Neville, on Growing Up

The pub was too hot; stifling, over-crowded, and, for a boy with too much on his mind, simply irritating. Neville Longbottom needed to think. Well, he supposed, not so much to think as to brood on the events of the past twenty-four hours. Hours? It seemed like days, weeks, a lifetime since he and the others had entered the Ministry of Magic in determined spirits, completely ignorant to what lay waiting there for them.

Neville took a gulp of his gillywater, trying to drink quickly so that he could be on his own again. Coming to the pub had seemed such a good idea at the time. Ron and Hermione were now, thankfully, being sorted out in the Hospital Wing; Luna had drifted off to wherever Ravenclaws nested; and Ginny had gone back to her own friends, pretending, as he noticed girls sometimes did, that everything was normal. Harry was too scary to be around and Neville did not know what he would want to say to him anyway. It was because of Harry that he had come face to face with the woman who had made a mockery of his family, and Neville wasn't quite sure how he felt about that just yet. All he knew was that he wanted to be alone, to have some time to himself to think, to recover, and to be miserable on his own.

People always thought that Harry had a hard time of it, he couldn't help thinking selfishly. But it wasn't just Harry. Hadn't Neville been in that room too, realised as Harry did that it was all just a trick, been scared out of his wits by Death Eaters and Malfoy's dad, had to face his parents' torturer and stand her? Hadn't it affected him just as much? He tried not to think about her but it was too hard; every time he looked down at his hands that had not stopped shaking since, he thought about her, saw her face, heard her voice and her terrible laughter.

First thing I'll do, he thought to himself as he downed the last of his drink, is get myself a new wand. A wand that fits. I'll work harder, I'll learn better, and I'll bring that bitch down. I'll bring her sobbing to her knees for what she's done to us.

He slammed his glass down forcefully to reinforce his point, earning a dark look from the barman that he returned defiantly, then slid off his stool and pushed past cloaked and hooded strangers until he was out in the cool night air and striding away from the Hog's Head. He walked without purpose, hands in pockets, trudging despondently in the direction of the castle. He did not want to go back just yet or be in the same room as Dean and Seamus, or risk running into Harry, or pretend that he was alright, but the knowledge that he was out without permission gave him flutters in his stomach that he didn't need.

As he walked he supposed he should make up his mind not to feel bad towards Harry. It wasn't really Harry's fault that things had gone pear-shaped. And besides, Harry had more power behind his spell-work than anyone in their year; Neville had seen him at it. Harry could teach him things that no-one else could. How to fight. How to win. How to bring Bellatrix down. Harry could be a useful friend to have.

The moon had gone behind a cloud and the castle was dark as Neville reached its front steps, and he tried hard not to be scared of it. He had much bigger things to fear now than the darkness, he told himself. Even so, he wished he had his wand to cast at least a little light. He clomped up the steps, enjoying as he always did the sound that his boots made on the worn stone. It was only as he entered the Entrance Hall that he realised there was someone else there, breathing heavily but staying out of sight.

"Who's there?" he said, more certain than he felt.

The breathing quietened but the shifting of a foot gave away the stranger's position. Neville was casting around for a torch to light when suddenly a block of ice dropped into his stomach and the room was filled with the sound of rattling breath. Neville stood still and silent as stone, brain working frantically. A Dementor in Hogwarts? He whipped around and then wished he hadn't. There it was, floating before him, tattered robes swaying eerily in a non-existent breeze, mouth drawing in its surroundings with a cold, shuddering breath.

"Expecto Patronum," Neville whispered, reciting what Harry had taught him but knowing full well that without a wand he was useless. But he tried again because there was nothing else for him to do. The Dementor was drifting towards him, hood pulling back slightly to reveal its scabbed hole of a mouth.

"Expecto -"

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" somebody yelled, flying out from nowhere with a wand in hand and a stag at their side.

"Harry!" Neville exclaimed as the stag cantered around the Dementor, tossing its silver head and pulling the creature away from its prey. The Dementor seemed to become confused; it turned round and round in circles, following the path of the stag. Neville had never seen one act that way.

"Hang on," he said, and he crossed the short distance to reach Harry, pulled the wand out of Harry's hand without asking for license, and bellowed with force, "RIDDIKULUS!"

The stag pulled the cloak off the Dementor; it caught the creature round the ankles and forced it to fall flat on its face. Harry, looking at Neville with a shocked expression, could not help laughing, and Neville laughed with him as the stag ran with the through the doors into the open air, dragging the Boggart-Dementor after, disappearing into the darkness.

"That was pretty handy spell-work, Neville," Harry said, still chuckling.

"I knew it must have been a Boggart. It didn't feel right," Neville explained. "Lucky you were there with your wand, I suppose. Thanks."

"No worries."

"Hang on - Harry, why were you down here? Why were you hanging about in the dark? I called out, you could have answered me."

"I didn't know who you were," Harry replied. "I was hoping not to get caught."

"Needed a walk?"

"Something like that," he sighed.

Neville crossed over to stand next to the open doors and looked out onto the darkened grounds. "It's been a funny old end to the term, hasn't it?" he said, cautiously.

"I don't want to talk about that," Harry said, but he went to stand by Neville all the same.

Sometimes, Neville thought, you just needed to be near someone.

"No, alright." They stood silent for a little while, enjoying the peace.

"Strange for a Boggart to turn up," Neville said eventually.

"Mmm," Harry agreed.

"Even stranger for it to turn into a Dementor, not my Gran."

"Well," Harry replied, turning to look at him in the darkness, "that suggests that maybe you're not all that afraid of your Gran any more. And it suggests, Neville," he added with a hint of a smirk in his voice, "that all you have left to fear now is fear itself."

Afterwards, lying in bed, Neville thought for a long time about what Harry had said. As the sun crept in through the window and splashed across his face, he came to the conclusion that he must finally have grown up.