Becoming Neville

Chapter Eight

The next day was another visiting day for St. Mungo's. During the night, Neville had resolved to get a look at his parents' records, but he didn't really have a plan in mind. All through breakfast he fretted about whether he wanted Harry and Lupin with him to back him up. After all, while the hospital authorities might easily dismiss an insignificant kid like himself, surely they wouldn't say no to Harry Potter. And in the extremely remote chance that they did - well, Lupin was an adult and would get results.

But when they arrived at St. Mungo's and were in front of the reception desk, Neville changed his mind. He had to learn to stand on his own two feet. And besides, if his request fell on deaf ears, he didn't want Harry and Lupin around to witness it.

"Um, would you two mind terribly waiting for me in the tea room? I think today I'd like to visit my family on my own."

Lupin gave him a kind nod. "Certainly. We'll see you later." Harry smiled at him, and they headed toward the lift.

With a resolute sigh, Neville turned to the receptionist. Trying not to appear as ridiculously young as he felt, Neville said, "Ma'am? My parents are patients here, and I'd like to take a look at their medical records."

Barely sparing him a glance, she asked, "Their names?"

"Frank and Alice Longbottom. They're on the fourth floor resident's ward."

Her head bobbed up, and she stared at him. "Ah, yes. And how old are you, young man?"

"I'm fif-sixteen." Almost.

The receptionist frowned primly. "I'm afraid only their legal guardian is allowed access to their records, and that would be your grandmother. You're too young, dear."

"But I'm their only son," he protested. "I have a right to see those records."

"Not until you're eighteen, you don't." And without another word, she turned back to the paper she'd been reading.

Neville's heart sank within him. That was always the way things turned out with him: denied, dismissed, ignored. It was his fate in life. His shoulders drooped, and he headed for the lift.

He pressed the button to call for the lift, but just as the doors opened, he turned back to the receptionist. "If my grandmother gives me permission, then can I see the records?"

The receptionist's head bobbed up again. "With her consent, yes."

The doors slid closed on a very happy Neville Longbottom.

*****

His grandmother's first words when he entered her room were: "Did you remember my clotted cream?"

Neville ducked his head. "No. Sorry, Gran."

Mrs. Longbottom sighed and sat back against her pillow. "You can bring it next time. And Millicent finally got me the right tobacco. Now come over here and give me a kiss, boy."

Neville dutifully leaned over and pecked his grandmother on the cheek. "I really am sorry, but we've been very busy."

She squinted suspiciously up at him. "'We,' is it? Busy with what?"

"Harry and Professor Lupin and me. We're - uh, working on a project at the house. It hasn't been lived in for a long time and needs a lot of work."

"Well, it's good to hear you're making yourself useful. Just don't break anything."

Neville frowned. Why did she always have to say things like that? He hadn't broken anything. Lupin had been right: he'd spent too many years living up to other people's low expectations for him. Well, that was going to stop.

He sat on the edge of the bed. "Gran, I've been thinking about Mum and Dad."

"Have you now?" she asked absently as she opened a box of chocolates and offered it to him. "Try the ones with the nuts. They're hell on my digestive system." As Neville picked out a chocolate, she said, "And how are your parents doing?"

"About the same." He picked at a waxy lump mashed onto the blanket. It was probably a bit of Turkish Delight that someone had sat on. "I was thinking. Someday I'll be their guardian."

"You needn't worry about that just yet, boy" his grandmother muttered around a mouthful of chocolate. "A broken hip isn't quite enough to send me to the other side."

"I know, Gran. That's not what I meant. But *someday* I'll be their guardian. And I think I ought to prepare for that. I want to understand their...their condition, and what their treatment is." He licked his lips. It was uncomfortable to talk this way about his parents, as if they were the children and he were the grown-up, but he had to do it.

Fishing through the box for another acceptable chocolate, his grandmother dismissed, "There'll be time enough for that later. You're too young to concern yourself with that business."

He wasn't going to yell. He wasn't going to pout. And he sure as hell wasn't going to take no for an answer. "I'm almost sixteen, Gran," he said quietly. "I know it'll be two years before I could even legally be their guardian. And I'm sure there's a lot of it I won't understand. That's why I want to start now, so when the time does come, I'll be ready."

She tilted her chin up, studying him closely. He hated it when she scrutinized him like that, as if she were sizing him up and finding him wanting. But he would not be dissuaded, and he met her gaze with determination.

Her eyes narrowed, and then she nodded. "Bless me, boy. You've got Frank's own stubborn ways about you. Well, it's probably a good idea."

Her answer surprised him. He hadn't expected it to be so easy. "The staff said I have to get your permission since I'm underage."

"Oh, I'll give it, all right. I daresay you won't understand a word of that medical mumbo-jumbo - I don't myself. But you read up on it. It certainly can't hurt. It's just--." She reached out suddenly and took his hand between her own, her eyes sad. "Neville, dear. You *do* know they'll never get better? I've tried to protect you from it, and maybe that was a mistake. But no child should have to hear about his parents enduring such horrible things." She patted the back of his hand, and he realized that it must be just as hard for a mother to know such things about her son and daughter-in-law. "They were real heroes, and they loved you very much, dear."

Tears stung at his eyes, and he felt a jagged lump in his throat. He hated to cry about his parents. It made him feel so sad and hopeless, and with an old, familiar effort of will, he forced the tears back down.

His grandmother kept patting his hand, and it looked like she was enduring the same struggle. "Sometimes," she said softly, her voice low, "sometimes I wish they could have been...just a little less heroic."

"Me, too, Gran," he whispered, squeezing her hand.

After taking a few moments to compose themselves, Mrs. Longbottom summoned the chief nurse of the residents' ward, a skinny witch named Nettlethorne with a pointed face and an artfully cheery air that Neville had never liked. When Mrs. Longbottom explained the situation to her, her perkiness grew abruptly chill. "Now, now, that's a heavy burden to place on such a young child. I would strongly advise against it."

Mrs. Longbottom scowled and jabbed her pipe at the nurse's sharp nose. "Who're you calling a young child? Our Neville's almost a man grown. And anyway, it's my decision that matters, not yours."

Nurse Nettlethorne gave a high, frenetic giggle. "Of course, Mrs. Longbottom. But as a *professional,* surely my opinion counts for something, and I'm sure you would agree that this child - er, young man, doesn't need to be subjected to such unpleasant realities."

"Nurse Nettlethorne, you've been at the residents' ward for what, five years now?"

"Ten years, next September."

"That long, eh? And surely in all those ten years you've noticed our Neville coming to visit his parents month in and month out, year after year."

"Indeed I have, Mrs. Longbottom. Young Master Longbottom is a very devoted little boy."

Neville bristled at being called "little," and his grandmother gave a dissatisfied grunt. "In that case, I think you can agree that Neville has long been subjected to the 'unpleasant realities' of his parents' condition. In fact, he's been subjected to them longer than you have, as he's been coming here since he were two. And if he says he's ready to look at their records, then I say his opinion is the one that's expert on the question." Mrs. Longbottom sat back on her pillows and clamped her teeth around the stem of her pipe, as if she'd said all she had need to.

Nurse Nettlethorne's eyes darted rapidly from Neville to his grandmother, a vein throbbing rapidly in her temple. He'd never seen her so irritated. She forcibly calmed herself down and plastered her typical patronizing smile on her face. "Very well, Mrs. Longbottom. You'll have to sign a release form, of course. Then Master Longbottom will be able to come look at the files whenever he wants."

"I'd like to have a copy of the files to take with me," Neville piped up, "as I'm sure there's a lot to study."

The vein started throbbing again. "But--."

"Sounds wise, boy," Mrs. Longbottom put in. She quirked an eyebrow at Nurse Nettlethorne. "Bright lad, isn't he?"

"Erm - yes. Very well." She got herself under control once more. "Do you want the most recent records, or the oldest ones first?"

"The oldest, please. It's best if I start at the beginning."

"Quite so." She gave him a sickening smile. "Why don't you go visit your parents, and when you're done, stop by my desk and I'll give you what I can."

Neville returned her smile with a steely one of his own. "Thank you. And you can send me the rest by owl as soon as you get it."

"Now bring us that form, and be quick about it," said Mrs. Longbottom.

"Certainly," Nurse Nettlethorne replied. "By the way, Mrs. Longbottom, smoking is not allowed in hospital."

"Is that so? And what do you propose to do about it - kick me out? Now quit wasting my time, Nettlethorne, and get to work."

With a huff, the nurse left.

Neville smiled. "Thanks, Gran."

"Hmph. If you really want to thank me, remember the clotted cream next time. Now go visit Frank and Alice." And with that, she picked up her novel, puffing contentedly on her pipe.

*****

"Patient was subjected to prolonged attack with Cruciatus. It is believed the patient was imprisoned for a period of five days before rescue, and in that time was subjected repeatedly to Cruciatus, but how often and for how long is not known. Since rescue, the patient is largely catatonic and unresponsive, though occasionally bursts into bouts of screaming...."

Only this wasn't just a patient: this was his father.

"Patient repeatedly tries to harm herself, attempting to gouge out eyeballs or inflicting severe bite wounds on hands and arms. Patient must be restrained to prevent serious self-injury."

It was his mother they were talking about. His mother.

Neville sat hunched over a table in the library of Grimmauld Place, Harry across the room reading up on purification spells. Mercifully, Harry had not asked to see the files himself, though he kept looking up from his book to check on Neville, his expression burning with curiosity. Neville resolutely refused to meet Harry's eyes, and his muscles ached from the effort of sitting still and not betraying his sick horror at what he read.

The files didn't say what had actually happened to his parents. No one really knew. But they described in great detail what state they'd been in when they were found, muscles cramped and twitching from prolonged pain, self-inflicted injuries, screaming, covered in feces and vomit. He didn't want to read any of it, but a sick curiosity compelled him to go on. He'd never known any of this, never known them as anything other than what they were now. In a strange, twisted way, the medical records were giving him more of his parents than he'd ever had before.

A report from the aurors who'd found his parents was included in the file.

"The Longbottoms were discovered in the home of Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange, chained in the dungeon. The house was otherwise abandoned, and the suspects are currently being pursued. We estimate the Longbottoms had been tortured there for four or five days.

"They were first noticed missing when they did not report to work. Agents sent to their home discovered the Longbottoms' 23-month-old son amid scenes of struggle. The child may have witnessed the abduction, as he shows signs of severe mental distress. Family members have not been able to get the child to speak, and he is currently under observation at St. Mungo's...."

The file slipped from his nerveless fingers, papers spilling across the floor. Across the room, Harry looked up in alarm. "Neville?"

His name echoed hollowly in his skull. All he could think of was that he'd been there. He'd seen it, but he couldn't remember any of it. His parents had been kidnapped, maybe even tortured, right before his eyes, and he'd been too young to do anything about it.

An image of Bellatrix Lestrange as she'd appeared at the Ministry, as she appeared in his dreams, rose up in his mind's eye. *Let's see how long you last before you crack like your parents.*

Neville swallowed convulsively. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he whimpered.

Harry's eyes widened, and he jumped out of his chair. He found a wastebin in the corner and ran back with it, just as Neville lost his battle. He threw up in the bin, too ill to care that Harry was right there watching. Even when his stomach was empty, he continued to retch, tears streaming down his cheeks. Harry knelt next to him, rubbing his back.

"My parents!" he wept. "It happened right in front of me, and I couldn't help them!"

Harry paled. "Just like with me and my parents."

Neville looked up at him, blinking back his tears. "You were there? Do you remember it?"

"No. I was too young. I was only about a year old."

Neville pondered this as he struggled to get his crying under control. "I was about two. Is that too young?"

"I imagine so."

Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Neville sat up and pushed the wastebin away with his foot. "I wish I could remember."

"I know what you mean."

"Harry," Neville said urgently, "you have to help me. I need to be ready to face her, so that next time she won't get away. I have to make her pay for what she did to my mum and dad. You have to teach me what spells I need and how to face her so I'll be ready."

Harry studied him, his eyes large behind his glasses, and Neville worried that he might refuse to help. But then he said, "I wasn't sure if I should show you this, but...."

"But what? Harry, if it can help me, you have to show me."

Harry nodded. "All right. Come with me."

He led Neville upstairs, and they entered one of the bedrooms Neville had found when he first explored the house. He looked around, wondering what was supposed to be able to help him here. "What is it?"

"Remember when I told you how I went looking for a portrait of Sirius? I didn't find one, but I did find.... Neville, Sirius Black was Bellatrix Lestrange's cousin. This was his mother's room, and behind that," he pointed to a curtain on the wall, "is a portrait of Bellatrix. If you want to be ready to face her, you can practice on it."

Neville shivered but stiffened his spine. "Show her to me."

Harry approached the portrait and pulled on a cord. The curtains slid open, revealing the image of Bellatrix, looking younger and healthier but every bit as sinister. She fixed her baleful glance first on Harry. "Ah, Potter, Jr., back to visit me again. How sweet of you. We had so much fun reminiscing about my dear cousin." Her black eyes caught on Neville. "But who is this with you? Why, I do believe it's the little Longbottom. How perfect! Your parents were such dear friends of mine."

"You tortured them!" Neville shrieked, fists clenched at his sides.

"Oh, we were just playing. But your parents had no endurance at all."

"What did you do to them? Tell me!" Neville demanded.

"Neville," Harry cautioned.

Bellatrix cackled. "Such delightful perversion! You mean you *want* me to tell you what days of Cruciatus will do to a person? How they screamed until their vocal chords were raw? Such a strange, rasping sound. And they shat themselves -- very revolting. Really, your parents had no dignity at all."

"That's enough!" Harry shouted.

"No," said Neville, though he knew his face was pale, and his knees were knocking. "I want to hear it all."

"Neville, don't," Harry said, grabbing Neville's shoulders and pulling him away from the portrait. He tried to catch Neville's gaze as Neville kept trying to look around him at the portrait. "Neville, listen to me! This isn't the way you want to remember them!"

"I want to know!" Neville snarled.

"Trust me! You remember the year the dementors were at school? I kept fainting, because whenever they appeared I heard my parents' screams as they died!"

Neville froze. At last Harry had his attention.

"I *wanted* to hear it," Harry continued, "because I had no memory of my parents' voices. But that's no way to remember them, Neville. Now that memory haunts me. I know you love your parents, but believe me, don't ask for this. Especially not from her."

Wild laughter rang out from behind Harry, and they turned to see Bellatrix's portrait dancing with glee. "Wonderful! Two pathetic little orphans, courtesy of my Lord. So lonely that you get your jollies from your parents' pain. What model children you are. You dear things, I'd love to adopt you!"

"Like hell you will!" Neville shouted. "I'm going to hunt you down and find you, I promise! And I'll make you pay for what you did!"

"I look forward to it, Littlebottom. We'll have such fun together!"

"You'll be sorry! You'll regret you were ever born!"

Her beautiful face contorted in a snarl. "Don't threaten me, tadpole. I had many years in Azkaban where the dementors taught me pain games that will make what I did to your parents look like child's play."

Before Neville could reply, the door banged open, and Lupin ran in. "What is all this noise?"

"Wolfie!" the portrait shrieked in delight. "How good to see you!"

Lupin whipped out his wand and pointed it at Bellatrix. "Silencio!" The curtain whipped shut, and Bellatrix was gone. He turned on the two boys. "What in the world are you doing up here?"

"It was me, Professor!" Neville said. "I have to be ready to face her, and Harry showed me the portrait."

Shaking his head, Lupin said, "Boys, this is very foolish. Don't you realize that portrait can report to any other portrait of Bellatrix? Narcissa Malfoy is her sister! She could be telling the Malfoys anything she learns here."

"We didn't tell her anything," protested Harry.

"I have to practice! I have to be ready!"

Lupin looked between the two of them. "I understand that, Neville, but be realistic: if anyone catches Bellatrix, it will certainly not be you. And talking to her portrait is too great a risk. Now, promise me you won't come up here again."

Harry started to nod, but Neville said, "No. I won't tell her anything important, but I need to be able to come here. I have to be ready. Maybe I *won't* be the one to catch her, but who's to say she won't come after me herself? Or come after my parents? I need to be prepared to face her!"

Lupin and Harry both gaped at him. After all, no one had ever heard him contradict an authority figure before.

"All right," Lupin reluctantly agreed. "But do exercise caution. And don't torture yourself with her, Neville. You don't need that."

"No, sir." But Neville knew he couldn't shy away from torture. After all, Bellatrix Lestrange hadn't hesitated to torture his parents. He could expect no mercy from her.

*******

Thanks for all the lovely reviews!