Addiction and Withdrawal (1)
Life seemed to return to normal. Harry rose everyday, went running with Hermione, went to
class, did his homework, and withstood Snape continuing to humiliate him in public while
actually giving him quite good grades. He went to Dueling Club and prefects’ meetings and
checked in with McGonagall once a week. He also held Quidditch practices, but Ron was
actually the one who was coming up with the strategies and plans for beating Ravenclaw in the
final match of the year, in June. Harry was glad that Cho Chang was all right and would soon be
playing Seeker again. The next match was at the end of April, when Ravenclaw would play
Slytherin. He hoped she mopped up the floor with Malfoy (although he had no intention of
letting her beat Gryffindor).
Flitwick was enjoying his return to the classroom. Harry had asked Dumbledore whether there
was any indication yet of who had put the alarm spell on the classroom doorway; he said there
was not. He wanted to ask him what he had asked Snape, whether his ability to conquer pain
spells came from Voldemort, but he stopped himself every time. He just got a bad feeling that it
was going to be yet another question that Dumbledore didn’t feel like answering yet.
Lupin hadn’t left Sirius’ side since the day of the ceilidh. Sirius went with him to work every
night, not just when Lupin was a werewolf. Lupin was worried about Sirius being alone if
someone from the Ministry of Magic tracked him down; he wasn’t worried for himself, he was
already persona non grata in the wizarding world. He was strictly an unofficial operative,
working for Dumbledore because he had asked him. Most of the time he was just a werewolf
who had to work as a night watchman at a warehouse to pay his rent and buy food.
The world also seemed to have forgotten the Westminster tube station. Harry felt that there was
too much that people were willing to let go. They didn’t think about the people who had no
choice, the people who lost loved ones in the tube station, or Madam Rosmerta having to
rebuild the Three Broomsticks (although he didn’t like her very much, he expected that the
village would miss the pub a great deal). Of course, Dumbledore had said after that day that all
Hogsmeade visits were canceled until further notice. Harry supposed that was to be expected,
and he had warned them that might happen, in September.
Harry wondered if this was what it was like for his parents when they were at school and
Voldemort was still in power. Constant wondering, waiting for the next disaster, not knowing
whether it would touch you personally or be something you could afford to tuck into the back of
your brain because that wasn’t your sister who lost her eye, your father who was killed or
tortured.
In the first class they had with Moody after the ceilidh, he was uncharacteristically quiet and
reserved. He looked at them all when they had trickled into the room and taken their seats.
“Today,” he began, “we will not be doing any hexes, curses, defense strategies or counter
charms. What I want to do today is to find out whether you are a different person now, having
seen some evil close up?”
He walked slowly around the room, his wooden leg clunking loudly on the floor. His good eye
looked at each of them in turn, his magical eye for once seeming to be in sync with it. Ron
looked uncomfortable; the gash on his cheek had healed pretty well, but there was a very fine
line visible because of his freckles; there was a kind of border now, on his cheek, a line where
the halves of some of his freckles didn’t match up. He had decided to grow his facial hair to
hide this, and now had the beginnings of a bright red beard and mustache, which Harry had
heard Parvati complaining about. She obviously didn’t share Hermione’s opinion of red beards.
“Well?” Moody barked, making them jump. “Who was at the Three Broomsticks when it
blew? I was there, but I was busy watching the damn Death Eaters and trying to keep people
from getting killed.” Only Ron and Parvati raised their hands. Moody came over to them; they
were sitting together, near the windows. He looked Parvati over; she seemed very
uncomfortable about this. “You look none the worse for wear,” he said in a dismissing tone to
her. Then he took Ron’s chin in his wrinkled hand and turned his head so he could see his right
cheek. “Almost undetectable scar. Good. But how did it make you feel, when the roof fell in,
when you were lying under the rubble? How will this affect your attitude toward the Dark Arts
and people who practice it?”
Ron looked at Parvati, then at Moody. Harry watched him. Ron hadn’t ever really gone through
something like this before. He sacrificed himself to get Harry and Hermione across
McGonagall’s enchanted chessboard when they were in first year, but it was Harry who faced
Quirrell and a weakened Voldemort. And Ron was on the other side of the rockfall in the
Chamber of Secrets while Harry fought the basilisk to save Ginny. He’d been pulled into the
tunnel leading to the Shrieking Shack by Sirius in his dog form, and he broke his leg and came
face to face with Wormtail, but it was a sick, frightened Wormtail, and Ron had still been getting
his mind around this little man being the pet rat he’d let sleep in his bed. He’d never been caught
in a terrorist attack until now, he’d never really faced Voldemort, or even a memory of the
sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle, as Ginny had.
Ron looked down. “I don’t know. I know that I think some things about Death Eaters even
more strongly than I did before...” he said softly.
“Like what?” Moody spoke in a medium tone, as though they were having a private
conversation. Ron shrugged.
“Well, I always thought they were real cowards, hiding behind You-Know-Who’s power, and
masks and hooded cloaks. Sneaking around and making a building fall on a bunch of innocent
people seems like just another cowardly thing to do.”
“Are you more vigilant now that this has happened to you?”
Harry remembered Crouch saying ‘CONSTANT VIGILANCE!’ when he had been
pretending to be Moody. Ron looked irritated.
“How could vigilance have saved me on Saturday? There was nothing to see inside the pub;
you only saw them because of your eye.” Ron had never spoken to Moody this way before, but
Moody didn’t seem to be upset about it.
“Exactly. How could vigilance have saved anyone? Anyone without a magic eye, that is.” He
smiled briefly. “That’s what terrorism is. It catches people by surprise, and even if you are not
caught in the attack, the psychological effects can be just as damaging. If you are a member of
the group that was attacked, you are now terrorized because you need to worry constantly
about someone attacking you. That’s the real purpose of terrorist attacks around the world.
Moslems attack Jews, Jews attack Moslems, Protestants attack Catholics, Catholics attack
Protestants, bigots of all kinds attack people with dark skin or some other characteristic they
don’t like. And the next thing you know, any person who shares that characteristic is having
nightmares, worrying about whether they’ll be next, or someone they love. That’s the real effect
of terrorism. The name says it all; it attacks us with our own terrors. Boggarts love to swarm in
an area where there’s been a terrorist attack. They hide in out-of-the-way corners and wait to
be uncovered by people clearing rubble or looking for bodies. And people in those situations
are going to be hard pressed to be able to laugh, to say, ‘Ridikkulous!’ That’s the real cost.”
Parvati looked down at her hands on her desk and swallowed. She whispered, “I keep having
nightmares. I’m under the beam again, and I’m calling and calling, and no one hears me...”
Ron put his hand over hers; she looked at him and tears started running down her cheeks. “And
I didn’t know where you were,” she was saying to Ron now with a catch in her throat, “or
whether you were all right...”
Ron pulled his chair closer to her and put his arm around her shoulders and she put her head on
his shoulder, crying freely, while he held her and rubbed her back. Harry could not watch. He
looked at Hermione, who had a stricken look on her face, worse than when she had seen that
Ron was all right. She turned to Harry then, and the need in her eyes was overwhelming; he
swallowed and tried to look away, but he couldn’t. When Moody spoke again, he jumped.
“Now, this time, no one died, or even had particularly dire injuries. But now that Voldemort’s
back, it’s just a matter of time until he touches all of your lives in some more tangible way.
You’ve got to face it when it comes. Whether that means getting injured yourself or dying, or
surviving, you’ve got to face it. Of those three, which do you think would be worse?”
Seamus, who had been at Honeyduke’s when the Three Broomsticks blew, shrugged casually
and said, “Dying.”
Harry had a feeling this was not the answer Moody was looking for and braced himself for the
old man to bellow, “WRONG, FINNIGAN!” But oddly, it didn’t happen. Moody was very
subdued today. He stared at Seamus for a full minute while Seamus squirmed in his seat,
awaiting what he must also think was an inevitable shout of contempt. But the contempt was
very quiet this time.
“Dying,” Moody muttered, shaking his head. “No imagination...You probably also think dying
is worse than getting a kiss from a Dementor, don’t you?” Seamus squirmed some more. “I’d
say,” Moody went on, “that being injured--depending on the nature of the injury--and surviving
without a scratch are neck and neck, and dying is dead last. So to speak.”
Lavender looked annoyed, doodling with her quill and grimacing. She glanced over at Ron and
Parvati, who seemed to be in their own little world; Parvati was still crying on Ron, and he was
patting her back and murmuring to her, his eyes wet with unshed tears.
“AND WHERE WERE YOU?” Moody bellowed at her suddenly, making everyone jump
again. Lavender jerked her head up at him, turning from her usual pale beige to pale ivory.
“I--I didn’t go to the village on Saturday,” she whispered. Moody nodded.
“And now you probably think you missed all the fun. Typical. But when I say ‘surviving,’ I
mean BEING there and not getting injured. If you’re injured, okay, you’ve got issues. You’ve
got to get yourself mended up, or--” he pointed to his eye and leg, “get replacement parts.” He
clunked back to his desk. “But if you’re there, and the bloke on one side of you dies, and the
bloke on the other side of you is in hospital, missing half his brain, and you’re physically fine,
what you’re going to be dealing with is survivor guilt. Why did he die when I didn’t? Why is she
going through the rest of her life with one arm, when I’ve got two? And of course, the big
question: Why am I alive?”
He leaned against the desk. “We’re facing dark times. You’ll come face to face with evil and
you’ll have to choose a side. You’ll have to get past survivor guilt and fear of dying and being
maimed just to get up and go through your daily routine. It won’t be easy. But you’ve got each
other,” he said, walking over to Ron and putting his hand on his shoulder. “That’s the most
important weapon you have. I’ve had you attacking each other with curses and hexes, sure, but
when all is said and done, you’re all still friends, aren’t you? Members of the same house,
united.”
He came and stood in front of Harry. “That little Flitwick boy is one to watch, isn’t he Potter?”
Harry looked up at him and nodded, his throat tight. “More balls than all of the Death Eaters
put together, in my humble opinion.” Earlier in the school year, many of them would have been
shocked by his language, but they were used to him now. He definitely was unlike any teacher
they’d ever had--even Crouch, when he’d been pretending to be Moody.
“He wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and stand up for someone he knew had been falsely
accused. We need more people to show that kind of strength of character right now. We need
to be united and strong. We’ll have losses and scares, sure. And you’ll be there for each other,
helping each other through the bad times. But don’t let it paralyze you or they’ll win. Most of all,
keep fighting the darkness within you, the urge to say, ‘Oh, what the hell. What does it
matter?’”
Then his voice became softer, but more adamant. “It matters.”
He turned walked to the front of the room again, moving his magical eye over each of them in
turn. His voice had become softer. The room was utterly still.
“It’s all that matters.”
* * * * *
Easter break came. Five of the first years were staying: Andy & Amy Donegal, Will Flitwick,
Jules Quinn, and Gillian Lockley. Ginny’s roommates were all staying, but Ginny and Ron were
going home. Fred and George were staying, finally getting somewhat serious about their
N.E.W.T.s; Angelina and Alicia were staying for the same reason; Seamus and Neville planned
to stay, as well as Colin and Katie. Harry and Hermione were of course staying, but Parvati and
Lavender were not. Harry heard Ron and Parvati talking about going out in Ottery St.
Catchpole during the holiday. He hoped there were more things to do there than in Hogsmeade.
Harry knew that Draco Malfoy was also going home, and he wondered whether he and Ginny
might also be meeting up in the village near the Weasleys.
Halfway through the holiday week, Harry was up late reading by the fire in the common room;
Hermione was working on a Potions essay at a far table while Neville and Seamus played
Exploding Snap and George and Fred speculated on how bad the N.E.W.T.s would be. There
was a comforting low murmur of conversation in the room, punctuated occasionally by
explosions coming from the direction of Seamus and Neville. For once Neville wasn’t down in
the dungeons working on potions; he told Harry he was giving himself the week off, he wanted
to actually relax during the holiday. Neville wasn’t Seamus’ first choice of a person to play with,
but Dean was gone for the week, so he had sighed and asked him. Neville had never played
before (no one had ever asked him before) so he jumped at the chance. Harry thought he
looked odd, and jittery. There was something not quite right about his skin tone and eye color...
Harry had dozed off over his book, his Christmas gift from Ron. When he jerked his head up,
there was no one left in the room. He checked his watch; it was almost two in the morning. Why
hadn’t Hermione at least woken him up and told him to go to bed? he wondered. He yawned
hugely and stretched, picking up the book, which had fallen on the floor and cracked its spine.
He frowned at it; that’s not good, he thought.
He heard a footstep on the girls’ stairs and looked up; Hermione was coming into the common
room. “Harry? Haven’t you gone to bed yet?”
“Fell asleep reading.” He showed her the book; she came over and examined it, also frowning.
“Broken spine,” she murmured. “That’s not good.” Harry smiled. Sometimes he thought she
was psychic. He looked at her now, in her night shirt and dressing gown, hoping that she
wasn’t, or she’d know that he was thinking about--
Suddenly she smiled at him and crawled into his lap. Well, there goes the idea that she’s not
psychic, thought Harry, as she pulled his head down to hers in a deep kiss. He grunted happily;
they’d had a little more opportunity to go off on their own for some kissing since the holiday had
started, but while the rest of the school was awake, there was always the risk of being caught
together in an incriminating situation.
He wrapped his arms around her now, hugging her to him as closely as he could, feeling her
hand stroking his leg, remembering Ginny doing that to Malfoy. He moved his mouth down and
she helped him, undoing a few buttons on her night shirt. Harry sighed at the result; her mouth
was in his hair, her breathing changing as he moved his mouth farther down.
“Harry?” she said softly. He didn’t answer with words; he gave her a kind of “huh?” noise
while he was otherwise using his mouth. That seemed good enough for her though, as she
continued. “You know what I really miss? Lying in the same bed with you to sleep.”
He brought his face up now, looking at her, wondering what exactly she was suggesting. He
swallowed, remembered New Year’s eve, before Sirius interrupted them. Could he actually
manage to do that again? Without going insane?
His heart was thudding painfully in his chest. “That--that would be nice. Except that we’re not
the only ones here now. Neville and Seamus are upstairs asleep.”
She smiled coyly at him and stroked his cheek. “But I’ve got my dorm all to myself...”
Harry hadn’t thought of that. Heart louder now, more painful. Buzzing in his ears. He
swallowed. “But--what if someone sees me coming out of there in the morning?”
She shrugged. “Go up to your dorm and get your Invisibility Cloak.” Of course! he thought; his
brain felt like it was on overload. How was she so calm? Unless--she really did mean she just
wanted to sleep beside him. That was probably it. That’s all she had said. That was all she
wanted, some cozy cuddling. Harry felt he should demur, insist it was wiser for him to sleep in
his own bed. He did not want to spend the night being frustrated (although there was no
guarantee he would not spend the night in his own bed being frustrated).
But he couldn’t bring himself to reject her plan. He nodded, his throat tight. “I’ll meet you up
there in a few minutes.” She smiled and kissed his cheek, then stood up, buttoning her night
shirt. She went up the stairs to the girls’ dorms without looking back. Harry thought about just
plain running; going out the portrait hole, down the stairs, out of the castle, changing into a
golden griffin and jumping into the sky, soaring over the lake, and forest...
But instead he walked on unsteady legs up to his dorm and undressed for bed, leaving on only
his drawers, tying his dressing gown loosely and padding back downstairs barefoot, carrying the
cloak. Before he went up the stairs to the girls’ dorms, however, he had a thought. He drew
Sandy out of his sleeve and held her up to speak to her.
“Sandy?”
“Yes, Harry Potter?”
“I’m not going to wear you to sleep tonight. You’ll be warm; I’ll leave you here by the fire.”
“Why?”
“Well--I’d rather not get into that. You don’t mind, do you?”
“I am merely curious about why.”
“Sorry, Sandy.”
He put her down on the hearthrug. If he didn’t do this--but he put the thought out of his mind.
Somehow, leaving Sandy here made it all seem so premeditated, like murder. He swallowed
again and stood, putting the cloak on and going to the girls’ stairs.
When he reached the door for the fifth-year girls, Harry realized he’d never been here before.
He opened the door cautiously. Hermione had put the candles out, but there was an almost-full
moon brightly illuminating the room. He took off the cloak, then the dressing gown. He sat on
the edge of the turned-down bed; the others were neatly made up, deserted-looking. He had
never felt more nervous in his life. Where was Hermione?
The door opened and she entered; he supposed she’d been to the lavatory. She turned and
took out her wand, said something Harry couldn’t hear, waving the wand at the door. Locking
charm, thought Harry. She put her wand away and turned around, still standing by the door as if
she were also a bit nervous. Then she had a determined look on her face, and Harry smiled; that
was the Hermione he knew. She smiled back, still visibly nervous. Maybe they shouldn’t be
putting this kind of pressure on themselves, maybe they should just lie down and go to sleep,
maybe...
Hermione untied her dressing gown and let it fall open; it was the only thing she was wearing,
and Harry gasped in surprise; he couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. The idea of sleeping
fled from his brain. He had tried to imagine her many, many times since Dudley had first handed
him the photograph she had sent him. He had mentally removed the bikini in his mind,
wondering...but this was so different. This was real. She was real. She was standing before him
expectantly, almost looking like she would cry if he didn’t do something, and the thought made
him step across the distance between them swiftly and take her in his arms, pull her mouth up to
his, push the dressing gown off her shoulders, clasp her to him tightly.
Her hands shook as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his drawers, pushing them
down. He pulled his mouth away from hers and pressed it to her neck as he felt the cool air
touch him and the fabric land on his feet. He kicked them away, loosening his hold on her, but
only to move his hands over her, to explore every inch of her as he moved his mouth further
down her body and she threw her head back, making, he thought, the most wonderful sounds,
her hands wandering over his body.
They stood like that for what seemed a long time, hands and mouths roaming all over, pulses
racing, sweat beading on hot skin only to be licked off ravenously. Then, Hermione looked up
at him with wide eyes.
“Harry,” she whispered. It seemed a time to whisper. “I want you to take something else off.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Sorry; I should have thought of that,” he said, removing his
glasses, moving to put them on the table.
He was on his way back to her when she said, “No. That’s not it. Harry--take off the basilisk.”
He stopped and looked down at the amulet on his chest, then back at her. Her curls were wild,
her body was limned by the moonlight, looking amazing, and he swallowed, knowing that even
as she stood before him like this, and he stood completely defenseless before her, she was
somehow still unconvinced that he wanted her, only her.
Harry lifted the chain over his head and placed it deliberately on the table, next to his glasses,
then went to the bed, holding out his hand to her. She walked purposefully to him, throwing her
arms around him again.
This seemed so right now. Harry was glad that they’d managed to wait this long. But even as
they touched and kissed and their heartrates increased, Harry wondered, how had they waited?
How had they not done this before, how had he not moved his mouth up her legs, her hip, her
ribcage, her breasts, her neck? How had they not ripped each other’s clothes off and attacked
each other in the corridors of the castle, in the classrooms, in the Great Hall? How had they
shown so much restraint?
Time seemed to randomly slow down and speed up. Harry felt he could never grow tired of
moving his hands and mouth over her, playing her like an instrument, feeling her hands and
mouth on him, a never-ending surprise...After a while, Hermione threw back her head and
arched her back; he looked up at her, moved up and took her mouth again; her breath like an
inferno, her moans an aria of desire. She gazed up at him, shaken, trying to get her breath. “Oh,
Harry,” she whispered. “That was--I mean--my head--”
He smiled, wanting her more than ever. “We’re not done yet,” he said softly, kissing her chin.
She nodded slowly.
“I know. I just meant--top of my head--blown off--” she gasped.
“In a good way, I hope.”
She grinned. “Understatement,” was all she said before pulling his mouth down to hers again.
Then she broke the kiss, looking up at him. “You know, you sound like you’ve done this
before,” she said slyly. “Would you like to tell me something?”
Now it was his turn to be sly. “Nothing to tell. Except that I have--”
“What?”
“Done this with you before. In my mind. Only about a million times...”
“Oh, is that all? I thought teenage boys thought about it constantly...”
“And teenage girls don’t?”
Her eyes were unfocussed with passion as she reached down and gently wrapped her hand
around him, making him gasp. “Only about a million times...”
He pressed his mouth to hers again, then moved it down her throat. She began the process of
wrapping herself thoroughly around him, her arms and legs, locking her ankles together in the
small of his back as she finally pulled him into her, making him widen his eyes. He had never felt
so vulnerable--and so safe, so protected, so enveloped.
Harry flashed back to the Yule Ball, the pretty girl with Viktor Krum, and then really seeing her,
seeing that it was Hermione. He realized that he’d never thought of her as pretty until then. And
her kissing him on the train platform before they separated for the summer...She definitely
wasn’t under any curse then. She hadn’t kissed Ron. Other images unbidden came into his
mind; Hermione running in the park in Surrey; Hermione working in the garden on Privet Drive
with him, smudges of dirt on her cheeks, sweat running down her neck and then further down
still...
Harry had wanted her last summer, he’d wanted her all year, and now they were finally
together, really together, and it felt like it was always meant to be, even though he hadn’t seen
her, not actually seen her, for four years.
Time lost all meaning. Finally, he started to cry out, then lowered his mouth to hers, and she
groaned against his tongue, shuddering throughout her body, and a moment later, he collapsed,
kissing her shoulder, her neck, her earlobe, her jaw...It was like the polar opposite of the
Cruciatus Curse. He had known pain coursing through his body; now he knew what it was like
to feel the exact opposite in every fiber of his being.
Hermione’s mouth was pressed against his shoulder, a warm suction. He raised himself to look
down at her, then moved to lie at her side, still staring at her, stroking the side of her face. She
beamed back at him. Harry was happier than he ever remembered being, feeling like he would
never stop smiling.
“How’s the top of your head?” he asked impishly.
“Flying somewhere over the Forbidden Forest,” she answered softly, then laughed out loud; a
real laugh, not a giggle or twitter. She had a woman’s laugh, he realized, not a girl’s. It was
wonderful and throaty and made him want her all over again.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered. He was surprised when she scowled.
“Harry, you don’t have to say that just because--”
“Hermione, stop it. You are. That’s that. If you argue with me, we might not do that again,” he
teased. An obvious lie.
She smiled now. “Threatening me with frustration already? Giving me a taste of Harry Potter
and then taking it away?” Now it was her turn to look mischievous. “I thought it was women
who were supposed to use sex as a weapon.”
He laughed, gazing back at her. “No threats. No games. Just two very happy people, feeling
very, very lucky.”
“I second that,” she agreed, pillowing her head on his chest and throwing her leg across him,
her arm on his stomach. He looked down at her as she closed her eyes, a peaceful expression
on her face, and he closed his own eyes, acutely aware of every point of contact between his
skin and hers, thinking how wonderful it was, how amazing and perfect.
* * * * *
Harry woke up near dawn. The pale light in the room made it possible for him to see where his
drawers and dressing gown were. He extricated himself from her carefully and dressed, putting
on the basilisk last. He picked up the Invisibility Cloak and went to sit on the edge of the bed,
watching her sleep. He’d watched her sleep before, but this was different. This was a much
bigger deal than kissing in the Charms classroom or being on the hearthrug late at night, or even
just sleeping side by side in his bed during the Christmas holiday. This was huge.
He stroked her arm, then shook her gently, whispering her name. She finally stirred, looking
where he’d been lying beside her first, then, as she became more oriented, she realized that he
was sitting on her other side. She pulled herself to a sitting position, trying to keep her eyes
open. The sheet fell to her waist, and Harry drew in his breath.
“Hermione, I was going to tell you I have to go, but you don’t exactly make it easy, sitting there
with--so little on--”
She smiled, then leaned over to kiss him. “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘naked.’
Actually, I was going to put on a nightshirt and get some more sleep.” She stood up, walking to
her wardrobe unselfconsciously, while Harry swallowed and fought the urge to tear his own
clothes off again.
When she was covered up by a long T-shirt, she sat next to him on the bed and laced her
fingers through his.
“I’d say let’s meet for running at seven, but we’ve already had our workout, don’t you think?”
Harry grinned. “But don’t go down to breakfast without me, okay? I want to spend as much
time with you as I can while it’s still the holiday.”
He kissed her lightly, still smiling. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of eating a single meal without
you.” He paused then, wondering how to put this. “Hermione, I need to ask you a couple of
things. Did you--did you go to see Madam Pomfrey for--”
“Yes,” she said simply. “Two months ago.”
“Two months ago!”
She smiled shyly. “I didn’t have the nerve to do anything about it until last night. And even
then--I was really nervous. I kept waiting for you to run screaming into the night....”
He stroked her hair with his hand. “Oh, Hermione...as if that would ever happen.”
She looked up at him her eyes glistening. “What was the other thing you wanted to ask?”
Harry wasn’t sure he should ask this now. It seemed to show such a lack of faith. But--he had
to know. “Hermione--you don’t feel like you’re--under a spell, do you?”
She thrust her fingers into his hair and pulled him to her in a long, languid kiss. When she ended
the kiss she looked into his eyes. “Only under the spell of Harry Potter,” she said firmly.
He swallowed and looked at her. “Did I mention that you don’t make it easy to go?”
She grinned. “Good. Except that you really should, before Neville and Seamus wake up.”
“I know.” He rose and donned the Invisibility Cloak. Hermione picked up her wand and went
to the door, undoing the locking charm she’d put on it. She cautiously opened it and glanced
around the landing.
“Deserted. Go ahead.”
Before he left, he reached out with his hand for just a moment, then quickly slipped out the
door. Hermione squeaked a little when she felt the contact, then laughed.
“Being groped by the Invisible Man,” she said musingly. “Kinky.”
He smiled under the cloak, having to make an effort to suppress his laughter. He felt positively
giddy. He padded lightly down the girls’ staircase, wanting to skip, and then he went up the
boys’ staircase cautiously, hoping Neville and Seamus would still be fast asleep, hoping they
hadn’t checked his bed, then the common room. He hoped a lot of things.
But the two other boys were still snoring softly behind their bedcurtains when he entered the
room. He removed the cloak and placed it carefully in his trunk, then removed his dressing
gown and climbed into bed. Without her in it, it seemed absurdly large and lonely. Harry pulled
the covers up to his chin, remembering her, remembering the night. But that only lasted for a few
seconds before he was fast asleep, a large smile plastered across his face.
* * * * *
Harry woke up again at eight o’clock. He opened his bedcurtains and saw that Seamus was
dressed and ready to go out the door.
“Oh! Morning, Harry. Thought you’d sleep in. You were downstairs pretty late, weren’t you?”
Harry nodded. “Fell asleep reading. But I’ve slept enough now.” He rose and went to the
wardrobe. Seamus left. While he dressed, Harry listened to Neville breathing peacefully in his
sleep. Was Ginny possibly considering breaking up with Malfoy? he wondered. Did she think
Neville would be less pushy about a physical relationship? Harry could see that she might. He
had a hard time picturing Neville groping a girl. Just hold out a little longer, Ginny, he thought.
Until Malfoy’s dad is in Azkaban...
But now his thoughts turned from Ginny to Hermione, who was only about seven months older
than Ginny. Not only had she been ready, she pretty much orchestrated the whole thing. And
she thought he’d run screaming into the night! But then, he remembered hiding from her during
the Christmas holiday. He’d had his share of jitters as well.
He left Neville still snoring away behind his bedcurtains and went down to the common room.
He collected Sandy from the hearth. When he picked her up, he said happily, “Good morning,
Sandy!”
“Good morning, Harry Potter. Why did you not wear me last night?”
“Well, Sandy--I spent the night with Hermione, and I kind of wanted it to be just the two of
us...”
“You have spent the night with her before, with me on your arm. Why did you not want me with
you last night?”
“This was different.”
“How was it different?”
He frowned. “It just was. I’m not sure how to explain it to you, or if snakes even have any way
to understand...”
He looked up and saw Hermione at the foot of the girls’ stairs, her prefect badge on her robes
like him, a glow about her that made him think, Surely someone will notice...
“My ears were burning,” she told him.
“What? You couldn’t understand...”
“No. It’s all just hissing to me. But I had a feeling I knew what you were talking about anyway.”
“I wasn’t--I mean--”
She smiled at him, and laughed. “Don’t get so jumpy on me now, Harry! I was just joking
around.” He smiled back at her, putting Sandy around his arm again. No one’s going to
mistake that glow, he thought. Everyone will see...
But no one did. They sat on opposite sides of the Gryffindor table to eat breakfast. Harry tried
not to meet her eyes too often. He grunted thanks when she offered him some of her Daily
Prophet to read. He didn’t really want to read it, but then he saw that there was a section he’d
never noticed before, the financial section, called Your Daily Profit. He skimmed the stories
about the up-and-coming wizard businesses, and those that were slipping into bankruptcy (one
of the textbook publishing houses was up to its neck in red ink). I’ll have to get Sirius to invest
some of my money, he thought. Better than it just sitting in a vault.
He wanted to fly on his Firebolt for some reason, but he realized Hermione would probably not
be interested in sitting around and watching him fly. But maybe she’d want to fly with him. He
thought of their brief flight together, when they escaped from the Charms classroom through the
window. He’d flown since then, to demonstrate to McGonagall that he could. They’d gone
down to the edge of the forest after dinner one night, and after transforming, he’d spread his
wings and leapt into the sky, going higher and higher, finally feeling the tree tops brushing his
stomach as he flew over the forest.
He almost changed back and plummeted out of the sky when he saw the clearing deep in the
forest where the giants were living. He spent a few minutes circling overhead, just watching them
move about their campsite, a fire in the center where several were sitting, cooking, some of
them off to the side looking like they were tanning hides; Harry didn’t want to know what
animals the hides were from. They didn’t notice him up in the air above them, and he was glad,
although he needn’t have worried; he was too high up for them to reach him. He’d flown back
to McGonagall and changed back without telling her what he’d seen. He knew that the teachers
knew about the giants, but he knew that the students weren’t supposed to know.
It had been exhilarating; he felt like it was worth the aching he experienced in his bones
afterward, to be able to do that. He remembered the first time he’d ever flown a broom, how he
felt so at home in the air. Now he knew why; he was born to do this, to soar on a thermal with
his wings at just the right subtle angle to catch the warm wind, spiraling toward the ground in a
carefully-controlled descent...
After breakfast, Harry and Hermione walked into the entrance hall, close together but not
touching. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, saw her looking back and couldn’t
suppress a small smile from curling up the corners of his mouth. Hermione looked like she was
trying not to grin maniacally. He walked toward the doors and then went outside, sensing her
right behind, following him. No one else came outside. Harry slipped into the shrubbery near the
doors, ducking behind a tall topiary that had been cut to resemble a hippogriff. That seemed
very appropriate, somehow. Hermione was with him in a matter of moments. He pulled her to
him, and she slipped her arms around him, one hand behind his neck, the other in the small of his
back, but as the kiss deepened, that hand slid down, making Harry moan against her mouth. He
pulled away from her, smiling, and she kept her hand right where it was.
“Miss Granger,” he said in a teasing voice. “Are you trying to compromise my virtue?”
“Already done,” she reminded him, kissing the base of his neck. “Anyway, lately, I’ve been
trying to avoid touching you in--certain places--and I don’t exactly have to bother doing that
anymore, do I?”
Harry showed that he agreed by leaning down to kiss her again, letting his own hands wander
into previously-forbidden territory. After a minute, Hermione came up for air, saying, “Not that
this isn’t nice, but are we going to spend our holiday snogging and groping in the bushes? There
are more comfortable places where we can--um--do more--” she was planting kisses on his
neck again while moving her hands once more.
“Actually,” he said, trying not to go insane from what she was doing, “I was wondering if you’d
like to go flying.”
She pulled back at him and looked like she was considering this. “Hmm. That might be a good
idea. I really have to get over my acrophobia sometime; someday I’ll be able to Apparate, but
in the meantime, I really should get more comfortable with a broom.”
“Well--I wasn’t talking about brooms.”
She frowned at him, then widened her eyes when she realized what he meant. “Oh, no you
don’t, Harry Potter! I am not doing that again!”
“Hermione, it worked out fine...”
“You were a basket-case afterwards! What if you pushed yourself too hard and changed back
while you were a hundred feet in the air? You’d be killed! Not to mention your passenger.
Besides, you’ve got Sandy, haven’t you?”
“I’ve flown two-hundred feet in the air now, Hermione, and McGonagall is convinced that I’m
fine. Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. I can leave Sandy somewhere so she won’t be alarmed.”
Hermione drew her mouth into a line. “I’m sorry Harry, I just--can we just work on me and
brooms right now?”
He sighed and kissed her on the forehead. “Of course. I’m not putting pressure on you.”
She leaned against his chest and looked up at him. “No,” she said musingly, “you never do.
That’s why I had to go and seduce you.” She laughed then, in that wonderful throaty way he
remembered from the night, and he kissed her soundly before leading her out of the shrubbery,
her fingers laced in his. They went up to Gryffindor Tower; Harry was going to get his Firebolt
and ask Fred or George whether Hermione could borrow one of their brooms, so she wouldn’t
be stuck with one of the poky ones the school kept for students who didn’t have their own.
But when he entered his dorm, he heard a strange sound. It seemed to be coming from Neville’s
bed. Frowning, he walked to the bed and pulled back the curtains, shocked by what he saw.
Neville was shivering and sweating all at once, a strange bilious green color; his eyes were an
eerie yellow; Harry suddenly realized that he didn’t know what color Neville’s eyes were
supposed to be, but he was quite certain it wasn’t yellow. He was wearing blue cotton pajamas
that were soaked through with sweat, and he was staring straight up, his mouth wide open in a
silent scream as he continued to shake and sweat.
Harry felt panicked; he did the only thing he could think of; he ran to the door and bellowed
down the stairs, “Hermione!”
He went back to Neville’s bed; he was convulsing now. It seemed to be some kind of seizure.
He was afraid to touch him, or make a sound. He felt paralyzed. All he could do was stand and
watch this boy he’d known for five years suffer.
He heard her feet on the stairs, could hear the note of panic in her voice as she cried out,
“Harry! Are you all right?” Of course, she’d think it was him, he realized. But when she was in
the room, she saw where he was standing, and ran to Neville’s bedside.
“Neville!” she cried, going to her knees. She immediately put her hand on his head, then felt for
the pulse in his neck.
“His heartbeat is irregular; it’s galloping, then jumping about, then galloping again,” she said
after holding her hand there for half a minute. Harry marveled at the way she wasn’t afraid to
jump right in, to put her hands on him, when he was terrified. Not for himself, but in case
something he did caused Neville harm. We’ll take the cup together... he remembered saying...
“We need to get him to the hospital wing,” she said urgently.
Harry thought. “What if we stun him? It might put in into a kind of--” he floundered for the
meaning he was looking for.
“A stasis? Good idea. And then we could use that Mobilicorpus spell to get him there.” So
that’s what they did, and when they emerged into the common room with Neville’s body,
everyone present looked up, shocked. Alicia had been sitting at a table with Angelina, preparing
for N.E.W.T.s; she came running over when she saw them. The twins were by the fire, also
doing N.E.W.T. preparation, also clearly alarmed by Neville’s state. As far as they knew, he
was the closest thing their sister had to a boyfriend.
“We stunned him so we could move him to the hospital wing,” Hermione told them all.
Harry said hoarsely, “When I went in our room, he was making strange noises, and sweating
and shaking, and--and he looked like that--” he said, referring to his green cast and his yellow
eyes, which were still open.
“We’ll come with you,” George and Fred said, and Alicia and Angelina were right behind. The
six of them escorted Neville’s body to the hospital wing, and Harry’s head was spinning the
whole time with gruesome thoughts.
There are six of us, his brain said. The same as the number of pall bearers you need to carry a
coffin. Neville will be all right, said a different voice in a different part of his brain. Don’t talk
about pall bearers. Does he look all right to you? his brain said now. Harry felt his head had
been split down the middle; it wasn’t his scar, it wasn’t Voldemort. He felt like he didn’t know
how to handle this, that Neville of all people should be a victim of--of what? What had
happened to him, and who had done it? His throat was tight; he couldn’t swallow.
When they reached the infirmary, George opened the door and Harry and Hermione guided
Neville in. Harry ran to find Madam Pomfrey in her office, but she wasn’t there. He thought he
heard a noise in the Apothecary, so Harry opened the door, not bothering to knock. Instead of
Madam Pomfrey, however, Harry found Snape reaching for a jar labeled Powdered
Spleenwort, which he presumably was going to add to the bubbling cauldron that hovered over
a purple fire.
“Oh!” he said with relief as soon as he saw Snape. “I’m so glad it’s you! Come quick. It’s
Neville.”
Snape put the jar down on a work table with a loud thunk and strode through Madam
Pomfrey’s office and into the infirmary in the blink of an eye. Hermione had put him in one of the
beds and had taken the traveling spell and stunning charm off him. He lay there as he had
before, in his own bed, twitching and sweating, pale green skin offset by eerily yellow eyes.
Snape leaned over him; he put his ear to his chest and then put his fingers on his neck, as
Hermione had. He looked in Neville’s eyes, looked at his skin, then in his mouth; his tongue was
swollen terribly. It was amazing he hadn’t choked on it.
“Longbottom!” he shouted in his face, holding his head still with both hands over Neville’s ears.
He looked in Neville’s eyes; they moved slightly. “What do you see, Longbottom?” he said in a
fierce whisper.
Neville opened his mouth; a hoarse rasp that had the sound of a death rattle in it was all that
came out. “Scorpions. Beetles. All over my body. All over the wall...” Suddenly, he started
gagging, then his whole body was convulsing. Harry clenched his jaw, unable to stand the sight
of Neville like this. His voice had sounded horrible--not like Neville at all.
Snape pulled out his wand and whispered, “Reducio,” waving it over Neville’s mouth. The
gagging stopped, but the seizure continued. Snape looked up at Alicia, who was watching with
her fist in her mouth.
“Does Professor McGonagall know?” he said to her suddenly. She shook her head. He pointed
at Angelina. “You. Go tell her. You--” he pointed at Alicia. “You’re Head Girl--you remember
the password to the headmaster’s study?” She nodded. “Go get him. Now.”
Alicia and Angelina turned and fled. Fred and George still hovered nearby, looking more serious
than Harry had ever seen them. “And you two!” he barked at them suddenly. “Make
yourselves useful for once and find out where in the bloody hell Pomfrey is!”
“I’ll check the greenhouses,” Fred said, running toward the door.
“I’ll check the library,” George called over his shoulder as he also ran out.
“Just find her!” he bellowed at their backs. Hermione was sitting on the opposite side of the bed
from Snape, holding Neville’s hand steadfastly, murmuring meaningless but soothing-sounding
reassurances to the senseless boy. He had stopped convulsing and Snape was checking his
pulse again. Harry saw how solicitous Snape was with him, how careful. Perhaps he’d been
hard on Neville all this time for the same reason he’d given Sirius for being hard on Harry--to
toughen him up. What had happened? Harry wondered. What was wrong with him?
“What’s wrong with him?” Harry asked softly. As soon as he thought it, he couldn’t not say it.
Snape didn’t look at him; he stayed focused on Neville. “Withdrawal. I’m not sure what he
became addicted to, but he’s definitely in withdrawal. I have a few guesses, but if we could just
find out what he was taking--”
“I know who’d know,” Harry said suddenly. Snape turned and raised his eyebrows. “Ginny
Weasley and Draco Malfoy were usually working in the dungeons at the same time as Neville.
They might know.”
“Snape nodded. “Use my office,” he said, turning back to Neville. Harry strode quickly from
the room and then ran down the corridor, down the marble stairs, through the blurs that the
entrance hall and Great Hall had become, to the door to the secret passage to Snape’s office,
down the steep stairs. This was why he’d started running, he felt. To help a friend in need.
He panicked momentarily, unable to find the right place on the damp stone wall to apply
pressure. Then suddenly, it gave way and he shoved his shoulder against the wall, squeezing into
the room.
“Incendio!” he cried with rather more feeling than he should have, as he pointed his wand at the
fireplace. His emotions were a runaway train. He reduced the roaring flames that had sprung up
in the fireplace to a reasonable level, then, with a shaking hand, threw some powder from the
bowl on the mantel into the fire. The flames burned green now, and he said more loudly than
was necessary, “The Burrow.”
After a few moments, Mrs. Weasley’s face appeared.
“Harry!” she exclaimed. “How nice to see you! How’s your holi--”
“Mrs. Weasley! I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have to talk to Ginny! It’s urgent!”
Mrs. Weasley looked unnerved by his behavior; he was always unfailingly polite with her. “Of
course,” she said softly, then called for Ginny. Mrs. Weasley’s head disappeared from the
flames, to be replaced by Ginny’s. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail.
“Harry, what--”
“It’s Neville. He’s in the hospital wing with withdrawal symptoms. Snape wants to know what
potions he’s been taking, because whatever it was, he became addicted and then stopped, and
now he--oh, Ginny, he looks like death--” he whispered.
Ginny blanched. “Well,” she said shakily, “he was always working on the same two potions.
One was called something like Youth Or Souse, Youth Are So--”
“Eutharsos Potion?”
“Yes, that’s it. I don’t know what it’s for. And the other was some kind of memory-enhancing
potion. Name On Iss, or something--”
Harry had a sudden image in his mind of the page from the Potions text. “Mnemonis Potion?”
“Yes! That’s the one. I’m quite sure that’s it. Oh, Harry, how bad is it? Will he be all right?”
“I don’t know. I need to go tell Snape. Thanks Ginny.”
Her face disappeared from the flames and Harry was about to extinguish the fire when he had a
sudden thought. He threw some more powder into the firebox and said, “Alastor Moody.”
After a few moments, Moody’s disfigured face appeared in the flames.
“Yes, Potter?” he said kindly, on seeing who it was.
“Come to the infirmary right away, Professor. It’s Neville Longbottom.”
Moody didn’t answer him. His face had already disappeared. He knew Moody didn’t see the
point in small talk at a time like this. Good, Harry thought, he’ll be there fast. Then he wondered
how fast, thinking about how far Moody’s office was from the infirmary, and thinking about his
wooden leg. Well, Harry reckoned, maybe that’s why he ended the call so quickly.
Harry put out the fire and squeezed out into the passage again, pushing the wall back into place
behind him. He realized suddenly that it would have been much easier to find people if he’d
simply gone to get his map. Why didn’t he think of that? Or George or Fred? They were all so
addled by this unexpected turn of events; Harry felt like he had no brain any more, he was
operating on pure animal instinct.
He sprinted up staircase after staircase, finally arriving again at the door to the infirmary. When
he pushed it open, he saw that Madam Pomfrey had finally arrived. Dumbledore and
McGonagall stood by her side as she poked and prodded Neville, while Snape looked on.
Hermione and the twins had retreated to a spot near Pomfrey’s office door along with Angelina
and Alicia. Fred discreetly put a piece of parchment into Harry’s hand; he looked at it before
stuffing it into his pocket. The map. So they had thought of using it. He nodded at Fred. Not
enough people gave the twins credit for being smart, he realized. You don’t just think of all
those pranks without being fairly bright. Hermione turned to him with an anguished look on her
face. He grimaced, then went to the adults standing around Neville’s bed.
“It’s two potions,” he told them. “Eutharsos and Mnemonis.”
Snape blanched. “Eutharsos Potion is addictive if it is taken in large doses, or too often. And
the main ingredient in Mnemonis Potion is gingko biloba, which discourages blood clotting.
There are other anti-coagulents in it as well. And if a person takes enough of it--”
“What?” Harry wanted to know.
“They lose the ability to form clots at all. Worse than hemophilia.”
“And in combination?”
He turned and looked at Neville again. “That’s what we don’t know.”
Madam Pomfrey backed up from Neville and motioned to Snape, Dumbledore, McGonagall
and Harry to join her in her office. Harry glanced over his shoulders at the others, who were not
being included in the conference. Being treated as another one of the adults was slightly
unnerving; there was something so comforting about being permitted to continue one’s
childhood, to let older, wiser people handle the crises. Then he thought of the night, and what he
and Hermione had shared. He thought of Voldemort in the graveyard where the elder Tom
Riddle was buried...He’d left childhood behind forever.
In the office, Madam Pomfrey turned to them, looking very grim. “He’s in withdrawal from the
Eutharsos Potion. That’s my opinion. The Mnemonis Potion is not known to be addictive,
although as Professor Snape noted, it can have a disastrous long-term effect. My main concern
is that he has only begun the withdrawal process. This is merely the first stage, the greenish skin
tone, the yellow eyes, the hallucinations. As it progresses, he will have violent outbursts,
followed by crying and laughing jags and suicidal tendencies. We need to keep him restrained
and someone should be with him at all times. Should he injure himself and bleed, there is the risk
that his abuse of the Mnemonis Potion could lead to his bleeding to death if someone is not on
hand to bind up the wound immediately with the right charm. I would feel more comfortable
having him transferred to St. Mungo’s--”
“No!” Snape said suddenly. Harry looked at him in surprise. Neville’s parents were in St.
Mungo’s. Because of Barty Crouch, Jr. Whom Snape recruited. Harry looked at him
searchingly. “He should be with familiar people. I--I will make up a schedule for his friends to
sit with him, and any teachers that wish to participate as well. We should of course contact his
grandmother.” He nodded at McGonagall, who looked like she was taking umbrage at having
him make important decisions about a student in her house, although she didn’t argue about
those decisions. Dumbledore nodded at him.
“I agree. Are you all right with that, Poppy? If we have coverage around the clock?”
She looked at Dumbledore as if she wished he weren’t the headmaster, so she could argue with
him. “All right,” she said reluctantly. They filed out of the office. As Dumbledore explained to
the others what Neville needed, Harry felt like he was in a fog. He remembered Neville asking
him about Eupatorium fistulosum on the day before the ceilidh. Now he remembered why the
name of that plant was familiar. It was the main ingredient in Eutharsos Potion. Harry was glad
he had only taken it once. Snape had taken it too, when he was in school. Had he also become
addicted to it, and gone through withdrawal? Or had he only taken it the one time?
He was vaguely aware of Hermione and Alicia volunteering to canvass all of the students who
were still at the school for the holiday, to see who was willing to take their turn at Neville’s
bedside. Harry turned and looked at Neville again during this frenzied planning. He slowly
walked over to the bed and picked up one of Neville’s hands; it felt awful, cold and clammy.
What if he had decided to take dose after dose of the same potion? That could be me lying
there right now, he thought.
“I’m right here, mate,” he said quietly to the only one in the school who had beaten him in the
Dueling Club. That was probably the potion, Harry realized. But he didn’t begrudge him the
win; Neville would probably never have another moment like that the rest of his life, if he had a
rest of his life...
No. Harry pulled his brain back from this thought. He’ll be fine, he will. He has to be...
He sat in the chair where Hermione had been, still holding Neville’s hand, as if he could will
some of his good health to seep into Neville’s body that way. Behind him, he heard the others
depart, heard Madam Pomfrey go into her office and close the door. He was alone in the
infirmary with Neville. Without saying anything, they all knew he’d volunteered to take the first
watch. He sat staring at Neville, memory after memory of him flitting through his mind. At one
point, he heard Sandy hiss something at him, but he couldn’t process it, his mind was whirling,
so that he was surprised when he looked up and saw Moody standing at the foot of Neville’s
bed. That’s what she had been telling him; Mad-Eye Moody was coming (although she’d said a
cyclops with one leg).
He nodded at Harry. “How is he, Potter?” he said in a low, gravely voice. Harry explained the
two potions to him, the withdrawal process, the round-the-clock vigil that would have to be
kept. “But Pomfrey says he’ll recover?”
“Yes. He just--” Harry’s voice caught.
“That’s all right, Potter. Don’t try to say more. I understand you found him.” Harry nodded.
Moody heaved a great sigh. “I found them.” Harry looked perplexed for a moment, but then he
realized what Moody meant. Neville’s parents. After they’d been tortured with Cruciatus by
Barty Crouch, Jr. and his Death Eater friends.
“They’d been shopping in Diagon Alley for Christmas presents for their son. He was with them.
Not quite two years old at the time. Roly poly, healthy little tyke. Happy as you could wish.
When I found them behind a pub in Knockturn Alley, he was bawling away, trying to get his
mother to pick him up. Poor Gemma! She just stared up at the sky, like Frank. I remember
going to their wedding...I was at school with Frank’s mother, Verity. She was Verity Gillespie
then. Verity was heartbroken over what happened to Frank and Gemma. She adored Gemma.
Brilliant, beautiful...she’d have adopted her if she could have. No mother-in-law/daughter-inlaw
tension there!” Moody sighed. “A beautiful, picture-perfect family.”
Harry turned and looked at Neville again, at his sickly complexion and eerie eyes. He tried to
picture him as a happy toddler, and couldn’t.
“I just went to visit them, you know, Frank and Gemma. On Monday,” Moody went on. “And
now their son will be there too...”
“No!” Harry cried, as vehemently as Snape had. “He’ll be fine. He has to!” The tears he’d
been holding back finally ran down his cheeks and into the corners of his mouth. He didn’t
bother wiping them away. He clasped Neville’s hand convulsively and glared at Moody. “He’ll
be fine!”
Moody frowned. “Now, Potter, I’m sure you want to think that. He’s your friend; you’ve
known him now for five years...”
“But that’s just it,” Harry choked. “I haven’t known him. None of us have. Seamus and Dean
are friends, and Parvati and Lavender, and Ron and Hermione and I...Neville was always the
odd man out. I only just last year found out about his parents by accident, and Dumbledore
didn’t want me to tell anyone. I don’t think--I don’t think any of us really knows Neville.”
Moody nodded. “There’s always some like that. Keep to themselves. Well, with what
happened, it’s not surprising. Especially when that idiot from the Ministry showed up...”
“What?”
“Well, it was a big deal at the time. Frank and Gemma Longbottom! They were the only
husband-wife Auror team I knew that could figure out how to balance the work and home
situation. They were amazing together. We all figured it must have been a complete ambush for
anyone to do what they did to them. And then this idiot shows up, Longlegs, Locklegs,
Longheart...”
“Lockhart? Gilderoy Lockhart?”
“Yeah. That’s the git. Memory charms specialist at the Ministry. Fresh out of school. Decides if
he doesn’t step in, little Neville, having seen his parents tortured, would be traumatized for life. I
tried to stop him, but I couldn’t completely, not before some damage was already done. I don’t
know how bad it would have been if the git had been allowed to do a full-fledged charm on a
not-quite-two-year-old. Probably wouldn’t have two brain cells left to rub together. I managed
to get him sacked after that, thankfully.”
Harry stared in disbelief. And Lockhart had almost put memory charms on him and Ron when
they were down in the Chamber of Secrets. Thank goodness for Ron’s broken wand, he
thought, looking at Neville again. So it was a bad Lockhart memory charm that had been
hampering Neville’s thought processes all this time. And it had finally seemed that he’d gotten
over that problem. He must have taken a huge amount of that Mnemonis Potion, Harry realized.
Moody patted him on the shoulder and said, “You’re a good friend to him, Potter.” As he
turned to go, Harry thought, No, I wasn’t. But from now on, I will be...
* * * * *
Harry wasn’t sure when he dozed off. His head was on the mattress beside Neville’s leg.
Neville twitched his hand and hit Harry in the face. He jerked up and looked around just as the
door to the infirmary opened. How long had he been asleep? he wondered. He checked on
Neville, who looked the same as before.
Hermione walked over to the bed and put her hand on Harry’s shoulder, leaned over and
kissed his cheek. “Go get some rest,” she said softly. “It’s my turn now.” Harry checked his
watch; it was two o’clock. He looked at the windows, at the spring light and the flowering tree
branches visible through the glass. It was only early afternoon. He looked at her, feeling
suddenly an overwhelming desire to kiss her, to see her naked...He stopped himself from
continuing this line of thought. How could he be thinking that, when Neville...Harry stood and
gave her his chair, went to stand at the foot of the bed, looking at Neville, before turning to
leave. His hands shook; he felt that he was in withdrawal almost as much as Neville was.
Somehow, between the previous night and the morning, he had the feeling that nothing would
ever be the same.
The rest of the holiday passed in a blur of sitting by Neville’s bedside or sitting around the
common room with other shell-shocked-looking people who barely talked, sometimes saying
something about Neville, “remember when,” stuff, that always seemed to trail off and resulted in
someone starting to cry. Harry was sitting by Neville’s bedside on Sunday night before the new
term was to start when Ginny came running into the infirmary; she dashed to the bed, standing
on the side opposite where Harry sat, taking Neville’s hand and looking into his face with an
alarmed expression that conveyed all of the fears they all held for him.
She asked about his progress shakily; Harry tried to dispassionately tell her the things Madam
Pomfrey had explained to Hermione, which she had explained to him. Hermione was impressed
that there didn’t need to be intravenous fluids for nourishment; such things were carefully
Apparated into his body, and the waste was carefully Apparated out as well. Harry grimaced
when she told him this, thinking about how many things he took for granted just because he was
conscious and walking around and fully-functional. Neville was also levitated for about half the
day, floating just an inch or so above the mattress and pillow, an hour on and an hour off, so he
wouldn’t get bedsores. He hadn’t progressed to the second stage of withdrawal yet. Harry
dreaded that, dreaded having to restrain Neville and prevent him hurting himself. It will be all
right, he had to keep telling himself. He’ll be all right.
“I’m taking this watch,” Ginny told him softly. She held Neville’s hand and looked at Harry. In
spite of his current condition, Harry couldn’t help think that Neville was very, very lucky just
now. He nodded at her and rose to go, not saying goodbye. She moved to sit in the chair he’d
vacated, holding Neville’s other hand now, pushing his hair back from his forehead tenderly.
The summer term began, and it seemed so strange for Neville not to be in class with them.
Many of the teachers were also taking turns at Neville’s bedside; once when Harry went into
the infirmary, McGonagall was there, another time Flitwick. Hermione told him she found
Professor Sprout crying silently while she held Neville’s hand. Snape and Moody were also
taking turns.
One day, Harry was going into the infirmary to bring Ron his Transfiguration homework, since
he had missed class to sit with Neville, and before he could put his hand on the knob, the door
flew open and Draco Malfoy came out. Harry tried to stem the wave of anger he felt coming
over him when he saw him, remembering the way he’d treated Ginny on her birthday,
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