Moonlit Courage

Prologue

"Who was that girl?" Mrs. Longbottom asked as her grandson walked towards her. Despite the tears on her cheeks, her voice was still sharp and biting.

"What girl?" Neville asked, although he knew perfectly well whom his grandmother meant. But how could she be asking about a girl when the greatest headmaster, one of the best wizards ever, in most people's opinion, had just been murdered?

"That girl, the one you were with at the funeral just now!"

"Gran..." Neville mumbled. "That was just Luna, Luna Lovegood... I wasn't with her. I was hurt and she was helping me get around."

"Mm," Gran said, lips pursed. "Well, it's not like I'm not glad that you finally have a little girlfriend, but Neville-"

"Graaaan," Neville protested. "She's not my girlfriend!"

"Neville," Gran said, "there really is something that you need to know."

"No, Gran- I know about- about that-"

"Neville, please. Stop embarrassing yourself, and me," Gran hissed. "What I mean is, there is something you need to know about your parents, and Harry, Harry Potter, and... and everything."

"About my parents?" Neville looked up quickly.

"Yes, but not here," Gran said, looking around at other mourners. "It's just- with Dumbledore gone, bless his soul, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rising so quickly... well, I think it's time you knew. Now, come."

Gran strode off, handbag swinging. Neville turned to take a last look at Dumbledore's tomb. It was so impressive... the sheer size of it spoke more than Neville could even think of. Walking backwards so as to keep the tomb in sight, and tripping over his own feet, Neville followed his grandmother to a thestral-drawn carriage. As always, Neville stopped and stared in awe at the creature that had captivated him for years. Gran never gave them a second thought, but Neville thought that there was an eerie, if not foreboding beauty to them. He started as one snorted, then clambered into the carriage with his grandmother.

* * * * *

It took Gran some time to get settled at home. Neville waited as patiently as he could, sitting on the scratchy rug in the drawing room, legs crossed. Finally, Gran sank into a stiff armchair and looked at her grandson.

"Alright, Neville. First of all, you have to understand that I'm telling you this for your own good. Trust me, I wish we both could have lived our lives without knowing it. I just want you to be prepared. I don't want you to hurt... anyone."

Hurt anyone? Neville didn't know how to respond. Gran shifted in her seat and looked uncomfortably at Neville.

"Let me begin by saying this: As much as I don't like it, I feel that I must say his name, and shall therefore refer to him as Voldemort."

Neville willed himself not to squeak and therefore interrupt Gran. He had never seen her this flustered, this... unprepared.

"Dumbledore, bless his soul, would say something about how ignorance is not really bliss, and I don't know what to think about that. But Neville, you must understand! This is not a happily-ever-after story. Voldemort was one of, if not the, darkest wizard to walk this earth! Times were dark- not just dark, black. And in the blackest of all the days, a prophecy was made. It should have been like a beacon of light for all the wizarding kind, but few knew of it, just the prophetess herself, Dumbledore, Lily and James Potter, and your parents. According to Dumbledore, the prophecy stated that either you or Harry had the power to defeat Voldemort."

"But... he only killed Harry's mum and dad," Neville said slowly. "Why didn't he come after me?"

Gran sighed heavily. "Dumbledore had his theories, none of which he would say to us, and none of which we'll ever hear, now." She gave a short, bitter laugh. "Dumbledore doesn't know if Voldemort knew which boy to really go after, but Dumbledore thought he'd go after Harry first. He never told us why. But apparently, for whatever reason, Voldemort did choose to try and kill Harry first. Because of that chance, though, the chance that he could be wrong, he sent -her- after your parents-"

"-So that if he was wrong, he would have a clear path to me," Neville said, his voice hardening over, like a pond freezing in the winter. Her. No one needed to specify who she was. The woman who had tortured Neville's parents, the one who drove them mad- Bellatrix Lestrange. No one spoke her name in the Longbottom household. She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve anything

"She was supposed to kill your parents, to get them out of the way... but she thought she'd play with them first. She thought she'd have fun. She tortured them to madness..." Gran broke off. Neville sat very still.

"You were with me the whole time. Dumbledore didn't think he'd go after you, didn't think anything would happen to us... he thought the Potters were in the most danger, and that it would look suspicious if we all went into hiding. We didn't want Voldemort to know we knew the prophecy. I'm sure Dumbledore, bless his soul, thought it was the right thing at the time... I don't blame him at all, of course..."

"And then Harry... defeated... You-Know-Who, and he never got a chance to come after me," Neville broke in.

"And then she fled. Dumbledore told me to tell you this only when history repeated itself," Gran said. Neville was shocked to realize that her voice was trembling. "Nobody thought... nobody thought this would happen again. But it is. And I don't know if you're in danger or not, Neville. But you have to be careful! You need to always have-"

"Constant vigilance?" Neville asked, remembering his fourth year.

"This is not a joking matter! I am only telling you because- well, if you're in danger, so is that Loony girl! What if Voldemort does try to go after you, to see if maybe you were the 'right' one, the Chosen One, as they call Harry Potter! There is always the possibility that he wants to try and kill you, to see if that would benefit him! And if it doesn't- he won't care! He has nothing to lose. But anyone you choose to have close contact with- Neville, put yourself in Harry's shoes!"

Neville sat there, unable to move. Scenes from the funeral flashed in his head- Harry walking away from Ginny, Ginny coming to sit with Neville and Luna, the clenched, fiery look on her face, tears brimming on her lashes, ones she would never let fall- and then Neville pictured Luna that way.

It hurt. It hurt Neville to even picture Luna crying, pained in the way Ginny was. If Luna would even have me, Neville reminded himself. But no matter- he wouldn't even let himself have the chance to find out. He would never hurt Luna. And if that meant hurting himself, so be it.