Reading the Will

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Reading the Will

Chapter 4

Neville walked across the grounds of Hogwarts toward the main door. He wondered why Professor McGonagall would want to see him now.

He and Professor Sprout were attempting to save the last of the plants exposed to the elements. Broken glass and shards of metal still littered the ground of the last greenhouse they needed to mend. Unable to use magic near the delicate new shoots of growth, they had to crawl on hands and knees to pick the small slivers of broken rubble from the ground. His hands were filthy and his robes torn, yet he fought the urge to pull his wand to repair them, knowing that the residual magic could not be taken back into the greenhouse.

He headed up the spiralling staircase, somewhat surprised that the gargoyles did not even question who he was or ask for a password. Perhaps the damage had reached even the basic spells that controlled the castle, he thought. He made a mental note to check the greenhouses for loss of the basic spells that held the base of the glass walls to the side of the mountain, as it had from the beginning.

"Ah, Mr Longbottom," Minerva started, "you have a guest that wishes to speak to you. It is a private matter."

He stopped just inside the office doors and saw a tall, slender witch rise and turn to look at him.

"Madam." He nodded politely, suspicious that she was yet another reporter.

"Mr Longbottom? Mr Neville Longbottom?"

"Yes." He looked at Minerva nervously.

"Mr Longbottom, Professor McGonagall has been as kind as to allow me a moment of your time. Please." She indicated two chairs sitting opposite the desk. "I know you are busy, this will not take long."

Neville swallowed hard and cautiously started toward the chairs, looking in question again at Minerva.

"It is fine, Mr Longbottom, she is here on her own," she said stiffly, looking down her nose at Angelica. "I shall be in the kitchens if you have need of me. It seems there was damage to the chimney that extends to the lowest levels that needs checking into."

The tall, slender witch watched as Minerva left before she sighed in relief and shrugged off her cloak, tossing it across the back of the chair.

"I make her nervous." She grimaced and turned to the window. "I don't really blame her. It must be hard for her not to see me as I was when I left here and forget what she has heard of me since."

"Madam? Is there something you wanted?"

She turned back and looked at him, seeing the rumpled hair and dirty robes. "I have taken you away from your work. I will try to make this brief."

"We are rebuilding the greenhouses. Most of them were destroyed, you know, and what was left is in sore need of repair before the weather changes."

She sat on the edge of the desk facing him, leaned forward, and pressed the journal in his hands, not letting go when his own hands grasped the book to take it from her. Four hands held the book as she looked into his face, waiting until his eyes met hers before she could let her fingers open and release Severus' book to the lad.

"I am sorry, this is hard for me, I hope you will understand." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and turned away from him again to walk to the window.

"You have to understand that the times were different then. Friendships meant more than they do now. Friendships were not only between people, but also between families and expected. Your friends defined you and you, them. Perhaps friendship is the wrong word."

She turned back from the window and looked at him hard. "Do you understand?"

"I... I think so... no, I am sorry, Miss?"

"It doesn't matter who I am right now. What you need to keep in mind is that things were different."

"Sure." He chewed the inside of his cheek and pondered what she had said. "I guess like when we were kids and picked friends by what house we were in, only now it doesn't matter so much."

"Something like that." She crossed the room and moved her chair to face him before sitting down.

"When I went to school here the houses were even more divided than you would have found them. Gryffindor only befriended Gryffindor and Slytherin only befriended Slytherin, and one only spoke with a Ravenclaw for help on an essay. Lifetime allegiances began here, in most cases long before the students knew the others' true merit. This was even truer in the old pure blood families."

"What do you want with me?" Neville was fast becoming uncomfortable with this conversation, wanting to forget about the alliances that had brought the war.

"I want you to understand why I am here, not to forgive, or to in any way change your feelings, only to understand."

Neville came to his feet, knowing then that she had taken the side of Voldemort. He ran his hand through his hair and scowled at her, feeling anger that she should be here. He threw the journal on the desk and stomped to the office door.

"NO! Neville, please." She ran after him, blocking his path to the door. "I have brought you the journal from Professor Snape. He wanted you to have it. Please, perhaps I am saying this poorly."

"Snape?"

"Yes, give me a minute more. Please Neville, if you don't want it I will take it and leave."

"Why would I..." He looked back at the desk and swallowed. "He wasn't what we thought, you know. Not nearly."

"Then give him this chance to make amends."

"Snape? Making amends?" Neville couldn't help but snigger as he looked evenly at the witch.

"Well, that's what we would call it but we both know he would deny it." She chuckled at him and again indicated the chairs.

"I wanted to tell you that Professor Snape worked hard on this journal. He did it for reasons that should be clear to you. You saw what became of him here at Hogwarts. What I don't think you saw was the guilt he carried."

"I know about Harry's mum. Is that what you mean? That he felt guilty over what happened to her?"

"Lily? Yes, I didn't know you knew..."

"It was in the shack, you know. Harry and Hermione were there when he died; he managed to give them some memories."

Angelica rose and turned away from him, closing her eyes and counting slowly. Potter had been with him at the end. Potter would have offered no kindness, no gentleness, and no final words. She wanted to ask how and why. She had imagined him dying in the infirmary with Minerva or Poppy at his bedside. She wanted to know if anyone had bathed his body and rubbed oil into his skin or said the prayers. She wanted to know if he lay facing the east or the west and if there had been pain. She wanted just one person to know of her.

"He regretted the part he played before the first war, and the things he could not undo," she said softly to control her voice, swallowing her tears and calming her breathing. "He severely regretted what happened to Harry's parents and to yours, Neville."

"My parents? He knew... was he there?"

"No, Neville." She turned quickly back to him and shook her head empathically. "He only found out when it was over, when it was too late, when Bella was bragging. It was that and Lily's death that really drove home what Tom was like. But it was too late, too late for him, and too late for me."

"You? You were a Death Eater too?"

"No," she sighed heavily. "My husband joined the movement before the term Death Eater was even thought of. As his wife, I had no say in the matter." She shrugged her shoulders as if to throw off a cold breeze. "This is not what I came for. I came to give you the journal and to ask you not to judge Professor Snape harshly. That is all."

"How did you get this?" He picked up the journal, turning it over in his hand before laying it down more gently this time.

"It was going to be destroyed when I saw the inscription inside and thought I would bring it. It seems like something he wanted done." She picked up her cloak and walked to the door, signalling an end to their conversation.

Turning back as she slipped the wrap over her shoulders, she looked at him for the last time. "We both know that he never gave a damn about what most people thought, least of all someone your age. To him you were, and always would be, just Alice's irritating son. What he did care about was trying to undo the damage already done, and insure that it stopped there. I would be remiss if I lead you to believe that this is somehow for you. It is something I want you to do for him."

Neville looked back to where he had put the journal and walked back to the desk, hearing her footfalls on the stairs. He picked up the book, flipped open the cover and read the neat tight scrawl.

Mr Longbottom;

The name of the person I have entrusted this to in no way concerns you. Suffice it to say I trust she will deliver this in good time. I apologize for any untoward delay.

I was not present when the questioning took place, nor when they succumbed to their unfortunate state. Due to this lack of this firsthand knowledge, I have been unable to complete my work and determine the correct dose and duration of the potions explained on the following pages. Therefore, the process must fall to the hands of a competent Healer for experimentation of dosage. See Appendix for full notes.

The work contained in this journal has taken several years to complete. I sincerely hope that you are not foolish enough to discount its content due to some misplaced loyalty or faulty knowledge. I assure you from tests carried out on my own person that it is most effective.

Frank Longbottom was a serious student, not given to mental wanderings. Your mother, however, was unable to complete a coherent thought. I will therefore suggest that you give the potion first to your father, as he will be better able to find a means of communication in the early stages of recovery. Speech will be one of the last functions restored.

I further suggest that you retain a solicitor prior to approaching St. Mungo's. This potion is unregistered and unpatented. You will need help to accomplish these things quickly as the Ministry's endless process is very cumbersome. In this way, you will insure enough funds upon its sale to move your parents to a private facility for their rehabilitation.

Professor S. Snape

Neville sat down heavily. Staring at the inscription, he began to thumb through the pages, unable to decipher more than the list of ingredients that spanned two pages. Minerva found him still sitting in the chair, his elbows on his knees, his head lowered to his hands, sobbing for a loss he did not know how to feel and a happiness he had not thought possible.