Becoming Neville

As soon as Neville stepped out of the fireplace, coughing from the ash and dust that had flown up his nose, a hand started pounding on his back. "You all right there, mate?"

"Ron, stop beating on the poor boy!" Neville blinked and stared up through teary eyes at Mrs. Weasley, who smiled apologetically at him. "I'm so sorry about that, Neville. We really must clean out that chimney."

"It's all right, Mrs. Weasley," Neville gasped, wiping at his eyes. "I'm fine."

"Neville!" another voice called. "It's so good to see you!"

"Hi, Hermione."

"I'm awfully sorry about your grandmother. Is she all right?"

Neville shrugged.

"Rotten luck," Ron agreed. "Still, I reckon you and Harry are having a grand time staying at the Order's Headquarters, eh?" He shot Harry an enigmatic look. "Right in the thick of things, as opposed to being stuck out here...."

Harry scowled. "It's not as fun as you seem to think. In fact, it was downright boring until Neville showed up. At least you have company."

Hermione rolled her eyes and heaved a great sigh. "If you two are going to start fighting again, then have fun. Meanwhile, I'm going to show Neville around the place." She held out a hand to him. "Come on, Neville."

He glanced at the other two boys and then followed after Hermione. Still sullen, Ron and Harry followed Neville and Hermione as she took him through the house. Neville had never been to the Burrow before, but he instantly loved it. The house looked full and lived in: books, magazines, toys and games stacked all over the place, pictures and drawings papering the walls, Muggle items displayed on bookshelves. His grandmother would have had a fit at the untidiness of it all. The Longbottom house was almost as cluttered, but there was a methodical order to it, like stacks of museum artifacts waiting to be catalogued, as opposed to the well-used aura of the Burrow. Here things were strewn about because they were used frequently, unlike the hands-off policy in his own home.

The tour ended on the back porch overlooking the yard. "Your house is terrific, Ron," Neville gushed.

Ron shrugged. "It's okay, I guess. But it's not so much fun now, especially with Fred and George gone. It's just Mum, Dad, Ginny and me. Thank heavens Hermione comes to visit, or I would go crazy."

"And what am I?" Harry retorted.

"Oh, come on, Harry. You know that's not my fault. Mum thinks you're too much stimulation for me. You know: 'Ron needs his rest!'" he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "I keep telling her I'm well enough for you to stay here for a while, but she won't hear of it."

"It's true, Harry," Hermione interjected. "He's at her about it ten times a day."

But Harry refused to be appeased. "I notice she doesn't mind you visiting."

"That's because I make Ron do his homework."

"You know how it is, Harry," Ron said, his cheeks flaming redder than his hair. "She's a girl."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry retorted.

Ron blushed even harder, turning almost purple with embarrassment. "It means - it means she's not always dragging me to the backyard to play Quidditch." When Harry only scowled further, Ron hastily added, "You know I'd rather play Quidditch with you! I mean - that is, I want *both* of you here, but Mum says I still need to rest, and girls are more responsible, and, um...." He trailed off in confusion, twisting his hands on the porch banister.

"We're really sorry, Harry," Hermione added. "We really wish you could be here more often."

"We?" Harry repeated, his eyes narrowing.

"Ron and I."

The threesome stood staring at one another, and Neville could sense the storm of emotions seething between them. For such good friends, they could be awfully volatile, and he only prayed they never learned about the betting pool Dean and Seamus ran at the start of every school term on when the first fight would start, who would split off from whom, and how long it would last. Maybe he should tip then off with his own prediction: less than one week for Harry to get into a row with Hermione and Ron.

"Um, so how is your health, Ron?" Neville asked, hoping to break up the tension. "You seemed to be fine by the end of term, but your mum said you'd had a bad week."

Ron shrugged. "She's always exaggerating."

"She is not, Ron," contradicted Hermione.

Some of Harry's irritation leaked away, and he looked a bit intrigued. "Did you have another one of those memories?"

"Yeah." Embarrassed, Ron scratched at his ear and looked across the yard. "This time it was about a witch who was trying to invent a time machine. It didn't work, though. When she tried to turn the machine on, it blew up. Don't know how her brain didn't get blown to bits along with it, though. It was kinda cool, really. She lived about a hundred years ago and used to date some Muggle named Archduke Ferdinand. Still, it was weird thinking I was a girl."

Confused, Neville asked, "How could that be *your* memory?"

"It's not really mine. It's from those brains I tangled with at the Ministry."

Hermione explained, "The Ministry keep the brains of important people because they want to be able to access their knowledge. When Ron fell in the tank, some of them passed their memories on to him. It took a while for them to start surfacing into his consciousness, but now they're coming more often. A representative from the Ministry comes by every week to document all the memories that Ron has recalled."

"It's a bloody bore, really," Ron said. "Most of the time it's about research people did on spells and potions and such. I don't understand any of it, but *some people* are always wanting me to try to remember all the details."

"It's fascinating, Ron," said Hermione, her eyes shining with the passion of a true scholar. "You're like a walking encyclopedia of some of the most brilliant minds in the past two centuries."

Ron rolled his eyes. "That's just what I've always dreamed of."

"But some of the memories aren't so...boring," Harry said quietly, and Neville saw genuine worry on his face.

"No," Ron agreed, his voice almost as quiet. "Some of the brains were criminals and dark wizards. Those get pretty scary."

Neville shivered. There were plenty of wizards whose brains he had no desire to peer into: Bellatrix Lestrange. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Or even Snape, for that matter.

"Your mum said you had a bad week," Harry said. "But this time machine witch doesn't sound so bad."

"Well, she was a bit dodgy, actually. Now I understand why people call them mad scientists. She had some pretty creepy ideas. And the blowing up bit at the end was a little intense."

"Sounds awful," Neville said.

Ron shrugged. "That's why mum doesn't want me to be overstimulated. It tends to bring out the memories. And you have to admit it's true, Harry. When you're around, things tend to get pretty...stimulating." He grinned widely, and to everyone's relief, Harry grinned back.

"Speaking of stimulating," Harry said, "Neville's got a mystery."

Ron and Hermione looked at him in surprise, and Neville said, "Harry, I'm not sure that's such a good idea...."

"But we talked about it yesterday."

Despite his evident skepticism that there could ever be anything mysterious about Neville, Ron looked intrigued. "Talked about what? What mystery have you got, Neville?"

"It's - it's nothing really."

"It's not nothing!" Harry protested. "Hermione can help. You know that."

"I can help, too!" Ron said. "I'm the one with all the extra brain power these days."

Taking a step closer, Hermione gently asked, "What's it about, Neville? Really, we might be able to help."

Suddenly Neville didn't want to share his "mystery" with them. The famous Gryffindor trio were always battling monsters and solving mysteries. But his parents weren't some problem for Harry, Hermione and Ron to fix. They were *his* parents.

"Come on, Neville," Harry urged. "You want to help them, don't you?"

"Help who?" Ron asked, even more curious.

Neville glanced at Ron, then back at Harry. He resented it, but Harry was right. He certainly wasn't clever enough to figure this out on his own, especially considering he'd been missing his mother's hidden messages for years. He wasn't the hero; they were.

He sighed, defeated. "All right. Do you have somewhere private we can talk?"

They trooped back into the house, Ron eagerly leading them to his turret room. Ginny, sprawled out on the couch with a book in her lap, looked up as they passed through the living room. "Where are you lot going?"

"Private conference," Ron curtly replied.

She sat up. "Hey, I was at the Ministry, too. Whatever it is, I should be a part of it."

"This has nothing to do with the Ministry, so go back to your 'Feminist Witches of the Thirteenth Century,' or whatever it is."

"Feminism started in the eighteenth century, you moron," Ginny shot back.

Mrs. Weasley appeared in the kitchen doorway, frowning in suspicion. "What did I hear about the Ministry?"

"Nothing, Mum."

She pointed a warning finger at her son. "I told you, Ron. No excitement, and that means none of your plots, or the boys will have to go home."

"It's not exciting, Mum!" Ron protested in frustration. "It's just Neville!"

Neville shot a furious glance at him, but Hermione stepped forward, conveniently treading on Ron's foot to shut him up. "Neville wants to get something special for his grandmother while she's in the hospital, Mrs. Weasley. We offered to help him think of ideas."

Mrs. Weasley studied them closely as if trying to make up her mind whether to trust them. At last she visibly relaxed. "That's very nice of you to help him. I'll think of ideas, too, Neville."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he stuttered.

She gave Hermione one last look that clearly said, *I'm leaving you in charge,* and turned back to the kitchen.

With a sigh of relief, the foursome trooped up the five flights of stairs to Ron's room. They shut the door behind them and settled into a tight circle on the floor.

"So what's going on, mate?" Ron eagerly prompted.

Neville glanced at the eager faces surrounding him and took a deep breath. "You were all there last Christmas at St. Mungo's," he began. "You met...you saw my parents." All three of them nodded, their expressions suddenly grave. Neville found their quiet sympathy encouraging. Even though Ron and Hermione weren't orphans, they'd certainly seen more than their fair share of suffering.

He continued, "Every time I go to visit them, my mother gives me candy wrappers. I've been saving them for years because, because...."

"She's your mother," Hermione gently finished for him.

"Yeah." He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "Anyway, she always scratches certain letters off the wrappers, and yesterday Harry and I realized.... Well, I mean Harry discovered it."

"We both did," said Harry.

"Anyway, the letters...they spell...they spell...." He couldn't continue. He couldn't bear to admit that he had missed such an important and obvious clue.

"They spell 'help me,'" Harry eagerly finished.

"'Help me!'" Ron repeated, mouth agape. "You mean your mum's been sending you a message?"

"And there's another one --," Harry continued.

"Stop it!" Neville angrily barked. "They're my wrappers! They're my parents!"

The others stared at him in surprise.

"Sorry, Neville," Harry said sheepishly.

Neville calmed himself before continuing. "She's always scratched off the same letters. But one time it was different." He drew the wrapper out of his pocket and smoothed it out before handing it to Hermione. "Be careful with it," he cautioned.

"Ron," Hermione instructed, already studying the wrapper, "get me a quill and paper."

Ron hastily obeyed, while Hermione stretched out on the floor, propped up on her elbows, poring over the wrapper. When Ron handed her a scrap of parchment, she carefully copied the letters down.

"It's got to mean something," Harry said, "but we couldn't figure out what."

Ron lay down next to Hermione and read over her shoulder, "Drofiwodt. Sounds Welsh or something. Is your mum Welsh, Neville?"

"No."

"Maybe it's Gaelic, then. Or Parseltongue!"

"It's not a language, Ronald," Hermione huffed. "It's an anagram."

"A what?"

"Honestly, Ron, don't you remember anything, even with your magnificent brain collection?"

"An anagram," Harry repeated, "like Ginny's diary in second year. 'Tom Marvolo Riddle: I am Lord Voldemort.'"

Neville flinched at Harry's casual use of The Name, and Ron paled. "Oh, yeah," he gulped. "I remember that one." He studied the paper again. "Well, at least this one doesn't have a V. But F sounds kind of like V, and the W could be an upside-down M...."

"Ron," Harry said, "why don't you just let Hermione work it out?"

"Hey, I was only trying to help!"

"Driftwood," said Hermione.

The three boys blinked in astonishment.

"You figured it out already?" Neville blurted out.

Hermione shrugged. "It was easy."

"But...driftwood?" Harry said. "That doesn't make any sense. Maybe it spells something else."

"No, Harry. That's the only word these letters spell."

"It might not be just one word, you know."

"Didn't you just tell Ron to let me work it out? I'm telling you, that's what it spells. That, and 'for two did.' But 'driftwood' makes more sense."

Neville couldn't help giving Harry a gleeful poke. "I told you it didn't mean 'wird food.'"

"But what is 'driftwood' supposed to mean?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Hermione mused, tickling the end of her nose with her quill, the way she always did when she was concentrating on her homework.

Neville quietly said, "It might mean nothing, you know. After all, my mother is crazy."

The boys gave him sympathetic looks, but Hermione said, "This isn't the work of a crazy person. It's far too deliberate. She must be trying to say something. We just have to figure out what."

Silence descended on them once more as they each considered the puzzle.

"Maybe...," Neville began, then stopped himself. After all, he wasn't one of the Gryffindor heroes.

But Hermione gave him an encouraging nod. "Go on. Any idea might help."

Neville swallowed. "I was just thinking...maybe there's some potion that uses driftwood as an ingredient?"

Hermione tickled her nose again with the quill. "It could be. I can't think off-hand of ever hearing that driftwood has magical properties, but that's probably the best place to start."

Neville blushed faintly. Maybe he had a bit of the hero in him, after all.

"Well," Hermione said, pushing herself up off the floor. "We're not going to figure it out just sitting around here. This will require research. And who knows, Ron? Your amazing super brains might actually come in handy."

Ron beamed up at her, and Neville noticed a rather besotted gleam in his eyes. He glanced quickly at Harry and saw that he noticed it, too.

"But we can all research it on our own," Hermione continued. "We shouldn't spend your visit reading through books."

"I don't see why not," Ron complained good-naturedly. "That's the way *you* always spend your visits here."

Hermione shot him a coy glance. "Not entirely."

A disgustingly silly grin plastered itself on Ron's face, and both Neville and Harry fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Thanks for showing us this, Neville," Hermione said, handing him back the wrapper. "We'll figure it out, I promise. Now, let's go back downstairs before Mrs. Weasley starts worrying about us."

*****

They went downstairs and headed out to the yard, after Mrs. Weasley sternly warned them not to roughhouse with Ron. Ron rolled his eyes but said nothing. Ginny put down her book and followed them outside, and they all lay out on the grass to soak up the late morning sun.

"If you were talking about DA business upstairs, you ought to tell me," Ginny grumbled. "I was at the Ministry. I proved myself."

"We weren't talking about the DA," said Ron.

Ginny shot a glance at Hermione, who lay stretched out on her back next to Ron. "It's not fair for them to leave me out. We women need to stick together."

"Oh, not more of that feminist rot, Ginny," Ron complained. "You shouldn't be reading that book."

Hermione thwacked him in the chest. "Don't be so chauvinist."

"I'm not! But she's always going on about male hegemony in the Weasley patriarchy."

"Oh." Hermione smirked at Ginny. "In that case, he's not chauvinist. He just doesn't understand all those big words."

"I do, too!" protested Ron, but no one believed him.

"What about you, Neville?" Ginny asked, suddenly turning on him. "You're in favor of feminism, aren't you?"

"Um, well - I guess so. I mean, considering my Gran probably *is* a feminist witch from the eighteenth century."

Ginny and Hermione snickered, Ron scowled, and Harry just gazed absently out at the pond. Neville noticed Harry's distraction and changed the subject in hopes of drawing him out. "This garden is great. Lots of useful plants and nice flowers. Maybe your mum will give me some cuttings. Harry and I found a greenhouse at Grimmauld Place. It needs a lot of repair, but we'll have it fixed up in no time."

"That sounds wonderful," Hermione said.

Ron smirked. "You'll be in good shape for herbology next year, Harry. Maybe you'll even rival Neville here as Sprout's class pet."

Harry concentrated on an ant that was crawling over his knee. "Yeah."

Propping himself up on his elbows, Ron asked, "So spill. What *has* been going on at Headquarters? You must know something."

"No, Ron. They shut me out. You know the routine: 'We must protect the Boy Who Lived. Can't tell him anything, even though Voldemort's rallying all his Death Eaters to kill him.'"

Neville gasped in shock, but the others didn't seem fazed by Harry's bitterness. They watched him with expressions of pity.

"Can't let the Boy Who Lived have any visitors," Harry continued. "Certainly can't let him have any fun, or help out in any way, even though he's faced Voldemort five times and lived. No, best to let him stay by himself and think about --." He cut himself short. The others stared silently at him. Not looking at them, Harry got to his feet and stormed off toward the trees edging the pond.

Hermione glanced at Neville. "I guess he's still having a rough time of it."

"Well, he has been rather moody," he replied.

Ginny snorted. "He should just get over it. I'd like to see him try being the baby sister in a family of six boys!"

"Ginny," Hermione rebuked. "He lost his godfather."

Ginny blinked her eyes several times, then lowered her gaze, thoroughly chastened.

Ron rolled over onto his stomach, resting his chin on his folded arms, and gazed after Harry. "Poor bugger."

Their concern for Harry touched Neville, and he felt like an intruder on their intimacy. Harry, the Weasleys, and Hermione formed their own little clan, and he had never been anything more than an interloper.

After a long, awkward silence, Ginny started asking Neville about his grandmother. He told her about his summer so far, Hermione and Ron asking the occasional question, but as they talked, they were all keenly aware of Harry standing among the trees on the far side of the pond, throwing rocks into the water.

They'd been talking for some time when an owl swooped down from the sky and hovered above them. Ron sat up and tried to snag the owl, who danced just out of his reach, beating her wings in irritation.

"Bloody hell!" Ron swore, clambering to his feet to chase after the owl. "That better not be another letter from Dean!"

"Let it be, Ron," Ginny warned, "or I'll hex you, no matter what Mum says!"

"Are you mad at Dean?" Neville asked Ron.

Ginny stood up, hands on her hips. "It's my letter, Ron!"

"Yours?" Neville asked in surprise.

Ron was jumping, trying to catch the owl. "Come here, you lice-ridden bag of feathers!" The owl swooped down and beat its wings about Ron's head. He yelped and fell to the grass, covering his head with his arms, and the owl dropped a letter into Ginny's hands and flew off, too annoyed to wait for a treat.

"Gimme that letter!" Ron yelled, crawling toward Ginny.

"Bugger off!" she shrieked back and ran away toward the house, letter in hand.

Neville watched her go and turned back to see Ron fuming. "Why's Dean writing to Ginny?"

"He wants to have his wicked way with her!" Ron growled. "Just wait 'til start of term! I'll beat him into a pudding!"

"You'll do no such thing, Ron," Hermione chided, a smile on her lips. She grabbed his trouser leg and tugged him down next to her. "Ginny has the right to fancy him. She told me she's planning on asking your mother to let him visit."

"What?!" Ron squeaked.

She leaned close to him so that their shoulders touched. "If he comes, we could go on a double date."

Ron's mouth opened and closed like a grindylow gasping for breath, and he turned an extraordinary shade of magenta. Hermione bumped her shoulder against his, gazing up at him through her lashes, and Neville became acutely aware that three was definitely a crowd.

He stood up. "I, um, I think I'm going to go have a look at your garden, see what cuttings I might like." He cautiously backed away, but Ron and Hermione paid him no mind.

*****

Eventually, Harry rejoined the others after he had walked off his irritation. It seemed to Neville as if Harry's moods were swinging more and more rapidly these days, and he didn't know how he could keep up with it. Throughout the rest of their visit, Harry sometimes calmed down enough to be agreeable and get along with the others, but then something would set him off again, and he'd go storming away into the bushes. At one point he got into a fierce row with Hermione over the state of his homework, and he stalked off to spend an hour in the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley. After a while, it all became too much for Neville, and he escaped into the garden with Ginny, where he gathered plant cuttings while she told him all about the sexist origins of Hogwarts, and he wondered if she'd read it in *Hogwarts: A History.*

By the time evening rolled around, Harry was in a good mood again. Mr. Weasley and the twins arrived for dinner, and the meal passed with the kind of lively humor Neville expected after his years sharing a table in the Great Hall with flocks of Weasleys - a very striking contrast to the meals he experienced at home with Gran.

When it was time to leave, however, Harry grew sullen once more. Hermione would be spending the weekend at the Burrow, and Harry all but growled his farewell before stepping into the floo. Neville could see Hermione flinch at Harry's churlishness. He gave her a quick hug, thanked Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, said good-bye to Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George, and swiftly followed Harry back to Grimmauld Place.

Neville stepped out of the fireplace into the kitchen to Lupin's greeting. "Did you boys have a good day at the Burrow?"

"Yeah, it was loads of fun," answered Neville, but Harry only shrugged.

Glancing between the two of them, Lupin asked, "What did you do?"

Neville waited for Harry to respond. He merely shrugged again and said, "Stuff."

"Ah," said Lupin, and his expression altered slightly, and he looked just a bit more like the professor Neville had known in third year, benevolent but aloof. "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourselves."

Staring down at his trainers, Harry muttered, "I think I'm gonna go upstairs and read." He headed out of the kitchen, and both Neville and Lupin watched him go.

When the door swung shut behind him, Lupin said quietly, "I'm sure he'll come round eventually."

"Yeah." Neville heaved a great sigh. "Well, I guess I'll go up and read, too."

Lupin nodded. "Good night, then, Neville."

Neville returned his nod and headed off to his room to feed Trevor.

******

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