eaters was now a distinct possibility.

How could I have been so careless?

He didn't know how long he sat there, chasing frantic thoughts that had no clear answers. Eventually he looked up, seeing the messes Crabbe and Goyle had left behind. Sighing, he took out his wand once more and pointed it at the nearest inkstain.

"Scourgify," he said wearily. The ink vanished.

Neville circled the study area, using the Scourgify Charm on each splash of ink he could find, collecting bits of parchment and scattered textbooks where they lay. Returning to the table, he pointed the wand at his bookbag.

"Reparo," he whispered. He placed his textbooks and the journal back into the repaired bag, then Charmed his quills back into wholeness. By the time Madam Pince returned from Professor Snape's office the area was clean and tidy.

"You didn't have to do that," she said to him, surveying the straightened area. "It was a thoughtful thing to do, though. I'll be sure to inform Professor McGonagall."

Neville nodded, and picked up the stack of books he'd selected. "I need to check these out," he said. "I think I'll work on my essay in the Gryffindor common room instead."

"Of course," Madam Pince replied. "I don't blame you, after what just happened. Young people these days have no respect, none at all. Your grandmother, at least, raised you right."

"You know my Gran?" Neville looked up in astonishment, distracted from the effort of balancing the library books in his arms.

"We attended Hogwarts together, though we were in different Houses. She was a Gryffindor, and I was a Hufflepuff. We were good friends nonetheless. I still owl her upon occasion."

Neville's heart sank. If Madam Pince and his Gran had been schoolgirl chums, it was a virtual certainty that she would learn about today's incident, and he'd hear about it in her next letter.

He hurried back to Gryffindor Tower as quickly as he could with his teetering load. Ron saw him as he entered the common room and leaped over to help just as the top of the stack toppled.

"For a moment there I thought you were Hermione," he said. "Only I'm playing Wizard's Chess with her right now. Ooof, these books are heavy. Did you check out the entire library?"

"Just the potions texts," Neville replied. Ron winced.

Hermione joined them, scanning the titles. "Think of it this way, Ron," she said. "Neville here has already done most of the work, getting these books. We don't have an excuse to go to the library." She sounded almost disappointed.

"Where's Harry?" Neville asked. He realized that he badly needed to talk to the other boy. Harry might know what to do.

Ron shrugged. "I haven't seen him since breakfast, mate," he said. "He could be at the Quidditch pitch already with Katie. She mentioned something about watching the Slytherin tryouts, if they allow it."

Apparently, they didn't, because Katie Bell entered the common room soon after, looking disgruntled. Harry followed behind her, his own expression impassive until he caught sight of his friends and hurried over. His green eyes sparkled with almost unholy glee.

"You'll never guess what I just overheard, just before Katie and I were kicked out," he said. "There's a rumor going around the Slytherins saying that Crabbe and Goyle might get suspended for vandalism!"

"Vandalism!" Hermione repeated, her eyes widening.

"Harry, you know it's not a good thing to listen to Slytherin gossip," Ron said. "They lie to each other almost as much as they do to people outside of their own House."

"It's true." Neville didn't look away from the quill he was sharpening. "They threw parchment and ink and broken quills all around the library study area. I should know, since it was my parchment, my ink, and my quills." He looked up at Harry from where he sat. "They were reading out loud from my journal. I used a Summoning Charm to get it back from them, and when they tried to leave Madam Pince caught them. I hope they do get suspended, personally."

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed.

Hermione looked Neville up and down, as if checking for injury. Seeing that he wasn't hiding evidence of blood or bruising, her expression relaxed slightly. "At least you weren't hurt," she said. Delicately, she added, "They didn't read anything of an, erm, sensitive nature, did they?"

I wish I knew, Neville thought. Aloud, he said, "I don't think so. Just what sort of marks I received in my classes, things like that. Nothing sensitive, as you put it." He forced a smile. "There will be no whispers about why I prefer boxers to briefs or anything like that making the rounds in the Great Hall tonight at dinner, if that's what you're worried about."

"You prefer boxers to briefs?" Ron fell back into a nearby armchair, one arm thrown across his eyes in mock tragedy. "I never would have thought it of you; you were always such a good boy..."

Neville threw his sharpened quill at him.

"Ouch!" Ron rubbed at his arm. "I didn't know you had such good aim."

"One of my many accomplishments over the summer," Neville said airily before shaking his head. "It was a lucky strike, Ron. Honestly, there's nothing to get so worked up about."

Harry had remained silent while Hermione assured herself of Neville's physical well-being and Ron had his bit of fun. "Don't you and Hermione still have a game of chess to finish?" he asked Ron. "There's still time to maneuver her into checkmate before lunch. Maybe by then we'll find out what happened to Crabbe and Goyle for certain."

Hermione sniffed. "You assume, Harry. I'm getting better at Wizard's Chess every time Ron and I play. This just may be the time I get the best of him."

"Oh, really?" Ron's eyebrows arched, signaling his disbelief. "We'll see about that!" They went back to the chessboard, exchanging challenges ("I'll have you checkmated in twenty moves." "Twenty? Ha! I'll have you in five!").

As soon as the pair were once again engrossed in their game, Harry sat down next to Neville and leaned forward. "There were more than just notes on your Potions marks in your journal," he said flatly. "You weren't joking when you said you listed everything in there, were you?"

"No," Neville admitted. "There are lists on how I could best become an Auror, how to make the most improvements in Potions...and whether or not the Lestrange woman has weaknesses and how to exploit them. I don't think she has many." He met Harry's eyes, not bothering to hide his fear. "Crabbe and Goyle are rarely far from Malfoy, and he's related to her. Hell, I'm related to her, but only as a fairly distant cousin. There are a lot of intermarriages between pureblood families, and the Longbottoms aren't an exception to that. I'm just a cousin, though. Malfoy's her nephew on his mother's side. If Crabbe or Goyle read something they shouldn't have..." His voice trailed away miserably. "I've been so stupid! I try to be smarter, and I'm still stupid." He looked down at the books scattered across the table without seeing them. "You must think I'm dumber than the dumbest Muggle in history."

"I wouldn't go that far," Harry said. "You have a long way to go before you reach my Cousin Dudley's level of stupidity. Neville, what happened in the library was a bit of bad luck, not proof of idiocy. It could have happened to anyone. Today it just happened to be you."

"Yeah, well, it happens to me a lot," Neville said bitterly. He knew he was wallowing in self-pity and hated it; but he wasn't quite sure how to climb out. He pursed his lips and exhaled noisily, making the hair on his forehead flutter. "I guess I'm expecting too much too soon from myself. Nobody goes from zero to hero overnight. Not that I want to be a hero or anything. I just want everyone to stop feeling sorry for me."

He fell silent. Beside him Harry was also silent, his brows knit in thought. "You and I are the only ones who know what's really in your journal, right?" he said at last. "Assuming Crabbe and Goyle didn't see anything?"

"Yes."

"I'll keep my eye on Malfoy," Harry said. "It's no secret that he's got it in for you this year, especially after what happened at the train station. Maybe he'll let something slip, if Crabbe and Goyle do tell him anything. And you might want to get yourself another journal to carry around. Keep the other one in the trunk by your bed for safety's sake. You don't want them to have another opportunity."

"No, I don't," Neville replied fervently. "Thanks, Harry. I appreciate your helping me with this."

"Not a problem," Harry answered. Looking at his watch, he sighed and said, "We still have a couple of hours before lunch. I might as well get started on my own essay and get at least a couple of ingredients out of the way. I won't have the chance this afternoon, with tryouts and everything. You wouldn't happen to have another roll of parchment on you, would you? I left my things upstairs in the dormitory."

Neville retrieved some from his bookbag and handed it to him. "I have lots more where this came from," he said, feeling more cheerful than he had in a long while. "I wasn't joking when I said I was single-handedly keeping the parchment makers in business this past summer. Gran thought I was turning my bedroom into a library before I got it all organized."

"You are going to see the tryouts this afternoon, aren't you?" Harry asked. "Ginny said you might."

"I'm thinking about it," Neville said neutrally. He no longer felt as nervous as he had earlier, thinking about the commentator auditions going on at the same time. He had already had his one major disaster of the day. It could only get better from now on, he thought.