The Mark of Courage

The Mark of Courage

Chapter Twelve

Neville concentrated on his breathing, willing himself to be a tree. In through the nose, out through the mouth, feeling his heartbeat slow and his thoughts drift. Nearby, he could overhear Professor Snape working with Harry, and dismissed the murmuring voices as unimportant. There was only the sound of his breathing, the feel of branches in the wind and roots drawing strength from the ground.

Once he felt completely relaxed and centered, he finally allowed himself to open his eyes and watch Harry struggle through his Occlumency lesson. The other boy's hands were clenched tightly, his arms rigid at his sides. His face was twisted into a snarl of concentration as the professor attempted to break into his thoughts.

Moments later, he staggered back, gasping; and Professor Snape lowered her wand. "That was much better, Mr. Potter," she said. "You managed to withstand me for almost thirty seconds that time. Who was the black dog?"

Harry blinked and looked away, but not before Neville saw the brief spasm of grief that crossed his face. "It was a dog. A stray, I think. It used to hang around the school grounds."

Professor Snape made a tutting sound. "For a mere stray, you certainly felt a rather strong affection for the beast."

"Ron, Hermione and I used to feed him sometimes," Harry muttered. "I'm not allowed to have a pet of my own at home, other than Hedwig; and she's barely tolerated."

"Yes. It was chicken you fed the dog, during that memory I saw." Professor Snape stretched before glancing at the clock. "Have a seat, Mr. Potter, and practice those mind-clearing exercises I showed you earlier. We have enough time for one more session with Mr. Longbottom here before we call a halt to the evening."

Neville got to his feet, already preparing his mental defenses. The professor had told him during their first lesson that it was easier to resist if one had a mental image at hand to use as a shield against the mind probing his own. In the lessons that had followed he'd had plenty of time to refine the image so that it now came to him with scarcely any difficulty at all.

The image was of a sturdy wooden door, windowless and striped with iron bands. Professor Snape was on the other side of that door, pushing to get in. She always succeeded eventually, but the time it took for her to do so was gradually becoming longer, the struggle to break in more difficult for her. Closing his eyes, he set the image in his mind and braced himself.

"Legilimens."

Neville threw all of his mental weight against the imaginary wooden door, feeling the resistance as Professor Snape pushed from the opposite side. He leaned harder, struggling as the door opened a crack. He managed to shove it closed, but the respite was brief. The push became more persistent, the attack more focused. Neville strained...

...and was thrown back as the door flew open. Immediately, memories began surging through the breached portal. Neville let them flicker past, trying to ignore the images as they swirled around him. They meant nothing, nothing at all. They were only pretty pictures...

One of the images snagged his attention. He tried to look away, but he was too late. The image grew, swallowing him whole...

He screamed, waves of agony ripping through him. It went on and on without surcease, and through it all she watched with glittering dark eyes...

"Noooo...!"

He found himself on the floor, dazed and disoriented. Slowly, he managed to work his arms beneath him so he could lever himself back onto his feet. Harry got there first.

"Bad one, huh?" he asked, slinging an arm around Neville's shoulders.

"Yeah."

"Come on, mate; up you get." Once Neville was upright, Harry guided him back to his chair, where he collapsed, shaking. Of all the memories he had, it would be that one, he thought. It was the one memory that most often undid his efforts. He wondered if he would ever be able to push it away, to purge it from him completely. He doubted it.

"I think that's enough for tonight," Professor Snape said quietly. "You need to work on recognizing that particular memory, so that it flows past you like the others. You know what it is; you know what to look for. Don't let it keep tricking you. Learn to master it, so that it no longer masters you. You lasted nearly two minutes, Mr. Longbottom, if that's any consolation."

It was his best resistance time yet, and Neville felt a brief flicker of pride. Maybe he really could learn to do Occlumency, after all. "How much did you see?"

"I saw enough to recognize it as a memory that's overcome your efforts on more than one occasion. It obviously still holds a great deal of power over you, and if it holds power over you, it can be used as a weapon against you." Sighing, the professor sat back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's been a long and fruitful evening, gentlemen. We'll meet back here on Friday."

Friday....Neville cursed. He'd completely forgotten to ask Professor Snape about reforming the DA; and to tell her that he wouldn't be able to attend Friday's lesson.

The professor raised an eyebrow at his explosively muttered imprecation. "Yes, Mr. Longbottom?"

"I...erm...won't be here Friday. I have commentator tryouts with the Slytherins." He looked up from his shoes to Professor Snape. "If you like, we can reschedule it for another time. Thursday evening, maybe?"

"Unfortunately, I have a staff meeting then. Do you expect the tryout to last very late?" she asked. "If not, I can meet with you after Mr. Potter here has had his lesson. That day is the last tryout day, isn't it?"

Neville nodded. "They'll announce the new commentator on Monday. I won't have any more excuses to miss Occlumency after that."

"That's nice to hear," she said dryly. "I wouldn't want to think you're intentionally looking for excuses to skive off lessons."

He allowed a small smile at the professor's witticism. "No, ma'am. Actually, I wanted to ask you something else." Harry looked at him over his glasses. "You probably know we had a...a club last year. It was for Dark Arts defense, since the professor we had last year wouldn't teach us any of the practical exercises even though it was our O.W.L. year, and we all would have failed otherwise..." Neville stopped, realizing he was rambling.

"I recall Severus mentioning such a club," Professor Snape replied slowly. "It had a rather unfortunate name. Dumbledore's Army, if memory serves? Not the best name, considering the political climate."

"I know," Neville said. "It almost got us all expelled. Anyway, we still managed to learn a lot last year, and some of us were talking about bringing it back, only legally this time. So we decided to ask if you'd be willing to sponsor us, maybe even lead the club. We'll change the name, of course."

Professor Snape didn't answer immediately, her penetrating gaze looking from one boy to the other. "You led the club last year, Mr. Potter, correct?"

"Yes, Professor."

"You don't wish to lead again this year? It's my understanding that everyone who was a member passed their practical O.W.L. with flying colors thanks to you."

Harry shook his head. "I never wanted to be in charge, Professor. We did what we did out of necessity. I don't need to be in charge anymore. If you won't do it, someone else can. I have enough on my plate as it is, between Quidditch and homework. Among other things," he added bitterly.

"Hmmm....yes, I imagine you do, Mr. Potter. Very well, then, why don't you tell me exactly what you were teaching the other students?"

Harry and Neville spent the next several minutes describing the spells, hexes, curses, and countercurses Harry had taught. The professor listened to the growing litany, her expression inscrutable. Neville began to grow nervous at her continuing silence, even after they had finished their account.

"I believe I could sponsor such a club," she said at last. "I'll speak to the Headmaster about it sometime this week, and inform you of his decision. I don't think he'll object. I don't have to tell you that these are dark days in the Wizarding World, and I'm a firm believer in preparing for the worst." She smiled, easing the grimness of her words. "In the meantime, I suggest that the two of you find a new name for the club. We really can't continue to call it Dumbledore's Army, after all."

"You'll do it? You'll lead us?" Neville and Harry exchanged glances. Harry looked as relieved as Neville felt.

"I'll sponsor it. We'll see about the rest." Professor Snape pulled a sheet of parchment from a desk drawer and uncapped the ink bottle. "Now, if you'll excuse me, there are still some things I need to work on this evening. You're both dismissed."

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

By the end of the following day the news that the DA might be reformed had spread throughout the school. Several students came up to Harry during mealtimes, thanking him. He always demurred and pointed to Neville, saying that the credit went to him for bringing the subject up to Professor Snape in the first place. The result was that Neville became something of a minor celebrity by the end of the day, something he found profoundly discomforting. Accustomed to being ignored, the extra attention bothered him for a reason he couldn't quite place. All he had done was ask Professor Snape a question. It wasn't worth fame or notoriety.

It seemed as though the entire House showed up at the Quidditch pitch that evening, both to watch their team practice, and to witness Neville's turn in the latest round of commentating. When Professor McGonagall announced his name when his turn arrived, the noise and applause filled the stands, almost as if for a real game. McGonagall merely quirked an eyebrow as Neville stepped up to the podium, and the cheers increased.

He took a deep breath, reminding himself that the Ravenclaws had cheered as loudly for Orla Quirke during their team practice; as surely as the Slytherins would cheer for Graham Pritchard at their practice on Friday and as the Hufflepuffs would undoubtedly cheer for Susan. It didn't make him any less nervous.

He barely remembered anything he said, but it must have been acceptable. The students again cheered loudly as his turn came to an end, and Ginny even winked at him as she flew past on her broomstick.

"How did I do?" he asked Susan as they walked away. "It all went by in a blur."

"Never better," she assured him. "Are we still going to Hogsmeade next weekend?"

"Sure," he replied, "Unless we come down with Dragon Pox or worse."

Susan giggled, then reached out and took Neville's hand, lacing her fingers through his. They were chilly from the cool early evening air. Smiling brightly, she gave his hand a small squeeze, as if holding hands was the most natural thing in the world to do between friends.

"You don't mind, do you?"

"Am I supposed to?" Actually, the feel of her hand in his was rather nice. "I don't mind, if you don't." It wasn't a lie.

"Of course I don't mind! Don't be silly. I wouldn't have done it, otherwise." She gave his hand another squeeze before weaving her fingers even more tightly through his than before.

Neville had overheard enough gossip in the school corridors to realize that he and Susan were now considered 'an item'. While he didn't feel this was strictly true, it was increasingly apparent that Susan believed otherwise. It explained her unusual behavior towards Luna following the Ravenclaw tryout. It hadn't been his imagination after all. She really had been jealous, taking great care to show that Neville was hers. He didn't know how he felt about that. It was nice to be wanted. He wasn't sure he wanted to be owned.

Susan's hand gradually warmed in his as they made their way back to the castle. Neville had never held hands with a girl before, and discovered that he rather liked it. There was a cozy, comforting feel to it, a closeness he'd never experienced until now. It brought a sense of connection, a promise of better things to come.

He hoped that feeling of promise would come to pass. Because if it didn't, he knew that he couldn't continue living a lie to Susan for much longer. She was a wonderful girl, and if he couldn't find a way to lose his heart to her, then she deserved someone who would. It was only fair.

He glanced over at her. Susan's dark blonde hair shone in the last of the evening sun, a few wisps escaping her usual long braid. For a moment Neville wondered what her hair looked like loose, and hastily pushed the thought away as too forward. Susan returned his glance and smiled shyly.

Neville smiled back, concentrating on her hand in his, and the promise of connection. He hoped it came soon.

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

The rest of the week seemed to fly past, and soon enough Friday afternoon arrived. Neville tossed his schoolbooks unceremoniously onto his bed, loosening his tie. In less than two hours, his attempt to become the new Quidditch commentator would end at the Slytherin team practice, and the final decision would lie in the hands of the school staff. Though nervous about his chances, he was nonetheless glad that it was almost over. The last two weeks had been draining.

Across the dormitory room Ron threw himself onto his bed, sighing in bliss. "Finally, Friday! My favorite day of the school week!"

"I'd enjoy the weekends more if the professors didn't assign so much bloody homework," Seamus grumbled. "It's not even October yet, and I already feel as if I'm buried in homework instead of snow."

Neville listened to the banter of the other boys as he pulled out a sheet of parchment and his ink bottle. He'd received a letter that morning from Gran, complaining about the lack of owl posts she had received from him since term began. Since he had only written once since returning to Hogwarts, the guilt she'd planted in him was justified. Winston had taken to pecking reproachfully at him whenever he visited, increasingly unhappy at the lack of opportunity to stretch his wings for reasons other than hunting.

Pulling out his journal, Neville made a note to write Gran at least once a week. He hoped it would please her. He knew it would please Winston. Tucking the journal back into its hiding place, he managed to write a nearly page-long letter to his grandmother, filling it with things he thought she'd want to hear such as his improving marks in Potions, how much better the latest DADA instructor was compared to Umbridge; and, after a brief moment of hesitation, mentioning that he was planning to spend the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend with Susan Bones. His Gran had attended a few high teas and garden parties with Amelia Bones, Susan's aunt, so he didn't think Gran would object too much.

On the other hand, he thought bemusedly, Gran might be delighted. It was the first time he'd put his name and a girl's in the same sentence since starting Hogwarts. Surely she didn't want him to remain a child forever, not really.

It's almost time to go down and eat, so I should go, he wrote at last. I'll try to write more often. Love, Neville He cast a Drying Charm on the ink before rolling the parchment up and sealing it with a bit of candle wax.

"Going to dinner?" Ron asked, seeing Neville climb down from his bed.

"Not yet. I have to post this first. Go on without me." Eyeing his letter dubiously, he added more wax to the seal. He hoped it would hold during the journey to Lancastershire.

"Do you mind if I come with you?" Ron rolled off his bed and retrieved a wrinkled, ink-spotted piece of parchment from his cabinet. "I've been meaning to send this off before Mum loses her temper and sends me a Howler for not writing."

"I'll save seats for both of you," Harry promised. He had already changed out of his school uniform and put his textbooks away. To Ron he added, "And I'll tell Hermione where you're going."

"Honestly, she's like a mother hen," Ron said as he and Neville made their way to the Owlery. "She always wants to know where I'm going and when I'll be back." He shrugged and changed the subject. "So, you're commentating for the Slytherins tonight! Are you nervous?"

"I'm always nervous," Neville replied. Ron grinned. "Seriously! I was afraid that

Crabbe or Goyle might try to hit a Bludger at me, since I was the one who put them in detention for a month; but Susan suggested I try to stand close to Snape when my turn came up. They may be stupid, but not stupid enough to hit a Bludger in his direction. I hope not, anyway."

"Bright girl, your Susan."

"She does have good ideas," Neville agreed. "She's done a lot to help pull up my marks in Charms. And she's been an incredible help in preparing for commentator tryouts. I'll be a little sad if she doesn't win."

"Unless you do?"

"Right. Unless I win, which I doubt will happen. You heard the others this past Wednesday, Ron. They're all better at it than I am. Even that little prat Pritchard is better."

"I dunno, mate," Ron said slowly. "I thought you sounded pretty good out there, as good as the others. It won't be an easy decision for the professors to make, let me tell you. Ginny thinks you have the best voice for it, anyway."

"She does?"

"Oh, yeah," Ron said, not seeing the pleased flush suffusing Neville's cheeks. "She said you have perfect pacing and tone. As far as she's concerned, you've got it locked up."

Neville couldn't think of a thing to say after that.

Fortunately, they arrived at the Owlery soon afterward, before Ron could become suspicious over Neville's sudden silence. Winston, upon seeing the letter in Neville's hand, gave a hoot of welcome and flew to him. Perching on his shoulder, the owl proceeded to preen his beak through Neville's hair.

"Stop that, you old dafty," Neville said affectionately. "You won't find any Owl Treats in there, and I already combed my hair before coming. Now, hold still while I tie this letter to Gran on."

He looked over to Ron, who had finally managed to get his owl, Pigwidgeon, to hold still long enough to attach his own message to the bird's leg. The tiny owl could barely contain its excitement, twittering madly with joy. "Stupid owl," Ron muttered. "Why I put up with you I can't imagine..."

A few minutes later both owls were heading out into the late afternoon sky. Neither owl would return before morning, and Neville made a mental note to stop by with an extra Owl Treat for Winston, in case the hunting that night was unsuccessful.

"We'd better get down to the Great Hall before Hermione sends out a search party," Ron said, "And I'm sure you don't want to be late for the tryout."

"It wouldn't improve my chances any, that's for sure," Neville agreed. Trying to sound nonchalant, he asked, "So Ginny said I have a good voice? What else does she say about me?"

Quite a lot, he discovered, as he and Ron made their way to the Great Hall. More than he'd ever expected.