Becoming Neville

When Neville went downstairs for breakfast the morning after their Diagon Alley excursion, he found Harry hovering in the hall outside the kitchen, his face twisted into an expression of misery.

"He's still here," Harry hissed.

Neville glanced at the door. There didn't seem to be any point in reminding Harry that Snape was helping to guard them from Bellatrix. He gave a shrug. "He wasn't so terribly awful last night, was he?"

"Yeah, but Tonks was here'" Harry pointed out.

Neville had to agree that Tonks had an amazing ability to spread good cheer no matter what the company. Indeed, Snape seemed to have faded into the background during the previous night's dinner. All Neville could really remember was Tonks regaling them with tales of her adventures as an auror. He'd also noticed she had a habit of ruffling Remus's hair and slinging her arm around his neck, touching him constantly. It all seemed to be in fun, so it hadn't really bothered Neville. He found he liked Tonks more and more as he got to know her.

But she had left late last night, and she certainly wouldn't be there this morning to distract them all from Snape.

"I swear," Harry moaned, "this is worse than living with the Dursleys."

"Well." Neville couldn't think of anything to say that would make their situation look better. "Anyway, I'm hungry, and I'm not going to let him keep me from eating breakfast."

Harry sneered as if he would disagree, but when Neville pushed open the door to enter the kitchen, Harry nevertheless followed him.

As expected, Snape and Remus were seated at the table, a pot of tea and a plate of kippers and toast between them. Snape heaved a deep sigh at their appearance and buried his large nose in his teacup, as if he was as weary of their company as they were of his.

Remus, however, was his typical good-natured self. "Good morning, boys. Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," Neville answered politely while Harry merely shrugged and slumped into a chair.

"Professor Snape had the Hogwarts house elves send breakfast round," Remus said, shoving the plates in front of them.

The food looked better than the cold toast and soggy Witchabix they'd been eating all summer. "Thank you, sir!" Neville exclaimed as he loaded up his plate with kippers.

"It's no gift, I assure you, Longbottom," Snape sneered. "Your days of lounging around this house doing nothing are over. We need to start preparing for the consecration spells in that laboratory. The headmaster insists that the two of you earn your keep by helping out, so you need nutritious meals to build up your strength for the task."

Neville glanced eagerly at Remus. "We get to help?"

"Of course," Remus answered with a smile, and Harry finally perked up a bit at the news.

Between mouthfuls of kippers, Neville peppered Remus with questions about the spells. Harry listened avidly, and soon he, too, entered the discussion. Even Snape made the occasional comment, correcting Remus or scoffing at the boys' questions.

They were in the middle of a debate about how to contain concentrated magic when a loud whoosh startled them all. The fireplace flared green, and a copy of the Daily Prophet shot out, landing on the table with a thwack and sending Snape's teacup flying.

"Merlin's beard!" Snape squawked, picking at his robes now sodden with cold tea. "What is that?"

"Sorry." Remus cast a quick drying spell on Snape's robe. "Tonks always sends the paper over when she's through with it. She's late today. I guess she got stuck on the crossword."

A bright purple scribble caught Neville's eye. "There's a note written on it."

Remus unrolled the paper and laid it flat, reading aloud, "See page four." He turned the pages and shook the paper open. When his eyes lit on the article in question, all the color drained from his face.

The others waited expectantly, but Remus continued to read in silence, his eyes wide.

"Well, what is it?" prompted Snape.

Remus lowered the paper, but it was Neville he looked at. "Driftwood was found dead in his home yesterday after he failed to appear at work. The Ministry is trying to claim it was a heart attack, but St. Mungo's officials declare that he had been in good health. There was not a mark on him."

All sound and light seemed to close in around Neville. He could barely hear Remus's words over the loud pounding of his heart. He could only dimly see Remus's face before him, was unaware of either Harry or Snape sitting nearby. He fought to force air through his lungs, to make his lips move. "My parents!" he croaked.

Remus glanced again at the paper. "Tonks wrote a note. She says Dumbledore has doubled the watch on your parents. Mad-Eye thinks it was Bellatrix Lestrange looking for information on Cruciatus, so they're sending Tonks tonight with a pensieve to see if we can retrieve those memories your mother put in you." Remus hesitated. "If you're still willing."

Neville nodded, his mind's eye filled with the vision of a pale face framed with long, black hair, staring down at him from a window.

Next to him Harry muttered, "I can't say I'm sorry he's dead."

But Neville didn't quite share the sentiment. All he could think of was Driftwood's warning that he'd been helping Neville's parents all along. He rubbed nervously at the tip of his nose. "When is Tonks coming?"

"She said not to expect her until after six."

"Right." Neville stood up. He desperately wanted to leave, but his mind was blank. "I'm going to --." He floundered. "That is, I think I --."

"Yeah, me too," Harry interrupted, getting to his feet and taking Neville by the elbow. "Come on, let's go."

"We'll see you later," Neville heard Remus say as Harry led him out of the room.

Neville didn't know where to go or what to do. His mind was numb with fear, and he could scarcely see in front of him. He might have walked right into a wall if Harry hadn't been next to him, gripping him firmly by the elbow and leading him up the stairs and down the hall. A door opened before him, and Neville stepped forward, stopping only when he came to a window. He turned around and paced back across the room, not even aware that he was doing it, not even sure where he was, his mind filled only with thoughts of Bellatrix, of his parents, and of Driftwood dead for good or ill.

Slowly his panic drained away, and he realized he was pacing back and forth in his room while Harry sat perched on the edge of the bed, tracking Neville's path. Neville stopped abruptly and looked around. He spied Trevor squatting in a cobwebby corner. The toad belched a croak and proceeded to lick his eyeballs clean. He always did that when he was worried. Neville realized that he was breathing hard from all that pacing and he took a deep breath. He willed his fists to unclench themselves at his sides. Then he looked over at Harry, sitting on the bed.

Quietly, Harry asked, "When you saw Bellatrix Lestrange, what did she say?"

Neville closed his eyes. "She didn't say anything. She was in a building across the street. I only saw her through the window."

Harry considered this in silence. "Did she do anything?"

"She smiled." He saw those thin lips pull back, the mad gleam in her eyes visible even over such a great distance. He shivered. "She looked at me and smiled."

Harry pulled his feet up onto the bed and rested his chin on his knees, his brows drawn together. "That's not good."

"Yeah. Snape was really worried about it."

Harry scowled but mercifully didn't say anything about Snape. When he finally spoke, his voice was just above a whisper. "When I see her, I'm going to kill her."

Neville pressed his lips together, wondering if that was meant as a criticism of him for not doing just that. But how could he have killed her right there in the street with all those people around? He had sworn to kill her, too, but when she finally appeared, he'd done nothing, immobilized with shock and horror at the sight of her. He'd come apart, just as he had in that weird daydream, drowning in a flood of fear. It was one thing to sit in bed in the safety of this house and swear bloody vengeance, but another thing entirely to point your wand in someone's face in the middle of a crowded street and utter words that would stop a person's heart. Perhaps the portrait of Bellatrix was right. Perhaps he didn't have it in him to kill anyone. When he thought of all his parents had been through, rage flooded his heart, but perhaps that rage wasn't the same thing as murderous anger. What was it, then? And did Harry know? Or was it all just ignorant bravado? He stared blindly at the window, painted over and black, like his mind. No illumination could get in.

Suddenly, Harry asked, "Who's Omar Khan?"

Neville jolted guiltily, feeling a blush warm his cheeks. "Wh-what?"

"There's a note here," Harry said, picking up the parchment from the bedside table. "'Please write soon. I can't wait to see you again.'"

"That's mine!" Neville exclaimed, snatching the paper away from Harry, wondering why it was that Harry always managed to pry into his private business.

"Obviously it's yours." Harry peered at him. "But who is he?"

Folding up the paper and jamming it into his pocket, Neville stammered, "He-he's just someone I-I met."

"When did you meet someone?" Harry demanded. "You've been with me all summer."

"I m-met him at D-diagon Alley."

Harry's eyes narrowed, and when he spoke, his tone was scornful. "What, is he your boyfriend or something?"

The scorn shot through Neville's embarrassment, dissolving it instantly and leaving indignation instead. Why should he put up with this attitude from the Boy Who Couldn't Make Up His Mind? Angrily he retorted, "Maybe he is."

For a moment, Harry seemed to falter. Then he regained his indignation. "You're a fag!"

The word didn't hurt at all. In fact, coming from Harry, it was laughable. Neville stood tall and said, "Remus prefers the term 'gay.'"

Another flicker of doubt. "You've been talking to Remus?"

Neville hesitated. He wanted desperately to tell Harry the truth, but it wasn't really his place. "I told him that I'm gay," he said, "and he didn't mind, so why should you? Anyway, it shouldn't come as some big surprise."

Harry couldn't meet Neville's eyes at that. "Who the hell is this bloke? Is he at school?"

"No, he's finished school. He's very nice, and he's cute, and he likes me."

Indignantly, Harry sputtered, "He doesn't - he just - I bet he just wants to do nasty things to you!"

"I don't think those things are nasty," Neville retorted.

"Ugh! Don't talk about it! You shouldn't be doing those things!"

"You don't even know what you're talking about," Neville scoffed. "You didn't even know how to kiss! But Remus told me all about it, and he said --."

"Why do you keep talking about Remus? Ron explained it all to me. It was just a misunderstanding. Remus is not gay."

Neville hesitated. "Maybe you should ask him."

Harry's face grew pale, and he appeared so conflicted, Neville almost felt sorry for him. "He can't be gay," Harry said, his voice small.

Neville only shrugged. "But I am, and it's none of your business anyway. I'll like whoever I like - especially if it's someone who will like me back."

Harry flinched. Without saying anything, he scrambled off the bed and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Neville watched him go. He didn't feel angry at Harry at all. He just felt sorry for him.

*****

After Harry and Neville had gone upstairs, Remus and Snape headed to the library to do some research for the laboratory. Snape brought the Prophet with him and settled into one of the armchairs to read the article and Tonks's note, while Remus pulled some books off the shelves and dropped them onto the table, raising a cloud of dust. He eyed Snape. "I suppose now we know why Bellatrix was in London."

Snape pursed his lips, still reading the article. "If it was indeed she who killed Driftwood."

Surprised, Remus asked, "You think it might not have been?"

Snape put the paper down and looked up, his brows drawn together. "No, I'm sure it was, though the evidence is shaky."

Remus considered this as he took a seat across the table from Snape. "I suppose this means Driftwood wasn't in league with the Death Eaters."

"Oh, he still might have been," Snape objected. "Bellatrix has no qualms about killing anyone who displeases her. She may have simply deemed Driftwood expendable now that he no longer is in charge of the Longbottoms."

"I wonder what we might find in Neville's mind?" Remus mused, running his forefinger along his chin.

Snape's lip curled in disgust. "What on earth possessed them to send Miss Tonks to assist you?"

"She does this kind of thing a lot, actually," Remus said, bristling in her defense. "Interrogating witnesses, retrieving memories."

With a snort, Snape said, "I would worry about the two of you mucking up Longbottom's brain, except that I doubt he could become any more befuddled than he already is."

Remus sighed, rubbing wearily at his eyes. "Can't you just give it up? Neville has proven to be very helpful this summer."

"Don't be ridiculous," spat Snape. "Though I'll grant you that he at least is capable of obeying simple commands, unlike Harry-Bloody-Potter. You cannot insist on allowing them to help with the consecration ritual."

"Of course I can," said Remus. "And Dumbledore already agreed. We need all the help we can get, and as the two of them are already here, they might as well - as you say - earn their keep."

For a moment Snape appeared ready to argue, but then he sighed and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Fine. Whatever. They can scrub cauldrons. Just so long as they won't be involved with the ritual itself. It's bad enough that I'll have to work with Miss Tonks."

"Oh come on, Severus, is there anyone that you would have consented to work with?"

"Of course," Snape answered primly. "Albus Dumbledore. Or Minerva."

"You know perfectly well neither of them is available for it."

"I'm surrounded by incompetent baboons," Snape lamented. "Anyway, I'm sure you're pleased with the assignment. You'll be seeing quite a lot of Miss Tonks during the preparations, and she's certainly developed a fondness for you."

To his horror, Remus blushed. "Don't be ridiculous," he mumbled.

"Granted, I can't see the appeal - in either direction - but most men our age would be flattered to have the attention of a young, more-or-less unrepugnant female like Miss Tonks."

"Unrepugnant?" echoed Remus. "Is that even a word?"

"You ought to cease mooning over that damned dog and move on. I doubt Miss Tonks would refuse. She never did have good taste, even in school."

Amused, Remus asked, "Did you somehow fail to notice the part where I prefer men?"

Snape merely shrugged. "Perhaps it's time you tried something new. And anyway, she is a metamorphmagus."

Remus choked. "That's not an image I needed. Severus, you are downright devious."

One eyebrow arched. "And this is news to you?"

"No. I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work."

"A pity," Snape sneered.

"You're trying to push me away, to dump me before I dump you."

Snape buried himself behind the paper. "Don't be ridiculous."

Remus couldn't repress a grin. "But the fact is, you're even more unrepugnant to me than Tonks."

Snape looked befuddled at that, trying to untwist the meaning of Remus's words, and Remus had the satisfaction of finally rendering him speechless.

Just then the door opened and Harry slunk in. He noticed Snape and visibly started, as if he'd just come face to face with a harpy.

"Hello," Remus greeted him. "How's Neville?"

"Oh, um, he's fine. He's up in his room." Harry kept his eyes nervously trained on Snape. "I was hoping, um...." He scratched at his ear. "Never mind."

He turned to go, but Remus recognized the signs of someone who was hoping to have a private conversation. Before Harry could leave, Remus spoke up, "Severus, could you --?"

He fished for something to say, but fortunately Snape was more sensitive to the situation than Remus would have expected. That, or he just didn't want to be in the same room with Harry. "Yes," he hissed. "I'll get on it right away." He gathered his robes about him and slid from the room, casting Harry a chilly glance as he passed.

Harry sneered as he took the seat Snape had just vacated. "The greasy git. What is he still doing here, anyway?"

Remus rubbed at his eyes. "Harry, please. I shouldn't even have to answer that question. You know perfectly well why he's here."

"Well, no one wants him."

Speak for yourself, Remus mentally retorted. Aloud he asked, "What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"

Harry looked up from the book lying open before him on the table. "Oh, I just - nothing. I just thought I'd come down here and help you."

Swallowing down an annoyed sigh, Remus schooled his features into a smile. "All right. Why don't you look up empowerment spells in this book? Make a note of whatever you find." He shoved the book and a roll of parchment across the table toward Harry.

The boy opened the book and leafed idly through the pages for several minutes. Remus bent over his own book, but kept an eye on Harry, hoping he would speak up sooner rather than later. .

Fortunately it didn't take Harry as long as it used to take Sirius. Without looking up from the book, Harry said, "Neville said he's gay."

In a million years, that was not at all what Remus might have expected Harry to say. Burying his head in his book to conceal his surprise, he bit his lip, not sure how to respond. At last he settled for a neutral, "Did he?"

"He said he told you," said Harry, a hint of accusation in his tone.

"Ah, yes. He did."

There was silence for a moment, then Harry asked, "How can he be gay?"

Remus shrugged. "Who knows? People are what they are."

"But he can't be gay."

"The facts in this case would seem to indicate otherwise."

Harry glanced resentfully at him before looking away again, toward the bookshelves.

"Is this some kind of problem?" Remus asked, trying to sound mild.

Harry chewed on his lip. "He's got a boyfriend."

That came as news to Remus, but he merely said, "Hmm. That would appear to confirm that he's gay."

"He can't have a boyfriend," Harry said.

Fighting to keep his expression neutral, Remus said, "You keep contradicting yourself, Harry. I wonder what's really bothering you about all this?"

Harry refused to meet his gaze. "Did you know Bill Weasley is gay?"

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

Now Harry turned and glared at him. "You know everyone who's gay, don't you?"

Was that it? Was Harry worried about Remus's orientation, or his own? "No, not everyone," he answered.

Harry looked away again, kicking at the leg of the table. "Was - was Sirius gay?"

Remus inwardly cursed. That issue was far too complicated to get into. "Sirius was...Sirius. He never really fit into neat categories. I suppose one might call him bisexual."

Even though Harry's face was averted, Remus could see his brow wrinkle in confusion. "Bisexual?"

"That means he liked both men and women."

"Were you -?" Harry started, then shook his head sharply. "Never mind. I really don't want to know."

That aroused Remus's curiosity, but he didn't press the point. He waited, but Harry didn't say anything else, just looked away, kicking at the table leg. He seemed not to know what to say next.

Slowly, Remus said, "Being gay...it's just another thing about a person. Like having brown hair, or being left-handed. It doesn't mean anything. It just is."

Harry pondered that for a while. "Does kissing a boy make you gay?"

"Nothing makes you gay. You either are or you aren't. Though sometimes it can take a while for a person to figure out whether he is."

"So, even if you kiss a boy, you might not be gay?"

"Kissing is something you do. Being gay is something you are. There's a difference. After all, a left-handed person might still be able to write with their right hand, but that doesn't make them right-handed."

"But what if a person doesn't want to be gay?"

"Then I feel very sorry for them. We can't change what we are, but anyone who doesn't want to be what they are is denying themselves the chance to know real love. That's very sad."

Harry considered this, staring at the book of spells lying open on the table before him. He was silent for so long that Remus returned to his own reading. He'd managed to read about half a page before Harry quietly spoke up again. "About Sirius...did my father know?"

Remus looked up. "Yes, he did." All of them had known, since Sirius loved to describe his conquests in great detail.

"Did he mind?"

"Well, I never talked about it with him, but considering Sirius was his best friend, I would guess he didn't mind."

"Oh. I hadn't thought about that." Harry sounded a bit cheerier. He picked up his quill again and made a show of flipping through the book to look for spells. Remus continued reading, but he kept surreptitiously watching Harry over the edge of his book. The boy skimmed the pages and twirled the quill between his fingers, occasionally noting something on the parchment, although Remus doubted it was anything more than doodles.

At last Harry put down his quill and pushed the chair back. "Um, if you don't mind, I think I'll go see what Neville is doing."

Not looking up from his book, Remus said, "No, I don't mind at all." And as Harry leapt up and dashed out the door, Remus had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

****

After the argument with Harry, Neville had retreated to the roof, where he'd spent the rest of the morning working in the greenhouse. Somehow the plants reminded him of his parents, which was both comforting and a bit unnerving at the same time. At any rate, by the time Harry found him, Neville had long stopped fretting over their argument and had begun to fret over what would happen that night. Harry's mood had greatly improved from the morning, and he kept trying to strike up a conversation, but Neville scarcely paid any attention to him, his mind too preoccupied with thoughts of his parents.

He was eager to catch another glimpse of his mother and father as they'd been in their prime, but the fact was they were strangers to him. Would he even recognize them when they were healthy and whole. And how would he be able to look at his parents again when he knew what they hade once been?

The day seemed to drag on for an eternity. By the time Tonks finally arrived that evening Neville was a jangle of nerves and excitement. She blundered into the house with a cheery, "Wotcher!" and found them waiting for her in the kitchen. Snape barely glanced at her as he stepped into the fireplace and flooed back to Hogwarts, as if his shift as guard had just ended.

Flashing a grin at Neville, Tonks asked, "You all ready to clear out your brain?"

"Um." Neville gulped hard around the lump in his throat. "I guess."

Her expression softened a bit. "You'll be all right, Nev. It's not like those thoughts will vanish. They'll be kept safely in here." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny pensieve, magically shrunken, and tossed it in the air as if it were a snitch.

Remus gave a little squeak. "Do you really think you should be throwing that around?"

"I won't drop it," answered Tonks. "Whoops!" She fumbled for the pensieve, then triumphantly held it up as Remus cringed in horror. "Let's get to it, then, shall we?"

She led the way up the stairs toward the library, Remus and Neville following her, while Harry trailed uncertainly behind.

"Is it all right if I come too?" Harry asked as the other three filed into the library.

Neville hesitated in the doorway. "If you don't mind, I'd rather you didn't. It's just that I don't really know what's going to happen, and...." He trailed off. Even now he couldn't quite bear to think of what might come out of his brain.

"Sure," Harry quickly agreed. "I'll see you later, then. And Neville, you'll be all right." He raised his arm as if he were going to reach for Neville, but stopped himself.

Neville nodded and closed the library door.

Remus and Tonks were already seated around the worktable, the pensieve placed in the center. As Neville pulled out a chair for himself, he wondered how they could extract thoughts he didn't even know he had. Tonks started out by talking about the research his parents had done and asking questions, and without him being aware of it, his mother's thoughts began to rise to the surface of his mind. With each question Tonks asked, Neville sought the answers, and Remus stood at the ready, wand poised to catch the thoughts and draw them from his mind, dropping them to swirl and eddy in the pensieve.

Neville was scarcely aware of the thoughts leaving his brain. He would feel a puff of air and a tickle at his temple, and then a silver stream of consciousness would pour into the pensieve. As each strand was added, his own thoughts seemed sharper, more clear, as if a veil had been removed from his eyes.

By the time they finished, the pensieve was filled to the brim with swirling thoughts, and Neville's head felt lighter than he had ever known. He stared into the pearly depths of the pensieve, as unfathomable as his mother's mind. Yet these were her thoughts. He was closer to understanding her now than he had ever been before, near enough to touch her thoughts.

Remus watched as Neville tentatively extended a fingertip toward the pensieve. "Do you want to look?" he quietly asked.

Startled, Neville pulled back as if he'd been caught trying to steal into a candy jar. He folded his hands in his lap. "It's just stuff about Cruciatus, isn't it? I wouldn't understand it anyway."

Remus regarded him closely. "Does that matter?"

Neville didn't answer, just stared into the bowl.

"Go on," Tonks gently prompted. "I don't need to take it back to the Ministry right away."

Neville's pulse pounded loudly in his temples and he fought to keep his breathing even. He leaned over the bowl, as if sniffing a pot of savory soup, and reaching out, dipped his finger into the silvery swirls.

Instantly the thoughts pulled him in, and he tumbled through the subconscious, landing in a heap on a hard surface. Shaking his head to clear it, he pushed himself up and dusted himself off.

He was in an office. Two desks were pushed against opposite walls, piled high with scrolls and dusty books and ink-spattered quills. A large map covered one wall, peppered with scores of red tacks. The carpet was littered with crumpled scraps of parchment.

And there, sitting in two chairs drawn up side by side next to one of the desks were Alice and Frank Longbottom. Neville's heart seized in his chest and he could only stare, holding his breath as if the next puff of air would make this vision disappear forever. They looked exactly as they had in his daydream, young and plump and full of life, their cheeks full, their hair thick and lustrous. His dad's long, thin nose, a sprinkle of freckles dusting his cheeks. His mother's long hair tied up in a ribbon. He approached them slowly in wonder, his hands outstretched to touch their heads bowed together over the desk, but his hands passed through thin air. He bit his lip, fighting to hold back his frustration. Wasn't it enough that he could see and hear them? Did he really need to be able to touch as well?

"I see what you mean," Frank said, his voice strong and deep, sending chills down Neville's spine. He could see now that they were studying an old parchment covered with strange, foreign writing. "It might work. In theory."

Alice cocked her head at her husband, a spark of impatience in her eyes. "In theory?" she said, sounding just like she had in his dream. "You know I'm right, Frankie. The curse gets its power from resistance. No resistance, no power."

"This isn't the kind of thing that can be tested," continued Frank. "No one will agree to be hexed with Cruciatus in the name of research."

"It could be tested, and I don't mean in the manner of our dear Dr. Hackenbush." Neville jumped at the familiar name, but Alice didn't even pause. "If we tell the aurors, and," she lowered her voice," the members of the Order, then they can be prepared next time they're in combat with Death Eaters, and we'll see if it works."

"Right. Just tell them, 'Oh, and when you get hit with Cruciatus, just relax!'"

Alice leaned back in her chair, angrily crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, it couldn't hurt. It's not as if there's any other way to resist the curse."

"True." Frank sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

For a long moment there was silence, as if each of them was lost in their own thoughts. Neville didn't mind. It gave him the chance to just look at them, to study their expressions, the way their brows furrowed, the quirk of their lips, to memorize the way the light shone in their eyes. He could recognize the faces of his parents in these two people, yet never had he seen them so alive and animated. Seeing them like this gave him hope. Surely these two young and lively people couldn't really be gone forever. They must still exist, locked somewhere in his parents' minds.

Neville was so absorbed in the sight of them that he almost missed it when his father spoke again. "So how exactly does one not resist Cruciatus?"

Alice's brows drew together, her words coming slowly as if from deep inside herself. "I suppose it means total surrender, to give yourself over completely to the pain. But not just the physical sensation. The curse originates in the will of the caster to do harm, so you would have to surrender to that malicious will, to accept whatever might happen, to harbor no desire for conquest or vengeance. You'd have to simply absorb that will to do harm."

"Simply, you say." Frank shook his head. "Do you really think you could surrender if I were threatened? Or Neville?"

The breath caught in Neville's throat at the sound of his own name. He'd never heard either of his parents say his name in all the years that he could remember. He silently willed his father to say it again.

But instead Alice spoke, her eyes wide. "No," she said. "I'd fight any will that sought to harm you or Neville."

Neville choked, tears squeezing from his eyes.

Frank favored his wife with an indulgent smile. "But by your own logic, if you fought, you'd lose."

"I know." The smile she gave him was said. "I'm doomed, aren't I?"

With a sob, Neville tore himself free of the memory.