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perpetual_motionTitle: Sick and Tired of What to Say (No One Listens Anyway) [2/4]
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Neville/Snape
Rating: R [dark themes and sex; mostly the dark themes]
Summary: Wherein I take a giant leap from set-ups in book 7 to create a post-war wizarding world that isn't quite the bright shiny penny we get in the epilogue. Neville gets whumped a bit; Severus acts a touch more well-rounded; Hermione is confident and caring; a bunch of new teachers get vaguely silly names, and there are quotes from Monty Python.
Disclaimer: Lies! Oh, so many lies!
Author's Notes: This came out of nowhere and grew up fast, save the last five thousand words or so, which slowly unfolded while I waited with a measure of impatience. There are quotes from various Monty Python projects scattered throughout (and used with a purpose). Trust me on that. Title comes from the Flogging Molly song "Float", which played on repeat with a few other tunes while I pieced this thing together. Much love to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
distaff_exile who betaed the crap out of this, kept me from repeating myself, and kept me from repeating myself. You're fab, my dear.
Part One
Sick and Tired of What to Say (No One Listens Anyway) [2/4]
By Perpetual Motion
Hermione sits to his left at lunch. Grace sits to his right. Nomos, after giving him a rather cold look, sits at the other end of the table. “What was that?” Hermione asks, and before Neville can explain, Grace tells Hermione about that morning’s breakfast.
“You just let Professor Snape sneak up on him?” Hermione asks Neville, looking slightly shocked.
“Yes,” Neville says, trying not to sound defensive.
Hermione smiles. “Good. That kind of rudeness is just inexcusable. Can you imagine if he starts talking like that around the students? I’m going to talk to Minerva about making sure everyone has their facts straight before the term starts. Professor Snape’s been through more than enough without people with half the truth trying to make him sound bad.” She gets up and walks down the table to sit next to Minerva.
Neville watches her go and smiles to himself. “Should be fixed in about five minutes,” he tells Grace. “Four-and-a-half if Hermione’s really trying.”
Grace looks a bit poleaxed. “Is she always so…determined?”
“Who are we talking about?” A gangly man with a smooth bald head sits in Hermione’s seat and looks down the table. “Ah, Professor Granger. I’m not surprised.”
Neville blinks a few times. “I’m sorry, we haven’t—”
“Eugene Hilbert. I’m teaching Arithmancy.” Eugene gives Neville’s hand a shake that nearly rattles his teeth. “You’re Neville Longbottom for Herbology, right?”
“Y-yes.” Neville stutters. “You’ve met H-Hermione?”
“We walked the lawn last night. She’s got a hell of a head on her shoulders.” Hilbert looks down the table again. “You know her, don’t you?”
“We w-went to school together,” Neville tells him. He breathes in deeply through his nose and lets it out in a sigh of air.
Hilbert cocks his head. “You all right, mate?”
“I…um…you have a lot of energy,” Neville says and wants to bite off his tongue.
“Been told that a few times.” Hilbert grins. Neville is suddenly very strongly reminded of the Weasley twins, and he’s incredibly grateful that Grace asks Hilbert a question so that he has a moment to compose himself.
“…she’s Muggle-born,” Hilbert is telling Grace, “That’s one of the reasons Minerva wanted her for Muggle Studies. I think she’d be pretty good at just about anything, though.” Hilbert looks at Neville. “Do you know if she’s seeing anyone?”
“I d-don’t know,” Neville takes a long drink of his pumpkin juice and slowly counts to five in his head. “You’d have to check with her.”
“She’s very smart,” Hilbert says. “I like that.”
“I’m very smart,” Grace says, and she bats her eyelashes theatrically.
Neville can’t breathe, and he stands up from the table, planning to get away.
“Neville!” Minerva calls from the other end of the table. “Could you join Hermione and me for a moment?”
No, Neville thinks, I really can’t, but his feet move before his mouth, and he finds himself sitting to Minerva’s left. “Y-yes?” he asks, trying to calm his frantically beating heart.
Minerva looks at him closely. “Are you feeling well, Neville?”
“Memories,” Neville says flatly, and he sees, in the tightening of Minerva’s mouth, that she understands.
“Hermione was telling me about your conversation with Professor Nomos this morning, and I think we should have a staff meeting before the term starts to speak about the war, and who was on which side. Hermione’s already offered to run the meeting, and I was hoping you would act as her second. I would be mediating, as I feel it would be best to been seen as unbiased as possible for such a conversation.”
Neville considers his options. He’d much rather not sit in a room and talk about what he did during the war, but he understands what Hermione’s trying to do, making sure everyone starts the term with the right information. “What about Severus?” he asks after a moment. “We’re doing this for his benefit, partly. He should be allowed to decide if he wants us to do it at all.”
“He wouldn’t want—” Hermione presses her lips shut. “Wait. Sorry. It’s Professor Snape. The scarier he can seem on the first day, the happier it will probably make him.”
Minerva smirks. “I will speak with him this afternoon.” She nods when Hermione stands up to go back to her original seat. Her hand presses against Neville’s arm before he can get up. “How are you?” she asks quietly.
Neville stares at the table. “Hilbert reminds me of Fred and George,” he says after a moment.
“I thought the same thing,” Minerva confides. She squeezes Neville’s arm softly. “Thank you for coming to teach. I wasn’t certain you would be receptive.”
I’m not sure I am, Neville thinks. “I saw Professor Sprout’s memorial,” he says.
“I thought about planting a tree.”
“No,” Neville shakes his head. “I think she’d have preferred—” He swallows hard. “I think it’s just right.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.” Minerva lifts her hand and straightens her spectacles. “I’ll let you get back to lunch.”
Hermione’s in his chair when he gets to the other end of the table. He waves at her to keep the seat and settles on the other side of Grace. Neville listens to the three of them talk as he finishes his lunch. He thinks about his first few weeks at school, sitting in whatever chair he could find, hoping someone would say something to him.
“Hermione says you have embarrassing stories about her.” Hilbert says, leaning forward on the table to see Neville around Hermione and Grace.
Neville looks at Hermione. Her head is in her hands, and her face is bright red. “A few, maybe,” he says. “But she’s probably got more about me.”
“Tell one!” Grace demands. “Then she can tell one on you, and then Eugene and I can embarrass ourselves.”
Eugene shrugs. “I’m game. What’s a little embarrassment amongst co-workers?”
“Okay,” Neville agrees. “Hermione can go first.”
“Why me?” Hermione asks, the question muffled by her hands and her laughter.
“Because it’s funny to watch you try and keep a straight face,” Hilbert says. “You’re very red.”
“Thank you,” Hermione laughs. “That’s very helpful.”
Neville smiles at the three of them and leans back in his chair. He watches Hermione compose herself with a few deep breaths and wishes he felt as light as her laughter makes her sound.
*
The Great Hall was still standing. Neville stood in the middle of the room, turned a slow circle, and tried to figure out how. The left tower was rubble, and the roof of the Astronomy Tower had impaled seven people. Neville looked at the ceiling. The sky outside still showed through, but there were swathes of magic running through it, cutting into the illusion.
“There you are,” McGonagall said as she cut across the room. Her wand was out, her eyes darted, and Neville wondered what she was seeing. “They’re returning.”
“Who?” Neville asked and knew as soon as he asked. “Which ones?”
“We don’t have a list, sadly,” McGonagall shook her head and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We know who we’ve killed, and we know who we’ve captured, but there are still—”
“When will they get here?” Neville heard his grandmother in his head, scolding him about interrupting his elders.
“We have twenty minutes, at most.”
“Where are the others?”
“On the lawn.”
With the bodies, Neville thought, and swallowed down the bile in his throat. “Let’s go.”
“Neville—”
“Harry’s not here, Professor.” Neville turned his sword in his hand and watched the jewels catch the light. “Hermione and Ron are gone. Professor Lupin and Tonks are dead. Fred Weasley is dead.” He looked at McGonagall, then back at his sword. “I wouldn’t be here if Harry had been born first.”
“Neville—”
“But I’m the only one here.”
“I’m sorry,” McGonagall whispered, and she turned her head to wipe her cheeks. “If I could—”
“But you can’t.” Neville looked up at the ceiling again. “It’s only me.”
“Thank you.”
*
Neville plants rosemary and sage and lavender after lunch. He walks the path that loops around the greenhouses and checks them all for structural integrity. The lake is rippling slightly when he sits next to it, and Neville stares into it, wondering if the squid is down there, whether it’s alive. He hears a rustle and turns, smiling when Hermione sits next to him. “Hullo.”
“Hi.” She picks a blade of grass and pulls it apart down its seam. “Are you okay?” she asks after a pause.
“I’m fine,” Neville answers automatically.
“Nev.” She looks at him with the same worry in her eyes she had during their first year. “Something’s not right about you.”
“I get that a lot,” Neville tries to smile, but Hermione looks so concerned he can’t quite make his mouth work. “It’s not—”
“It’s something,” she insists. “I know it is.” Another blade of grass gets split down its seam. “What do wizards do after a war?” she asks.
Neville blinks. “I don’t understand.”
“After a war, what do you do? Do you talk to anyone?”
“About what?”
Hermione sighs so heavily that Neville almost feels the weight of it. “About what happened. About…what you lost.”
“Why would you…” Neville shakes his head. “There’s no reason to talk about those things.”
“It could help. Muggles do it. It helps them, sometimes, to talk about what happens during a war.”
I’m not a Muggle, Neville thinks; I was almost a squib. He stares out at the lake. “It’s hard enough remembering, ‘Mione. Talking about it would make it hurt more.”
“Maybe not.”
They don’t say anything for a few minutes. Hermione sheds grass; Neville tries not to see the shine of blood he knows, rationally, is no longer on the water. “Where did you go?”
Hermione lifts her head. “What?”
“When Pro—Minerva sent you with the Portkey, where did you go?”
“We landed in Egypt. Ron’s brother Bill knew some people there. We were there for three weeks, and then we moved. Where were you?”
Here, Neville thinks. “Not in Egypt.” It comes out harder than he means it to.
Hermione stands and brushes the grass from her robes. “I won’t apologize for where I was,” she says sharply. “And you should talk about it.” She walks away stiffly, shoulders held tight, and Neville almost calls after her to wait.
There’s a splash in the water, and Neville scoots away from the edge of the lake as one giant tentacle breaks the water. It hangs in the air for a moment, and Neville sees a long, ragged scar running along the length. It would be easier, he thinks, if he had any outward proof of what he’d done, what he’d been through.
*
Three days before the term starts, Minerva calls a meeting in the staff common room and explains that they will all be speaking about what they did during the war. “There have been a few misconceptions,” she says and doesn’t look at Nomos, who has apologized to Neville and attempted to apologize to Severus. “And Hermione and Neville thought it would be useful to everyone to have the same information before our students start to ask the especially probing questions.” Minerva steps aside and nods at Hermione and Neville to take charge of the room.
“Hullo,” Hermione says and gives a little wave. “Neville and I have been debating how to handle this, and we thought it’d be best to take it one at a time.”
It’s a lie, actually. They’ve barely spoken since the afternoon at the lake. Hermione’s tried to start conversations and include him at meals, but Neville hides away in the greenhouses or in his rooms and has to convince himself every night not to pack his things and go.
“I was with Harry Potter during the war,” Hermione says in a clear, even voice that pulls Neville out of his head and makes him pay attention. “He and Ron Weasley and I were travelling and searching for the Horcruxes for most of what would have been our seventh year, and then, of course, there was the fight.” Hermione pauses and takes a deep breath, and Neville watches how quickly she blinks. “And then that was over rather too quickly, and we were on the run again.”
“Hogsmeade.” Hilbert announces with a quiver on the ‘d’. “Grew up just outside there, and I spent most of the war acting as a sentry.”
“What about the rest of it?” Nomos asks from his seat at the front.
“Cried a lot,” Hilbert admits.
Grace stands up from her chair to talk. “I was in Dublin,” she speaks in nearly a whisper. “My parents tried to keep me away from it all, but it came to us eventually.” She looks around the room, and Neville starts in surprise when she gives him a watery smile. “After that, I joined up with a squad from the Ministry, and we spent the war chasing the trails.”
Hermione looks at him, and it takes Neville a moment to realize he’s supposed to say something. “I was…” He looks at Minerva. Her hands are clasped in front of her, and he can see the bright white of her knuckles. “I was at the Battle of Hogwarts. And I stayed here awhile. There was more than one attack.” He feels Hermione shift next to him and wonders if she knew that before. “I was here with M-Minerva, and we fought them off.” Neville tries to smile at Minerva, but he thinks the smile she gives him is more convincing. “And that’s it.”
“Neville understates it,” Minerva says with a trace of amusement. It makes everyone in the room laugh a bit nervously. “But we did fight them off.” She looks to a corner of the room, where Severus sits in a high-back chair. “Neville and Severus and I organized the fighting here. And when that was over, I started rebuilding efforts.”
Everyone turns and looks at Severus. He raises an eyebrow imperiously. “I’ve nothing to add,” he states flatly.
It’s tempting to override him, Neville thinks. He wants to list off everything he knows Severus did for the war. Not just at Hogwarts, not just as a spy, but as a man in a flat in the middle of London, grumbling about dishes and Neville’s disorganized bookshelf.
“I provided a place to sleep,” Nomos says before Neville can find his courage. “I was teaching at a Muggle college when the war broke, and I offered my spare bedroom to anyone who needed a rest. I heard a great deal, but I experienced very little.”
“I don’t think anyone here thinks that,” Hermione tells him with a comforting smile. “Everyone’s experience is different for this. That’s why I wanted everyone to have a chance to speak.” She steps forward and shakes Nomos’s hand. “Thank you, for what you did.” Her smile spans the room. “And everyone else here. Thank you. I think it’s important for us to remember that we’re all connected by this, even if our experiences are different. The war affected us all.”
Neville can’t look at her when she turns to look at him. Another of the staff stands up to speak, and he doesn’t hear a word. He’s watching Severus sit in his high-back chair and look completely unaffected.
How, he wonders, but he’s been wondering it for years, and asking aloud has never led to an answer that makes any of it make any sense. Neville sits in a chair and rests his head in his hands as the stories turn from factual to anecdotal. Someone puts a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to find Minerva smiling down at him.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
“Everyone else was sharing,” he tells her, and his voice is rough. He watches her gaze slide across the room and knows by the way her hand tightens on his shoulder that Severus has left the room. “Almost everyone,” he amends, and they share a knowing look. Neville stands and runs his hands through his hair. “I’m going…” He trails off and gives a shrug. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says to Minerva.
Severus is cutting across the entryway and down the stairs by the time Neville catches up with him. “Severus!” Neville calls, and speeds to a near-run.
“Useless,” Severus mutters just loud enough that it carries back to Neville. “Ridiculous emotional uselessness,” he clarifies as he stops next to Dumbledore’s memorial and pushes out a breath that almost sounds like a yell. He turns on his heel as Neville reaches him, and their noses nearly collide.
“Are you—” Neville starts to ask, but Severus grabs his face and reels him in, and they’re kissing, Neville’s hands squeezing Severus’s wrists, and Severus grazing Neville’s bottom lip with his teeth as he changes the angle of his head.
This, Neville thinks. This. He kisses back, unclenching one of his hands so he can grab a handful of Severus’s robe and pull him in closer. It knocks them off-balance, and they stumble for a moment before falling to the ground.
“Ow,” Neville gasps when he hits his head on a rock.
“You’ll live,” Severus growls, and then he’s kissing Neville again, hands sliding down Neville’s face, one cupping his neck, the other pressing hard against his chest.
“Why—” Neville gets out when Severus pulls away for a moment. “You had—” he begins before Severus kisses him again. “Time,” Neville whispers when Severus lets him breathe again. “You had time.”
*
Hermione is waiting for him outside his door when he gets back inside. Neville wishes there were a mirror nearby so he could see how he looks, but there are only smooth stones and shiny suits of armor, and he wishes he could wear one as she greets him.
“You’re a mess,” Hermione says and brushes grass and dirt off the sleeve of his robe. “What were you doing; rolling around on the lawn?”
Close enough, Neville thinks. “Do you need something?” he asks.
“I wanted to apologize,” Hermione tucks her hands into the sleeves of her robes. “I should have come and talk to you earlier, but I thought you were just being stubborn. I…I didn’t know you were here for the other battles, and I thought you were acting funny—”
“It’s okay,” Neville interrupts her. “I didn’t think I was that brave, either.”
“Neville!” Hermione scolds. “I’ve always thought you were brave!”
She has, Neville knows, but he’s never quite had the same conviction on the matter. “Someone had to stay,” he says quietly. “And you had to protect Harry.”
“Oh, Neville—”
“Please don’t,” he says softly. “I don’t think,” he breathes in deep and closes his eyes. “I just can’t.”
“I’ll go, then,” Hermione responds. “Good night, Neville.”
“Night.” He keeps his eyes closed until he hears her walk away. When he opens them, all he can see are the memories. Not ten feet from this door, he remembers, he performed Crucio on two Death Eaters and watched them crumple to the floor in screaming agony. If he hadn’t needed to get by them, he thinks, he might have killed them. It makes his stomach twist, and Neville steps into his room and conjures a cup of chamomile tea.
*
“They’re coming for you,” Minerva said to Severus. “They want your head.”
Severus rolled his eyes and looked, to Neville, much more annoyed than terrified. “Of course.” He crossed his arms and gave Minerva a blank look. “And?”
“And they don’t get it,” Minerva replied, and Neville couldn’t figure out why she was smiling. “You daft bastard,” she added.
“They’ll stop attacking,” Neville said before he could stop it. He looked at Severus, ready to apologize, and the smile on Severus’s face threw him off so badly he took a step backwards. “I didn’t—”
“You did,” Severus corrected. “And he’s right,” he says to Minerva. “For once.”
“A point for Gryffindor?” Neville asked and bit his tongue in surprise when he realized he’d said it.
“No,” Minerva answered him. “But how about a change of scenery?”
Neville didn’t look around. “What?”
“We need Severus,” Minerva explained slowly, and Neville found he was too exhausted to find it insulting. “Which means Severus will have to hide, and I’d prefer not to send him out there alone.”
“I can survive on my own, Minerva,” Severus said sharply.
“There’s not a slimier, sneakier bastard than you, Severus,” Minerva agreed with a nod, “But there’s something to be said for strength in numbers.”
Neville blinked when they both looked at him. “What?” He asked. “I don’t—”
“You’ll travel with Severus,” Minerva told him. “The Order can set up the two of you somewhere more secure, and it will allow, hopefully, for Hogwarts to be less of a target.”
Like it matters now, Neville thought, and stepped to his left as the wall next to him shuddered and crumbled a little bit more. “When do we leave?”
*
Hermione sits next to him at the opening feast. When the first Gryffindor is sorted, she grips his hand, and Neville squeezes back. He looks down the table at Severus when the first Slytherin is sorted. Severus looks unimpressed, but he straightens his shoulders, and Neville feels himself smiling.
*
“I am Professor Longbottom and this is Herbology,” Neville says the next day as he surveys his first class. There are butterflies in his stomach, and he feels slightly light-headed as fifteen pairs of eyes watch him with something neighboring awe. “Today, we’ll be working with mandrakes. Can anyone tell me the uses of the mandrake plant?” He’s met with silence, and Neville feels his nerves ratchet up. “Mandrake root is used for restorative potions,” he finally says into the silence.
“Professor?” A boy near the back raises his hand.
“Yes…” Neville tries to remember the boy’s name. “You,” he finally says with a wave.
“Did you really kill a giant snake with the Gryffindor sword?”
The butterflies turn to bats, and his light-headedness causes spots in front of his eyes. “This is Herbology, not History of Magic,” he snaps, but his stomach is still rolling. The entire class looks shocked, and Neville wants to apologize. “Does anyone have questions relating to Herbology?”
The class is completely silent.
“Make certain that your earmuffs fully cover both ears,” He continues. “A baby Mandrake’s cry can knock you unconscious, and a full-grown Mandrake can kill you. Am I understood?” Neville watches them nod. “Very good.”
*
Hermione sits next to him in the staff common room and gives him a puzzled look. “The Hufflepuffs were whispering about you being mean this morning,” she tells him.
Sitting next to Hermione, a cup of tea on the table next to him, Neville suddenly feels embarrassed. “They asked about Nagini,” he says.
“Oh.” Hermione is quiet for a full minute as she shuffles her papers and takes a sip of her tea. “If it helps, I think they’re still more terrified of Severus.”
Neville glances across the room where Severus is sitting alone at a table, scowling at a length of parchment. “I’m no match,” he agrees, and Hermione chuckles lightly. He looks at her, and she’s watching him with only a small spark of concern in her eyes. “Yes?” he asks, because knowing his students are scared of him, even a little, makes him hurt a little.
“Where were you after Hogwarts?”
“During the war, you mean?”
Exasperation flickers across her face. “Of course.”
“Spent some time in London.”
“Doing what?”
“Shadowy stuff for the Order.”
Hermione narrows her eyes. “I’m not sure I don’t completely disbelieve you,” she admits after a few seconds.
“I’m not sure I completely disbelieve myself,” Neville confides. He sighs deeply and scratches at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”
“For what?”
“Being difficult, I guess. I know you’re trying to help, and I know the students don’t mean anything, but the war…” He looks across the room at Severus again. “I feel like I can’t explain it. There’s so much I’m not sure I’m remembering right.”
“How much time did you spend with Severus?” She asks quietly. She shrugs when Neville’s eyes widen in surprise. “Lucky guess. I did a great deal of research for Minerva while we were tucked away. That’s how I broke the habit of calling her ‘Professor’.”
“We didn’t work together,” Neville says. “But we shared…space.” He stands up before Hermione can answer and walks across the room. Severus doesn’t look up until Neville sits across from him.
“Is there something you need, Mr. Longbottom?” He sounds bored.
Neville opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He licks his lips and presses them together and watches Severus softly tap his fingers on the tabletop. “Had a burst of courage,” he manages to say.
Severus’s left eyebrow rises. “Oh?” His fingers stop tapping. He picks up his quill. “And is it still there?”
“No, not really, Sir. Not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time, Sir.” Neville’s tempted to clamp a hand over his mouth when Severus levels a blank stare at him.
“Well, I’m sorry,” Severus replies, face completely unreadable, “but I’m afraid I’m going to have to shoot you.”
Neville laughs, a low-pitched reverberation he doesn’t quite recognize, and it takes him a moment to realize what the noise actually is. He presses a hand against his mouth and tries to calm down.
“What’s the joke?” Nomos asks as he passes them to pour a fresh cup of tea.
“Nothing,” Severus says, eyes on his parchment.
It makes Neville laugh harder. Nomos raises his eyebrows. “Something’s the joke.”
Neville silently counts to ten and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Do you like cheese, Walter?” He asks. There’s a twitch at the edge of Severus’s mouth, and it’s enough to send Neville into fits again.
Nomos looks over at Hermione. “Do you have any idea?”
“Not a clue,” Hermione answers. “But I feel like I should.”
“At least I’m not alone then,” Nomos replies as he fills his teacup.
*
“I give Miss Granger a day before she puts it together,” Severus says when Neville opens his door that night. “And then you’ll have questions to answer.”
Neville steps aside to let Severus in and shrugs. “I can explain it.”
“With the truth?”
Of course not, Neville thinks. “With something.” He offers the chair against the wall to Severus and sits across from him. Having his back to the door makes his shoulder blades tingle.
“You’ll tell everything eventually,” Severus declares.
“I’m not against telling everything,” Neville tells him. “I just don’t know how to explain it all. I look around here…” He looks around the room. “Does it bother you that you can’t tell anything happened here? I keep looking for some sign of it, and everything just looks so solid and…” Neville’s voice drops into a whisper. “I just want proof.”
“Of what?” Severus asks quietly.
“Any of it. Some proof that we were here. And that there was a battle. And that…that we nearly lost.”
“Your hand isn’t proof enough?”
Neville glances down at his hands. “What do you mean?” He looks up, and his stomach clenches when he realizes Severus looks surprised. “What?” It’s more of a bark than a word, and Neville jumps at the sound of it. “Why do you—”
“Your hand,” Severus says fiercely. “Look at your left hand.”
It’s just a hand, Neville thinks, and he inspects it carefully. The back is smooth. There’s some dirt on his hands from transferring the lavender plants that afternoon, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. His fingernails are slightly ragged, and there’s a thorn scratch on his thumb, but it still just looks like a hand.
“Turn your hand over,” Severus instructs.
His palm is smooth. “What?” He asks. He looks at Severus, impatience pushing out his curiosity. “There’s nothing—”
Severus stands up and stalks over to him, presses his thumb directly in the center of his left palm, and Neville cries out as pain radiates up his arm. “What are you—” Neville yanks his hand away and rubs his palm. “That hurt!” He looks down, wondering what Severus did. There’s a jagged scar running from the center of his palm to an inch below his elbow. Neville stares at it. He flexes his hand and winces as the pain shoots up his arm again. “What…” He looks at Severus, terror climbing up his throat. “Where did that come from?”
*
The Order found them a flat in the middle of London. It had two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a dining area big enough for Severus to set up his potions. There was also a huge television and a wall full of DVDs. The owner of the flat was a Muggle-born wizard who had joined in the fighting. He’d left detailed, animated notes of how to work the DVD player, and they’d spent the first day sitting on the bright blue couch watching something called “Monty Python’s Flying Circus”.
The second day, Severus rose early, went to the shops, and came back with herbs and a huge cooking pot. “I have to work,” he told Neville, and Neville stayed out of the dining area as Severus set up and began to brew healing potions.
On the third day, Neville ventured out to a small plant nursery and carefully selected a dozen plants so that they could grow ingredients at the flat, rather than having to go out.
On the third night, they sat down and watched more “Monty Python”.
“This is imbecilic,” Severus declared as the man on-screen banged a dead parrot against a counter.
“I’m not keeping you from brewing,” Neville snapped.
There was a moment of silence between them. “Was that backbone, Mr. Longbottom?” Severus asked.
“I don’t think it’s going away,” Neville told him and felt strangely relaxed. “I’ve used it too much this year.”
“Hmm,” is all Severus said as he stood up. “Call me in if the Spanish Inquisition shows up.”
“How can I?” Neville asked, feeling slightly giddy. “No one expects it.”
*
“I remember that,” Neville says, and the hysterical edge in his voice makes his whole body shake. “I remember all of that. I’m asking about this!” He jabs his finger into the center of his palm, and his left hand closes involuntarily as he hisses with pain. “How—”
“Your lack of memory is disturbing,” Severus says slowly.
“You think so?” Neville jumps to his feet and nearly pushes Severus over. “I’m terribly sorry it bothers you, Severus! I’d hate to think you were—” He falls to his knees and stares at his hand. “What else did I do?” Neville whispers. Even trailing his fingers lightly down the scar makes pain flare. “What else?” He looks at Severus again, tears running down his face. “Severus.”
“Chin up,” Severus says and reaches down to haul Neville to his feet. He pushes him back into his chair and walks over to the teapot. “Hysteria—”
“Tell me,” Neville hisses, and he barely recognizes his own voice.
“I will not.” Severus carries over a cup of tea and hands it to Neville. “If you don’t recall it, there is a reason.”
“But you know!”
Severus sighs heavily. “Yes,” he admits. He lifts Neville’s right hand and curls it around the teacup. “Drink it,” he orders.
“I want—”
“Calm yourself, and I will consider it.”
Neville sips his tea. “I thought I couldn’t forget anything,” he says quietly. “All I’ve wanted this whole time—”
“Finish your tea,” Severus instructs him.
Neville gulps the rest of it, feeling defiant and tired and horribly confused. “How could I,” he pauses. “I sound…” his eyelids droop, and then there’s blackness.
*
They were there a week before Neville realized why he felt slightly out of sorts. “You’ve been nice,” he said to Severus as they sat down to lunch.
Severus gave him a withering look as he cut his sandwich into two precise triangles. “What?” He asked archly.
“You’ve been nice,” Neville repeated. “I keep expecting you to yell at me.”
“Act like an idiot, and I will yell at you,” Severus promised.
“You yelled at everyone at school.”
“Everyone at school is an idiot.”
Neville frowned at that. “Even Professor McGonagall?”
“Do you recall me ever yelling at Minerva, Mr. Longbottom?”
He thought back. “No,” he said after a moment. “So everyone but Professor McGonagall was an idiot?”
“Close enough.”
“But I’m not being an idiot right now?”
“Right now, no.” Severus took a bite of his sandwich. “But I am certain you’ll remember how by the end of lunch.”
Neville bit into his own sandwich rather than respond. No reason to get an early start, he thought, and it made him smile a little. “A question,” he said.
“If you must.”
“What did I do that wasn’t idiotic?”
“You killed that damned snake.”
“That’s it?”
“It was your first act of non-idiocy. I shall reserve the rest for other instances where you require such useless information.”
*
Neville wakes up in his bed. It’s dark outside his window, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. There’s a silhouette sitting at the end of his bed. “Bastard,” he says.
“It was necessary. Had you continued, I would have had to include Minerva in this conversation.”
“What does she have to do with this?” Neville squints when Severus shifts. He reaches for his wand. “Lumos.” He looks at Severus’s face in the dim light. “How?”
“You sustained your injury during the second wave of the battle, when the Death Eaters returned the first time.”
“I don’t—”
“You screamed when it happened and seemed not to remember it at all when we bandaged it.”
Neville looks down at his arm. “It was for grip,” he explains. “I tore off some of my robe and tied it to my hand so I could hold the sword more easily.”
“Those were scraps of Minerva’s robe.”
“But…we…” Neville stares at his hand. “Minerva sent us away because of me,” he says and wishes it were a question.
“Partly,” Severus confirms. “I was to be hidden away no matter.”
“That first day, you didn’t brew. You were…” Neville meets Severus eyes. “You were babysitting.”
“I was—”
“Poor little Longbottom!” Neville shouts. “Parents ruined in the first war! His mind going in the second!”
“That is not—”
“And Severus Snape left to care for the invalid!” Neville throws off the covers and slices his wand through the air. All the candles in the room flare to life. “Left to brew in some Muggle-born’s flat and put up with poor, idiotic Neville Longbottom! The great war hero who can’t even remember his damned wound!”
“Neville—” Severus starts, tone sharp.
“That’s why you wouldn’t—” Neville feels like screaming. “Get out.” He demands.
Severus stares at him. “That wasn’t—”
“Out!” Neville yells. “Get out!” He turns away and stares at the flickering candles until he hears the outer door close. His scalp itches. His fingers tingle. His left arm throbs up to his elbow. Neville stares until his eyes burn, and there are warm, bright spots when he blinks his eyes.
He stalks into the sitting room, meaning to throw something. There’s quill and parchment on the desk. He writes a note:
Why us?
Neville sees no one as he makes his way to the West Tower, and it’s only after he sends the owl out of the window that he sees the height of the moon. It’s past midnight. He wonders if he was actually meant to wake before morning or if Severus had intentionally half-dosed him.
Can’t ask him now, Neville thinks as he walks down the stairs from the Owlery. He stops at the bottom of the steps and sits down hard. What to do, he wonders. It’s been bad enough before, and now there’s a whole nightmare he hasn’t be aware he’s had.
“Nev?”
Neville raises his head from his arms and feels a wave of relief when Hermione cocks her head and looks worried. “’Mione.”
“What are you doing up here?”
“Why are you here?” He asks, not sure how to answer her question.
“It’s my night on rounds.” Hermione sits next to Neville and looks at him closely in the half-light from the wall torches. “What’s happened?”
How she knows, Neville can’t begin to guess. He considers what to tell her, and ends up holding out his left hand. “Have you seen this before?”
Hermione blinks at his hand. “You mean your scar?”
“Y-yeah.”
“How could I miss—” Hermione cuts off with a gasp. “Oh,” she breathes out softly.
“I didn’t know,” Neville says just as softly. “I didn’t…” He stares at the shadows in the hallway. “I have all these memories I don’t want. Really awful stuff. But I thought it’d be okay. Only memories, right? Came out the other side of the war with my head still attached. But…” He flexes his left hand and watches the scar shift.
“Oh, Neville,” Hermione whispers, and she sounds like her first-year self, when she was so good-hearted but forever feeling sorry for him. “You really—”
“I don’t.”
Hermione leans against his arm and squeezes his bicep. “It’ll be okay.”
He remembers when she used to be able to say that and he’d believe her. He wishes he still could. “I was in London,” he says flatly. “I was hiding with Severus and growing herbs for his potions and watching DVDs about fish dances and silly walks, and it all seemed so ridiculous. To be there, with him of all people, and that’s what I did during the war.” Neville drops his hand to his knee. “And now I find out that even that isn’t what actually happened.”
“It is,” Hermione says fiercely. “It’s exactly what happened. There’s just more to it now.”
“I thought I was there to protect him. I thought…” Neville shakes his head and closes his eyes to stop the tears. “I thought I was the hero.”
“You were. You are.” Hermione insists.
“No,” Neville disagrees and stands up. “I’m not.” He walks away, down the stairs and through the corridor, and finally out of the front door of the castle. The front gate is locked and polished so brightly it shines a little in the moonlight. Neville remembers watching it fly off its hinges when the Death Eaters came back for the second battle. He remembers dodging individual spires as they flew at his head. He remembers turning them around mid-air and watching them impale Death Eaters.
Is that how it happened, he wonders and looks at his hand again. Was it something flying by and he didn’t feel it? Or did someone hold him down and slowly and carefully slice open his palm and the inside of his arm? So many details he can’t forget, and this won’t come to him at all.
He walks to the third greenhouse and pots Dittany and Bubotuber until dawn.
Part Three
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Neville/Snape
Rating: R [dark themes and sex; mostly the dark themes]
Summary: Wherein I take a giant leap from set-ups in book 7 to create a post-war wizarding world that isn't quite the bright shiny penny we get in the epilogue. Neville gets whumped a bit; Severus acts a touch more well-rounded; Hermione is confident and caring; a bunch of new teachers get vaguely silly names, and there are quotes from Monty Python.
Disclaimer: Lies! Oh, so many lies!
Author's Notes: This came out of nowhere and grew up fast, save the last five thousand words or so, which slowly unfolded while I waited with a measure of impatience. There are quotes from various Monty Python projects scattered throughout (and used with a purpose). Trust me on that. Title comes from the Flogging Molly song "Float", which played on repeat with a few other tunes while I pieced this thing together. Much love to
distaff_exile who betaed the crap out of this, kept me from repeating myself, and kept me from repeating myself. You're fab, my dear.Part One
Sick and Tired of What to Say (No One Listens Anyway) [2/4]
By Perpetual Motion
Hermione sits to his left at lunch. Grace sits to his right. Nomos, after giving him a rather cold look, sits at the other end of the table. “What was that?” Hermione asks, and before Neville can explain, Grace tells Hermione about that morning’s breakfast.
“You just let Professor Snape sneak up on him?” Hermione asks Neville, looking slightly shocked.
“Yes,” Neville says, trying not to sound defensive.
Hermione smiles. “Good. That kind of rudeness is just inexcusable. Can you imagine if he starts talking like that around the students? I’m going to talk to Minerva about making sure everyone has their facts straight before the term starts. Professor Snape’s been through more than enough without people with half the truth trying to make him sound bad.” She gets up and walks down the table to sit next to Minerva.
Neville watches her go and smiles to himself. “Should be fixed in about five minutes,” he tells Grace. “Four-and-a-half if Hermione’s really trying.”
Grace looks a bit poleaxed. “Is she always so…determined?”
“Who are we talking about?” A gangly man with a smooth bald head sits in Hermione’s seat and looks down the table. “Ah, Professor Granger. I’m not surprised.”
Neville blinks a few times. “I’m sorry, we haven’t—”
“Eugene Hilbert. I’m teaching Arithmancy.” Eugene gives Neville’s hand a shake that nearly rattles his teeth. “You’re Neville Longbottom for Herbology, right?”
“Y-yes.” Neville stutters. “You’ve met H-Hermione?”
“We walked the lawn last night. She’s got a hell of a head on her shoulders.” Hilbert looks down the table again. “You know her, don’t you?”
“We w-went to school together,” Neville tells him. He breathes in deeply through his nose and lets it out in a sigh of air.
Hilbert cocks his head. “You all right, mate?”
“I…um…you have a lot of energy,” Neville says and wants to bite off his tongue.
“Been told that a few times.” Hilbert grins. Neville is suddenly very strongly reminded of the Weasley twins, and he’s incredibly grateful that Grace asks Hilbert a question so that he has a moment to compose himself.
“…she’s Muggle-born,” Hilbert is telling Grace, “That’s one of the reasons Minerva wanted her for Muggle Studies. I think she’d be pretty good at just about anything, though.” Hilbert looks at Neville. “Do you know if she’s seeing anyone?”
“I d-don’t know,” Neville takes a long drink of his pumpkin juice and slowly counts to five in his head. “You’d have to check with her.”
“She’s very smart,” Hilbert says. “I like that.”
“I’m very smart,” Grace says, and she bats her eyelashes theatrically.
Neville can’t breathe, and he stands up from the table, planning to get away.
“Neville!” Minerva calls from the other end of the table. “Could you join Hermione and me for a moment?”
No, Neville thinks, I really can’t, but his feet move before his mouth, and he finds himself sitting to Minerva’s left. “Y-yes?” he asks, trying to calm his frantically beating heart.
Minerva looks at him closely. “Are you feeling well, Neville?”
“Memories,” Neville says flatly, and he sees, in the tightening of Minerva’s mouth, that she understands.
“Hermione was telling me about your conversation with Professor Nomos this morning, and I think we should have a staff meeting before the term starts to speak about the war, and who was on which side. Hermione’s already offered to run the meeting, and I was hoping you would act as her second. I would be mediating, as I feel it would be best to been seen as unbiased as possible for such a conversation.”
Neville considers his options. He’d much rather not sit in a room and talk about what he did during the war, but he understands what Hermione’s trying to do, making sure everyone starts the term with the right information. “What about Severus?” he asks after a moment. “We’re doing this for his benefit, partly. He should be allowed to decide if he wants us to do it at all.”
“He wouldn’t want—” Hermione presses her lips shut. “Wait. Sorry. It’s Professor Snape. The scarier he can seem on the first day, the happier it will probably make him.”
Minerva smirks. “I will speak with him this afternoon.” She nods when Hermione stands up to go back to her original seat. Her hand presses against Neville’s arm before he can get up. “How are you?” she asks quietly.
Neville stares at the table. “Hilbert reminds me of Fred and George,” he says after a moment.
“I thought the same thing,” Minerva confides. She squeezes Neville’s arm softly. “Thank you for coming to teach. I wasn’t certain you would be receptive.”
I’m not sure I am, Neville thinks. “I saw Professor Sprout’s memorial,” he says.
“I thought about planting a tree.”
“No,” Neville shakes his head. “I think she’d have preferred—” He swallows hard. “I think it’s just right.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.” Minerva lifts her hand and straightens her spectacles. “I’ll let you get back to lunch.”
Hermione’s in his chair when he gets to the other end of the table. He waves at her to keep the seat and settles on the other side of Grace. Neville listens to the three of them talk as he finishes his lunch. He thinks about his first few weeks at school, sitting in whatever chair he could find, hoping someone would say something to him.
“Hermione says you have embarrassing stories about her.” Hilbert says, leaning forward on the table to see Neville around Hermione and Grace.
Neville looks at Hermione. Her head is in her hands, and her face is bright red. “A few, maybe,” he says. “But she’s probably got more about me.”
“Tell one!” Grace demands. “Then she can tell one on you, and then Eugene and I can embarrass ourselves.”
Eugene shrugs. “I’m game. What’s a little embarrassment amongst co-workers?”
“Okay,” Neville agrees. “Hermione can go first.”
“Why me?” Hermione asks, the question muffled by her hands and her laughter.
“Because it’s funny to watch you try and keep a straight face,” Hilbert says. “You’re very red.”
“Thank you,” Hermione laughs. “That’s very helpful.”
Neville smiles at the three of them and leans back in his chair. He watches Hermione compose herself with a few deep breaths and wishes he felt as light as her laughter makes her sound.
*
The Great Hall was still standing. Neville stood in the middle of the room, turned a slow circle, and tried to figure out how. The left tower was rubble, and the roof of the Astronomy Tower had impaled seven people. Neville looked at the ceiling. The sky outside still showed through, but there were swathes of magic running through it, cutting into the illusion.
“There you are,” McGonagall said as she cut across the room. Her wand was out, her eyes darted, and Neville wondered what she was seeing. “They’re returning.”
“Who?” Neville asked and knew as soon as he asked. “Which ones?”
“We don’t have a list, sadly,” McGonagall shook her head and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We know who we’ve killed, and we know who we’ve captured, but there are still—”
“When will they get here?” Neville heard his grandmother in his head, scolding him about interrupting his elders.
“We have twenty minutes, at most.”
“Where are the others?”
“On the lawn.”
With the bodies, Neville thought, and swallowed down the bile in his throat. “Let’s go.”
“Neville—”
“Harry’s not here, Professor.” Neville turned his sword in his hand and watched the jewels catch the light. “Hermione and Ron are gone. Professor Lupin and Tonks are dead. Fred Weasley is dead.” He looked at McGonagall, then back at his sword. “I wouldn’t be here if Harry had been born first.”
“Neville—”
“But I’m the only one here.”
“I’m sorry,” McGonagall whispered, and she turned her head to wipe her cheeks. “If I could—”
“But you can’t.” Neville looked up at the ceiling again. “It’s only me.”
“Thank you.”
*
Neville plants rosemary and sage and lavender after lunch. He walks the path that loops around the greenhouses and checks them all for structural integrity. The lake is rippling slightly when he sits next to it, and Neville stares into it, wondering if the squid is down there, whether it’s alive. He hears a rustle and turns, smiling when Hermione sits next to him. “Hullo.”
“Hi.” She picks a blade of grass and pulls it apart down its seam. “Are you okay?” she asks after a pause.
“I’m fine,” Neville answers automatically.
“Nev.” She looks at him with the same worry in her eyes she had during their first year. “Something’s not right about you.”
“I get that a lot,” Neville tries to smile, but Hermione looks so concerned he can’t quite make his mouth work. “It’s not—”
“It’s something,” she insists. “I know it is.” Another blade of grass gets split down its seam. “What do wizards do after a war?” she asks.
Neville blinks. “I don’t understand.”
“After a war, what do you do? Do you talk to anyone?”
“About what?”
Hermione sighs so heavily that Neville almost feels the weight of it. “About what happened. About…what you lost.”
“Why would you…” Neville shakes his head. “There’s no reason to talk about those things.”
“It could help. Muggles do it. It helps them, sometimes, to talk about what happens during a war.”
I’m not a Muggle, Neville thinks; I was almost a squib. He stares out at the lake. “It’s hard enough remembering, ‘Mione. Talking about it would make it hurt more.”
“Maybe not.”
They don’t say anything for a few minutes. Hermione sheds grass; Neville tries not to see the shine of blood he knows, rationally, is no longer on the water. “Where did you go?”
Hermione lifts her head. “What?”
“When Pro—Minerva sent you with the Portkey, where did you go?”
“We landed in Egypt. Ron’s brother Bill knew some people there. We were there for three weeks, and then we moved. Where were you?”
Here, Neville thinks. “Not in Egypt.” It comes out harder than he means it to.
Hermione stands and brushes the grass from her robes. “I won’t apologize for where I was,” she says sharply. “And you should talk about it.” She walks away stiffly, shoulders held tight, and Neville almost calls after her to wait.
There’s a splash in the water, and Neville scoots away from the edge of the lake as one giant tentacle breaks the water. It hangs in the air for a moment, and Neville sees a long, ragged scar running along the length. It would be easier, he thinks, if he had any outward proof of what he’d done, what he’d been through.
*
Three days before the term starts, Minerva calls a meeting in the staff common room and explains that they will all be speaking about what they did during the war. “There have been a few misconceptions,” she says and doesn’t look at Nomos, who has apologized to Neville and attempted to apologize to Severus. “And Hermione and Neville thought it would be useful to everyone to have the same information before our students start to ask the especially probing questions.” Minerva steps aside and nods at Hermione and Neville to take charge of the room.
“Hullo,” Hermione says and gives a little wave. “Neville and I have been debating how to handle this, and we thought it’d be best to take it one at a time.”
It’s a lie, actually. They’ve barely spoken since the afternoon at the lake. Hermione’s tried to start conversations and include him at meals, but Neville hides away in the greenhouses or in his rooms and has to convince himself every night not to pack his things and go.
“I was with Harry Potter during the war,” Hermione says in a clear, even voice that pulls Neville out of his head and makes him pay attention. “He and Ron Weasley and I were travelling and searching for the Horcruxes for most of what would have been our seventh year, and then, of course, there was the fight.” Hermione pauses and takes a deep breath, and Neville watches how quickly she blinks. “And then that was over rather too quickly, and we were on the run again.”
“Hogsmeade.” Hilbert announces with a quiver on the ‘d’. “Grew up just outside there, and I spent most of the war acting as a sentry.”
“What about the rest of it?” Nomos asks from his seat at the front.
“Cried a lot,” Hilbert admits.
Grace stands up from her chair to talk. “I was in Dublin,” she speaks in nearly a whisper. “My parents tried to keep me away from it all, but it came to us eventually.” She looks around the room, and Neville starts in surprise when she gives him a watery smile. “After that, I joined up with a squad from the Ministry, and we spent the war chasing the trails.”
Hermione looks at him, and it takes Neville a moment to realize he’s supposed to say something. “I was…” He looks at Minerva. Her hands are clasped in front of her, and he can see the bright white of her knuckles. “I was at the Battle of Hogwarts. And I stayed here awhile. There was more than one attack.” He feels Hermione shift next to him and wonders if she knew that before. “I was here with M-Minerva, and we fought them off.” Neville tries to smile at Minerva, but he thinks the smile she gives him is more convincing. “And that’s it.”
“Neville understates it,” Minerva says with a trace of amusement. It makes everyone in the room laugh a bit nervously. “But we did fight them off.” She looks to a corner of the room, where Severus sits in a high-back chair. “Neville and Severus and I organized the fighting here. And when that was over, I started rebuilding efforts.”
Everyone turns and looks at Severus. He raises an eyebrow imperiously. “I’ve nothing to add,” he states flatly.
It’s tempting to override him, Neville thinks. He wants to list off everything he knows Severus did for the war. Not just at Hogwarts, not just as a spy, but as a man in a flat in the middle of London, grumbling about dishes and Neville’s disorganized bookshelf.
“I provided a place to sleep,” Nomos says before Neville can find his courage. “I was teaching at a Muggle college when the war broke, and I offered my spare bedroom to anyone who needed a rest. I heard a great deal, but I experienced very little.”
“I don’t think anyone here thinks that,” Hermione tells him with a comforting smile. “Everyone’s experience is different for this. That’s why I wanted everyone to have a chance to speak.” She steps forward and shakes Nomos’s hand. “Thank you, for what you did.” Her smile spans the room. “And everyone else here. Thank you. I think it’s important for us to remember that we’re all connected by this, even if our experiences are different. The war affected us all.”
Neville can’t look at her when she turns to look at him. Another of the staff stands up to speak, and he doesn’t hear a word. He’s watching Severus sit in his high-back chair and look completely unaffected.
How, he wonders, but he’s been wondering it for years, and asking aloud has never led to an answer that makes any of it make any sense. Neville sits in a chair and rests his head in his hands as the stories turn from factual to anecdotal. Someone puts a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to find Minerva smiling down at him.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
“Everyone else was sharing,” he tells her, and his voice is rough. He watches her gaze slide across the room and knows by the way her hand tightens on his shoulder that Severus has left the room. “Almost everyone,” he amends, and they share a knowing look. Neville stands and runs his hands through his hair. “I’m going…” He trails off and gives a shrug. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says to Minerva.
Severus is cutting across the entryway and down the stairs by the time Neville catches up with him. “Severus!” Neville calls, and speeds to a near-run.
“Useless,” Severus mutters just loud enough that it carries back to Neville. “Ridiculous emotional uselessness,” he clarifies as he stops next to Dumbledore’s memorial and pushes out a breath that almost sounds like a yell. He turns on his heel as Neville reaches him, and their noses nearly collide.
“Are you—” Neville starts to ask, but Severus grabs his face and reels him in, and they’re kissing, Neville’s hands squeezing Severus’s wrists, and Severus grazing Neville’s bottom lip with his teeth as he changes the angle of his head.
This, Neville thinks. This. He kisses back, unclenching one of his hands so he can grab a handful of Severus’s robe and pull him in closer. It knocks them off-balance, and they stumble for a moment before falling to the ground.
“Ow,” Neville gasps when he hits his head on a rock.
“You’ll live,” Severus growls, and then he’s kissing Neville again, hands sliding down Neville’s face, one cupping his neck, the other pressing hard against his chest.
“Why—” Neville gets out when Severus pulls away for a moment. “You had—” he begins before Severus kisses him again. “Time,” Neville whispers when Severus lets him breathe again. “You had time.”
*
Hermione is waiting for him outside his door when he gets back inside. Neville wishes there were a mirror nearby so he could see how he looks, but there are only smooth stones and shiny suits of armor, and he wishes he could wear one as she greets him.
“You’re a mess,” Hermione says and brushes grass and dirt off the sleeve of his robe. “What were you doing; rolling around on the lawn?”
Close enough, Neville thinks. “Do you need something?” he asks.
“I wanted to apologize,” Hermione tucks her hands into the sleeves of her robes. “I should have come and talk to you earlier, but I thought you were just being stubborn. I…I didn’t know you were here for the other battles, and I thought you were acting funny—”
“It’s okay,” Neville interrupts her. “I didn’t think I was that brave, either.”
“Neville!” Hermione scolds. “I’ve always thought you were brave!”
She has, Neville knows, but he’s never quite had the same conviction on the matter. “Someone had to stay,” he says quietly. “And you had to protect Harry.”
“Oh, Neville—”
“Please don’t,” he says softly. “I don’t think,” he breathes in deep and closes his eyes. “I just can’t.”
“I’ll go, then,” Hermione responds. “Good night, Neville.”
“Night.” He keeps his eyes closed until he hears her walk away. When he opens them, all he can see are the memories. Not ten feet from this door, he remembers, he performed Crucio on two Death Eaters and watched them crumple to the floor in screaming agony. If he hadn’t needed to get by them, he thinks, he might have killed them. It makes his stomach twist, and Neville steps into his room and conjures a cup of chamomile tea.
*
“They’re coming for you,” Minerva said to Severus. “They want your head.”
Severus rolled his eyes and looked, to Neville, much more annoyed than terrified. “Of course.” He crossed his arms and gave Minerva a blank look. “And?”
“And they don’t get it,” Minerva replied, and Neville couldn’t figure out why she was smiling. “You daft bastard,” she added.
“They’ll stop attacking,” Neville said before he could stop it. He looked at Severus, ready to apologize, and the smile on Severus’s face threw him off so badly he took a step backwards. “I didn’t—”
“You did,” Severus corrected. “And he’s right,” he says to Minerva. “For once.”
“A point for Gryffindor?” Neville asked and bit his tongue in surprise when he realized he’d said it.
“No,” Minerva answered him. “But how about a change of scenery?”
Neville didn’t look around. “What?”
“We need Severus,” Minerva explained slowly, and Neville found he was too exhausted to find it insulting. “Which means Severus will have to hide, and I’d prefer not to send him out there alone.”
“I can survive on my own, Minerva,” Severus said sharply.
“There’s not a slimier, sneakier bastard than you, Severus,” Minerva agreed with a nod, “But there’s something to be said for strength in numbers.”
Neville blinked when they both looked at him. “What?” He asked. “I don’t—”
“You’ll travel with Severus,” Minerva told him. “The Order can set up the two of you somewhere more secure, and it will allow, hopefully, for Hogwarts to be less of a target.”
Like it matters now, Neville thought, and stepped to his left as the wall next to him shuddered and crumbled a little bit more. “When do we leave?”
*
Hermione sits next to him at the opening feast. When the first Gryffindor is sorted, she grips his hand, and Neville squeezes back. He looks down the table at Severus when the first Slytherin is sorted. Severus looks unimpressed, but he straightens his shoulders, and Neville feels himself smiling.
*
“I am Professor Longbottom and this is Herbology,” Neville says the next day as he surveys his first class. There are butterflies in his stomach, and he feels slightly light-headed as fifteen pairs of eyes watch him with something neighboring awe. “Today, we’ll be working with mandrakes. Can anyone tell me the uses of the mandrake plant?” He’s met with silence, and Neville feels his nerves ratchet up. “Mandrake root is used for restorative potions,” he finally says into the silence.
“Professor?” A boy near the back raises his hand.
“Yes…” Neville tries to remember the boy’s name. “You,” he finally says with a wave.
“Did you really kill a giant snake with the Gryffindor sword?”
The butterflies turn to bats, and his light-headedness causes spots in front of his eyes. “This is Herbology, not History of Magic,” he snaps, but his stomach is still rolling. The entire class looks shocked, and Neville wants to apologize. “Does anyone have questions relating to Herbology?”
The class is completely silent.
“Make certain that your earmuffs fully cover both ears,” He continues. “A baby Mandrake’s cry can knock you unconscious, and a full-grown Mandrake can kill you. Am I understood?” Neville watches them nod. “Very good.”
*
Hermione sits next to him in the staff common room and gives him a puzzled look. “The Hufflepuffs were whispering about you being mean this morning,” she tells him.
Sitting next to Hermione, a cup of tea on the table next to him, Neville suddenly feels embarrassed. “They asked about Nagini,” he says.
“Oh.” Hermione is quiet for a full minute as she shuffles her papers and takes a sip of her tea. “If it helps, I think they’re still more terrified of Severus.”
Neville glances across the room where Severus is sitting alone at a table, scowling at a length of parchment. “I’m no match,” he agrees, and Hermione chuckles lightly. He looks at her, and she’s watching him with only a small spark of concern in her eyes. “Yes?” he asks, because knowing his students are scared of him, even a little, makes him hurt a little.
“Where were you after Hogwarts?”
“During the war, you mean?”
Exasperation flickers across her face. “Of course.”
“Spent some time in London.”
“Doing what?”
“Shadowy stuff for the Order.”
Hermione narrows her eyes. “I’m not sure I don’t completely disbelieve you,” she admits after a few seconds.
“I’m not sure I completely disbelieve myself,” Neville confides. He sighs deeply and scratches at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”
“For what?”
“Being difficult, I guess. I know you’re trying to help, and I know the students don’t mean anything, but the war…” He looks across the room at Severus again. “I feel like I can’t explain it. There’s so much I’m not sure I’m remembering right.”
“How much time did you spend with Severus?” She asks quietly. She shrugs when Neville’s eyes widen in surprise. “Lucky guess. I did a great deal of research for Minerva while we were tucked away. That’s how I broke the habit of calling her ‘Professor’.”
“We didn’t work together,” Neville says. “But we shared…space.” He stands up before Hermione can answer and walks across the room. Severus doesn’t look up until Neville sits across from him.
“Is there something you need, Mr. Longbottom?” He sounds bored.
Neville opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He licks his lips and presses them together and watches Severus softly tap his fingers on the tabletop. “Had a burst of courage,” he manages to say.
Severus’s left eyebrow rises. “Oh?” His fingers stop tapping. He picks up his quill. “And is it still there?”
“No, not really, Sir. Not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time, Sir.” Neville’s tempted to clamp a hand over his mouth when Severus levels a blank stare at him.
“Well, I’m sorry,” Severus replies, face completely unreadable, “but I’m afraid I’m going to have to shoot you.”
Neville laughs, a low-pitched reverberation he doesn’t quite recognize, and it takes him a moment to realize what the noise actually is. He presses a hand against his mouth and tries to calm down.
“What’s the joke?” Nomos asks as he passes them to pour a fresh cup of tea.
“Nothing,” Severus says, eyes on his parchment.
It makes Neville laugh harder. Nomos raises his eyebrows. “Something’s the joke.”
Neville silently counts to ten and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Do you like cheese, Walter?” He asks. There’s a twitch at the edge of Severus’s mouth, and it’s enough to send Neville into fits again.
Nomos looks over at Hermione. “Do you have any idea?”
“Not a clue,” Hermione answers. “But I feel like I should.”
“At least I’m not alone then,” Nomos replies as he fills his teacup.
*
“I give Miss Granger a day before she puts it together,” Severus says when Neville opens his door that night. “And then you’ll have questions to answer.”
Neville steps aside to let Severus in and shrugs. “I can explain it.”
“With the truth?”
Of course not, Neville thinks. “With something.” He offers the chair against the wall to Severus and sits across from him. Having his back to the door makes his shoulder blades tingle.
“You’ll tell everything eventually,” Severus declares.
“I’m not against telling everything,” Neville tells him. “I just don’t know how to explain it all. I look around here…” He looks around the room. “Does it bother you that you can’t tell anything happened here? I keep looking for some sign of it, and everything just looks so solid and…” Neville’s voice drops into a whisper. “I just want proof.”
“Of what?” Severus asks quietly.
“Any of it. Some proof that we were here. And that there was a battle. And that…that we nearly lost.”
“Your hand isn’t proof enough?”
Neville glances down at his hands. “What do you mean?” He looks up, and his stomach clenches when he realizes Severus looks surprised. “What?” It’s more of a bark than a word, and Neville jumps at the sound of it. “Why do you—”
“Your hand,” Severus says fiercely. “Look at your left hand.”
It’s just a hand, Neville thinks, and he inspects it carefully. The back is smooth. There’s some dirt on his hands from transferring the lavender plants that afternoon, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. His fingernails are slightly ragged, and there’s a thorn scratch on his thumb, but it still just looks like a hand.
“Turn your hand over,” Severus instructs.
His palm is smooth. “What?” He asks. He looks at Severus, impatience pushing out his curiosity. “There’s nothing—”
Severus stands up and stalks over to him, presses his thumb directly in the center of his left palm, and Neville cries out as pain radiates up his arm. “What are you—” Neville yanks his hand away and rubs his palm. “That hurt!” He looks down, wondering what Severus did. There’s a jagged scar running from the center of his palm to an inch below his elbow. Neville stares at it. He flexes his hand and winces as the pain shoots up his arm again. “What…” He looks at Severus, terror climbing up his throat. “Where did that come from?”
*
The Order found them a flat in the middle of London. It had two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a dining area big enough for Severus to set up his potions. There was also a huge television and a wall full of DVDs. The owner of the flat was a Muggle-born wizard who had joined in the fighting. He’d left detailed, animated notes of how to work the DVD player, and they’d spent the first day sitting on the bright blue couch watching something called “Monty Python’s Flying Circus”.
The second day, Severus rose early, went to the shops, and came back with herbs and a huge cooking pot. “I have to work,” he told Neville, and Neville stayed out of the dining area as Severus set up and began to brew healing potions.
On the third day, Neville ventured out to a small plant nursery and carefully selected a dozen plants so that they could grow ingredients at the flat, rather than having to go out.
On the third night, they sat down and watched more “Monty Python”.
“This is imbecilic,” Severus declared as the man on-screen banged a dead parrot against a counter.
“I’m not keeping you from brewing,” Neville snapped.
There was a moment of silence between them. “Was that backbone, Mr. Longbottom?” Severus asked.
“I don’t think it’s going away,” Neville told him and felt strangely relaxed. “I’ve used it too much this year.”
“Hmm,” is all Severus said as he stood up. “Call me in if the Spanish Inquisition shows up.”
“How can I?” Neville asked, feeling slightly giddy. “No one expects it.”
*
“I remember that,” Neville says, and the hysterical edge in his voice makes his whole body shake. “I remember all of that. I’m asking about this!” He jabs his finger into the center of his palm, and his left hand closes involuntarily as he hisses with pain. “How—”
“Your lack of memory is disturbing,” Severus says slowly.
“You think so?” Neville jumps to his feet and nearly pushes Severus over. “I’m terribly sorry it bothers you, Severus! I’d hate to think you were—” He falls to his knees and stares at his hand. “What else did I do?” Neville whispers. Even trailing his fingers lightly down the scar makes pain flare. “What else?” He looks at Severus again, tears running down his face. “Severus.”
“Chin up,” Severus says and reaches down to haul Neville to his feet. He pushes him back into his chair and walks over to the teapot. “Hysteria—”
“Tell me,” Neville hisses, and he barely recognizes his own voice.
“I will not.” Severus carries over a cup of tea and hands it to Neville. “If you don’t recall it, there is a reason.”
“But you know!”
Severus sighs heavily. “Yes,” he admits. He lifts Neville’s right hand and curls it around the teacup. “Drink it,” he orders.
“I want—”
“Calm yourself, and I will consider it.”
Neville sips his tea. “I thought I couldn’t forget anything,” he says quietly. “All I’ve wanted this whole time—”
“Finish your tea,” Severus instructs him.
Neville gulps the rest of it, feeling defiant and tired and horribly confused. “How could I,” he pauses. “I sound…” his eyelids droop, and then there’s blackness.
*
They were there a week before Neville realized why he felt slightly out of sorts. “You’ve been nice,” he said to Severus as they sat down to lunch.
Severus gave him a withering look as he cut his sandwich into two precise triangles. “What?” He asked archly.
“You’ve been nice,” Neville repeated. “I keep expecting you to yell at me.”
“Act like an idiot, and I will yell at you,” Severus promised.
“You yelled at everyone at school.”
“Everyone at school is an idiot.”
Neville frowned at that. “Even Professor McGonagall?”
“Do you recall me ever yelling at Minerva, Mr. Longbottom?”
He thought back. “No,” he said after a moment. “So everyone but Professor McGonagall was an idiot?”
“Close enough.”
“But I’m not being an idiot right now?”
“Right now, no.” Severus took a bite of his sandwich. “But I am certain you’ll remember how by the end of lunch.”
Neville bit into his own sandwich rather than respond. No reason to get an early start, he thought, and it made him smile a little. “A question,” he said.
“If you must.”
“What did I do that wasn’t idiotic?”
“You killed that damned snake.”
“That’s it?”
“It was your first act of non-idiocy. I shall reserve the rest for other instances where you require such useless information.”
*
Neville wakes up in his bed. It’s dark outside his window, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. There’s a silhouette sitting at the end of his bed. “Bastard,” he says.
“It was necessary. Had you continued, I would have had to include Minerva in this conversation.”
“What does she have to do with this?” Neville squints when Severus shifts. He reaches for his wand. “Lumos.” He looks at Severus’s face in the dim light. “How?”
“You sustained your injury during the second wave of the battle, when the Death Eaters returned the first time.”
“I don’t—”
“You screamed when it happened and seemed not to remember it at all when we bandaged it.”
Neville looks down at his arm. “It was for grip,” he explains. “I tore off some of my robe and tied it to my hand so I could hold the sword more easily.”
“Those were scraps of Minerva’s robe.”
“But…we…” Neville stares at his hand. “Minerva sent us away because of me,” he says and wishes it were a question.
“Partly,” Severus confirms. “I was to be hidden away no matter.”
“That first day, you didn’t brew. You were…” Neville meets Severus eyes. “You were babysitting.”
“I was—”
“Poor little Longbottom!” Neville shouts. “Parents ruined in the first war! His mind going in the second!”
“That is not—”
“And Severus Snape left to care for the invalid!” Neville throws off the covers and slices his wand through the air. All the candles in the room flare to life. “Left to brew in some Muggle-born’s flat and put up with poor, idiotic Neville Longbottom! The great war hero who can’t even remember his damned wound!”
“Neville—” Severus starts, tone sharp.
“That’s why you wouldn’t—” Neville feels like screaming. “Get out.” He demands.
Severus stares at him. “That wasn’t—”
“Out!” Neville yells. “Get out!” He turns away and stares at the flickering candles until he hears the outer door close. His scalp itches. His fingers tingle. His left arm throbs up to his elbow. Neville stares until his eyes burn, and there are warm, bright spots when he blinks his eyes.
He stalks into the sitting room, meaning to throw something. There’s quill and parchment on the desk. He writes a note:
Why us?
Neville sees no one as he makes his way to the West Tower, and it’s only after he sends the owl out of the window that he sees the height of the moon. It’s past midnight. He wonders if he was actually meant to wake before morning or if Severus had intentionally half-dosed him.
Can’t ask him now, Neville thinks as he walks down the stairs from the Owlery. He stops at the bottom of the steps and sits down hard. What to do, he wonders. It’s been bad enough before, and now there’s a whole nightmare he hasn’t be aware he’s had.
“Nev?”
Neville raises his head from his arms and feels a wave of relief when Hermione cocks her head and looks worried. “’Mione.”
“What are you doing up here?”
“Why are you here?” He asks, not sure how to answer her question.
“It’s my night on rounds.” Hermione sits next to Neville and looks at him closely in the half-light from the wall torches. “What’s happened?”
How she knows, Neville can’t begin to guess. He considers what to tell her, and ends up holding out his left hand. “Have you seen this before?”
Hermione blinks at his hand. “You mean your scar?”
“Y-yeah.”
“How could I miss—” Hermione cuts off with a gasp. “Oh,” she breathes out softly.
“I didn’t know,” Neville says just as softly. “I didn’t…” He stares at the shadows in the hallway. “I have all these memories I don’t want. Really awful stuff. But I thought it’d be okay. Only memories, right? Came out the other side of the war with my head still attached. But…” He flexes his left hand and watches the scar shift.
“Oh, Neville,” Hermione whispers, and she sounds like her first-year self, when she was so good-hearted but forever feeling sorry for him. “You really—”
“I don’t.”
Hermione leans against his arm and squeezes his bicep. “It’ll be okay.”
He remembers when she used to be able to say that and he’d believe her. He wishes he still could. “I was in London,” he says flatly. “I was hiding with Severus and growing herbs for his potions and watching DVDs about fish dances and silly walks, and it all seemed so ridiculous. To be there, with him of all people, and that’s what I did during the war.” Neville drops his hand to his knee. “And now I find out that even that isn’t what actually happened.”
“It is,” Hermione says fiercely. “It’s exactly what happened. There’s just more to it now.”
“I thought I was there to protect him. I thought…” Neville shakes his head and closes his eyes to stop the tears. “I thought I was the hero.”
“You were. You are.” Hermione insists.
“No,” Neville disagrees and stands up. “I’m not.” He walks away, down the stairs and through the corridor, and finally out of the front door of the castle. The front gate is locked and polished so brightly it shines a little in the moonlight. Neville remembers watching it fly off its hinges when the Death Eaters came back for the second battle. He remembers dodging individual spires as they flew at his head. He remembers turning them around mid-air and watching them impale Death Eaters.
Is that how it happened, he wonders and looks at his hand again. Was it something flying by and he didn’t feel it? Or did someone hold him down and slowly and carefully slice open his palm and the inside of his arm? So many details he can’t forget, and this won’t come to him at all.
He walks to the third greenhouse and pots Dittany and Bubotuber until dawn.
Part Three
