The Mark of Courage

The Mark of Courage

Chapter Nine

"I know, because I was her. I saw it, too."

The words created a silence so profound, a stillness so deep; that for a terrifyingly long moment Neville didn't think anyone believed him. Everyone stared at him, even Harry, still clutching the washcloth to his forehead.

"What did you see, Neville?" he asked, breaking the silence, his voice soft and curious.

Professor McGonagall interrupted before he could answer. "Now is not the time, nor the place, for this discussion," she said tersely, glancing quickly at Ron, Dean and Seamus. She seemed to have aged twenty years in the past five minutes. "Harry, are you feeling any stronger?"

"Yes." He straightened into a sitting position, no longer needing support from Ron.

"What about you, Mr. Longbottom?"

"Erm, fine. Just a bit of a headache, Professor." Neville reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I have a potion for it with my things."

"Then I suggest you take some of it straightaway," McGonagall said. "I'm taking both of you to see the headmaster."

Harry climbed out of bed, throwing his dressing gown over his shoulders. Neville rummaged through his bedside cabinet for the bottle of potion, his mind whirling. They were going to see Dumbledore now, in the middle of the night? He finally found the small bottle and took a swallow from it before shrugging into his own dressing gown. He was going to be absolutely worthless in class come morning, he thought sadly.

Together, the two boys followed McGonagall through the portrait-hole and into the corridor. Neville tried to keep pace with the professor's brisk strides. The potion was beginning to work; and as the pain from his headache eased, the spinning chaos in his mind began slowing, falling into somewhat more orderly patterns. He remembered now that this wasn't the first time Harry had gone to visit Dumbledore in the darker watches of the night after waking everyone else with his pained cries. No one had ever described what happened that night almost a year past. Harry and Ron had both left with Professor McGonagall after Harry had sworn that he had seen Ron's father attacked in a dream. They hadn't returned until after Christmas break.

Though nothing was ever mentioned in The Daily Prophet, Neville knew the truth. Harry had indeed dreamed of an attack on Mr. Weasley; an attack serious enough to put Ron's father in St Mungo's. He and Gran had met them both there at Christmas while visiting his own parents.

Somehow, Harry had dreams that came true. And, for some unknown reason, he was having them now as well. Neville pulled his dressing gown closer around himself, shivering.

Why is this happening to me?

He hoped he was mistaken. He didn't want to open a copy of The Daily Prophet and find that all of the Death Eaters captured last June had escaped from Azkaban. He didn't want to read about the deaths he'd witnessed. He wanted it to stay a dream, something not real.

He bit his lip and concentrated on matching Harry and Professor McGonagall's footsteps. Hoping it wasn't real wouldn't make everything go away. He was sixteen now, no longer a child. It was real, all of it. He was involved somehow in a way he couldn't yet comprehend. He had a suspicion that Harry had an idea, though. The way he had looked at Neville suggested that the other boy knew at least a little of what was happening. Knew it, understood it...and was glad for it.

Still mulling over the dream and its implications, Neville nearly bumped into Professor McGonagall when she stopped before the stone gargoyle in front of Dumbledore's office. He was saved from that embarrassment when Harry grabbed the back of his dressing gown, preventing collision.

"Ice Mice," McGonagall said curtly. The gargoyle moved away, and the wall behind it opened up, revealing a continuously moving spiral staircase. Neville's eyes widened appreciatively at the sight. He would love to have a staircase like that at home. He'd never have to lug a trunk up or down stairs again.

They were silent as they glided up the staircase. Harry's expression was brooding, something Neville had become very familiar with. It seemed that Harry was always brooding nowadays. Neville was finally beginning to understand why his friend was so mercurial. The tension surrounding him was a nearly palpable aura.

A polished oak door with a brass knocker shaped like a griffin waited at the top of the stairs. Professor McGonagall took hold of the knocker and rapped sharply. The door swung open of its own accord, and the professor led the two boys inside. For the first time, Neville entered Professor Dumbledore's office.

The room was large and circular in shape. The walls were covered with portraits of witches and wizards, most of whom were either asleep or pretending to be. Delicate tables with spindly legs dotted the room, with equally delicate, spindly silver instruments on the tabletops. The instruments whirred and chuffed softly, occasionally emitting puffs of multi-colored smoke. Various shelves scattered along the walls housed other delights and oddities, including a large bowl filled with a strange silvery substance; and the Sorting Hat, which looked very shabby and out-of-place compared to the other wonders contained within.

An enormous claw-footed desk dominated one end of the room, where three figures were seated. One was Professor Dumbledore, dressed in a purple and gold dressing gown lavish with embroidery. The other two were the Snape professors, Severus and Sybilla. The Potions master looked particularly dour upon seeing the source of the interruption, while the Dark Arts professor's expression was politely intrigued.

"Forgive me for interrupting," Professor McGonagall said quietly. "It seems that Mr. Potter has had yet another dream."

Severus Snape rose stiffly from the overstuffed armchair he had been sitting in. "Perhaps we can finish this discussion at another time, Headmaster," he said, giving his sister a cutting look. "I am certain there are more---important---matters in which to occupy your time."

"Actually, I think it might be best if you stayed," Dumbledore said mildly. "You also, Sybilla," he added as she made to rise from her own chair. His pale blue eyes settled on Neville. "Another dream, you say? Did this one, perchance, involve young Longbottom's family?"

Harry shook his head, visibly steeling himself. "No, Professor," he said. "There's been another breakout at Azkaban prison. I saw it! Voldemort himself was there! I saw it through his eyes!"

"I saw it, too," Neville said, and backed up a step when Dumbledore's gaze was joined by both of the Snape siblings. "Only I saw it from...from Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes. She was with V-V-Voldemort when it happened. There were Aurors there, and a battle, and one of them is a traitor, only I didn't get a good look at his face. Harry's telling the truth, sir."

"Indeed." Dumbledore's long fingers pressed together in a steeple.

"Fascinating," Sybilla murmured. "I wonder... where does the connection lie?"

"I was hoping that one of you could tell me," Dumbledore said. Neville gaped in shock; beside him Harry was doing the same. The headmaster himself didn't know why Neville was sharing Harry's dreams?

He waved his wand, and two more chintz-covered armchairs appeared before the desk. "Sit down, both of you. Minerva, thank you for bringing this to my attention. I think I can handle things from here."

"Of course," Professor McGonagall said. "I'll see you in the morning, then."

When both boys were seated and Professor McGonagall had departed, Dumbledore focused on a spot between Harry and Neville. "Now then, why don't you tell us what you saw tonight? You first, Harry."

Harry's recollection of the dream matched Neville's, marked by two different viewpoints. While Neville had not seen the treacherous Auror's face, Harry had; and was able to give a relatively accurate description.

"Impossible," Severus said, once both boys had finished their accounts. "There are no Death-Eaters among the Aurors. I would have known!"

Sybilla examined her hands, folded demurely in her lap. "The Imperius Curse, perhaps?"

Again, Harry shook his head. "He called him 'My Lord'," he said. "He wouldn't have done that if he was under Imperius, would he?"

"Shall I inform Shacklebolt and Tonks of a potential---traitor---in their midst?" Severus asked. From his tone, he clearly was not yet convinced such a thing was possible.

"Shouldn't someone be sent to Azkaban first?" Harry asked angrily. "People died tonight! Does no one care about them?"

"Ahhh, but that brings us to the heart of the matter, young Harry," Dumbledore said. "Allow me to ask one more question of each of you. Did you feel what they felt, and do you believe they were aware of your presence? Everything hinges on your answers, so think carefully."

After a moment, Neville shook his head. "I don't think she knew," he said softly. "She didn't want to be there. She didn't like the memories she had of Azkaban. It...it was almost like she was there against her will, like she was being punished for something." He looked at Dumbledore in bewilderment. "What I don't understand is why I was able to see Harry's dream in the first place. Why me? I'm nobody important, not like Harry is. Voldemort doesn't care about me, and to Bellatrix I was just a toy to play with. I want to know what's going on."

"Don't use that tone with the headmaster," Severus said. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

"Everything will become clear, in time, I promise you," Dumbledore said gently. "Harry?"

Harry folded his arms across his chest. "I don't think he knew, either," he said sullenly. "He was too full of his own success to notice anything out of the ordinary. He told the traitor that he wouldn't be found out because he still had need of him. If he had known I was in his head I don't think he would have said that. He would have killed the man instead."

"Very well, then. We shall have to act carefully. I think that for now our knowledge of the traitorous Auror should stay in this room. It would not do if Voldemort should learn of our own discovery." Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin thoughtfully with still-steepled fingers. "Sybilla, how are the Occlumency lessons progressing with Mr. Potter?"

"It's still early," the Defense professor replied. "He does show some aptitude for the subject." Severus made a disbelieving sound in his throat.

"I think it would be best if Mr. Longbottom joined him in instruction," the headmaster said quietly. Still not looking at Neville, he asked, "Do you know what Occlumency is?"

Neville paused, thinking hard. He knew it was advanced magic, something not ordinarily taught to students at Hogwarts. "Doesn't it have something to do with shielding your mind from other people's thoughts?" he answered at last. "If you don't want them to know what you're thinking?"

"Very good, Mr. Longbottom, "Dumbledore said approvingly. "That's exactly what it is. Ten points to Gryffindor. Professor Snape is currently instructing Harry in Occlumency. You will join her. Hopefully, it will help prevent what occurred tonight from happening to you again."

Harry glanced quickly at Neville before focusing on the Headmaster. "Do you think that Neville here won't have any more dreams? That it's all coincidence?"

"What I think is that the hour grows late, and you two still have classes tomorrow. Don't worry, this will be taken up with the Order." Dumbledore looked at them benignly, the first time he'd met their eyes since learning about the dream. "Sybilla, why don't you take the boys back to their dormitory? There are still some things I wish to discuss with your brother."

If she was upset about being left out of any discussion involving her brother, the Defense professor hid it masterfully. "Of course, sir," she said. "I will bid both of you good evening, then."

Slowly, Harry and Neville got to their feet. Harry looked almost mutinous, while Neville felt certain his own expression mirrored the confusion he felt. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Why weren't they trying to find out the identity of the false Auror? Why did he have to take Occlumency lessons with Harry? Why did he share Harry's dream in the first place?

What was this 'Order' Professor Dumbledore spoke of?

After bidding Dumbledore a good night, they followed Sybilla Snape from the office. Harry had once again fallen into silent brooding; and this time Neville was more than happy to join him.

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

The next morning Neville bypassed his usual tea in favor of a cup of strong coffee at breakfast. Still yawning, he stirred cream and sugar into the cup and took a sip. Grimacing at the bitter taste, he added more sugar before taking another tiny sip. Satisfied, he began spooning some marmalade onto his toast.

He hadn't slept well after returning from Dumbledore's office the night before. Too many questions without answers had kept his mind busy; too many worries had made him restless.

Across the table, Hermione had opened her copy of The Daily Prophet. Neville didn't need to look at the headline to know what the top news story was. Unlike the attack on Mr. Weasley last Christmas, the latest escape from Azkaban was something that couldn't be hidden from the Wizarding press.

"What are they saying?" Ron asked around a mouthful of sausage.

Hermione scanned through the article and sighed. "Obviously, they're going to conduct an investigation into Auror security methods," she said. "This is the second time in two years that known Death-Eaters have broken out of prison in such numbers. They would have sacked the Auror in charge of prison security last night, only he was one of those killed." She resumed reading. "This is interesting. It says that those who survived the fight had their memories of the battle altered, so that no single one of them could give an identical account of what occurred. But that makes no sense! Why didn't the Dark Lord kill everyone when he had the chance?"

Neville bit into his toast so he wouldn't have to respond.

Harry, however, wasn't as reticent. "Dumbledore said that the Order would look into it."

As one, Ron and Hermione flicked warning glances in Neville's direction. He abruptly decided he had been kept in the dark long enough. Setting down his coffee cup with a loud thunk, ignoring the hot liquid sloshing over the rim, he glowered at his friends.

"That's the second time I've heard about this mysterious Order," he said, managing to keep his voice low despite the surprising amount of anger injected into his tone. "Dumbledore mentioned it last night as well. I just had a very bad night. I'm dreaming things through the eyes of a woman I despise, I'm hearing hints of things everyone else seems to know and understand, and nobody will tell me anything!"

"Welcome to my world," Harry said bitterly. He hesitated a moment, thinking, then said, "The Order Dumbledore mentioned last night is called the Order of the Phoenix. It's a secret group of witches and wizards who joined together to fight Voldemort during the First War. Your parents used to belong to the Order."

"Harry!" Hermione gasped. "You shouldn't..."

"He deserves to know!" Harry said fiercely, overriding her protest. "He's involved now, as much as we are. That dream we shared last night made certain of it. Did you know he has to take Occlumency with me now? What does that say to you?"

"Harry's right," Ron said. "He knows almost as much as we do. He was at the Ministry with us last June."

"I'm sitting right here," Neville said irritably. "There's no need to talk over my head. So who else belongs to this Order besides you three?"

Harry snickered. It was an ugly sound, dark and mocking. "We're not members. We stumbled on its existence ourselves just last year. They keep us just as much in the dark as they're keeping you. We're too young," he sneered. "We couldn't possibly understand."

"We're going to be late for class," Hermione said before Harry could continue the diatribe. Ignoring his glare, she folded her napkin before slapping Ron's hand away when he tried to reach for one last sausage.

Neville swallowed the last of his toast and grabbed his bookbag. "So when's the first lesson?" he asked Harry. "Nobody bothered to mention that to me, either."

"Tonight," the other boy muttered. "It's every Tuesday and Friday evening after dinner, so it won't interfere with Quidditch practice." He looked up at Neville, his expression intent. "Look, if you want, I can tell you more about it tonight before she arrives."

"Sure." Neville tried to keep his tone light. "At this point I'll take any answers I can get."

They filed out of the Great Hall, heading towards the dungeons and Potions class. Neville wished he'd had time for a second cup of coffee. His brain was still blurry from lack of sleep. Considering that Snape had probably had even less rest than Neville, he highly doubted that class today would go well. Actually, he doubted any of his classes would go well.

Inside the dungeon, Neville waved to Susan, who beckoned to the empty seat beside her. Ron grinned and nudged him towards her.

"Oh, look!" Draco Malfoy said melodramatically. "It's a Squib and a Huffleduff! Isn't it romantic? Aren't they just adorable together?" Behind him Pansy Parkinson giggled.

"Better a Squib than a ferret, wouldn't you say, Malfoy?" Neville sat down next to Susan and smiled. Maybe his head wasn't as fuzzy as he thought. "Squibs can't bounce as high."

Draco sucked in a breath, preparing for what he undoubtedly deemed a suitable comeback. The sound of the dungeon door slamming shut prevented the next volley from ever being fired.

"Squibs may not bounce, Mr. Longbottom," Severus Snape said coldly. "However, they can and do earn detention. See me after class."

Neville's day went downhill from there.