Growing

Chapter Four - Run

Author's Notes: Thanks to my great beta Nathaniel.

~*~*~*~

Neville froze. Only one creature in Britain could make that noise and it was not a dog.

He leapt to his feet and scrambled around for his wand. He had fallen asleep without intending, so had not put it up in a safe place where he could find it easily. Rummaging around in the dark he finally found it on the floor where it had rolled under the bed.

The werewolf howled again. This was followed more howls. Neville realised there was a whole pack and they sounded close. They stopped and the area went silent.

Neville suddenly realised the wards had not gone off which meant Gran would still be asleep. She could sleep through anything. Worse was the Aurors would not know they were in danger. They were alone.

He had to get to his Gran.

Neville headed for his bedroom door. Realising that some might already be in the house, he pushed his ear to the door.

Nothing. Just silence.

He turned the door handle slowly, careful not to make any noise. He pushed the door open quietly scanning around the hallway. Nothing. He had to get to his Gran. Her room was on the second floor to the East. Neville's room was far away on the first floor to the West. The second staircase leading to the second floor was not far away from his room. But it was rotten through; anybody who went up it risked falling to his or her death courtesy of a rotten floorboard.

The only other way was the main staircase, the bottom of which opened out directly onto the front door. If they had not gotten into the house yet he would be okay.

"Lumos," he whispered, filling the hallway with light as he walked quietly down it. He knew it was a risky thing to do, but with werewolves it did not really matter if you could see them or not, they could still hear you or smell you regardless.

He had barely crept along a metre before he heard a loud crash from the front door.

Neville's heart skipped a beat and then started running. His only hope was that he made to the stairwell before they got through the front door.

He heard more and more noise from the door as he ran. Then horrifically he heard the wood creak and split. He was now only one corner from being able to see the front door from the banister. Part of him knew it was ludicrous running towards the noise, but he did it anyway, he needed to get to his Gran.

He reached the corner, turning out his wand light wordlessly and crouched to the ground. From the banister he could see three werewolves wandering in the corridor, noises low to the ground, sniffing for any signs of Neville and his Gran. Neville remained on his knees. Hoping they would search the ground floor before moving up the stairs, he crawled along the floor, trying to keep away from any floorboards that he knew creaked.

He held his breath, hoping to not make any noise, but he had no idea if he really did for all he could hear was the pounding of his heart. Please, please don't let them be able to hear that, he repeated in his head as he crawled slowly above the man-eating beasts below him.

Suddenly one stuck its noise into the sky. Neville stopped, and then moved his legs so he could take off at a run in an instant if it had spotted him. But something much, much worse than being spotted by the werewolves had just occurred.

Dementors were floating in the front door. Neville counted eight before noticing they were not wandering around, they were headed for the stairs with purpose and direction. Then he remembered, Dementors did not need sight or sound to find their prey, they could track down a person by locating their soul. There was now no way he could hide.

Neville was trapped; if he moved, the werewolves would notice him, if he did not, the Dementors would find him. He made a split second decision, got up and ran for the stairs.

He did not see it, but he knew the wolves were on him now. His only chance was his head start and his knowledge of the house, but when he was only two meters away from the stairs, the first of the Dementors arrived at the second floor.

Neville felt any hope within him dissipate. Whether it was from the effect of the Dementors or just the sight of them, he did not know, he did not have time to question. He stopped suddenly and turned on the stop, his feet slipping on the carpet as he went causing him to come crashing down on his knees and skid a distance. It hurt, but he could sense the hooded Dementor behind him, sucking any possible ounce of happiness he possessed at that time, little though it was. He got to his knees and back towards the second staircase.

He knew he had a chance, a small one of outrunning the Dementors, but once the wolves arrive he was done for, but Neville knew there was no other option. He ran. There was a chance, he told himself.

Neville rounded the first corner, when he heard a loud thump. The wolves had arrived on the first floor landing, and were now in hot pursuit, following the Dementors or following his scent.

He dared not look back, as he ran through his house, through the twists and turns of the corridor. The cold feel of the Dementors no longer was on his back, but as he rounded the last corner, the relief of no longer being chased by the hooded beings was replaced by the sounds of snarling and breathing from the werewolves that must have overtaken them.

Neville turned the corner and spotted the door leading to the staircase at the end of the hallway, only metres to go. His wand in hand, he yelled, "alohomora," at the top of his lungs that were burning from so much physical effort. He felt like he was going to collapse, but some part of him kept on going. He had to make the staircase.

The doorway swung open wide. The grunts and pants of the werewolves grew louder, and Neville hurtled through the doorway, grabbed the door with his free hand and slammed it shut with all his might.

The door failed to close; instead it bounced of the body of the lead wolf, which must have just been lunging at Neville before he grabbed the door. With no time to stop and no time to wonder if the stairs would hold his weight, Neville started to run up them.

The first few steps were fine, he seemed to put a slight bit of distance between him and the wolves, either the spiral staircase must have confused them or they did not trust the ancient wood.

However, by the time Neville was a quarter of the way to the second floor the wood started to make violent groaning noises under his feet.

Then disaster struck. A stair collapsed under his foot.

Neville's leg sank through it, bits of wood ripping through his trousers and into his leg causing him to scream out in agony.

Neville pulled at his sunken leg, but it was not budging, it was stuck and all he achieved was that the splinters dug themselves deeper into his flesh. He then turned to see a wolf rounding the bend slowly. Drool hung down from its mouth as it spotted its trapped prey. Neville pulled at his leg again causing himself more pain, but it was to no avail, he was trapped, and the wolf knew it.

The werewolf inched closer and closer to Neville, staring at him, seemingly savouring the moment, its mouth salivating at the sight of him. Neville pulled his body as far away as he could get and continued to struggle desperately. The wolf opened its jaws. Neville started to panic so much he felt like he could no longer breathe, he covered his neck with his arms and closed his eyes. He could feel the wolf's hot breath on his face and could smell the scent of rotting flesh on its saliva. Neville waited for the enviable pain from the werewolf's jaws ripping into his flesh, turning him and then killing him.

There was suddenly a loud groan from the wood. The staircase could not take the wolf's weight.

It happened very quickly. A loud cracking noise came from the step below where Neville was trapped. Neville lunged his upper body towards a higher step and felt the hole around his leg get larger. He used all his strength and pulled his mangled leg out of the hole.

The wolf let out a small yelp as the platform below his feet collapsed, taking him down into the darkness below. Neville got up and partly ran, partly limped as the remaining part of the staircase swayed violently below his feet. After what seemed like a precarious eternity, he reached the top of the flight of stairs and pulled the door open.

Stepping into the second floor corridor, there was nothing. No wolves, no Dementors, just an empty corridor and empty rooms. Neville quietly limped his way along the hallway using the walls for support to take the weight off his injured leg. He moved as quickly as he could, but as he rounded the corner to part of the corridor above the first floor landing, his heart dropped. Some Dementors had not bothered to chase him; they had just glided up the stairs where they seemed to have congregated as if they were waiting for him.

Neville knew he was spotted as they turned their faceless hoods towards him. He gripped his wand tighter, he knew now he had just one hope left.

"Expecto Patronum!" he cried at the top of his lungs, pointing his wand at the group of Dementors. Nothing happened, but he hoped his voice was loud enough for his Gran to hear and escape.

"EXPECTO PATROUM!" he cried again, louder this time. Again nothing happened, and the Dementors moved forward towards him, surrounding him.

Think of a good thought. He heard Harry's voice in his head, trying to coax a Patronus out of Neville in DA class. Neville tried, but very little came. He concentrated hard. DA lessons. Getting an O in Herbology. Winning the house cup for Gryffindor. Watching his Mimbulus grow.

"Expecto Patronum!" he yelled again, his voice now hoarse as if yelling loudly would make any difference. A shiver of white light emitted from his wand, causing the advancing Dementors to slow, but not stop. The light faded out as fast as it came.

Darkness and despair surrounded Neville and drew him down with it. He had failed his Gran, he had failed himself and now he was going to lose his soul. One Dementor moved closer, outstretching a bony hand to hold Neville down as it readied its victim to apply the kiss. As it placed his hand on Neville's shoulder, holding him in place, Neville suddenly had a feeling of great relief. The end was coming but it would free him from the despair of life. For the second time that evening he closed his eyes and waited for the end.

Then softly out of the gloom of his mind a woman's voice emerged. It was not his Gran's, but rather the one from his dream. "Destination, determination, deliberation," she called, he voice echoing through Neville's head. If Neville were not incapable of doing much thinking at the time he may have mused over the fact that in his final moments he seemed to be losing his mind, just like his parents.

What Neville did managed to do in those final moments, with the Dementor's wide mouth coming closer and closer, was repeat those words to himself in his mind, unlocking something practiced and ingrained. With a loud 'crack' Neville left the corridor.

~*~*~*~

Neville could not see anything. He felt a strange force constricting his whole body. Then suddenly there was nothing.

He fell through the air, hitting the ground hard. He could not think. Everything was black. There was no sound. He could not move.

Slowly he felt sensation returning. He felt pain flow through his body, radiating from this forearms, knees and right leg. Then sound. There were people surrounding him, he could hear voices but could not make out what they were saying.

He realised, that his eyes were screwed shut. He forced himself to prise his eyelids open, fearful of where he was. Neville realised he was lying face down on a tiled floor. He was staring directly at a pair of brown leather shoes and the tatty, muddy ends of a red robe with gold lining.

The people surrounding him were wearing long robes that nearly touched the floor, all the same colours. Neville moved his arms, trying to pull himself off the floor, but failed miserably.

"How did you get here?" Neville could finally make out what the brown shoed person was saying, or rather demanding to know. Neville did not know how. He did not know where he was. Neville tried to get the words out of his mouth, but his throat would not move.

Then another of the voices became distinguished from the crowd. "Neville?" Black boots and blue pants pushed their way past brown shoes. "It's Neville Longbottom," the female voice announced. "He's not a threat."

There was a murmur from the crowd. While the woman kneeled down, placing an arm under one of Neville's. Neville felt another pair around his other arm. They both hoisted him up and managed to place him in a sitting position, propped up against a nearby wall. He was surrounded by quite a few people, all wearing the uniform of an Auror robes except the woman crouched before him staring at him with concerned eyes. Neville recognised the woman now, though her hair had changed.

"What's happened?" Tonks asked gently.

Neville tried to say something again but his voice chocked. He remembered his Gran, and forced a word out of his mouth. "W-werewolves."

The effort forced his throat to constrict more. Tonks turned to the people surrounding him. "It'll be at the Longbottom house in Lancashire. He lives with his Grandmother," she announced.

The Aurors began to move off in a hurry, Tonks and another stayed put. Neville knew he had to warn them of the Dementors. He started again. "De...men...," he managed to stammer before his throat seized up again.

"Dementors as well!" Tonks yelled at the leaving Aurors.

The nearby Auror crouched down and spoke quietly to Tonks. "Can you take care of this? Get a statement?"

"Yes. Go!" she responded quickly and he got up and left. She moved over and sat down next to Neville, leaning her back against the wall supporting him. "We're not going to move for a while. Okay? It looks like you've come bloody close to a Dementor, so I'll let you rest for a while first...Now let's have a look at this leg of yours."

She scooted down the floor on her bottom, then pulled out her wand and applied a severing charm to the fabric covering his bloody right leg. Pulling his sock and the fabric off she examined the wound. She smiled. "Well, congratulations Neville. You're not a werewolf...Though, I suppose you already know that." In the moments at home, he hadn't given much thought to being bitten. But he had not managed to save his Gran. Avoiding being bitten did not give him much to be grateful for if his Gran has been kissed or eaten.

Tonks kept on looking at his leg. "I can't fix this," she finally announced. "You're not bleeding that much, and the cuts aren't that deep, but you'll need a healer to get all those bits of wood out." She stood up. "I'm just going over there." She pointed in the direction ahead of Neville. "There's some chocolate in my desk."

She wandered off, and Neville had the chance to take in his surroundings. He was in a drab building; the walls were painted an ugly grey with the occasional window showing the night sky. It was furnished with row upon row of small cubicles, each containing a desk usually covered in paper, and more often then not decorated with pictures of people and thing that Neville could not make out from the distance away he was sitting.

Tonks returned, chocolate bar in one hand, and a fizzy drink can in the other. He noticed she was not wearing robes like her colleagues had been; instead blue pants and a woollen coat in a garish shade of pink. Her hair was exactly the same colour.

"You've managed to apparate into Auror headquarters." Tonks sat down next to him again. "I don't think that's ever happened before. It's going to cause quite a stir in the morning." She opened and unwrapped the chocolate, handing it to Neville, who discovered that though they were stiff, his arms seemed to be working again. He placed the sweet substance in his mouth, and forced himself to bite a piece and chew. Eating chocolate had never been so hard, but as he swallowed it, he seemed to regain more control over his body.

"Did you do it on purpose?" she asked.

"No." Neville felt a tear run down his cheek. "I was trying to save my Gran."

Tonks wrapped her arms around him tight, bringing some warmth to his body. She gently leant her head against his shoulder. "We'll do our best," she whispered.

~*~*~*~

Somehow, he managed to finish his bar of chocolate. Feeling more able to move. Tonks seemed to notice the change, and pulled out the soda can.

"Feel up to a portkey?" she asked.

Neville shook his head, and placed his hand on the can. Tonks tapped her wand against it and spoke the incantation, "Portus." He felt the hook behind his navel and the world rush past and before he knew it he and Tonks were both sitting in the floor of St Mungo's waiting room.

Tonks jumped to her feet immediately, drawing attention to the two of them. Healers came rushing through doors, a bed floated above the ground following magically behind them.

"One injury," Tonks announced to the onlookers. "Possibly more coming." Neville's mind turned to his Gran again and the Aurors that had left for his home. They could be injured or die trying to save his Gran, he realised. While things were bad for those who were attacked, it was always the Aurors who had to pick up the pieces the next day. "Dementor attack and some cuts and grazes to his right leg. Werewolves were involved but I'm confident he has no bites."

"Alright," a blond haired woman told Tonks. Neville felt light all of a sudden and was started moving through the air. He realised that many wands pointing to him were levitating his body on to the bed. He would have climbed up there himself if they had asked.

"Here, drink this." A potions bottle was thrust into his hand. He wanted to know what was going on, and was about to protest to Tonks, but he saw her nod

"It's better than chocolate, that stuff," she added.

Gulping down the green liquid, Neville felt himself grow weary. No sooner had his head touched the pillow on the bed quickly moving through St. Mungo's then he fell asleep.