Amidst The Ashes

Chapter 8

They walked silently up the narrow path that seemed to materialize before them. Remus had not spoken to Neville, other than to inform him that Grimmauld Place was not far from their apparition point.

The old house was slightly ominous, looming up in front of them in the dark. Neville thought that the light coming from the windows looked a bit strangled. The entire house, actually, looked a bit strangled, as if there was not enough space to hold its bulk. Perhaps the impression came from its weighty past. Neville shook his head, chiding himself against being fanciful.

Professor Lupin (call me Remus) placed his hand flat on the wooden door, just above an unattractive knocker. The younger man felt as much as heard the wards release, and then the door swung silently open. Neville shivered.

Hefting the heavy trunk between them, the two men stepped into the entrance hall and set their burden next to the wall. Neville was rubbing circulation back into his hands, looking around the entrance, when two figures hurried in - Ron, closely followed by Hermione.

"Remus! You're finally back." Ron's voice was very loud after the prolonged stillness. "Where's Harry?"

Neville watched Remus open his mouth to reply just as a blood curdling scream echoed through the hall.

-----Traitors!!!-----

Neville's heart leapt to his throat, but his wand was in his hand in an instant. To his surprise, Ron and Hermione laughed. Neville did not lower his wand, merely took one step backward, away from his friends, and looked over at Lupin.

-----Filth!-----

Remus raised a hand and shook his head at Neville. "Nice response time, Neville. I forgot to mention that Grimmauld Place has its own welcoming committee." Drawing his own wand, Lupin pointed it at a set of black curtains that hung partially open on the far wall. They drew open to reveal a screaming.... Portrait?

-----It's the mongrel. Vermin! Out of my house! You are not worthy of entrance into this... -----

"The illustrious Mrs. Black!" Remus hollered, over the continuing diatribe coming from the painting. "We try to be quiet in here," he yelled, "or this one gets disturbed. Follow me, Neville, and I'll show you to your room. Ron and Hermione can replace the curtains."

-----You speckled blood traitor! Keep that Mudblood......-----

Neville pocketed his wand, readjusted his knapsack on his shoulder and followed Remus up three flights of creaking stairs.

"My room is at the far end," Remus said. "This one," he paused before a door on the left, "will be yours. Put your things away and then go on back downstairs. The kitchen is to the left, past the staircase, all the way in the back."

Neville nodded, placing his hand on the knob. "Aren't you coming?" The man looked terrible, worse than he had that morning. Neville sucked his lip between his teeth briefly and then barreled onward. "It's going to be fine, Remus. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Remus sighed heavily before shaking his head. "I'll be down to give the 'story' and then call it a night." He turned away, walking back toward the staircase before pausing and looking over his shoulder. "Thank you, Neville, for..." he shrugged and continued back down the stairs.

~~~~~~

The room was of medium size, but seemed smaller. Neville whispered a lighting charm and stood back to survey his new "home". The furniture was all dark, heavy and ornate. It had been fine originally, perhaps even ostentatious. He could see this in the curve of the wood, the weave of once-grand fabrics. Bed curtains were tattered now, threadbare and dusty. An oil lamp sat on a three-legged table - ornate, ugly and black with age. The tapestry seat of the room's one chair was worn so thin that the padding showed through, and wood was visible at the end of one upholstered arm.

Neville walked across the room and eyed the huge wardrobe with trepidation. If I were a boggart I would consider that thing a vacation home. Stepping back a bit he opened the door with a spell. Nothing more menacing than a cobweb and what looked like the remains of a rat's nest lurked inside. Neville shook off the tickles on his spine and got quickly to work. Another spell took care of the dust, before he proceeded to hang up his robes and street clothes, placing his other items in drawers. He laid his books and notes on the table and looked around one last time. Not exactly homey, but it will do.

~~~~~~

The kitchen was warm and well-lit. Ron gestured at Neville to come take a seat. He did so, joining the redhead and Hermione at the long wooden table.

"Hey mate," Ron said, pushing a plate of scones toward Neville, "sorry we didn't get the chance to say hello before. That old hag never shuts up. So, do you know about this 'mission' Harry's on?"

Neville picked up a scone and took a bite, shaking his head. Remus had apparently been and gone. The story was that Dumbledore had summoned Harry for some as-yet-undisclosed reason, and Remus had accompanied him to the school. Harry was encouraged not to travel alone due to fears for his safety. Remus would have pled ignorance to everything regarding where the Boy Who Lived might be or when he would return.

"I didn't get to see Harry," Neville said truthfully, grateful that his voice was steady. "Dumbledore's had me working on plants for Snape's new Impediment Potion. Apparently since Remus was at Hogwarts, Dumbledore thought now would be a good time to send me here to set up another greenhouse. He also wants me to be in on some of the strategy meetings." Neville took another bite of his scone and watched as Ron and Hermione shared a look.

"It's good to see you, Neville," Hermione sighed. She looked as if she might say more and then appeared to decide against it.

"Well hello, dear. Remus said you were here." Neville turned and smiled as Molly Weasley ruffled his hair and placed a steaming pot in front of him. "You've had a bit of a journey. Have a nice cup of tea and a few scones and you'll be right as rain."

"Mum's cooking's the best, Neville," Ron said, snagging another treat and taking an enormous bite. Hermione rolled her eyes at him. Neville found himself smiling hugely. For just a moment everything was as it always had been.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. The scones really are excellent." Neville poured himself a cup of tea and sighed as the fragrant liquid warmed him.

"Call me Molly, Neville. How's your Gran?"

The four of them discussed trivial things for a few minutes and Neville began to relax. The task ahead was daunting, but he needn't begin tonight. Ron was just starting on his fifth scone when Mrs. Weasley brought up a new subject.

"So, you've seen my Charlie recently, have you dear?"

Neville looked up, startled and put down his cup. "Yes, I see him from time to time." He concentrated on not blushing. "We've worked together." His thoughts started running rampant. Had Charlie said anything? Was their relationship a secret? It was a relationship, right? Of course it was. But was it supposed to be public knowledge? This was Charlie's mother...

"He mentioned that in a couple of his letters." Molly smiled at Neville and absently stirred her tea. "He seems quite fond of you."

Neville could feel the blood rushing to his face, even as pleasure settled in his chest. Charlie had spoken about him? To his family? Before today? He smiled, not exactly sure what to say. Hermione had that interested, 'taking notes', look on her face. Ron merely glanced at them and continued chewing.

"Have another scone, dear." Mrs. Weasley picked up the plate and held it out to Neville.

Neville obediently reached for another scone and took a small bite. Just as he was about to swallow Mrs. Weasley spoke again. "He hasn't worn that jumper in a while, I'm glad to see it's not going to waste."

Neville looked down, realized what he was wearing, inhaled sharply and choked. I'm still wearing Charlie's jumper! How could I have forgotten that I was still wearing his jumper? And his jacket! Neville set down his scone, grabbed a napkin and struggled to get air into his lungs.

Ron, in the meantime, got up to pound him on the back. Neville, finally managed to catch his breath and looked up at Ron. "Thanks."

"No problem." Ron returned to his seat, picked up the remains of his pastry and then set it down again, fixing Neville with a suddenly sharp look. "Um, mate? Are you wearing my brother's clothes?"

Neville took a hasty sip of tea and shrugged. Mrs. Weasley was positively smirking. Neville thought hastily that he now knew where the twins got their sense of humor. He watched nervously as the idea fermented in Ron's head.

"WHY are you wearing Charlie's clothes?"

Because I woke up naked with him this morning - was it only this morning? - and then we went to see the dragons and it was cold and what with watching the clouds and snogging I forgot... Get. A. Grip. Neville. "Um, I was cold?" It came out as more question than affirmation, and Neville was mortified to hear his voice squeak. The teacup was simply fascinating. He might never look away from it again.

"I've been cold before, but Charlie never gave me his clothes."

This was getting worse and worse. What could he possibly say? Neville was thrilled to be with Charlie but they hadn't discussed anything about telling anyone. "Er..."

There was a thud.

"Ouch! What was that for?" Ron turned to look at Hermione in outrage as Mrs. Weasley started to laugh.

"Um, thanks for the scones and the tea. I really need to get those plants settled before I get to bed. I'll just head out back. I heard there was a shed? I'll just go find it, shall I?" Neville spoke very fast, rising to his feet as he did so. Then, completely unconcerned with the vaunted Gryffindor courage, he turned tail and fled.

~~~~~~

Great. Just great. Huge creepy house. Huge bulky trunk. Dark. Unknown, probably haunted shed. Just great. But what could I say? Neville stalked down the hall and paused just to the side of the stairs. The trunk still stood near the front door. Taking a deep breath he moved on. Mustn't wake the portrait. Ugly creepy portrait.

Even as Neville crept quietly into the Entrance hall, some small part of him left the complaints behind and began reveling. Charlie had spoken to his mother about him. Neville stopped next to the trunk, turned his head towards his shoulder and brought a bit of the soft wool close to his nose. It still smelled like Charlie. Suddenly he was smiling.

I can handle a bit of darkness. I've seen worse things. It's not so bad. I'll just find the shed, check the plants, and make it all tidy in the morning. Fishing out his wand, Neville straightened his shoulders. With a whispered levitation spell he gently and silently floated the trunk down the hall and toward the door he'd seen on his way out of the kitchen.

~~~~~~

"Incendio!"

Neville took another bite of toast as he watched the parchment burn to ash in the black metal tray on his table. This was the fourth fire so far this morning. He chewed thoughtfully, sipping his tea and sighing. He went over the rules in his head: 1) no indication of where he was; 2) no indication of why he was where he was; 3) no mention of mission; 4) relay necessary information; and, 5) make some attempt not to sound like a complete idiot. After squaring his shoulders he pulled out yet another clean sheet of parchment and dipped his quill into the ink.

Dear Charlie,

I must confess that in the rush to get back in time to meet the deadline I forgot something. Your mother and brother were here when I arrived. In the course of conversation, your mother pointed out that I was still wearing a certain article of clothing. She recognized the jumper, of course, and commented on it. She probably made it, right? I didn't know what to say. I gave very general answers and left the room. I was probably blushing like mad. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I hope that I haven't embarrassed you too much. I just wanted you to know in case someone brings it up. Do you want me to send back the jumper? Obviously, I won't wear it again. I don't know if you can contact me or not, so I'll just try not to do anything else stupid. I hope all is well with you. Please take care and know that I'm thinking about you.

Love Neville

Neville re-read the letter. He still wasn't happy with it. His hand had shaken a bit when he wrote the salutation and the closing. Was he being too familiar? Not familiar enough? He wanted to tell Charlie that he missed him, but... Neville took another drink of his cold tea and considered trying again. It's not going to get any better. You've told him what happened. Just let it be.

Neville sighed again, realized that this was becoming a habit, and took out the tools necessary to seal the letter. He smiled softly as he melted the wax. The sealing kit had been his father's, and Neville had been very proud when he was presented with it as he was packing to go to Hogwarts for the first time. Wax and metal and a bit of magic. He'd felt so grown up that day. He remembered his Gran showing him, very patiently for once, how to apply a seal. "You'll be a proper wizard yet, Neville." He still believed that she'd been proud of him that day. He'd often wondered if there had ever been other days she was proud, but that particular memory warmed him every time he finished a letter.

Neville sat staring at the bit of bronze bearing his family crest. He turned it over and over in his hands. His father had used this, had been given it when he first went to school. Perhaps he had used it for love letters to Neville's mother, for secret communications with his friends, for job applications. Neville smiled again, ran his finger over the engraving one more time and put the tools back into the little velvet bag.

Placing the letter carefully in the pocket of his robe, Neville picked up his teacup. He would explore the house a bit after he returned the dish to the kitchen. There was poison to find and suspects to investigate. Neville struggled for a moment with contradictory impulses, unable to decide whether to laugh or shudder. Murder mysteries were fun......in books.

The house groaned, but there were no other sounds. It was still quite early. Neville had abandoned sleep sometime before dawn and crept down to the kitchen for toast and tea. The sun had risen while he'd been writing and burning the many drafts of his letter, but it was still quiet. Touching the wand in his pocket, Neville walked down the stairs again.

No one was around. Neville walked silently from the kitchen back up the hall until he was standing by the stairs. The staircase rose from the entrance hall and acted as a divider for the house. Hallways ran toward the back on both sides. Neville had not yet been in the hallway to the right. He peeked into a dusty formal dining room, identifiable only by its long table. There seemed to be no windows in the room, and Neville was loath to draw attention to himself with light. A narrow hallway led between that room and the kitchen. Neville assumed that the servants' quarters would be found down there and determined that he would investigate later. There were two other doors, one to the left, which probably led into a room, and one in the staircase wall that Neville guessed would be a cupboard. Both of these doors were closed.

Neville peered into the Drawing Room, walked on tiptoe across the entrance hall, and stood for a moment in the archway to the Parlor. The room was exactly what he would have expected. It held furniture that was meant to look good but be uncomfortable and formal. One was led into the parlor when it was hoped that one would not be staying long. The furniture was worn now, and was actually probably more comfortable for it. There were papers and books scattered about. The candle on the sideboard needed trimming. The curtains should have been replaced years ago. Still, Neville had grown up in an old "proper" house and he could tell that this place had once been grand, although it had probably never been beautiful. Neville breathed deeply. The smell of decay was very subtle, but present nonetheless. The house brooded. He suspected that dark things had happened here. But then, Bellatrix LeStrange had probably spent time in this house. Neville shivered and moved down the right-hand hallway.

Closed door. Closed door. Double door. Acting on a hunch, Neville grasped the iron snake that served as a handle. He pressed downward and opened the door very slowly, finding his assumptions to be correct. Neville stepped across the threshold. Once inside the room he stood looking around with more than a bit of awe. The Black Library was huge. The ceiling opened to allow a visitor to see the two additional floors of bookcases. Hermione must love this room. Neville wondered how many of the ancient books were cursed, and if the aurors had been allowed to go through the room. He doubted it. Many shelves would likely be bare if they had, or at the very least sporting great empty gaps. One could probably find all kinds of things in this library - books on curses and customs; tomes detailing ancient family lines; probably even references to obscure poisons. Neville made plans to return to this room and spend some serious time here.

He slipped back out into the hall, closed the door behind him, backed up a few feet and turned to face the staircase wall for the first time. It was only with great difficulty that Neville stopped himself from yelling. He was unable to hold in his gasp of horror. Leering mere inches from his nose was a decapitated head. Neville retreated until his back was against the library door. House elves. A row of mounted heads stretched from one end of the hall to the other. Neville shuddered hard, swallowed bile and decided not to investigate this particular decorative quirk any further. Putting the grisly sight to his left side he walked quickly toward the end of the house.

The hallway ended in a T-shaped turn. The corridor on the left obviously led back to the kitchen. The passageway to the right curved after a bit and Neville could not tell where it went.

"Only one way to find out," he whispered to himself before taking the turn to the right. Dark, dusty tapestries lined the walls. Battle scenes. Some were quite graphic. Still, Neville preferred the woven blood to the stuffed heads in the previous corridor. The passage was long and clearly led around the library toward the side of the house. Neville's face lit when he came to the end. This was exactly what he had been hoping for.

The house harkened from the age of tea parties in the garden, and he was pleased to see that there was, in fact, a conservatory. It would take some work, probably a lot of work, but this room would do nicely. He searched for, and found, the door to the back yard. Time to see to the plants.

~~~~~~

Neville had in fact found a shed the night before. He'd gone out the door by the kitchen, down four steps and toward the deeper patch of darkness. Once he'd managed to open the door, clear a space on the floor, open the trunk, and water the plants, he'd realized that he was exhausted. A quick calculation had informed him that it had to be past midnight. The day had been a roller coaster and he'd admitted that he was emotionally and physically drained.

Neville winced now as he looked at the state of some of the more delicate specimens. It wasn't as if he'd actually slept. He could just as easily have mooned over Charlie, worried about Charlie's family, stewed about Harry, missed Charlie some more, and all the rest while tending to the potion plants. Looking around the shed and backing up as he did so, Neville's arm brushed against something. The object fell with a clatter, landing at his feet.

So it was possible for one's heart to fall to one's shoes. The broom lying in front of him gleamed, even in the dim light of the shed. It was Harry's broom. Neville would have known it anywhere. Crouching down, he picked up the Firebolt, ran his fingers over it carefully and checked for scrapes or dings. He turned it, looking at the twigs that formed the end. As if I could fix it if I found damage. Still, the fleeting thought did not stop him.

Neville sat down, holding the broom gently in his lap. He wondered what it was doing out here in this shed. Neville had not spent much time exploring the grounds, but he had noticed the 12-foot high stone walls that surrounded the back. Was it possible that Harry had taken to flying around the yard, low enough not to be seen by the neighbors? Neville ran his fingers over the wood, noting how smooth it was, how highly polished. The house was held under a Fidelius Charm. He wondered if the charm extended upward, and if so how high. Had Harry flown straight up? Perhaps, dipping and diving and trying to pretend that he wasn't meant to be a tool or a sacrifice?

Neville's heart ached. He and Harry had never been close, but he considered them friends nonetheless. Harry was a bright spark, a hero; while Neville tended to fade into the background. Despite this, Harry had always been nice to him. Neville would never forget that Harry had taken to the sky for the very first time in defense of Neville's property - in defense of him.

It really was a beautiful broom. Neville's fingers continued tracing patterns on the handle as he thought about his friend. Harry had suffered so much. So very much was expected of him. He shouldn't be lying near death, alone. How was it possible that someone who claimed to love him could willingly hurt him, let alone....

Shaking his head Neville stood, still cradling the broom like an infant. He couldn't let himself consider the possibility that Harry would die. Such thoughts, once given consciousness, were dangerous. He wrapped both hands around the handle, held it for one last moment and moved to place it carefully in the corner.

There was work to be done. Neville was determined to see Harry on his broom again. He resolved to defend Harry as Harry had defended him - regardless of the price.

~~~~~~~~

For the next hour Neville stabilized the most sensitive plants. He then returned to the house. The high glass windows of the old Conservatory were not visible from the front of the house and it had been so late that he'd not noticed them the previous night. They were so filthy that they hardly looked like windows. Maybe a house elf could... Remembering the wall of heads, Neville made a mental note to ask Mrs. Weasley if she could teach him a window cleaning charm.

The room was large, stretching what he guessed to be two-thirds of the length of the house. There were rows of low planting beds near the windows and areas with waist-high beds near the sides. A flat section in the middle had paving stones running in a circle around a large, dead, poplar tree. The sight was a bit macabre to Neville's way of thinking. A low bench had been built to surround the tree. A small stone table with matching benches crouched nearby. Further into the room, near what would be the front of the house, Neville found a stone pool. An ugly squat figure with sharp teeth and bulging great eyes stood guard over the large basin. The stone creature was likely part of a fountain, and Neville found that he was reluctant to know from which part of the statue the water would flow. The pool itself was clogged with dead plants and the occasional scattered skeleton of an unfortunate fish.

Nothing in the entire Conservatory was alive. Vines and creeping branches had crawled across the floor, tangling in masses in corners before falling to ruin. There were dried leaves and twigs and broken shards of pottery on the floors and in some of the beds. Still, it was much better than the shed. The place had been built to house living things so there had to be a water source. If he could make only a few of the planters presentable he could bed down the most delicate of the plants in his care.

Neville walked back towards the door and decided to start on those areas closest to the grounds. He could work his way inward as needed. The soil in the first bed he approached was more gray than brown, and it was hard. England was an island, after all, there was generally at least some moisture in the air. This dirt, however, had obviously been left dormant, un-watered, baking in the light from the windows. All moisture, and likely any nutrients it had ever had, had been leeched away.

First things first, he needed to find gardening tools and water. Neville took off his robe and pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, ready to get down to business. After fifteen minutes searching and the acquisition of several scratches on his forearms, Neville found the sink. It stood in the very back corner on the wall shared with the library. He pulled out several layers of decaying plants, tossing them to the side. After an unseen thorn actually drew blood Neville stopped and summoned his gloves from the shed. Thus protected, he continued working until the sink was free of debris.

The faucet was rusted and calcified. A dark red-brown stain graced the side of the basin and pooled in the bottom. Neville firmly decided that he was not going to wonder what had caused the stain. Some mysteries were better left unsolved. Twenty minutes, much scraping, several curse words and four charms later, Neville finally managed to get the tap to spit out some brown, foul-smelling water. He turned the faucet on full force, performed yet another cleaning charm and began the search for garden tools, leaving the water on to flush the plumbing.

After scouring the ground as much as possible, Neville gave up the search and returned to the shed. He moved practically everything in the tiny building - including Harry's broom, twice - before he found anything useful. Armed with a shovel, a badly bent trowel, and a dustpan, Neville made his way back to the Conservatory.

The plants that he was worried most about, the ones he wanted to settle first, were also the most sensitive. As a result, he could not use magic to clean the beds. Errant spells, even benign ones, could interfere with both growth cycle and lifespan of these species. Consequently, Neville spent the next ninety minutes pounding the rock-hard soil into clumps and scooping it out with a dustpan. He'd found a bucket to one side of the sink and he filled this over and over with dirt, emptying it in a pile at the back of the room that could be dealt with later. At long last the planting area was empty. Neville filled the bucket with clear water and washed off the inside stones, watching with satisfaction as the area drained slowly - just as it was supposed to do.

His back twinged as he stood up, and Neville took a moment to crack it. He then took a moment more to stretch out the rest of his muscles. He'd come to the conclusion that gardening was, if not a sport, then at least far more physical than most people gave it credit for being. Now where am I going to find soil?

Neville brushed his hands together, wiped the sweat off of his face and decided to search the cellar of the house. There was no usable soil in the Conservatory, and none in the shed. Maybe he would have better luck downstairs.

~~~~~~

Neville took his robe back to the main part of the house with him, hanging it on a coat-hook near the door. The hook was shaped like a mace. Friendly, inviting place this is. Chuckling to himself he opened the doorway he'd found earlier. The stairs fell steeply down into a dimly lit passage. The journey down them seemed to take something from him, as if the house itself were some sort of inanimate Dementor.

At the bottom of the stairs, Neville realized that on this level the house had only one main corridor rather than two. Passages ran off from it at odd angles on both sides. Neville took the first turn to the left, realizing even as he did so that this would put him under the library. From this staircase he was facing toward the front of the house rather than the back. The corridor ran at roughly a 45-degree angle from the main passage. Coming to the first door, again on the left, Neville slid it open carefully and stepped inside.

Cold hit him, and he raised the wand he didn't remember drawing, pointing it directly in front of him. A muttered Lumos showed him a cavernous room that appeared to have been fashioned from one solid stone. It was completely empty. Neville looked around and revised his initial impression. Not completely empty. Black metal rings were embedded into the walls at various heights. At the far end of the room there was a cluster of such rings in the ceiling, just over a darkened depression in the floor. One step further into the room allowed Neville to ascertain that there was a drain in the middle of the low spot.

Neville lowered his wand slightly but didn't drop it fully until he had backed out of the room. No one needed to tell him what had gone on in there. He leaned against the wall for a moment, closing his eyes and fighting a wave of nausea. He'd seen worse things than ominous rooms, and the sickness surprised him. It passed shortly, however; and he forced himself to move further down the hallway.

The passage now curved sharply left toward the back of the house again. Neville shortly found himself at a dead end. Looking to both sides he realized how fitting that description was.

There were four cells, two on each side of him. He did not touch the bars, wisely fearing the possibility of lingering enchantment. Perhaps it was morbid curiosity, but Neville found himself aiming his re-lighted wand into each space. None of the cells had a window, of course. One was very narrow, with a bench carved out of the stone along one wall. Another had an extremely low ceiling. The third cell was square and ordinary looking but held a horrible bundle of some sort pressed far back into the corner. The final cell was completely cylindrical - walls and ceiling and floor all sloping as if someone had set a huge can on it's side and turned it into stone before marrying it with iron.

Neville lowered his wand, dousing the glow. This far underground there was little light. What filtered down the corridor was gray and dim. The cells were great black holes. Neville shivered. He expected there to be ghosts here, and only just stopped himself from looking over his shoulder as he stood motionless. He imagined that he could hear screaming, even though he knew all was silent. What a horrible place. The sense he'd had of impending doom was almost a tangible blanket. He felt suffocated by it.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was no smell of copper, no reek of fear, yet those things lingered just out of reach, as if time was playing scenes here that he could almost touch. Memories lingered in the walls, the bars, and the air. Neville wondered about the people who had been brought to this place. Had they cried as they huddled in their cells? Had they begged for mercy, for their families? What had they been willing to promise in exchange for a chance to see the sun one last time?

Neville wrapped his arms tightly around himself, shoulders hunching as if he would draw in his head for protection against a blow. Was it possible for a place to be inherently evil? Could old blood and ancient deeds imbue a place with darkness? And if that happened, did the side of light have any hope of bringing about good ends from plans created in such a place?

What about Harry? Neville thought, Harry understands darkness and small places. He knows what it's like to cry hopeless tears. How can he bring himself to live here? Maybe there's more than poison in his veins, maybe the darkness that lurks in the walls is seeping into him.

"Snap out of it, Neville. Harry has faced real monsters. He wouldn't be upset by empty rooms. And I can't change the past. I can't heal the wounds of long dead prisoners. All I can do is try ...." Neville had been speaking softly out loud. He didn't know if he was speaking to himself, to the walls, or to the presence in the house. Regardless, he should not speak aloud things relating to why he was really here. Magical places often had magical ears as well.

Neville shook himself from his stupor and strode purposefully back the way he had come. He'd just have to check the next passageway for a storeroom.

Once back in the main hallway he again chose a passage leading left. If his calculations were correct, the corridor would end somewhere underneath the Conservatory itself. He knew that Hogwarts had kitchens directly underneath its Great Hall to facilitate easy movement of food up to the room above. It was possible, he reasoned, that a storage room made for housing gardening supplies might be placed similarly close to the room where such tools would be needed.

Neville lit his wand again as the passage curved and then curved once more, serpentine in its course. The architect of this level had certainly done his job well - if the goal was to create uncertainty and fear. A person who traversed such paths as this could see neither before them nor behind. The wand in Neville's hand was there to provide more than illumination. After a few more turns the passage opened into an odd circular room. He was almost definitely beneath the Conservatory, probably somewhere near where the fountain stood.

Neville was looking up as he took his first steps into the room. His cautious nature did not let him wander farther without carefully examining the space; and when he looked down he was profoundly grateful for this. Four feet beyond his boots a great black maw opened in the floor. There was no cover, no railing. Neville guessed that it was well. Without allowing himself time to wonder what had been throw into that hole, or what might come out of it, Neville turned and retraced his steps. I've had enough of the left side of this basement for a moment.

He walked back to the staircase, turned to face the dim basement one more time and took the first right.

~~~~~~~

Bits of light wavered somewhere ahead, flashing against the stone walls as he proceeded down corridor. Neville walked more slowly, drawing his wand when he rounded the corner. When he could finally see the source of the gleam he pocketed his wand and stood silently, watching.

Hermione stood with her back to him. Blue flames licked the underside of the small cauldron from which came steam and a strange acrid smell. She stirred methodically, round and round. Neville was quite sure that she was counting. Hermione had always had such single-minded attention when it came to potions.

This room had probably been made for just such a purpose, and vented accordingly. There was no door; instead the wall arched up to frame a large opening. There were narrow horizontal slits in the very tops of the walls, and through these the sun shone, making lines on the floor. Shelf after shelf crawled up the wall underneath the vents. A myriad of bottles in all forms and sizes, colored tins and cloth bags of every imaginable shape crowded them. An enormous fireplace adorned the end of the room, large enough for a grown man to stand upright within it. Cauldrons, pots and various utensils sat on low tables or lay in jumbled piles on the stone floor. Two long tables, a large sink and what looked like a locked cupboard completed the décor.

Neville took one step into the room and was able to see the corner most distant from Hermione. There were sacs of something stacked haphazardly against the far wall. He took one more step, unwilling to distract Hermione but not wanting to scare her either. Perhaps if he moved softly he could look at the bags without breaking her concentration.

He edged sideways just a bit and suddenly his friend spun around. "Neville?!" Hermione turned back to her cauldron, extinguished the flame and stood in front of it, turning back to look at him. "What on earth are you doing down here? I thought you were outside somewhere working on the plants?" Her voice was a bit more shrill than usual and Neville stepped back.

"I.. I'm sorry. I didn't want to disturb you but I needed potting soil and I was hoping that there might be some down here."

"You can check those bags, but I don't think they have dirt in them." She walked over, standing behind him as he moved to read the labels. The sacs all held grain and beans. Storage for the kitchen, he assumed.

"No luck here. Do you know of..."

"I'm quite certain that there is absolutely nothing down here like that. Listen, are you hungry? I was just about to break for lunch. Why don't we go upstairs."

Neville got the impression that he was being herded like an obedient dog, but agreeably proceeded her out of the room and up the stains. Hermione had been here longer than he. She'd likely know what was in the house and what was not.

~~~~~~~

Once they stood in the kitchen Hermione put one hand on her hip and surveyed Neville from head to foot. "No offense Neville, but you're a mess. If you want to go clean up a little, I'll whip us up some lunch." She smiled easily at him, as she had done a hundred times before.

Neville looked down at his dirt streaked shirt and his grubby hands and decided that she was correct. "I am rather a sight. Thanks, Hermione. I can make my own lunch when I get back. I hate to put you out."

"It's not a problem, Neville. I don't want to eat alone anyway."

"Thanks. I won't be long." With that, Neville made his way back upstairs. The washroom near his bedroom had a large mirror over the sink. Neville grinned at himself and understood exactly why Hermione had wanted him out of the kitchen as soon as possible. His hands, of course, were stained with dirt and what, upon closer inspection, turned out to be broom polish. His hair was a mess, standing on end in some places and decorated with bits of dead foliage in others. His shirt was equally messy. Neville quickly washed his hands, face and arms, combed his hair and put on a clean T-shirt.

He decided as he dressed that he would have to go to Diagon Alley to get the potting soil. While he was there he would pick up a few other odds and ends. He could also mail his letter to Charlie. There were no owls at Grimmauld Place, and even if there had been Neville would not have risked using one. Charm or no it was always wise to take precautions. After checking his trousers and brushing dirt off of his boots, Neville went back to the kitchen.

"Just in time," Hermione said. She quickly cut two sandwiches in half and put them on plates. "There's soup and some pumpkin juice over there." She gestured to the table. "Do you think we need anything else?"

"No. This looks great." He took the plates from her and waited until she sat before taking his own chair. "What are you working on? I apologize again for scaring you."

"Don't worry about it. I just wasn't expecting to see you down there." She took a sip from a large mug and sighed happily. "Did you know that I've become completely addicted to coffee? It's all Harry's fault. Apparently he took up drinking coffee over the summer, and now he's given me his bad habit." She sighed. "I hope his mission, whatever it is, is working out."

Neville nodded. "Me too." Maybe he woke up this morning and all is well. Right, maybe if you throw a coin in that well in the cellar you'll get your wish.

The rest of the meal passed quickly. The hearty sandwiches and soup filled the hole that had previously resided in his stomach. "I'm going to pop over to Diagon Alley. There's nothing more I can do without some good potting soil. Is there anything I can get you?"

"No. Be careful, alright?" Hermione said. "Don't want anything to happen to you."

Neville chuckled. "I promise. It's just shopping after all."

~~~~~~~

Neville retrieved the letter from the pocket of his robe, put on Charlie's jacket and left the house. He walked several blocks to the apparition point, which turned out to be the nearby Muggle bus station. Neville walked into the restroom, thinking even as he did so that this was sneaky. He opened the door to the last stall - one that could not be opened without magic - and stepped inside. Seconds later he reappeared in Diagon Alley.

Neville's first stop was the Post Office. He chose a local owl and gave the bird instructions to deliver the message to Charlie Weasley, care of William Weasley, London. He probably shouldn't be wearing Charlie's jacket to mail a letter in which he apologized for wearing his jumper; but no one had commented on the jacket. He told himself that he was wearing it because it looked appropriately Muggle, and not because he imagined that some ephemeral 'essence of Charlie' lingered on it. He recognized the flimsy excuse for what it was.

Hanna's House of Horticulture and Herb-Craft was down the street and around the corner from the Post Office. Neville loved it there - the smells, the gleaming tools, the growing things thriving at every turn. It was quiet here, and no one cared if he wasn't gregarious. He spoke the language of plants, and such people were instantly accepted at Hannah's.

Neville knew each employee by name, and they greeted him with smiles and offers of assistance. It took less than fifteen minutes for him to select several large bags of soil, a few tools and a watering can. The items were packaged, magically lightened and shrunken, and the whole lot was billed to Dumbledore, "per his request, Neville. You are to have access to Hogwarts credit for whatever you need."

Thus, with pockets filled with tiny treasures, Neville walked out of the store and apparated back to the station. He walked slowly towards Grimmauld Place. It was only just after one o'clock, and he was already tired. Stopping for a moment he clutched the stitch that had appeared in his side. Bit dizzy. I'll have to remember to drink some water when I get back. He waited for the odd spasm to pass and then plodded onward.

~~~~~~~

Neville made it back to Grimmauld Place without further incident. He placed his hand on the door and was pleased when it opened. Remus must have keyed it to him at some point. He was looking behind him when he stepped into the house. One more step and he caught his foot on something. Without anything to brace himself with, and not being noted for his grace, Neville stumbled and fell to his knees. He heard something fall and roll across the floor.

-----Stupid! Fat! Failure!!-----

Mrs. Black was awake, the curtains on her portrait blowing to one side. Neville struggled to stand up.

-----The troll my great-grandfather killed to make that umbrella stand obviously had more brains than you!!! -----

Neville wondered briefly what she was on about, but then his eyes fell upon the overturned object that had tripped him. An umbrella stand made out of a troll? The foot from the looks of it.

-----First the red-headed curs and now great bumbling idiots! The Noble and Most Ancient...

Neville winced.

"Shut it you old hag! There's nothing noble about you."

Remus Lupin came down the stairs and pulled the curtains closed over the portrait. The woman continued to scream.

"Don't listen to her Neville. I have to go check on something." He gave Neville a speaking look. "Best to get out of this area, she'll calm down eventually." Remus walked past the still frozen Neville and out the front door.

"I'm really, really not fond of this house," Neville brushed himself off and walked toward the Conservatory.

-----Not fond? Ill-bred son of a...-----

Neville turned the corner quickly, leaving the screeching voice behind.

~~~~~~~

Neville spent the rest of the afternoon settling plants. He was required to set up specific conditions for certain specimens, but it was easier now because he had done it before. Neville found that he thought better when his fingers were in the dirt, the scent of loam and life in his nostrils.

He went over what he knew about poison and determined that he didn't know much. He would have to spend the evening reading the books he'd brought. He'd have to consider types of poison, means of toxin introduction, and, of course, availability. Who would do such a thing?

Neville packed dirt carefully around his latest plant as he listed suspects. Hermione, Ron, Molly, Remus... He shook his head; it all seemed so improbable. The pink flower he was working with had a lovely scent. Was it possible to transmit poison through aerosol? Neville pondered and discarded this. It would be far too easy for such a plot to hurt the wrong person.

Neville had bedded down nearly all the plants when he returned to the sink for yet another can full of water. It was getting dark. He really needed to ask Molly about cleaning the windows. What if she didn't do windows? Would he be insulting her by asking? Maybe there was a book somewhere that could tell him how...

"Neville? It's almost time for supper dear. Hermione said that you might be down here." Mrs. Weasley stood in the doorway to the house, hands on her hips. "It's looking quite good. You must have been in here for hours."

Neville turned to look back at the room. Two planting beds had been completely transformed and plants in various shades of green stood in neat rows. He shrugged, "It's getting better. Would you happen to know a window cleaning charm?"

~~~~~~~

Dinner was a bit subdued. Neville had no idea where Ron had been, but he seemed exhausted. A Ron that ate only as much as the average person was not the normal Ron.

The pain in Neville's stomach, the one he had earlier considered a stitch in his side, was back. The stew was delicious, but he found that he couldn't eat much.

"I think that all of you need an early night," Molly said, looking around the table with concern. "Remus, you look terrible. Ron and Neville, you both obviously need sleep. I'll just fetch the pudding and we can call it a day, shall we?"

"Thanks, Molly," Remus said. "Moon's waxing."

Molly nodded her understanding and went to get the promised sweet.

"Neville," Remus said softly, "if you wouldn't mind, I'd like you to spend a few minutes in the library with me after supper. There's an Order meeting here tomorrow night, and I'd like to get you quickly up to speed."

Neville nodded and then turned to find Hermione's eyes on him. He smiled at her and made an attempt to eat his dessert.

~~~~~~~~

Remus pulled out a roll of parchment and spread it on the table. For about ten minutes he and Neville actually discussed Order plans. Professor Snape was providing valuable information, but the picture was still unclear. There had been attacks all over Great Britain. The Order was convinced that many of these were mere distractions, but had yet to determine what the actual target was. Remus placed magical dots on the map in front of them indicating locations of Death Eater activity.

"We've been unable to come up with a pattern. What Voldemort is doing, however, is managing to keep us scattered." Remus sighed, and when he spoke again his voice had changed. "Things are no better. No better at all. Any ideas?"

Neville knew that they were no longer talking about the Order. He shook his head. He had nothing but vague notions so far. "Not yet."

Remus passed a hand over his eyes. "I don't know what to do. Maybe if I'd paid better attention in the first place. I don't know why Albus wants to be 'discrete'. He should just pull everyone..."

"Remus." Neville said, anxious to stop him before he went any further. He looked around the library. "It's not your fault."

Remus pursed his lips. "You don't know that."

Cold trickled down Neville's spine and he sought for a way to change the subject. His mind flashed back to the horrific decorations in the hall. The same large-nosed elf that had startled him before had caught his attention again on the way to the library.

"Um, Remus, do you know why there's a row of house elf heads in the hall?"

Remus raised his head and looked at Neville with an odd light in his eyes. For the first time Neville remembered that Remus was not, actually, a mild-mannered Professor. There was a bit of the wolf leering at him suddenly. "Oh yes, I can tell you about that."

Neville sat up straighter in his chair, leaning against the back and drawing himself a bit further away from Remus.

"I don't know, of course, who started the odd tradition. I, however, added the last head myself. Did Harry never tell you about Kreacher?"

Neville shook his head. Remus's voice had changed in timbre, lowering and becoming subtly darker. Neville found himself a bit wary of Remus, but he wanted to hear the story.

"Kreacher was a useless, pedantic, hateful little house elf that was utterly devoted to mad old Mrs. Black. Maybe he went a bit spare when she died, or maybe it was living alone in this house for so long with nothing but portraits to talk to, but whatever happened, Kreacher was not a nice elf. He tormented Sirius." Remus stopped talking for a moment, as if speaking the name of his late friend caused him pain.

Neville waited.

"Kreacher was vindictive. Sirius yelled at him to get out once, and he took it literally. Sirius had wanted the elf out of the room. Kreacher took it upon himself to leave the house entirely, and go to Lucius Malfoy. He's also a member of the family, you see. Too bad the elf didn't decide to go to Arthur instead, but then the Weasley's wouldn't have served his evil purposes."

Neville nodded again, fascinated in spite of himself. This story would not end well. Well, obviously it hadn't if it had ended with the elf's head on a wall.

"That damn elf lied to Harry! He lied to him when Harry used the fire to look for Sirius. It was as much his fault as anyone's."

"Oh my God!" Neville knew suddenly exactly what Remus was talking about, exactly what had happened.

"Oh yes. You know the rest, Neville. Harry went to the Department of Mysteries to save Sirius; and Sirius went to save Harry. Only one of them returned. If Kreacher had had his way they both would have died there." Remus's voice had become a growl, and Neville felt the wolf in the man beside him. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"I don't know if that filth really meant for things to turn out the way they did, or if he was just trying to stir up trouble. I don't care. I didn't care. Perhaps you will think me awful, Neville, but after I dropped Harry off and determined that he would be alright, all I could think of was coming back here. It took me a while to find him, but find him I did. I found him. I killed him. I put his head on that plaque on the wall."

Remus raised his head, meeting Neville's eyes squarely, as if daring him to offer censure. Far from being horrified, Neville understood. He'd seen Remus's face as Sirius fell, watched the tears roll down Harry's cheeks as he sobbed out his loss. A small bit of Neville wished he'd had a part in the death of this Kreacher - the small cold part that he generally denied having.

"I never told anyone. No one asked. I suppose they may have assumed. No one appears sorry to have him gone."

"I understand, Remus. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up yet more bad memories."

"You didn't. I'm actually quite fond of that one. One traitor, at least, that I got to deal with myself." Remus looked fierce.

"I'm not going to stop trying," Neville murmured.

"I know. Neither am I."

They sat in silence for a while, and then Remus turned back to the map. They spoke for about twenty more minutes, and by then Neville had a good grasp on what was going on. He could at least follow conversations now. Whether or not he'd be any help remained to be seen.

Finally Remus stretched and rolled up the parchment. "I've got some thinking to do Neville. I'm sure you have things to do as well."

Neville nodded. "There are several herbology books that I need to read."

Remus caught his eye and nodded. "Yes."

The two men walked side by side out of the library, to the entrance hall and started up the stairs. On the first landing Remus stopped and put a hand on Neville's arm. "Neville, I forgot. I have something for you."

Neville turned, watching as Remus searched the pockets in his robe.

"Here it is. Just as I was leaving an owl came to Dumbledore. This is for you." The werewolf held out a letter.

Neville took it carefully, turning the scroll until he could see his name written on the paper. He knew the stroke of that N, recognized the flourish on the M at the end of his name. He'd read and re-read the other letter often enough to memorize the writing. It was from Charlie.

"Thank you, Remus," Neville said, taking the letter and hurrying up the stairs.

To Be Continued.....