Still the Boy Who Lived

by tir-synni

 

Disclaimer: (takes a quick look down)  Nope, not JK Rowling yet.  Check back at my next fic.

A/N:  Just another quick little thing, occurred to me in the middle of the night…literally.  Another half-hour job.  Has anyone else noticed the supreme lack of Harry/Neville fics out there?  Maybe I should correct that….

 

            "Is it true--"

            "Did you hear--"

            "The poor dear, how--"

            "Is he--"

            "How long--"

            "By Merlin, no...."

            All this, Neville heard, pressed against the cold castle wall.  His eyes stared blankly forward as he heard the soft chatter around him.  The metal guard blocked him from view.  He heard it all, and for a terrible moment, he found himself trapped in the past.

            "The Cruciatus curse--"

            "Is it possible--"

            "He was under it for along time--"

            It was happening, all over again.  But why him?  Why him?!?  He was supposed to be immune, he was supposed to be safe....

            He was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, after all.

            Neville whimpered and curled tighter into a ball.  In the middle of summer, Harry Potter had been taken from his home.  Later, the Muggles he had been staying with had been arrested for working with Death Eaters.  Neville had not heard of what had happened to them, but neither did he care.  Harry had been kidnapped, and for over a month, no sign had been heard from him.  School had resumed, but students had wandered about, whispering amongst themselves and shooting furtive looks at the Gryffindors.  There had been no word about Harry.

            Ron and Hermione had taken it the hardest.  For once, her grades had not been top on Hermione's mind.  She instead had been focused on consoling Ron.  The youngest Weasley male had been utterly lost, walking around in a daze.  The trio had been transformed into a duo, with their heart snatched away.  Even Snape did not harass them in class.

            Neville often saw Seamus sneak to Harry's bed at night, as if waiting for the youth to return from one of his adventures.  Neville would watch the Irishman, standing hopefully in the moonlight, before he would slink back to bed.  In the morning, haunted eyes would greet them all before silently looking away.

            Every single one of Dean's drawings would consist of Harry, as if he was trying to capture his memory.  Like he wanted something to hold to if he would never see Harry again.  In each picture, it seemed like he was trying to capture Harry's smile.  He would always fail.  The picture would be tossed ruthlessly aside, and Dean would continue obsessively on.

            Even Malfoy had been affected.  Often, Neville would catch Malfoy staring at the empty space at the Gryffindor table.  His gaze would be intense.  Then he would look away, usually walking away from his table without eating.  Neville never knew what Malfoy was thinking at those moments.  Malfoy never bothered the Gryffindors, only stared at them with those strange looks.

            But now...things were different.  Harry's broken body had been found outside of Hogwart's gates.  A note had been found with him, apologizing for not saving him sooner.  The note had been nameless.  Speculation flew wildly as to Harry's mysterious saviour, but again, Neville hadn't cared.

            Harry had been in the Hospital Wing for a week, with no sign of waking.

            Apparently, wherever he had been, he had spent most of his time being tortured.  Signs of the Cruciatus curse was evident, as well as nonmagical treatment.  The thought made Neville sick.

            He's...he's the Boy Who Lived.  Doesn't that mean anything!

            Neville didn't know if anyone was looking for him.  He doubted it.  Last time he saw his fellow Gryffindors, they had been actively trying to get into Harry's hospital room.  Ever since his return, Madame Pomfrey had to kick the Gryffindors out a total of fifteen times.  With Fred and George's help, they were effectively driving the woman--

            No.

            Would they be trying so hard if they knew?  If they knew what happens to people who had been under for too long?  They drown.  Don't they know that?  They drown, and they can't get back up.  If Harry had drowned, would they still be so eager to see him?

            Images flashed through Neville's mind, and he shuddered.  Blank eyes, drooling mouths, slack jaws.  They never knew him.  His Grandmother insisted he visit them, but they never knew.  Did they?  They called him a Death Eater once and attacked.  It had taken three wizards to knock them back out.  Neville hadn't visited them for a while after that incident.

            Will it be the same with you, Harry?  You're my age, Harry...no.  You're younger, aren't you?  You're the youngest Gryffindor in our class.  But you're still the Boy Who Lived.  You lived through this, didn't you?  Didn't you?

            "You're...the Boy Who Lived," Neville whispered hoarsely.  No one in the emptying hall heard him.

            Around him, all signs of life was fading.  Neville reluctantly sat up and looked around.  He had been sitting there longer than he had originally thought.  Painfully, he straightened.  His back cracked noisely, and he winced.  A lot longer than he had thought.  He looked around once before getting to his feet.

            "I suppose it is time to get back to the tower," he whispered to himself, walking.  But instead of walking towards Gryffindor, like he knew he should, he instead found himself walking towards the Hospital Wing.

            "But Madame Pomfrey, we only wanted to see him!" Hermione's voice arose, and Neville slunk alongside the walls.  There the group was, being roundly shouted out by the nurse.  They stood off to one side, a corner between them and the door.  Neville summoned up his Gryffindor courage and ran.

            "The poor boy needs his rest!" Pomfrey shrieked back, and Neville didn't even have to look at her to see she was turning red.  Several Gryffindor voices rose in protest, and Neville hurriedly slipped through the door.

            The voices arose again behind him, and Neville jogged across the room.  He had spent most of his time at Hogwarts in this area, thanks to Potions.  He knew where Harry would be.

            Towards the back were the private rooms.  Neville checked them out, one by one.  In the far back room, he peeked in, and an occupied bed greeted him.

            For a moment, Neville couldn't breathe.  He stared at the still figure on the bed, with the too-pale face.  A shudder wracked his frame, so hard that he had to let go of the door to steady himself.  Still, he never looked away from that small figure on the bed.

            I never realized...how small you were, Harry.

            Behind him, the shouting quieted, and Neville glanced quickly over his shoulder.  Madame Pomfrey was shooing the other Gryffindors away now.  He had better hide before she caught him and tossed him out like the rest.

            Neville darted a quick look around.  Under the bed…that would work!

            Not a moment too soon, he made it.  He heard Pomfrey creak the door open.  Her steps vibrated the floor, and he shivered.

            “You poor dear,” she whispered above him.  Neville closed his eyes, shaking like a leaf.  The smell of hospital almost overwhelmed him.

            Mom…Dad….

            “You just rest now,” Pomfrey whispered quietly to Harry’s still form.  “Now, that foolish minister won’t dare say You-Know-Who hasn’t returned.  You succeeded in that much.  The Headmaster will protect you.”

            There was no reply from the figure on the bed.

            Pomfrey sighed heavily and headed back out of the room.  Neville held his breath until the door shut behind her.  Only then did he allow himself to breath.

            Carefully, as to not jar the bed or make any noise, Neville crept out from under the bed.  His first sight when he fully emerged was Harry Potter’s white face.

            “Harry,” Neville whispered hoarsely.  No nightmares haunted Harry’s dreams.  So often his tormented cries had awoken the other Gryffindors, but each time, Ron had quietly sent them back to bed.  The next morning, Harry would show no sign of his rough night.  He would greet them with smiles and bright hellos.  He had never shown a weakness to them.  Maybe that was why Neville had always thought the younger boy was so strong.

            Gently, Neville cupped Harry’s tiny hand in his own.  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Harry’s face.  The bruises had faded, thanks to magic, but the scars remained.  The scar on his forehead remained the most prominent, but now another scar joined in, slicing through his cheekbone.  He could feel another scar just from where he was holding Harry’s hand.  Tenderly, he rubbed Harry’s cool fingers.

            “Hi, Harry,” he whispered.  “Everyone’s been trying to see you, you know.  Everyone’s been real worried, but now that you’re here, it’s better.”  Neville sucked in a deep breath.  Just like with his parents.  The only voice in the room was his own.

            “I bet you know about my parents,” Neville commented aloud.  “You seem to know everything.  You’re a lot like Dumbledore, like that.  He knows everything, too.  You knew, but you didn’t pity me.  You never did.”

            Still, there was no reply.  One tentative hand rose to finger Harry’s cheek, before jerking back.  He had no right to touch Harry like that.

            “You’re stronger than they are, I know it,” Neville whispered.  “Soon, you’ll be back with us again.  Whatever they did to you…you’re strong.  You’ll walk away from it.  You’re Gryffindor, remember.  You’re the Boy Who Lived!  Soon, you’ll open your eyes and try to escape from the Hospital Wing just like every other time.  You never did like this place, did you?  You spend about as much time here as I do, but I don’t mind waiting here.  You’re always trying to get out, have another adventure.  What’s going to be your next adventure?”

            Neville focused hard on Harry’s eyes.  More than anything else, more than even his scar, when Neville thought of Harry, he thought of his eyes.  A brilliant emerald, they could pierce right through a person.  It never worried Neville.  Whatever Harry saw, he wasn’t disgusted of Neville for it.  He would always have a smile for Neville, even when everyone else ignored him.  That smile wouldn’t always reach his eyes, but he tried, nonetheless.

            Neville opened his mouth to keep speaking, like he always did with his parents, but nothing came out.  He tried again, but still nothing.  This wasn’t like his parents.  Tears stung his eyes, and finally he closed them, tuning out Harry’s slack face.  This couldn’t be like his parents.  There was hope for Harry.  There was always hope for Harry.  He had survived the Killing Curse, hadn’t he?  Maybe he was different.

            Sniffing, Neville felt a tear slide down his face.  And if it wasn’t?  How would it be?  Would he visit Harry in St. Mungos, when he visited his parents?  Would Ron and them be with him?  Would Harry stare at them with blank eyes, drool covering his lips?

            No.  Not the Boy Who Lived.

            A gentle squeeze of his hand startled Neville out of his musing.  Wide-eyed, Neville stared down in stunning emerald eyes.  Silently, Harry Potter stared at him from amidst the white covers.  A smile tilted his lips, reaching his eyes.  Again, Harry squeezed his hand.

            “Hi,” he whispered softly.

            Neville swallowed hard.  “Hi,” he replied hoarsely.

            Harry smiled gently at him.  “Don’t let Pomfrey catch you,” he warned quietly.  “And say hi to the others for me.”

            Neville shivered hard, but managed a quick nod.  Harry flashed him one last smile, and then his hand went slack in his.  His brilliant eyes were closed again.

            Neville stared at him.  His mouth moved, but nothing came out.  His tears didn’t stop, but he didn’t mind.

            “Harry….” he mouthed.