The Mark of Courage

The Mark of Courage

Chapter Eight

Neville finally heard the news he was waiting for on Monday, during Potions. Crabbe and Goyle had received two months of detention each: one month with Snape and one with Madam Pince. They had also lost their Hogsmeade privileges for the year, and their parents had been notified. Neville couldn't decide which was worse---a month of detention with the head of Slytherin House, or the loss of Hogsmeade privileges. Either way, he was satisfied; though he'd preferred expulsion for the two Slytherins, the image of Crabbe and Goyle eviscerating a barrel of horned toads every night for a month gave him a great deal of satisfaction.

That satisfied glee resulted in his best potions sample yet. For a brief, bright moment, Snape looked as though he might actually have the heart seizure he and Harry always joked about.

Smiling at the memory, he carefully clipped away another piece of the Venomous Tentacula he and the other Herbology students were trimming. They would be teething soon. The trim was necessary, to limit their range before they became truly dangerous. Once Venomous Tentaculae began teething, they attempted to bite anyone within striking distance. As it was, they had a painful nip even while toothless, and despite the thick dragonhide gloves he wore, Neville knew his hands would sport new bruises once class ended. Venomous Tentaculae didn't like to be trimmed. They liked a real pruning even less. Taking cuttings for propagation was worst. It was a wonder the evil plants hadn't become extinct.

"Do you think the professors have posted the tryout results yet?" Susan whispered to him. "I've been on needles and pins all weekend."

"So have I." Neville took a step back from his plant, tilting his head to one side as he surveyed his work. Yes, nice and even. All he had left to do was to mix some composted dragon dung into the soil surrounding the plant. "Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout said sometime this afternoon, though. I'm going to check after dinner tonight. I want to see if I was right about who made the Quidditch team."

Susan giggled. "What is it with you Gryffindors and Quidditch? Sometimes I think you were all born on brooms."

"I certainly wasn't," Neville replied. "Brooms give me motion sickness. That and I always seem to end up in hospital afterwards." His first flying lesson had ended with a broken wrist. That one incident alone had cured him of any desire to fly, though the memory of riding the thestral remained a strangely favorite one.

"More clipping, less talking, Miss Bones," Professor Sprout said from behind them. "Nice job with that Tentacula, Mr. Longbottom! Though I daresay you'd have more success mulching it with the dragon dung than with words."

"Sorry, Professor," they murmured. Cheeks pink with embarrassment, Susan resumed trimming her Tentacula with renewed vigor. Displeased with the girl's overly exuberant enthusiasm, one of the heads whipped around and clamped its toothless jaws on her thumb. She yelped and leaped back, shaking her hand against the bruising pain.

Neville looked up from the dragon dung he'd begun mixing into the soil. "Essence of murtlap will take the sting out of that nip," he said. "You have to be careful with Venomous Tentaculae. They're temperamental."

"I know that!" Susan said irritably. She pulled off her dragonhide glove and examined her reddening thumb, bending it experimentally. "How do you do it, Neville? They don't nip at you nearly as often as the rest of us."

Neville ducked his head, concentrating on mixing the dung into the soil surrounding his plant. "I talk to them," he said. "I tell them that if they let me trim them, they'll grow more heads to bite other people with. It seems to work, most of the time."

After a moment he looked up, expecting to see a disdainful smirk at his admission of talking to plants. What he saw instead was something close to admiration in the Hufflepuff girl's eyes.

"I never thought of that," she said. "You're so clever with plants. You always have been, ever since the first day of class back in first year." She pulled her glove back onto her wounded hand with a small wince of pain. "Do...do you think you could show me how you trim these stupid plants?"

"Sure," Neville replied. "Just give me a moment here. I'm almost done mulching this one."

He spent the remainder of class showing Susan how to trim a Venomous Tentacula without getting nipped every time the trimmer approached with the clippers. Though her plant didn't end up as neat and even as Neville's did, the results still surpassed most of the other students' efforts. Millicent Bulstrode actually had to be rescued from her Tentacula. Since she had been a member of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad the previous year, Neville couldn't find it in himself to feel much pity.

He finished washing up after class ended, taking extra care to ensure that no dragon dung clung under his nails. It made wonderful fertilizer, but it stank to high heaven when it came in contact with human flesh. Hermione had once said that it was because of the chemical interaction between the two, whatever that meant.

Drying his hands, he gathered his things and left the greenhouse, to find Susan waiting for him.

"Thanks ever so much for your help today," Susan said, falling into step beside him as they made their way back towards the castle. "I think I learned more from you than I did from Professor Sprout."

"I wouldn't go that far," Neville said, trying and failing to completely hide the pleasure he felt at the compliment. "Professor Sprout knows more about magical plants than anybody. She wouldn't be teaching, otherwise." He risked a quick glance in her direction. "How's the thumb?"

"Sore," Susan admitted. "I think I'm going to stop by Madam Pomfrey's in a bit and see if she has any of that murtlap essence you mentioned."

"It's wonderful stuff," Neville said. "I've used it several times. It's very soothing."

They walked on for a few moments in silence. "The first Hogsmeade weekend is coming up soon," Susan said eventually. "Are you going?"

"Yeah. There're some things I need to buy." A new journal headed the shopping list, but she didn't need to know that.

"Who are you going with?"

Neville thought about it for a moment. "Harry, probably. Ron's going with Hermione, most likely; and Ginny will be going with Dean, of course." He didn't like the subtle thread of bitterness that laced those words. He didn't like the jealousy that welled up in him whenever he saw them together. He didn't like that ever since the tryouts Dean spoke of not only Ginny's flying skills, but also that of her fellow fifth year, Lucy Wyndham. Between them, Dean said, they were guaranteed to win the Quidditch Cup again this year.

He gave himself a mental headshake. He didn't really want to go to Hogsmeade with Harry. The other boy's continuing moodiness was apparently infectious.

"I'm not going to Hogsmeade with anyone," Susan said. "I thought that maybe, if you wanted to, we could go together. I need to buy a few things myself while I'm there. We could get a butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks afterwards, or maybe a coffee at Madame Puddifoot's. Have you ever been there?" She'd been speaking faster and faster, and the last sentence came out in a rush.

"Madame Puddifoot's?" Neville asked. "No, I don't think I have."

"Oh, you have to come, then! It's the best coffee in the world!"

He considered the invitation. Harry wouldn't miss him. He probably wouldn't even notice the company. Hell, there was no guarantee that Harry even planned to go.

Besides, this was the first time he could remember that anyone had ever intentionally sought his company. Susan was a good friend. Having coffee with her might be fun.

"Okay," he said. "I'll go to Hogsmeade with you. I don't drink much coffee, though. Gran says it's bad for my stomach."

"The tea there is good, too. Still, you haven't lived until you've had a double mocha latte piled with whipped cream."

"Mmmm. Sounds good."

"It is. I promise." Susan smiled at him, and he smiled back. They continued back to Hogwarts; and the silence this time was quite companionable.

~*~*~*~*~*

The common room that evening was unusually boisterous for a Monday. Neville ignored the raucous bantering around him and headed straight for the notice board, elbowing his way past a cluster of third years. He scanned the board anxiously, and caught his breath upon seeing the news he'd waited all weekend for.

Quidditch Commentator Finalists

Gryffindor: Neville Longbottom

Hufflepuff: Susan Bones

Ravenclaw: Orla Quirke

Slytherin: Graham Pritchard

Ha, Neville thought, and Dean was so sure Blaise Zabini would advance for Slytherin. What does he know? Smiling, he continued reading.

The next round of competition will commence this coming Saturday, at ten o'clock in the morning, during the Ravenclaw House team's practice session. This will be followed by the Gryffindor House team's practice session the following Wednesday, the Slytherin House team's practice session on Friday; and the Hufflepuff House team's practice on Monday, two weeks from today. The winner will be announced at dinner the following Friday.

The Hogwarts staff wish to extend their warmest congratulations to the four finalists; and wish them the very best of luck during the next round of competition.

Neville's gaze kept drifting back to his name, printed so boldly next to his House's. It didn't change. That really was him, representing Gryffindor in the next round.

"Congratulations, Neville," a soft, shy voice said beside him. He looked down at Natalie McDonald, the fourth year girl who had also tried out. "You deserved it."

"Thanks," he replied. "I'm a bit shocked, myself. Actually, it's more than a bit."

"Don't be," Natalie said, smiling. "The way you sounded last weekend, I don't think Lee Jordan himself could have beaten you." She smiled at him once more and moved away to join her friends, who whispered and giggled excitedly. Neville shook his head and turned back to the notice board. He had a strange feeling that they were talking about him, in whatever girly language they used. Better than Lee Jordan, honestly...

He had just located the parchment listing who had made the House team when he was pulled away by Ron. "Come on and have a butterbeer with us, mate," he said jovially. "We've got a lot to celebrate, what with Ginny making the team and you moving on to the next round in the commentator tryouts."

So Ginny had indeed made the cut. "Who else made the team?" he asked. "You dragged me off before I could find out."

"Lucy Wyndham is the other Chaser. Sebastian Innes is the new Beater."

"Ha! I was right!" Neville grinned at Ron. "I might not be able to play the game, but I know talent when I see it. You're all going to have the best season ever, Ron."

Ron couldn't help but grin in return at Neville's enthusiasm. "With you as commentator, we probably will!"

They joined Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Dean, and the other members of the Quidditch team. Harry handed a butterbeer to Neville, who sat down and took a swig.

"It runs in the family," Sebastian Innes, the newest Beater, was saying. "Me dad was a Beater, and me mum was a Keeper. And as quick as Simon is on his broom, I wouldn't be at all surprised if he became Seeker after you leave school, Harry." Neville followed Sebastian's gaze to a tow-headed first year that bore an obvious resemblance to the older boy. Sebastian's younger brother, apparently.

"What about you, Lucy?" Dean asked. "What made you decide to try out for the team?"

"I like flying," she replied. "Besides, I like a challenge. Angelina and Alicia were good. I hope I can live up to their reputation on the field."

Ginny's eyes narrowed slightly. She snuggled closer to Dean, who slung his arm over her shoulders companionably. Neville's stomach clenched at the sight; and he looked away. Katie Bell struck up a conversation with him, giving him the opportunity to focus his attention elsewhere.

Eventually the conversation turned towards the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. Ron, predictably, looked forward to visiting Honeydukes and Zonko's. Ginny needed a new quill. Harry jokingly said he was looking forward to another visit to the Hog's Head Inn before expressing a desire for some quiet time away from the castle, nursing a drink at the Three Broomsticks.

"Alone?" Ginny asked. "Aren't you going with anyone?"

"I don't want to intrude on anyone else's good time," Harry said. "You and Dean, Ron and Hermione---I'd be a third wheel. Don't worry about me."

"Neville could go with you," Dean said. "You're not going with anyone, are you?"

"Actually, yes," Neville replied. Hermione's lips curved in a knowing smile, but the others looked stunned. "Susan Bones asked me this afternoon if I wanted to go."

"Damn," Dean said with a rueful laugh. "I owe Seamus five Galleons."

"What?" Neville sputtered. "You made a bet to see if Susan and I would go to Hogsmeade together?"

"Neville," Hermione said, still wearing that smug, knowing smile, "Susan hasn't been able to take her eyes off you since term began. I'm glad to see that little chat I had with her yesterday paid off though I'm a little surprised she acted so fast. I thought it might take her a couple of days to work up her nerve."

He stared at her, absolutely flabbergasted. "You...she...you arranged..."

Hermione shook her head. "I told you, Susan likes you. She came to me for advice, since she knew I was a friend of yours. I didn't do anything, really. I just...gave her a little push in the right direction. It worked, didn't it?"

"Susan...likes...me? Me?"

"Why is that so hard for you to believe?" Ginny leaned forward, her expression intent. "You're courteous, sweet, kind, and friendly. You're smart, and you're brave. It helps that you're easy on the eyes, as well. What isn't there to like?" It was Dean's eyes that narrowed at that statement, a sight that warmed Neville almost as much as Ginny's words. The entire evening was turning almost surreal.

"But I..."

Ron held up a hand. "Don't do it," he warned. "The ladies have spoken. Don't try to fight it, just go with the flow. I think you and Susan would make a cute couple."

Neville helplessly looked around the smiling group. "I don't believe this is happening to me," he said at last.

Harry chuckled. "Who knew that journal you started over the summer would have such an effect? I'm definitely going to have to start one of my own."

~* ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Neville was pensive as he prepared for bed that night. Ron, already in his pajamas, watched as he climbed beneath the covers.

"You're not upset with Hermione, are you?" he asked. "About playing matchmaker?"

"No, I'm not upset. I just don't know what to think. I like Susan, but I don't like her, if you know what I mean." He flopped onto his back and stared up at the canopy. "It's nice to know that somebody likes me, though. It's...nice."

"Yeah, it is," Ron said. From the fondness in his voice, he was thinking of Hermione. "It kind of brightens the world up a bit, you know? Who knows, maybe she'll grow on you. I don't know her all that well, but she seems a sweet girl."

"She is." He rolled over onto his side, already easing into sleep. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm making mountains out of molehills again. Maybe I'll do what you said earlier and just go with the flow."

"That's the spirit," Ron said sleepily. "Good night."

Ginny had said that he was kind, smart, and brave; and had made Dean jealous in saying it. Neville closed his eyes, smiling. He wasn't sure about the smart and brave bit; but if Ginny thought so....

Sleep overtook him.

He was standing in some sort of outer office. The place was cold and gray and filled with despair. He shivered, pulling the folds of his cloak more closely around him. He had thought never to see this place again. The darkness, the cold, the memories....

His companion had no such qualms. Standing back, his companion ushered him forward with a languid wave of his arm. There was something mocking even in that small movement, as if knowing that this journey was as much punishment as it was an honor in being selected to come.

"Hurry up," a third person, an Auror, said. "We haven't got all evening. We have a schedule to stick to." He was sweating heavily, despite the chill.

He approached the small, barred window, where a second Auror waited, looking bored. "Wands, please," she said.

He pushed two wands under the slot at the bottom of the window. The Auror took them and cast an Authenticity Charm on the slender pieces of wood. They glowed a soft blue, and the Auror nodded in satisfaction, as if expecting nothing less. "Well, everything seems to be in order. Welcome to Azkaban."

A moment later the numerous wards and charms were taken down from the door leading into the inner chamber. His companion and the sweating Auror opened the door and went inside. He followed.

The prison cells lay close by, beyond this room and another one that had been converted into a guardroom after the Dementors defected. He shivered again. He had kept his faith here, but it had been so hard, so hard....

Still asleep, Neville's brow furrowed. He'd never been to Azkaban. Why was he dreaming about it? And why were his hands so small and feminine? He didn't like this dream. He wanted to dream about Ginny, instead...

The first Auror was perspiring freely. Droplets of sweat edged his hairline, ran down his cheeks like tears, beaded on the tip of his nose. "This way," he said hoarsely. "Follow me."

"Are you all right?" the second Auror asked. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine!" the first Auror said, not looking fine in the least. He finished removing the wards guarding the door to the guardroom and ushered his guests inside. The Auror crossed the room towards a third door and began removing wards, his hands shaking.

He couldn't help it, now that they were outside the female Auror's hearing. "Awww," he said mockingly, "is the wittle baby Auror scared?"

"Silence," his companion commanded. His voice was high, cold, and hard like frozen steel. "You forget yourself."

He dropped his eyes, abashed.

The third door finally opened into a long corridor lined with cells. The Auror took a deep breath. "This way, my Lord," he said.

Neville gasped, swimming towards wakefulness. He knew whose eyes he was looking through now, knew that mocking, babyish voice. Worst of all, he knew who his companion was. He struggled to wake in earnest, whimpering, though he didn't realize it. No, oh no, oh no...

They followed the Auror into the prison area, winding their way inward and down into the very heart of Azkaban. The cold deepened, the despair growing sharper the further they went, as though the former guardians of this dark place had left their essence behind.

Merlin...please...I want to wake up...

At last they came to a stop outside a particular cell. He peered through the bars, his gaze coming to rest on a man who was only now struggling to his feet.

"Master!" he gasped. "You came..." He stumbled to the cell door and dropped to his knees, reaching for the hem of Voldemort's robes. "I'm not worthy," he whispered. "I'm not worthy..."

"I'm well aware of that, Lucius," Voldemort said, his voice like cold acid. "Yet I have need of you still. Now stand up before I change my mind."

The door swung open a moment later, opened by the Auror. Lucius Malfoy stepped out into the corridor. His clothes were filthy, his face streaked with grime and his silver-gilt hair lay in matted clumps around his shoulders, yet his gray eyes gleamed with pride, knowing that his Master still needed him.

The Auror went down the corridor, opening more cell doors along the way; and more men and women walked out. Seeing Voldemort and his companion, they cried out pleas for forgiveness, some of them weeping openly. He recognized Macnair, Dolohov, all of the other Death Eaters captured that disastrous night at the Ministry of Magic.

When they had all been freed, Voldemort turned towards the Auror who had assisted in the escape. "You've done well," he said. "Go back to the office, kill the chit behind the desk, retrieve these fools' wands, and then sound the alarm." He laughed his high, cold laugh, the sound reverberating off the bleak stones. "I want to see blood tonight!"

They followed the Auror back through the seemingly endless shadowed corridors of Azkaban. They waited in the guardroom until a flash of green light told them the second Auror was dead and they reentered the office. The traitorous Auror handed out wands before triggering the alarm.

"You won't be discovered," Voldemort assured the man. "You're too valuable to me where you are." He pointed his wand at the Auror. "Obliviate!" The Auror's eyes glazed, until a second spell sent him into unconsciousness. He crumpled and fell just as the first Aurors arrived at the scene, and moments later the air was filled with screams and jets of multi-colored light...

Neville jerked awake at last, but the sound of screaming didn't stop. He shook his head in a futile attempt to shake the nightmare from his mind and focus, but the screaming wouldn't stop...

Harry.

The others were already up, clustered around Harry's bed. Neville got out of his own bed and staggered to one knee, but no one noticed. He held his hands to his temples, the sound of Harry's screams drilling through his brain. He thought he was going to be sick.

"I'm getting McGonagall!" a voice he vaguely recognized as Seamus Finnegan's cried out, cracking with barely controlled panic. The other boy whirled around and nearly collided with Neville, who had managed to stumble towards the bed where Harry lay, curled into a fetal ball, his hands pressed to the scar on his forehead.

"Water," Neville managed to say past the aching throb in his own head. "Get me a cold washcloth. Now!"

Dean rushed away, glad to have something constructive to do. Ron had succeeded in getting his arms around Harry and was nearly cradling him, his own face ghostly pale, freckles standing out in stark relief.

Harry's cries faded into whimpers, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. Dean returned with a dripping washcloth, his cheeks a terrible ashy color beneath his dark skin. Neville carefully placed the washcloth on Harry's forehead, covering the scar; and the other boy moaned in relief, his body relaxing at last.

Ron looked at him with wide, scared eyes. "Thank you," he mouthed silently.

The next few minutes passed in silence, broken only by Harry's hitching breaths. His eyes were closed, one hand clutching the cold washcloth to his forehead. Neville rubbed his own forehead, wishing he'd sent Dean for two washcloths. The pain from his own headache was becoming blinding in its intensity.

Seamus hurried into the room, followed closely by Professor McGonagall, wearing a tartan wrapper and fluffy tartan slippers. Her hair straggled around her shoulders.

"What happened?" she asked tensely. "Harry, what did you see?"

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. "Azkaban," he whispered. Neville had never seen him look so fragile. "He's in Azkaban...there was a battle..." His eyes slipped shut.

"Who?" McGonagall asked. Her voice dropped. "He Who Must Not Be Named? Was he alone?"

"No...not alone..."Harry whispered even more faintly.

Neville looked up at the professor. "Voldemort wasn't alone," he said. Beside him Ron flinched and a pained smile ghosted across Harry's lips at feeling it.

McGonagall's gaze sharpened as she focused her attention on Neville. "How do you know he wasn't alone?" she demanded.

"He was with Bellatrix Lestrange," Neville said shakily. He swallowed. "I know, because I was her. I saw it, too."