A Squib's Story

Chapter Nine

Violet returns to her room to find Lavender sitting on her bed, huddled in a blanket. She looks awful, and Violet immediately understands why Parvati was so upset. She sits down gently beside her. "Lavender?"

She looks up. "Where were you?"

"At dinner," Violet says. "Um, Neville came and got me." She tries to keep her mouth from flicking up at the corners. Lavender clearly didn't come here to talk about boys.

Lavender's eyes are red and ringed with dark circles, yet she still manages to cock an eyebrow. "Neville Longbottom?"

"Yes. He wonders what it's like to be a Squib."

Lavender nods. "That makes sense, I suppose."

"Anyway, what's going on? You look..." she frowns. There is really no polite way to describe how Lavender looks.

"Awful," Lavender finishes. "I know. And I'm not here for anything specific, really. I just can't talk to anyone else right now."

"Anyone in the Wizarding world, you mean."

Lavender nods. "We can talk about anything. We can talk about..." she smiles. "Neville, if you want."

Violet blushes. "Perhaps, after you've had about twelve hours of sleep," she says.

Lavender yawns. "Is it that obvious?"

Violet nods. "I should probably tell you that I was just accosted by Parvati in the corridor outside the caf... Great Hall. She's really worried about you. I don't think she's doing very well either, but she keeps it inside and takes it out by being really rude."

"And throwing carrots," Lavender says. She sighs. "Hogwarts isn't usually like this, you know. It's usually well, fun!"

Violet smiles in spite of herself. "That Voldemort sure is a party pooper."

Lavender laughs, stopping almost as suddenly as she started. She looks down, examining her bitten nails; several have dried blood crusted in the seams. "Violet..."

"What is it?"

"If I go to sleep, I see people die. And it's not just a dream. It's real, and if I don't remember something I've supposed to have seen, it's going to be a lot worse."

Violet blinks. "That's... wow." (She's always hated herself for being the sort of person who speaks inadequately in a crisis.)

"I can't tell anyone. I can't even look at anyone, even though I don't remember specifically who's going to die. I mean, how do I know I'm not looking at a ghost?" Tears stream down Lavender's cheeks, and Violet puts an arm around her. "That's something I never considered about being a Seer, that I'd be conversing with ghosts on a daily basis..." she breaks into a sob, and Violet, helpless to bring true comfort, merely holds on.

Lavender takes her hand and squeezes it. "You're there too, Violet. I don't know how, or why... but we come through it together. I can tell you that much."

"Come through... what?"

"The final battle," Lavender says simply.

Violet falls silent. There are many questions she could ask, but she doesn't really want an answer to any of them; she doesn't want to know the whens, wheres, whys, hows and whos. Finally she asks, "How can you know these things and not try to change them?"

"I don't know enough to change the course of a war. All I have, really, are images. But there is something I'm supposed to do, some reason for all of this. It has to do with a woman I keep seeing in my dreams. If I can find her, something terrible will be averted."

"You need to sleep," Violet says. "I know it must be awful to have real-life nightmares, but you're not even going to make it to this war if you keep on like this. And how can you figure out who the woman is unless you see her in your dream?"

Lavender nods, slowly. "I know. And I'm sorry to put all this on you. I mean... I'm really sorry about Becky."

Violet smiles softly. "Thanks. I guess I'm part of things now whether I want to be or not."

Lavender's eyes widen. "That must be why you're there! In the dream! I couldn't figure that out, but... it must be because of Becky, right?"

"Well, maybe, but how can I fight a bunch of wizards and witches? Evil ones, no less? I'd have to be daft."

Lavender decides not to bring up the image of Violet fencing with her wand. She shrugs. "There must be a reason." She stands, stretching. "Thanks for listening. Really. I hope I didn't scare you too much."

Violet smiles. "Nah, it's good to know what's going on. Even if it's really, really terrifying."

Lavender laughs a little through her tears. "I'm glad we talked."

"Yeah. Better late than never, I guess." The two sisters hug and Lavender goes back to her dorm, promising she'll try to sleep.

Violet sits on the edge of the bed, thinking. She doesn't move for a long time. What's stayed with her most is the unprecedented amount of human contact, physical and emotional, she's had this day. She's been underground for so long her eyes are still adjusting to the light. And what a time to finally surface; to go from dim, to light, to dark in a space of mere weeks.

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The next morning she returns to work in the library, feeling alternately thrilled and terrified throughout the day. Had Neville Longbottom known he was the cause of such emotion, he might well have stayed in bed.

Violet changes into Muggle clothes after dinner, throwing a knitted shawl over her plain shirt and pants. She doubts she'll ever feel like anything but an imposter in Lavender's robes, and it's always a relief to peel them off at the end of the day.

Neville isn't there when she reaches the entryway. She supposes "after dinner" was a rather vague meeting time, but neither of them are really old hands at this sort of thing.

Finally Neville rushes in, red-faced, out of breath and puffing. "I've lost... Trevor..." he pants.

"Oh, no!" Violet exclaims, not realising that poor Trevor spends more time lost than found, anyway. "Where did you see him last?"

"In my room," he says miserably. "Well, in my robe pocket. I, uh, went to change and when I looked back, he was gone!" He's also changed into Muggle clothing; corduroy trousers, white shirt, and a slightly snug sweater-vest. She wonders if it's in her honour or if he feels more comfortable this way, too.

Violet attempts to be comforting, not exactly her strong suit. "I'm sure he'll be okay. Maybe he just wanted to, er..." She racks her brain trying to think of something a toad might want to do. "Go find a lily pad," she finishes lamely.

"That's frogs. He's a toad."

"Oh, right! Sorry."

Neville tries to smile. "It's all right... I'm sure he'll turn up, he always does." He doesn't look entirely convinced of this. "It's just, I always worry that someone might... squash him. Accidentally." He swallows.

"I understand. You can look for him if you like. We can always talk another time."

"No! He's okay, really. Maybe he'll turn up in, ah, the girl's dorms again..." he clears his throat.

Violet isn't sure how to respond to this, other than, Hurrah, I've not been stood up for a toad! Instead she just nods.

"Let's go before it gets too chilly," Neville says.

Violet pulls her shawl around her shoulders before stepping out into the early autumn chill. "Where shall we go?" she asks.

"Have you seen much of the grounds?"

"No, not at all. Just the carriages and such." She shudders involuntarily.

"I don't like the carriages, either," Neville says softly.

"Can you see... them, too?"

"The thestrals? Yes... but how..."

"I can see them because I saw my Uncle die," she explains. "And I have magical blood, though I don't know if that makes a difference. Probably a Muggle who believes they exist could see them as well as I can."

Neville looks thoughtful. "Maybe, if they'd seen someone die."

Violet nods, hoping there will be a way to get off the subject of death.

"Over there you can see the Forbidden Forest..." Neville points vaguely into a dark, wild mass. "And right outside of it is Hagrid's hut. He's the Gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher. And over here," he says, pointing again, "is the lake."

"Yes, I saw that coming in. It's lovely."

"There's a Giant Squid in it," he says.

"Oh," Violet murmurs, her hopes for a romantic stroll around the lake rather dashed by the phrase "Giant Squid."

"I don't think it's dangerous, though. Would you like to see it?"

"Er... the squid?"

"No, the lake."

"Oh, yes. Of course."

So it happens that they do take a stroll around the lake, Neville's toad anxiety and Violet's general anxiety momentarily forgotten.

"It wasn't til this whole business with Voldemort that it really struck me I had a family," Violet says, ignoring Neville's cringe. "Before that, they were just sort of people I lived with. But sometimes I still think, when all this is over, I'd like to live a normal, Muggle life."

"What is Muggle life like? I can't imagine."

"It's nice, really. Especially if you can't do magic. I mean, I already miss my computer, and CD player, and television... don't you ever get bored?"

Neville shrugs. "Not really. We have the WWN, of course, though Gran always insists on listening to opera, or some daft old witch going on about how dreadful Wizarding kids are compared to the good old days."

"...Right. I think I'll take the telly." Violet grins.

Neville grins back, then looks thoughtful. "She's always on my case about how I forget things, and lose things... which is true of course, but I don't think she likes kids very much, anyway."

"I hope this isn't too personal, but... the thestrals... is it your parents you saw?"

Neville shakes his head. "No. They're alive. Physically, anyway." He looks down.

Violet bites her lip. "I'm sorry. I shouldnt've asked."

"No... it's okay. You realise that in all the time I've been here, no one has ever asked me about my parents? A few people know, because they saw us at St. Mungo's, but..." He shrugs. "I guess I don't mind talking about it so much anymore."

"Was it... Voldemort?" He nods. "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah. So am I."

"What happened?" Violet asks softly.

"They were tortured." He swallows. "With the Cruciatus curse."

"Oh!" she whispers. "That's dreadful. I'm sorry."

Neville looks into the distance, a stoic mask of remembrance on his face. "They were tortured until they could hardly speak. They don't remember their names, or what they did, or what they liked for dinner or even their own son." He bites his lip. "They were great Aurors, you know. Maybe it's best that they don't remember. Though I wish..."

Violet takes his hand and tries to catch his gaze. "What do you wish?"

Their eyes lock, and the world, a world that contains once-loving parents imprisoned in their own minds, clicks gently into focus. For this world that allows such unthinkable cruelty also allows the promise of new love, and hope. "I wish that they remembered me," he whispers.

"Maybe they do. Maybe they just can't communicate it in ways you understand."

Neville smiles slightly, and they come to a stop, slowly, as if testing whether the other will follow. After a brief awkward moment, Neville takes Violet's other hand. "I'm glad you're here," he says simply.

"Right now, I'm glad I'm here too." And she smiles, a smile that turns the leaves a brighter shade of red and gold and warms the air where they stand.

Her first true smile.

"I..." Neville looks down. "I've not had experience with... you know... girls..."

"Me either," Violet says, blushing horribly when she realises her mistake. "I meant boys, of course."

Neville's shoulders shake with silent laughter, and Violet feigns offence. "Puh!" she says. This just makes Neville laugh harder.

Finally, he stops. "Violet," he says.

"Yes?"

"I want to kiss you."

"I'd like that." And she finds herself enveloped in cotton and wool, his warm breath against her lips and then the kind of tenderness she has only imagined late at night when everyone is asleep. He smells of fresh earth and wood crackling in the hearth; his lips taste like caramel and Christmas morning. She has never felt so safe, and so close to home. Wrapped in his arms, she can't imagine ever letting go.

When they finally break apart, it is nearly audible in the crisp, still air. "Wow," Neville breathes.

"Wow," Violet agrees.

"I hope we can do that a lot," Neville says.

"Is there a rule that says we can't do it again now?"

"If there is, I forgot."

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The year goes on much the same. Violet and Neville spend as much time together as they can, and eventually the ensuing taunts die down to a dull roar. She is still a bit uncomfortable at the Gryffindor table, but at least Neville divides his attention equally between her and his potatoes. Lavender returns to something like her former self, but Violet realises it's probably more out of self-defence than anything else.

Many of them sense something bubbling below the surface, even those who haven't yet been touched by fear or death. They study their lessons (including "extra credit" with Harry Potter), memorise their spells, and try to convince themselves that the biggest thing they have to worry about is their N.E.W.T.S. All they can do is hope that whatever happens will happen quickly, and not bring bad news to their door. All they can do is wait, and find the joy that remains in the diminishing hours. All they can do is try to be young for one more year.

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