Resistance

Chapter 12 - Defeat and Retreat

News of Michael's torture spread around the school like wildfire. Neville was sure that Snape and the Carrows were behind the speed and gruesome detail of the rumours. Michael himself remained in the hospital wing, pale and limp. Neville visited him, and spent an agonising hour sitting next to his friend's bedside. After he decided he couldn't bear it any more, he went to find Madam Pomfrey. 'Do you think he'll recover?' he asked her bluntly.

Pomfrey looked at him. 'Prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse can cause insanity or permanent physical damage,' she said. 'But I think you know that already.'

Neville nodded grimly. If Michael was going to suffer the same fate as his parents, would he be able to forgive himself? He should have scaled back the DA sooner, stopped them taking risks. 'Will that happen to Michael?' he asked, hardly able to bear to hear the answer.

The school nurse considered her answer carefully. 'I haven't treated many victims of the curse. However... I think there are positive signs. I would hope that he would recover fully in time.'

As Neville left the hospital wing he took his communication Galleon and entered Anthony and Ernie's initials, plus a time for later that evening and the code for the owlery.

After a miserable afternoon in Herbology, where he made so many mistakes that Professor Sprout drew him to one side and asked if he was all right, he headed back to the Common Room before dinner. Seamus walked with him but neither spoke. Neville felt sick, torn with uncertainty and guilt. He desperately missed Ginny. He had been able to talk to her in a way he couldn't talk to Seamus. After all the years he and Ginny had been on the edge of Harry's group, talking to each other when the others were being secretive, she was one of the few people in the world to whom he could voice his fears.

When they reached the dormitory, Neville sat heavily on his bed. He wanted to get in and pull the covers over his head. But he knew he had to face up to things, he couldn't give up. It was no good hankering after Ginny, if he wanted to talk, he had to talk to Seamus. He turned to the other boy, 'Things are getting tough,' he said. 'I don't know if we should carry on with the DA.'

Seamus stared back, then pulled a face and looked away. 'I don't know either,' he answered simply. 'I mean, if we made a huge difference it might be worth it, but now they're coming down so hard on us I'm not sure if the benefits outweigh the risks anymore.'

Neville nodded. He felt a pain inside himself all the same. 'I just don't know, Seamus,' he said eventually. 'I don't want to give up. If we stop everything, they'll have won.'

'They'll have won if they kill or torture us all into madness as well,' pointed out Seamus, then winced when he realised what he'd said. 'Sorry, I didn't mean-'

Neville waved the point away. 'I know you didn't. Anyway, it's true. One thing's for sure, whoever carries on has to know the risks. I'm meeting Ernie and Anthony to discuss it this evening.'

'Well, be careful, mate,' said Seamus. 'It's you that they're after most of all.'

'I'm not worried about myself,' replied Neville, truthfully.

'I know that, that's why I'm worried,' was Seamus' response.

That evening after dinner Neville made his way by a circuitous route to the Owlery. Anthony was already there, making a fuss of his owl, who looked rather baffled by all the sudden attention. Neville didn't greet him directly, but stood a short way off and offered a random owl a treat. Several minutes passed. Ernie was late, and Neville was starting to experience knotting unease in his stomach when the other boy finally arrived, red in the face and out of breath.

'Sorry, I thought someone might have been following me. I wasn't sure though, so I did a couple of circuits until I'd shaken them off. How's Michael?'

Neville looked around again to check no one was in the vicinity, then cast muffling spells around them. 'He's doing OK, Madam Pomfrey says she thinks he'll get better.'

'Does that make it all right then?' asked Anthony hotly. He was looking very angrily at Neville.

'No of course it doesn't make it all right,' Neville replied, as calmly as he could. 'That's why I called you both. We need to decide if we carry on.'

'Well, we Ravenclaws have talked about it already, and we're in agreement that it's just too dangerous. No one wants to end up a vegetable. Sorry Neville, I know about your Mum and Dad-'

'Will people stop saying sorry to me about that?' retorted Neville. 'Don't you think that seeing them like it all my life is all the more reason I'd agree with you? If you don't want to carry on, Anthony, then I understand it. I've said all along that if people wanted to stop, they can.'

The three boys stood quietly for a moment, then Anthony inclined his head. 'Well, everyone was pretty much in agreement. I'm sorry Neville, I didn't mean to have a go at you. It's not your fault, it's just - well, Michael's my friend and it's been a shock. And it's not that we don't still agree with the organisation or want to get rid of Snape and the Carrows, it's just it's too dangerous.'

Neville nodded and held out his hand. 'I understand. It's been a pleasure working with you, Anthony. Please pass on my thanks to all of the Ravenclaws.' They shook solemnly.

'What will you do?' asked Anthony. 'You won't carry on, will you?'

'I don't know,' said Neville. 'I might do - but if I do, I'll make sure it's clear I'm acting alone.'

'You'll get yourself killed!' exclaimed Anthony, half horrified and half admiring.

'Maybe,' Neville agreed. 'But not if I can help it.'

'Well, good luck,' said Anthony, before he turned and left the Owlery.

Neville turned to Ernie. 'I guess you probably feel the same?'

Ernie squirmed. 'I don't know... none of us wants to end up like Michael did, but we feel bad leaving you alone. I've already told Sophie and Natalie that they can't be involved - they're just too young, they're not of age and they don't know much magic. Me and Susan... well, we want to still be part of things, but perhaps not any of the direct action. Maybe if we just leave it for a bit it might get better, you know, let it cool off.'

'Yeah, maybe. Keep hold of your Galleon then.' Neville shook hands again. 'Thanks for everything, Ernie. Give my best to Susan as well, and tell Sophie and Natalie to keep practicing.'

Ernie puffed up his chest. 'May I just say, Neville, it has been an honour to work with you. I must admit, at first I was a little sceptical - I mean, you're not Harry Potter after all. But you are a fine leader, a very fine leader.'

Touched, Neville wasn't sure what to say, so he clapped Ernie on the back and told him to take care. After the Hufflepuff had left he waited for a couple of minutes before heading off himself. The Castle was quiet and although it was still light outside, curfew time was nearly upon them. He hurried back up the many stairs to Gryffindor tower.

When he reached the Common Room, he was greeted by Seamus. 'Thank Merlin you're OK!' he exclaimed. Neville found he had a wide eyed audience all watching anxiously. 'Crabbe and Goyle came looking for you, with a message from Snape. We thought they were going to break in to find you! We had to tell them you'd eaten something dodgy and were on the loo - Colin let off a sneaky Dungbomb.' Colin gave an ironic salute. 'Luckily they believed it and went away.'

'A message from Snape?' asked Neville. 'What does it say?'

'Dunno, it's a letter, we didn't open it.' Seamus handed it over and Neville tore open the envelope. The message inside was terse. 'Longbottom. Report to Headmaster's office promptly by order of Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts School.

'Looks like I'm wanted by the man at the top,' said Neville, trying to sound casual about it. 'Thanks for covering for me Seamus, Colin. I'd better go and find out what he wants.'

Lavender Brown flung herself at him, to Neville's great alarm. 'Neville, don't go! It might be a trap!'

Neville almost fell over in his haste to extricate himself. 'I'm sure I'll be all right,' he said, thinking he'd rather be interrogated by Snape than hugged by Lavender. 'Don't worry. But if anything does happen to me... well, just remember, stay positive. Harry will be back one day soon, and then we'll fight.' He escaped through the portrait hole before Lavender could do any more wailing.

*****

Neville ascended the stone staircase to the Headmaster's office - he refused to think of it as Snape's. Snape had no right to it; he was nothing more than an illegal squatter there. At the top he knocked sharply twice on the door, and waited until he heard a faint, 'Enter' from within.

The office looked similar to the time he'd come there with Ginny and Luna, and he felt a pang that his friends were not beside him now. Snape was seated at his desk, and in the large portrait frame above the desk, Dumbledore was present, looking out into the room.

'Longbottom,' said Snape coldly, without looking up from the papers on his desk. 'Sit.'

Neville wasn't sure if he wanted to sit with Snape. On the other hand, the alternative was to stand at the desk as he used to when he took his potion up for testing, squirming as he awaited another put down. He took a seat and waited. Behind Snape, Albus Dumbledore's portrait viewed them over the top of his spectacles.

Finally Snape looked up. 'You were always an exceptionally dense boy, Longbottom,' began the Headmaster. 'Slow to learn, easily influenced by your more able peers. So clearly I am going to need to spell this out to you. Your attempts to destabilise the leadership of this school and foment discontent amongst the students must cease. You have seen what happened to the Corner boy. If the antics of 'Dumbledore's Army' continue, others will share his fate.'

Neville stared at Snape, not saying a word. Scowling, Snape continued. 'You are - though it pains me to say it - a pureblood. The Dark Lord has no wish to harm pureblooded wizards. The Dark Lord aims to protect and empower wizardkind. This is not your battle, Longbottom. You are fighting against your own best interests.'

'I'll decide what my best interests are, sir,' he replied.

'You are not capable of deciding what to have for breakfast!' snapped Snape. 'I am trying to give you a chance, Longbottom. After all the trouble you have caused, many wizards would have had you taken to Azkaban long ago! Believe me, the Carrows would have gladly done so on several occasions. You have let others - the Weasley girl, that idiot Lovegood child, not to mention Potter - manipulate you-'

'They're my friends!' interrupted Neville hotly.

'Your friends!' Snape gave a 'ha' of sarcastic laughter. 'Then answer me this, Longbottom - where are they now? Where are your so called friends? Potter - we don't know if he's even in the country. Personally I believe he fled long ago, with Weasley and Granger. So if he was such a great friend of yours, Longbottom, why has he left you here alone?'

'He'll come back,' replied Neville, trying to keep his voice level. 'Harry Potter will come back, and so will the others, they'll come back and fight-'

'Listen to yourself!' Snape looked almost deranged. 'Understand this: Your. Friends. Have. Gone!' he emphasised each word with a bang of his fist on the desk. 'They aren't coming back to fight. They have saved their own necks and got out, or died trying, and you're too dense to see it!' Snape seemed to collect himself. 'Of course,' he continued in a calmer voice, 'I can quite understand why Potter wouldn't have wanted a blundering halfwit hampering his attempt to flee.'

'Harry isn't attempting to flee,' said Neville quietly, concentrating all his anger into staying focused.

'Whatever he's doing, he clearly didn't want you involved in it. He left the chaff behind, and of that chaff, only you remain. Do you really want to go the same way as Lovegood and the Weasley girl?' Snape watched him closely. Neville tried to betray no emotion, but he knew Snape could tell. 'They died in vain. No one is going to remember them or care what they did - or failed to do.'

'I will remember them,' whispered Neville, his voice choked.

'They came to ignominious ends. The Lovegood girl was wiped out the moment her idiot father blew up his own house whilst pretending to have captured Potter. The Dark Lord does not believe in keeping on dead wood. Greyback had his fun with her, so I imagine she was glad when the end came. They fed her to the snake, piece by piece.' Neville flinched despite himself, and Snape smiled cruelly. 'And as for Miss Weasley, she was questioned rather too enthusiastically about her brother's whereabouts. Unfortunately Weasley's constitution was not as strong as her stubborn streak. The corpse was such a mess, even the snake turned its nose up.'

Neville swallowed hard, feeling his Adam's apple bob. He felt sick. He'd guessed, of course, that his friends were dead, told himself so many times. But hearing it spelt out like that was horrible. His stomach was churning and his heart felt as though it had dropped a mile, he could barely breathe, but he was not going to give Snape the satisfaction of seeing his distress. When he finally trusted himself to speak, he said, 'Whatever you say, Ginny and Luna are heroes, and they will be remembered.'

Snape stared at him with the expression he used to reserve for those Potions lessons where Neville burned the bottom of his cauldron or turned his fingers purple. 'I am warning you Longbottom, for the last time, that if you do not cease Dumbledore's Army activity, you will suffer. You are seen as the head of the organisation, you will be in the firing line. The Dark Lord wants to keep pureblooded wizards alive if he can, but there is a limit to his patience. At some point, the level of disobedience of an individual outweighs the value of their blood. You are very close to crossing that point, Longbottom.'

'If I haven't crossed it yet, I obviously haven't been working hard enough.' He stared Snape directly in his cold black eyes. Suddenly he laughed and a spasm of surprise crossed the teacher's face. 'Do you know, I used to be afraid of you? Even my boggart turned into you!' He shook his head at the thought. 'But now, you don't scare me anymore, Professor, because whatever you do to me, you cannot take away what I know is true. You cannot destroy the friendship and love I have found.'

'Very touching,' sneered Snape, apparently unmoved by this speech. 'But whatever you think you know about friendship and love, it won't do anything to save you, or any of those hapless students who follow you. Do you think those who have died before you did so for lack of friendship, or love? It will make no difference. Don't forget Longbottom, you've taken on the role of hero that Potter so conveniently sloughed off when the going got tough. You've made yourself an icon, a figure of respect.' Snape's voice dropped to a whisper. 'Children will follow you, Longbottom, children. And they will follow you into torture and death.'

Snape's words made his stomach clench, but Neville knew he couldn't let it show. 'It's not me that is torturing or killing them, Professor.' A movement above Snape caught his eye, and he looked up at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. Sudden rage pulsed through him, just for a moment eclipsing the horror and grief.

'And you!' he shouted, rising to his feet to better see the portrait. 'What are you doing to stop any of this? Can't you hear what he's saying?' He indicated Snape with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Doesn't that bother you? Students being tortured and killed? Everything we have done, we have done in your name. And you just sit there smiling benignly whilst one by one we die! Are you crazy? In case you don't know, this is the man who killed you, for Merlin's sake! Doesn't that give you a clue about his intentions?'

Snape was also on his feet. 'That is enough!' he shouted, sounding truly enraged for the first time in their meeting. 'You are a student! You do not have the right to come here and harangue past Headmasters of this school! I've done my best to warn you, Longbottom, but I am through with protecting you! Perhaps it is for the best if your particular branch of idiocy is wiped out of wizarding families after all! This is your last warning, Longbottom. The next stunt that you or your friends pull, you will be punished properly.'

Still fuming with anger, Neville turned on his heel and marched out of the office, unable to face Snape any longer without doing him some harm. He ignored the portrait of Dumbledore, it was nothing more than paint and canvas. He knew he'd get no help from there. Snape was right about one thing, he was on his own.

Rather than heading back to Gryffindor, Neville descended to the ground floor and followed the corridor to the picture of fruit that guarded the entrance to the kitchens. He carefully tickled the pear, which giggled and transformed into a handle.

The kitchens as always were a hive of activity. Despite the fact it was early evening, a large number of elves were busy filling a vast pie case that was several metres square. Several rushed over to greet him.

'I... I was hoping to speak to Dobby?' he asked tentatively of the nearest elf.

To his great alarm, the elf immediately began to wail. 'Oh sir, Dobby is dead! He is dead! He died saving the life of Harry Potter, sir!' The wailing passed around the whole kitchen. 'Dobby was good and brave, and he is dead!'

Coming so soon after Snape's news, Neville felt that the last bit of strength was knocked from him, and he had to sit down. Was Harry somewhere in Hogwarts, in danger, right at that moment? 'What... what happened?' he asked the elf.

'Dobby was called away from the castle, Dobby was a free elf, he could leave when he pleased. He did not return. Later, we learned that Dobby was killed saving Mr Harry Potter and his friends from the Dark Lord's followers!' Once again, a mourning wail passed around the elves in the kitchen like a Mexican wave at a Quidditch game.

'But sir, can I be helping you?' asked the elf.

Finding his voice again, Neville responded. 'I am very... very sorry to hear about Dobby. He was a good elf. Harry Potter is my friend, and I am very grateful that Dobby was able to save his life. I came to ask a favour of Dobby. It may be something that one of you can help with. What is your name?' he asked of one who seemed to act as spokes-elf.

'Gully, sir. Harry Potter is friend to all house-elves, he wants to save our kind from You-Know-Who! If you are friend of Harry Potter, Gully is most honoured to help you! Gully is working in Hogwarts for thirty years, serving students and masters! Anything master needs, Gully can provide!'

Neville explained his request to Gully, who listened wide eyed - although that may have just been his ordinary appearance. 'You won't get in trouble, Gully,' he finished. 'And if anyone asks you who did it, tell them it was me, Neville Longbottom. And make sure they know I was alone.'

'But master Neville, the teachers is hard now, they will be hurting you!' cried the little elf, wringing his hands. 'Maybe Gully shall say it was Gully's idea, if they come asking-'

'No, Gully,' Neville interrupted firmly. 'Gully, I order you to tell the truth when they ask you.'

The elf whimpered in disapproval, but Neville distracted him with details of the plan. Ten minutes later he left the kitchens, his pockets full of biscuits which the elves had practically forced him to take. He'd pass them round the Common Room to cheer everybody up.

The mood that night was grim however; two second years had been placed in detention by the Carrows, one for sneezing in class, the other for failing to know the counter-curse to a stinging hex. When they returned that night pale and shaken, Neville stayed with Lavender and Parvati as they tried to comfort them. On his way up to bed he punched the wall so hard he bruised his knuckles.

*****

Neville had barely sat down for breakfast when the family barn owl, Aristotle, appeared with a letter. The bird looked harried, with several feathers ruffled and it stuck out its leg immediately without the usual preamble of hunting for owl treats. Neville detached the letter and tore it open hastily, he recognised his Gran's neat copperplate writing in emerald green ink.

Dear Neville,

I am writing to let you know I am safe and well, but 'on the run' from the Ministry. Last night I was paid a visit by Dawlish, a former friend of your parents', in his professional capacity. He informed me he was there to arrest me. I knocked the impertinent whelp out and made a hasty retreat with a few of my most useful possessions.

I need to warn you that as they have tried (and failed) to arrest me, they may do the same to you. Be on your guard. I do not believe that Hogwarts is safe. I have kept a closer watch than you know on you over the past year and I must say you are truly your parents' son. I am very proud to say that you are my grandson and I know they would be proud to see what you have become.

Never give up your beliefs, Neville, and don't let them intimidate you. Whilst good and decent folk still live, there is hope for wizardkind.

With much love

Gran

Neville finished the letter and sat staring at it for some minutes. Another stone seemed to have descended in his stomach. Gran may be anti-Voldemort, but not to the extent she'd have said or done anything to warrant a visit from the Ministry. He thought of Snape's warning. They'd gone for her to get at him. Now, thanks to him, an old lady was homeless and fleeing for her life.

He became aware of some sort of disturbance at the High Table. All around the hall, people were giggling and whispering. In the shock of receiving his Gran's news, Neville had forgotten all about his latest piece of mischief. Now he carefully folded his letter and tucked it into his breast pocket, keeping his eyes on the High Table.

Snape was clearly angry but trying not to show it. His face twitched in odd ways and his hands trembled as he cut up his bacon. Amycus Carrow was gesticulating wildly as he ranted to his sister. McGonagall, who usually looked like she could barely suppress a smile at the antics of the DA, looked anxious, and Neville thought of his Gran again.

'Have you seen the toast!' someone near him whispered to her neighbour.

'Shhh... better just eat it and be quiet,' replied the boy next to her.

Neville turned his attention to his breakfast, determined to stay calm. He lifted two slices of toast from the rack. Burnt onto the surface were the words, 'Support Harry Potter!' On the reverse it read, 'Torture is the weapon of the weak!' He reached for the butter, which also had 'Support Harry Potter!' imprinted on the surface. He rather spoiled the effect running his knife over it, but the words reformed within seconds.

Gully had outdone himself. The eggs had 'Support Harry Potter' written all the way through, like seaside rock. The kippers had 'Torture is the weapon of the weak' etched on every delicate bone. Each cornflake and every baked bean had Harry's lightning bolt symbol on. It was pretty hard to find a breakfast item that hadn't somehow been branded with a message associated with the resistance.

Although no one dared talk about it too openly, he could feel the positive effect it was having. People couldn't believe that after everything, the resistance was still carrying on. Judging from the anger in Snape's gaze, he couldn't either. Neville was sure Snape was watching him, and feeling uncomfortable he decided to take Aristotle to the Owlery. He could feel people's eyes on him on the way out.

Ten minutes later, Neville left the Owlery, Aristotle safely installed on a perch. His first lesson was Charms but he needed his books, so headed back to Gryffindor tower. He had reached the third floor when a pretty tabby cat appeared from the direction of the main stairs, running at full speed. Alarmed, Neville stopped, and as he stared the cat transformed back into Professor McGonagall, breathing like a steam train and looking very dishevelled.

'Longbottom!' she panted. 'You must flee!' She gasped and coughed and he stepped forward solicitously to help her, but she batted him away. 'Go! Go now! The Carrows are coming for you, if they catch you, it will be the end!' Stunned and uncertain, Neville took a step back. McGonagall grabbed his arm and dragged him to the far staircase. 'Get out now, don't stop for possessions. Go north into the mountains, follow the track that leads from the deep end of the lake. Find Hagrid. Don't come back here. I mean it!'

'But-' he began, but stopped when he heard a voice echoing up the staircase.

'That's it my sweet, sniff him out, nasty troublesome boy.' Filch.

A surge of adrenaline rushed through him, and he hugged McGonagall impulsively. 'Thank you Professor!'

'Never mind that, just go!' McGonagall urged him, though he thought she looked pleased. He ran along the corridor and had just reached the main stairs when he heard a yowl behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed Mrs Norris and the tabby fighting in the corridor. Seeing McGonagall resorting to such measures he felt an icy chill at the seriousness of the situation.

A lot of students were coming up the stairs on their way to lessons. He pushed and barged his way through, causing mild alarm. He'd barely reached the second floor when he saw Alecto Carrow on her way up, her face full of horrible anticipation. He turned again and elbowed his way through a gang of second years, finding himself in a second floor corridor. He heard a shriek of excitement behind him; Carrow had seen him.

Now he ran in earnest, flat out. He had to get away from the Death Eater. A spell shot past him, but she was too far back and her aim was off. He threw himself into a side passage and jogged along it, his elbows scraping on the stone. He emerged into another corridor, and he turned left, hoping to get back to the stairs. As he ran, he cursed his abysmal sense of direction. He'd never been good at finding his way around the castle.

He found himself at another set of stairs, and heard Amycus' wheezy voice shrieking, 'Seal all the exits! Prevent the Longbottom boy leaving at all costs!' Panicking, Neville forced himself to think. He needed somewhere to hide. Somewhere safe inside the castle. The answer came in flash of inspiration. He began to sprint headlong up the stairs. His leg muscles burned despite all the physical training he'd done. He couldn't drag enough air into his straining lungs.

He climbed up five steep flights until he found himself on the seventh floor. He hesitated, looking left and right. Which was the right direction? As if to hurry his decision, a spell from below whizzed past him - the Carrows were hot on his trail, but fortunately less fast at climbing stairs. He selected left, and sprinted off in that direction. He ran to the end of the corridor, and recognised a portrait of a very ugly witch with a unicorn. He rushed along the corridor, sure he could hear running footsteps behind him now.

Rounding another corner, he saw the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He hurtled down the corridor, forcing his racing mind to think only, 'I need a place to hide! I need a place to hide!' After he'd passed the place, he turned and ran back, praying he could get past and back for a third time before the Carrows reached him. The third time he passed the place on the wall, to his immense relief a door appeared.

He grabbed the handle of the door, and when it opened immediately he fell headlong into the room. Just in time he slammed it shut behind him, fervently trying to remember the spell to seal a door. 'Colloportus!' he exclaimed, his wand hand shaking so much from exhaustion that he almost missed the door.

He was in a small, roundish room, rather like his tower dormitory. In fact, it looked a lot like the dormitory, being decked out in Gryffindor colours, complete with lion banner, and what appeared to be a hammock hanging in the centre. Breathless with relief, he looked around. The Room of Requirement.

But he knew he couldn't afford to rest just yet. He spoke, his voice hoarse from exertion. 'Room, I want you not to allow the Carrows in. And not any Carrow supporters either. Nor Snape, nor any Death Eater or supporter of You-Know-Who. '

He waited, his ears ringing from the quiet, but nothing happened. No one banged on the door, no one barged in. Eventually he turned, wishing there was a way he could see into the corridor. Almost immediately a peephole appeared in the wood. Cautiously, he looked out. He could see the corridor he'd fled along, and Amycus Carrow. He almost recoiled, before he remembered Amycus wouldn't be able to see the door.

Carrow was shouting instructions to someone unseen, possibly Filch or his sister. 'Seal up all the exits, I want a watch on every way out of here. Get the Dementors up into the grounds. And get that little freak Flitwick to do one of them charms to make a noise if Longbottom sets foot in the corridors. He can hide but he can't run forever!'

Neville turned away. He sank to the floor and put his head in his hands. For the first time since Luna was taken he felt real despair. He was stuck in the Room of Requirement. Gran was gone, on the run because of him. Luna and Ginny were dead. Since the previous evening he'd been numb, he hadn't had time to really process what Snape had told him. But now in the sudden silence that awful knowledge seemed to grow and expand in his head, threatening to overwhelm him. He heard Snape's voice again and again, 'They fed her to the snake, piece by piece.'

Tears slid down his cheeks, and his shoulders began to heave as for the first time the sheer awfulness of the loss of Luna and Ginny hit him. He thought of all the fun they'd had together over the past couple of years, all the times they'd laughed, how the thought of seeing them had made him look forward to returning to school so much more than in his first years. Now all that was gone, lost forever. He would have died to save them, but he'd never even had the chance to do that. Their enemy was so powerful, so cruel, there seemed to be no chance of defeating it.

He'd spent the last eight months being relentlessly positive and cheerful, never letting himself be seen to lose hope. Now there was no one left watching him. No one to left to lead. No Seamus to hide his emotions from, no Ginny to protect, no Luna to cheer him up. He could cry now, and it would make no difference, his tears would just as ineffectual as his defiance.

Neville was alone.