Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light

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Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light A Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising Sequence Fusion By: Gramarye

Chapter Fourteen - Beyond One's Control

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"In no circumstances may hospital zones be the object of attack. They shall be protected and respected at all times by the Parties to the conflict."

--Geneva Convention for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded and Sick in Armed Forces in the Field, 75 U.N.T.S. 31, entered into force Oct. 21, 1950: Annex 1, Article 11

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Regaining consciousness was a slow and arduous process, like flying on his broom in the middle of a gale-force wind.

He fought long and hard to make the tiniest bit of progress toward awareness, and his efforts were finally rewarded when he woke to the feel of cool, crisp linen sheets against his skin and the slightly sterile smell of the hospital wing.

Thick curtains pulled over the tall windows kept the room into a dreamy twilight state. A flutter of warm breath on his cheek indicated the presence of Madam Pomfrey. Her fingers lightly touched his wrist as she checked his pulse.

"What happened?" Harry whispered to her. Or at least, thought he whispered. The words might not have actually made it past his lips.

"You're to lie here and rest today," she said. "No visitors until dinnertime. Headmaster's orders."

Just as well. He didn't want visitors.

"Okay," he whispered back. His head felt like it was made of blown glass, and he was certain that it would shatter into thousands of tiny pieces if he spoke too loudly.

She nodded and withdrew, leaving him alone.

He dozed fitfully for most of the day, waking often. Madam Pomfrey brought him food, and he was able to down a few spoonfuls of rich soup and some pieces of warm bread, followed by the inevitable chocolate. The food made him full and drowsy, and he fell back asleep.

Once, when he woke after a jumble of murky emotions that might have been a dream, he thought heard the sound of someone crying. He lifted his head just enough to see over the edge of the bed.

Madam Pomfrey was sitting in a chair by the door. She was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief and holding back her sobs, as if she was afraid that the noise would wake her only patient.

Madam Pomfrey was crying.

Whatever had happened last night must have been very bad indeed.

He dropped off before he could think too much about it. Someone would let him know what was going on, soon enough. There wasn't much he could do in a hospital bed when he had barely the strength to stay awake for longer than a few minutes at a time.

The darkness in the room had deepened considerably the next time he awoke, and he heard Madam Pomfrey's skirts rustle as she moved around the ward, lighting the lamps on the walls with a touch of her wand.

Harry was just about to doze again when the sound of someone knocking the infirmary door startled him awake.

Madam Pomfrey made an irritated tsk-tsking noise, and swept out of the room. Listening carefully, Harry could pick out Ron and Hermione's voices, raised in argument with the mediwitch. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he assumed that it was after dinner, and Madam Pomfrey was trying to keep them out for as long as she could.

Apparently, his friends won the battle of words, because half a second later they burst into the room, ran over to his bed, and began talking, a deafening verbal barrage that left them tripping over each other in their rush to pass on information and yell at him at the same time.

"Classes cancelled, all day--"

"Hermione, it's not like we would have paid attention--"

"McGonagall told us where you were--"

"Tried to get in earlier, but--

"Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let us--"

"First King's Cross, and now this--"

"What happened to you last night?"

"Why didn't you come back?"

"Do you have *any* idea how worried--"

"Ginny was hysterical!"

"We thought something horrible had happened to--"

"STOP IT!" Harry shouted, waving his arms in the air.

They stopped, faces flushed and tense.

He took a deep breath, more to calm them down than to collect his own nerves. "All right," he said, "what's going on? I've been out of it all day, and this is the first I've heard of anything. And take it slowly," he added, seeing Ron preparing to start up the barrage of information a second time.

Hermione reached inside her schoolbag, pulled out a bundle of folded paper, and handed it to him. The bundle showed distinct signs of wear, as if it had passed through many hands.

He unrolled it, and discovered that it was the evening edition of the Daily Prophet. There was no way he could have missed what she wanted him to see--the huge, black typeface of the screamer headline did justice to its name.

ATTACK ON HOSPITAL LEAVES WIZARDING WORLD REELING BY: Igraine Postlethwaite, Staff Reporter

Late last night, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was attacked by a group of unknown masked assailants, who fired destructive spells and hexes throughout the hospital wards before subsequently Disapparating from the scene, leaving a stunned Ministry of Magic to deal with the aftermath of the wizarding world's most recent and horrific catastrophe.

Several wards were severely damaged in the brutally efficient attack, and the hospital's casualty ward and Continuing Care ward were completely destroyed. Mr Michael Evanston, a mediwizard resident at the hospital, was on call in the casualty ward and witnessed the initial terror.

"I couldn't believe it was happening, at first," he told our correspondent. "[The assailants] were blasting everything they could see. They weren't after anything or anyone, not as far as I could tell. It was...it was like they didn't care what happened, or what they were doing. They just wanted to hurt people."

Investigators will have a difficult time identifying potential suspects, since all of the attackers wore dark cloaks and facemasks to conceal their identities.

Ministry workers are still trying to account for missing patients and hospital staff. As of this edition, there were five confirmed reports of critical injuries to hospital patients and a dozen minor injuries, but no deaths.

Mr Edward Linchley, the Auror in charge of the investigation, had few comments for this Daily Prophet reporter beyond his vow to uncover the criminals behind this unprovoked and heinous crime.

"This attack constitutes a grave violation of international wizarding law," Mr. Linchley declared in his statement to the press. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has vowed to find the truth and get to the bottom of the matter, however unpleasant the final analysis may be."

Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, issued an official statement shortly after the attack was reported, assuring the public that the Ministry is "utilising all available resources to discover and bring to justice the perpetrators of this unspeakable crime."

This is the first such attack on St. Mungo's, Britain's oldest wizarding hospital, in its long and dignified history.

The attack shared many similarities to the attack on King's Cross Station earlier this year, and the incident at Quidditch World Cup two summers ago. No casualties were reported at the World Cup, but two Muggles and three Hogwarts students lost their lives in the ensuing panic that followed the King's Cross Disaster.

Patients have been moved to various Unplottable locations around Great Britain for their safety and continued treatment. Families and friends are strongly urged to avoid contacting the Ministry Direct Inquiries Office at this time--a separate means of communication will be established to deal solely with enquiries as to the whereabouts and condition of St. Mungo's patients.

Harry let the paper slip from his fingers.

"Dumbledore announced it at breakfast," Ron said soberly.

"No wonder things went so crazy last night," Harry murmured to himself, shaking his head.

Hermione pounced on his words. "Crazy? How so?"

Harry took another deep breath.

Choosing his words and details with the greatest care, he told them what had happened the night before in the room near the library and in the corridor immediately afterward. He left out the conversation he had had with Will, more for his own peace of mind than out of any embarrassment over his actions. He didn't think he could describe the frightening look he'd seen in the Old One's eyes, even if he had wanted to.

He had steeled himself for interruptions at every turn, but his friends listened quietly, though Hermione's eyes went wide when Harry described Will's sudden pain and Ron stifled a curse when he heard that Snape had thrown Harry against the wall.

"That's the last time we're letting you out of our sight," he said gruffly when Harry had finished. "Every time we leave you alone, you end up here."

Harry didn't care about that. From what he knew about the Dark Mark, he could only be grateful that Snape hadn't done worse.

"It was exactly the same at King's Cross," he said to them, changing the immediate topic.

Hermione's eyes went even wider.

"Your scar?" Ron pointed to Harry's forehead, rather unnecessarily. "Exactly the same?"

"The exact same pain. But Will felt it, and Snape, too." He rubbed his eyes in a very tired gesture. "Voldemort's declaring war against the wizarding world. This proves it."

Ron hissed under his breath, but said nothing.

"What happened at King's Cross must have been a test run," Hermione said dismally. "You can't expect to pull off an attack on something as well-guarded as St. Mungo's Hospital without...oh, *no*!"

She clutched convulsively at Harry's arm. Her face had gone a stark paper-white.

Ron grabbed her other hand. "What's wrong?"

Harry knew exactly what was wrong. "The Longbottoms," he said distantly, feeling his already sick stomach turn in on itself.

The colour drained from Ron's face as well, leaving him as sickly pale as Hermione. Harry had told them both about Neville's parents after they had run into him in Diagon Alley, and they had sworn to keep the knowledge a secret.

"Wait a minute, where's the paper?" Hermione grabbed the Daily Prophet from where Harry had dropped it and swiftly ran her finger down the page. "No, no, *no*--here! Several wards damaged...'the casualty ward and Continuing Care ward were completely destroyed'." She looked up. "Continuing Care ward. Completely destroyed. You don't think...?"

Harry's stomach was doing an elaborate gymnastic routine inside of him. He felt cold sweat break out on his forehead, and tried not to remember the soup and bread he'd eaten earlier that day.

"What happened when Dumbledore made the announcement at breakfast?" he asked.

"I don't know," Ron said. "I wasn't looking at Neville. Come to think of it, I haven't seen him all day."

"Wasn't he in the common room?" asked Hermione.

"Not that I saw," Ron replied. "He hasn't been in here at all, has he, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "I've been asleep pretty much the entire time. I haven't seen him. I don't think he's been in here, though."

"He probably went to send a letter to his grandmother, poor thing," Hermione said, folding the newspaper and returning it to her bag.

"Or that's what he *wants* us to think," Ron said ominously.

"Ron!"

"Well, we did say we were going to watch him. Why should this change anything?"

"Are classes going to be cancelled tomorrow, too?" Harry asked.

"Probably not," Ron said, scratching his chin. "I think the teachers are trying to get things back to normal as soon as possible."

"Then we can start watching him then," Harry declared.

Hermione scowled at them. "Of all the insensitive, tactless--"

"It's not like we're going to *do* anything to Scabbers," Ron said, cutting her off. "We're just keeping an eye on him, that's all."

Harry frowned. "Scabbers?"

Ron frowned as well, staring at him. "What about Scabbers?"

"You just said 'we're not going to do anything to Scabbers'," Harry said slowly. Of all the slips of the tongue that Ron could have made....

Ron laughed weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. "No, I didn't. I said 'Neville'."

"You said 'Scabbers'," Hermione said, contradicting him.

"I didn't!" Ron snapped at her, darkening in anger.

"You did too!"

The door banged open and Madam Pomfrey glided into the room like a yacht under full sail--or rather, like a very angry yacht under full sail.

"What did I tell you about upsetting the patient?" she scolded, as if Harry wasn't even present. "Out you go!"

Ignoring their pleading and protests, she gathered them up and marched them out of the room.

"See you tomorrow in class, Harry!" Ron shouted as his head disappeared behind the closing door.

Madam Pomfrey soon returned, and began to tidy up the ward in an oddly violent manner: pummelling pillows into shape, yanking the bedsheets into razor-sharp hospital corners, and mumbling to herself about "no tolerance" and "inconsiderate wretches".

Harry rolled onto his stomach and pretended to be asleep already, waiting for her to work out her anger on inanimate objects and other things that weren't him. But the pretence soon faded, and he fell into a deep and blissfully dreamless sleep.

* * *

Considering the events of the last few days, Harry wasn't at all surprised when Dobby showed up in his room Monday before classes with a note from Dumbledore, saying that there would be no session with Will that night.

The Headmaster had enclosed a brief letter from Will, which Harry unfolded and read as he ran down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Mr. Potter [the letter read]:

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I regret to inform you that I will be unavailable for our scheduled session this Monday. I have informed your Headmaster and explained the situation, which does not concern you or your friends. Please expect that our sessions will resume this coming Thursday, and prepare accordingly. By that time, I hope to have some concrete answers to your questions and a greater sense of what direction our co-operation will take.

Will Stanton

Harry didn't know what to think. The letter was brusque but polite, courteous but by no means pleasant. It managed to say everything that needed to be said, and still say nothing at the same time. It was a veritable wealth of non-information.

He shoved the letter into his pocket and headed into the Great Hall. Maybe Hermione could make more sense out of it at the breakfast table.

* * *

That week, he and Ron set out to watch Neville like hawks. It proved to be far more difficult than they had ever imagined.

For starters, there were certain times when they just couldn't watch him--in bed, for instance. It was hard to be always watching him in class, too, because not paying attention to the lecture made the classwork nearly impossible, not to mention the homework. Information they needed to learn for the O.W.L.s was coming thick and fast, and they spent more time trying to recall what had been taught in class than they actually spent in the classroom itself. Their inattention had other consequences, too, most notably in the form of an extended Monday night detention with a strangely vindictive Professor Snape.

To make matters worse, Hermione had refused to give them any additional help, saying "it's your own fault if you miss what we're learning" until they were heartily sick of hearing it. And for all their trouble, they didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, beyond an overall increase in Neville's competency in class.

But every time that Harry was ready to admit that he had been wrong, he seemed to feel the pressure of fingers at his throat, and a squeezing sensation in his chest.

He'd seen too much in his life to let his guard down so easily...even for someone he thought he knew.

* * *

They'd considered putting off the second and final round of Keeper tryouts in deference to the recent events, but with their first match against Ravenclaw less than three weeks away, the Gryffindor team knew that they had to pick a Keeper, and fast.

Fred and George had chosen Tuesday for the tryouts because it was the only day that all of them were free immediately after dinner, and they were fortunate enough to find that the weather had decided to cooperate for once: impossibly blue sky, fine warm day, and above all no pesky cross-breezes that would cause trouble a hundred feet off the ground.

The four people who had made the cuts followed the current Quidditch team members onto the pitch. Harry had known that Ron would make it--his performance during the first round had been top notch. Colin had made the cut, too, despite some initial fears on Angelina's part that he didn't have the stamina to undergo their gruelling practice regimen. Fred brushed aside her worries with an airy "Eh, we can toughen him up in no time--the kid's got enough guts for it", and that was that.

Besides them, Harry saw that sturdy third-year Tommy Fitzmorris and quick-witted fourth-year Beatrice Tran had also been lucky enough to get a second chance. He recalled that Tommy had blocked one of Katie's best shots, flummoxing the experienced seventh-year girl as he sent the Quaffle flying across the pitch. Beatrice seemed to be in her element when she had played in the rain, using the Chasers' poor visibility to her advantage with some truly excellent saves. Harry wondered if she would play as well in fair weather as she had in foul.

He didn't have much time for wondering, though, because George had stopped and was addressing the candidates.

"Now, this is going to be more like a regular game, with a real score. We're going split up into two teams, and each team will have a Keeper, two Chasers, one Beater, and a Seeker. Angelina and Katie will be Chasers for one team. Alicia will pair up with one of you on the other side. Fred and I will play normally, but with one Bludger--no sense having two of those bastards coming at your heads if you're not playing with a full team. There'll be a Keeper for each goal, obviously. And last, one of you will see if you can keep up with Harry as Seeker--or help whip his arse back in shape if it looks like he needs it. That clear?"

Harry saw Colin practically wriggle with excitement as Ron did his best to look cool and composed.

Beatrice raised her hand. "I'm a bit confused--could you explain the part about how this supposed to be like a 'regular game'?" she said with an impish grin.

"You'll just have to find out--part of being a good Keeper is dealing with the unexpected," Fred shot back. Apparently, he didn't like to have competition in the dry, sarcastic wit department.

George neatly stepped in and divided the teams. Harry found himself paired with Tommy for the first round.

"Your job is to keep up with me," he told the nervous-looking boy. "Don't worry about speed--we're not using the real Snitch today. My job is to see how well you can work *around* the play, instead of *in* it."

With that, he kicked off and zoomed up into the sky. A quick glance over his shoulder gave him the ego-boosting sight of Tommy hurrying to catch up.

The play went rather smoothly, considering the shortage of players. Beatrice and Ron were the first two Keepers, and between them they kept the Chasers busy. Harry used the time to circle the field, practising a few of the tricks he had learned in his "Secrets of the Seekers" book. One of them was a feint that involved diving underneath the other Seeker and then just as quickly soaring upward and away as fast as possible. He was so involved in practising his own moves that he forgot to watch the game, until Fred deliberately aimed the Bludger at him to bring his mind back to the task at hand.

"Oi, Potter!" he shouted in a very good imitation of Oliver Wood's jocular voice. "Should we get the Snitch out and give you something better to do?"

Harry shouted back something that would have earned him a very sharp reprimand from Hermione, and the play continued.

By the end of the tryouts, the scores were fairly close. Colin and Beatrice were the Keepers, and Harry found himself desperately trying to outmanoeuvre Ron. That was the real problem with having your best friend playing against you--he knew all your moves.

Colin was obviously tired, but he doggedly held on, defending his goal as if he'd choose death over a lost game. Perhaps that was why when Angelina, caught in a strong updraft, accidentally threw the Quaffle directly at him, he took it full in the chest instead of ducking like any other person would have done.

Being hit by a Quaffle is not exactly like being hit with a Bludger, but it comes very close. And Colin, who was small for his age, was not entirely prepared for the impact. It knocked him completely off his broom. He plummeted like a stone, hitting the ground hard.

Beatrice screamed.

Harry set his Firebolt into a flat-out dive and streaked for the ground, reaching Colin first. He dimly heard George shouting orders, telling Fred to get Madam Hooch, telling Ron to find Madam Pomfrey, but his first priority was to see how badly Colin was hurt. He leapt off his broom before he landed and ran over to the base of the goalpost where the injured boy lay.

"Colin! Colin!" he shouted, patting the younger boy's shoulder.

Still clutching the Quaffle, Colin opened his eyes and wearily looked up, into the worried eyes of his idol. His face broke into a happy but very off-kilter grin.

"Boy, I really stopped that one, didn't I, Harry?" he said.

With that, the Quaffle slipped from his hands, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out.

* * *

That Thursday night was their belated session with Will. Harry was the first to arrive, and he knew something was very, very wrong the moment he opened the door.

As far as he knew, the only people inside Hogwarts who were aware of the existence of the little room off the library were Dumbledore, McGonagall, Ron, Hermione, and himself. Not even the house elves visited the room--the chair cushions exuded great puffs of dust if one sat down too abruptly, a hand that touched the bookshelves would come away covered in fine grey grit, and the grate was encrusted with the soot and ash of many years. There was a permanent musty odour in the air, and except for day of their first meeting, they had always had to light a fire and heat the room up a bit before they could consider contacting Will.

Tonight, thought, the room was nice and warm from a fire already burning in the grate. The bright, cheery blaze created a very different atmosphere. But while the fire was unexpected, it wasn't disturbing.

The disturbing part was the chair that had been pulled close to the fire, its high carved back facing the door and completely concealing its occupant.

Harry pulled out his wand and crept forward as silently as he could. He tiptoed around the table, cautiously making his way toward the fire. He peeped around the back of the chair, his wand feeling slick from the sweat that soaked his palms.

Sitting in the chair, staring moodily into the leaping flames, was Neville.

Harry barely had time to recover from the wholly expected shock before Neville, sensing that someone else was nearby, looked up.

He grinned. "Oh, hi, Harry!" He sounded cheerful...perhaps overly cheerful.

"H-hi, Neville," Harry stammered, taking a step back.

"You're a little late, aren't you? What took you so long?"

"Quidditch team discussions ran a little--what do you mean, 'what took you so long'?" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Neville shuffled his feet on the floor. "Well, I know you guys have been reviewing for the O.W.L.s, and I was wondering if maybe I could join your study group. I saw you leave the common room and pass by the library, and I followed you here. This is a great room for reviewing, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Harry tightened his grip on his wand.

"So would it be all right if I joined you? I'd like to start reviewing early, too--I really need to do well on the tests."

Harry swallowed several times, trying to push the lump out of his throat. "I...I don't think that's such a good idea."

"What?" Neville stood up. Harry quickly took another step back.

"D-don't come any closer, Neville," he said, voice cracking as he tried to fight down his rising panic.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Neville took a step forward, and like a strange parody of a pair of dancers Harry backed away again, pressing up against the bookshelf.

Before Harry could reply, the door opened and Ron and Hermione entered. They were arguing about something, but both their heated conversation and their forward motion stopped dead at the sight of Neville reaching out with both hands to Harry, who was flattened against the shelf like a cornered animal.

Harry saw something click in Ron's eyes as he leapt to a horrified conclusion. The situation must have confirmed every single one of his fears in one fell swoop.

Neville, unaware of his friend's inner conflict, grinned broadly. "Great, we're all here!" he said brightly. "D'you mind if we get started right away?"

"Not right now," Ron said before either Harry or Hermione could respond. "We have to wait an hour."

"An hour?" Neville looked confused. "Why?"

"To wait for the Polyjuice Potion, or whatever it is, to wear off, of course," Ron answered, walking toward him. "And for your sake, I hope it does wear off, because I want to see just who's been impersonating my friend all this time."

The menace in his voice was unmistakeable.

"Polyjuice Potion? I don't--" The happy light had gone from Neville's eyes. His confused expression was slowly replaced with growing terror as he saw first Ron, then Harry, and finally Hermione pull out their wands and point them directly at him. "What's going on?"

"Who are you?" Ron thundered.

"Wh-what's wrong with y-you?" he spluttered, backing away and knocking over the chair. "It's me! It's Neville!"

"We'll see about that," Ron sneered, advancing on him. "I think a full Body-Bind should keep you in place until we find out what's really going on."

"Ron, wait--" Harry began, but Ron wasn't hearing him.

"You're mad!" Neville cried out, edging toward the door. "I'm getting out of here!"

Ron, with a speed and dexterity honed by countless scuffles with older brothers, darted across the room, grabbed Neville, and forced him to his knees. In a swift, smooth movement, he twisted Neville's arms behind his back and knelt across the back of Neville's outstretched legs, effectively pinning him to the ground.

Neville struggled to stand, but Ron had the advantage of greater weight and complete surprise. He growled a curse and changed his position, leaning with his full body weight on the back of Neville's legs. Neville squealed in pain.

"Stop it, Ron!" Harry shouted futilely.

"Ron! You promised you wouldn't hurt him!" Hermione's wand was pointed at the two of them, but Harry couldn't tell whether it was trained on Ron or Neville.

Ron apparently thought it was the latter. "Come on, Hermione!" he urged. "What are you waiting for?"

"Yes, Hermione, do it," Neville spat bitterly, grimacing as Ron yanked upward on his wrists. "You didn't have any trouble petrifying me four years ago--what's your problem now?"

Hermione's white face went rigid, a frozen blank.

Without a word, she put her wand away and strode over to the mirror. Ron, realising what she intended to do, yelled at her to stop, but by that time she had already placed her hand on the frame.

Harry looked away just in time, but he saw that Neville hadn't been so lucky. He tried to shield his eyes from the dazzling flare of bluish-white light, but Ron's grip was steadfast and the most he could do was crane his neck and turn his head, shutting out the worst of it. Harry kept watching Neville, not the mirror, waiting to assess the other boy's reaction.

Once Neville could see clearly again, he stared at the mirror with an expression of sheer disbelief. His mouth moved, forming words, but no sound came out. Harry watched carefully, looking for fear or some other betraying emotion, but there was none. All he could see was shock, awe, and for some reason what appeared to be the tiniest hint of relief.

He then turned to look at Will, and was even more surprised by what he saw there.

The Old One's eyes, stormy and severe, took in the frozen tableau. Neville, down on his knees, arms pinioned behind his back by a furious Ron. Hermione, hand touching the mirror frame, her worried face just within his line of sight. And Harry, still flattened against the far bookshelf, maintaing his composure only with the greatest difficulty.

"Well...this is an interesting development," Will said neutrally. He looked over at Ron. "Please let go of him, Mr. Weasley."

Ron didn't move. Defiance flared in his eyes as he glared at the older man.

"Let go of him, I said," Will ordered, more sharply.

Harry flinched. If he had been the one holding Neville, he would have obeyed instantly--the power of the command bit into his mind like the lash of a whip.

Grudgingly, Ron released Neville, who scrambled to his feet. He ran over to the mirror, but skidded to a stumbling halt when Will raised a hand, stopping him in mid-stride.

"There is a very fine line between self-confidence and recklessness, Mr. Longbottom." He sounded saddened, faintly disappointed, but not angry. "I think I know why you chose this rather dramatic path, but as you can see, it hasn't exactly come out the way you'd intended."

With his upraised hand, he gestured to Ron, Harry, and Hermione, who had grouped themselves on the opposite side of the room and were waiting to see what would happen.

Neville gulped. He looked as though he was seconds away from crying. "I...I just thought..."

"I know, Neville." Compassion and understanding had replaced the disappointment in Will's voice. "I know. But I am not the one who needs to hear an explanation."

Neville gulped again.

He didn't take his eyes from the mirror, but when he spoke the three of them knew he was talking to them, not Will.

"I was so tired of being stupid," he mumbled.

"Honestly, Neville, you're not--" Hermione began automatically, but she caught sight of Will's cold, set face and was silent.

Neville continued as if she hadn't said a word.

"Sometimes I almost wish I *was* a Squib, like Filch. I wouldn't have to deal with people, then. You're a Squib, and that's that--it's a pity, it's a shame, but you can't do much about it, can you? But to be ALMOST a Squib, that's a different story. You *could* do proper magic, but you can't. And since no one can figure out why, they assume it's your own fault--that if you just tried a little harder you wouldn't be so slow and stupid.

"So everyone tells you you're almost a Squib, that you'd be better off as a Squib. All your life, you think you're a Squib. You even start acting like one. But then someone comes along and tells you that you aren't a Squib, tells you you're *not* hopeless, *not* dumb, and then actually *proves* it to you, and it sticks like nothing else anyone has ever said to you before.

"So you work at it a bit, at not being a Squib for once in your life, and it feels...it feels...."

He turned away from the mirror and smiled at them, the tears streaming down his face a heartrending contrast to the sheer joy that radiated from him.

"Do you know what it was like, talking back to Snape?" he said, almost laughing. "It felt *good*. No, better than good--it was FANTASTIC. I felt like a real wizard. And right then, I thought, 'Hey, why does it just have to be *this* moment that feels good? Why should I have to stop feeling good about something I've done right?'"

The joyous expression faltered. His face began to crumble, the tears coming faster. "So I worked at it a bit more, and good things started to happen...but then *this* happened, and now it feels like something inside of me 's gone. I...I d-don't feel so good anymore. I d-don't know if I'll ever feel g-good again."

His voice broke. He lost the battle with self-control and sank to the ground, weeping quietly. His silent tears were far more painful to watch than the noisiest sobs.

Harry didn't know what to say. He felt as if he'd forgotten something terribly important, and had only just remembered it...too late to do anything about it.

He wanted to sit down, to do something, anything that would be better than standing around feeling helpless. He was afraid of what would happen if he didn't move--but after seeing the look on Will's face, he was more afraid of what would happen if he did.

"You get a chance to change and you take it," Hermione said suddenly, cutting through the sound of Neville's weeping.

Ron and Harry jumped. Even Neville stopped crying, and stared up at her with red-rimmed eyes.

"Hermione?" Ron's voice was no louder than a whisper.

She, too, spoke to the mirror, even though they all knew it wasn't Will she was addressing.

"I know how I must have come off when we met on the train back in first year. I was a horrible little prig. Well, what you saw then was nothing compared to the way I acted before I got the letter from Hogwarts." She pointed to Ron. "When you called me a 'nightmare' that Hallowe'en in our first year, Ron, you remember how upset I got."

"Boy, do I." Ron shuffled his feet, looking very much like the awkward, gangly boy he had been four years ago. "But I didn't--"

She waved away his attempted apology. "Oh, I don't care about that. You were right, anyway. But what bothered me most at the time was how awful it made me feel. I've been called worse before, much worse. You couldn't even imagine some of the names I had to hear, before I came to Hogwarts." She smiled ruefully. "Malfoy could take a lesson or two from them.

"But I didn't care about the name-calling at all--it didn't hurt me. I felt nothing. But when I heard you that day, for the first time in my life a name actually hurt me."

"I'm sorry," Harry said lamely.

Hermione shook her head. "Don't be sorry. I needed to hear it. I did a lot of thinking when I was blubbering in the bathroom. I knew then and there that I didn't want to be...I didn't want to be the way I was before. I decided that feeling hurt was better than feeling nothing."

"So is that why you saved our arses after the troll came along?" Ron asked.

"Don't be stupid, Ron," she retorted, blinking back her own tears. "I just didn't want to see you get squashed. I would have missed you calling me 'know-it-all' everyday."

She fell silent, wiping her face.

A log fell from the fire, popping and crackling in the stillness.

Ron cleared his throat.

"Always thought you were brave, Neville," he said hoarsely. "Ever since you stood up to us that first time. You got the points that won us the House Cup that year--don't you remember?"

Neville laughed at that, a short, barking laugh with no humour in it. "I'm not sure what I remember, sometimes."

"Do you remember who we are?" Hermione asked him.

Neville's eyes went wide, then narrowed in suspicion. "Is this some sort of trick question?" he asked, mopping his face with the sleeve of his robe.

"Answer her," Will commanded from the mirror.

Neville cast him an anxious glance, then sighed and pointed to each of them in turn. "Fine. You're Hermione Granger. That's Ron Weasley, and that's Harry Potter."

"Wrong!" she shouted.

Neville started, nearly falling over.

Hermione knelt down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Neville, we're your friends--or thought we were. If you don't want to be friends with us after this, we'll understand. But even though we liked the old Neville a lot, I think we can like the new Neville, too. Right?"

"I can like anyone who's got the balls to punch Snape in the nose," Ron said with a grin.

"Ron!" Hermione said warningly, with a nervous glance at Will.

"*Punched* him?" Will said, raising a eyebrow in a very critical manner. "Is this true?"

"NO!" Neville said emphatically, twitching.

"Good," Will declared. "Violence doesn't solve anything. Well, most of the time, it doesn't solve anything. Actually, I can think of quite a few times where violence *did* solve something, but those were extenuating circumstances. And the foul little brat deserved to get chucked into the river, anyway."

"Huh?" said Ron, speaking for all of them.

Will blinked. The abstracted look left his face. "Forgive me...I was recalling something from a long time ago. It isn't important."

Neville got to his feet.

"Well, I suppose I should be going," he said wistfully. "Sorry to be such a bother, Professor Stanton."

"That won't be necessary, Neville" Will said. "Since we seem to have established that you're *not* inherently evil, I see no reason why you can't be privy to our discussion."

Hermione tried to smother her giggle by turning it into a cough, but only succeeded in making a snorting sound that sent her into gales of hysterical laughter.

"All right! All right!" Ron yelled, flailing his arms in the air. "We're idiots! ID-I-OTS! Are you *happy*?"

"I...I am now," she gasped, catching her breath.

"Whenever you're ready, Miss Granger."

Will's deep voice had a sobering effect on her, and she calmed down. She walked over to the mirror and placed her hand on one side of the frame, and Ron and Harry took up their positions on the other side. Neville quickly backed up to stand a safe distance away from them.

"Enter, Watchman of the Light."

"Grant to us your inner sight."

"Enter, for the time draws near."

They waited for the carved pattern in the mirror frame to change from vivid blue to its familiar blinding white, but to their astonishment, nothing happened. There wasn't so much as a flicker.

"It didn't work!" Ron exclaimed, rather redundantly.

Neville let out a choked sob, pressing a hand to his mouth. "Was...is it because of me? Is it my fault that it didn't work?"

Will picked up his briefcase from the floor next to his desk, and ran a hand through his hair. "That may very well be the case, Neville--but not in the way you think. You might say that this is a request for your assistance, in recognition of your determination and devotion to your friends...even after what has happened tonight. You have worked very hard to overcome the obstacles that life has given you. You have seen firsthand what the Dark can do at its worst. You have a place here, Neville."

He closed his eyes. "It is entirely your choice, you understand. The Light cannot and will not force a decision in this matter."

"You must be daft if you think I'd walk away from something like this," Neville said frankly, startling them all. "Of course I'll do it. What do I have to do?"

"You already know," Will said, smiling cryptically.

Harry, sensing that with those words he had been given an important cue, spoke first. "Enter, Watchman of the Light."

Next, Hermione. "Grant to us your inner sight."

Then Ron. "Enter, for the time draws near."

Now it was Neville's turn. He laid a hand on the mirror's frame, directly underneath Hermione's.

"Power will erase our fear," he said, his voice ringing clear and strong.

The carved symbols that decorated the mirror glowed brightly in response, more brightly than they ever had before.

With the soft, elegant swish of robes, Will stepped into the room. Harry shivered at the electric thrill of awe that always ran up his spine at the Old One's entrance.

Will set his briefcase down on the table and gazed at each of them in turn. His ancient eyes lingered for a moment on Neville, who looked as though several of his best dreams had decided to come true all at once.

"And then there were four," he said softly.