Lie in the Bed I Make (Harry Potter, 4/?)
Lie in the Bed I Make
~ A Harry Potter Fan Fiction ~
by aishuu
Character: Neville-centric
Rating: Currently PG
Section Wordcount: 3,000
Notes: Spoilers for Deathly Hallows. This fic was originally a oneshot, but it's kind of mushroomed into something much, much longer. C & C is appreciated. Thanks to sophiap for editing.
Summary: Set during DH. Without Harry in the picture, someone has to step up to lead those opposed to Voldemort. That someone is Neville Longbottom. The story of the Hogwarts Underground.
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
Chapter Four: Headmaster Snape
Neville was all too-aware of the sound of his breathing as he sat in the headmaster's office, waiting for Severus Snape to acknowledge his presence.
Which wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
Snape had been ignoring him for fifteen minutes, and was likely to continue doing so, at least until it was time for dinner. He felt like the awkward first year he'd been on first entering Hogwarts, or the third year whose greatest fear had been of Potions Master Severus Snape. There was something about Snape's apathy toward Neville that was almost as terrifying as his hatred. Being ignored was a special kind of insult, a reminder that Snape considered him little better than a Squib.
But a part of him was glad Snape wasn't yelling yet, since Snape could still turn Neville's spine into jelly with a few well-chosen, cutting words. He wished he wasn't stuck here, but it wasn't his fault. He hadn't done anything wrong - except not obey a teacher. But when the teacher had assigned casting an Unforgivable, there was plenty of room to question his competency.
After class, Carrow had pulled him aside. A couple members of the DA lingered, but Neville gave a subtle jerk of his thumb, indicating they should leave him. Seamus signed that he'd be waiting outside the door. Neville was reassured by that, although there would be little Seamus could do if Carrow decided to get nasty - but the moral support was heartening.
Carrow leaned against the edge of his desk, idly tapping his wand against his side. "I watched your wandwork, Longbottom," he said. "It's sloppy - you should have been one of the first to cast that spell."
"I-I've never been a very good student," Neville stammered, uncomfortable with the attention. "Except Herbology." Until sixth year, that had been the strictest truth, but after his stint in the DA, things started to come more naturally to him - and he was good at Defense Against Dark Arts.
Carrow somehow managed to look down his nose at Neville, despite being five inches shorter. "I've reviewed your OWLs, boy," he said. "I would think an O in Defense Against Dark Arts is quite good. Of course, you have several years of education to catch up on when it comes to Dark Arts, but I'm expecting things of you. If you ever need some advice, I'd be happy to give it. Purebloods need to stick together. There's so few of us left," Carrow said.
The idea of being part of an "us" that including Carrow nauseated Neville.
Had Neville been Slytherin, he might have seen Carrow's offer as an opportunity. He might have been able to form an alliance, to get in on the inside, to spy. But he was a Gryffindor, and one of their less appealing traits was the ability to put a foot in their mouth before their brain engaged. "I'd rather not cast an Unforgivable," he mumbled under his breath. "So no thank you."
In comparison to the way he could have rebelled, it was a very minor thing, but the effect on Carrow was like he'd just announced he'd rather bugger a sheep than do anything the teacher wanted.
Carrow's nostrils flared wide and he took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward belligerently. Neville braced himself for the worst. A man who was teaching the Unforgivables wouldn't hesitate to cast them on a student. Witness what had happened to Justin.
"I'm not sure if you understand what's going on, boy," Carrow said with deceptive softness, hissing a bit as the air passed through his crooked teeth. "It's true that Gryffindors aren't terribly bright, so I'll overlook your insolence this once. Though I think a conversation with the headmaster is in order to... inform you... of the new school order."
Reflexive terror choked Neville at the idea, and he forced himself to stay calm and not panic. He almost would have preferred having an Unforgivable cast upon him than having the beard Snape in his new lair.
Carrow hustled him out of the room, a heavy hand on his rigid shoulder. Walking passed Seamus, he kept his eyes forward, not wanting to draw Carrow's attention to his friend. The halls were strangely quiet as he was hustled along.
Usually the most direct route to the entrance of the headmaster's office was only a two-minute walk from the DA classroom, but the staircases were against them. They ended up getting detoured to Ravenclaw tower, and had to work their way back. The additional inconvenience seemed to infuriate Carrow, who gnashed his teeth with annoyance. Neville forced himself to keep his mind carefully blank, knowing that if he thought on what could happen, he'd turn into a gibbering mess.
Ten minutes later, they finally arrived at the entrance of the headmaster's office. "Dark Lord Ascendant," Carrow said to the gargoyle that protected the entry, and the door obliging slid open. Carrow pushed Neville, forcing him onto the stairs. Then the next door opened, and Neville blinked, slightly disoriented.
Severus Snape sat behind the large desk that Dumbledore had used, with scrolls scattered haphazardly over its smooth surface. The desk was one of the few things in the room Neville recognized.
The office had been stripped of much of what had made it such a wonderful place to a child. While Dumbledore had inhabited it, it had been a merry hodgepodge of knickknacks, full of curiosities that were eclectic and strange. Some of the items had been magical or related to the headmaster's research, but in retrospect, Neville realized most of the oddities were junk, collected over a century of life. He'd rarely been invited inside - only three times in his entire career - but each time had been like walking into the very essence of wonder.
But those treasures had been cleared away sometime over the summer, and the room was lessened from the loss.
The only addition Neville could approve of was of Dumbledore's portrait, and that was a bittersweet sight. More than anything, it signified that the greatest wizard was truly dead. The old man was watching them, his sharp blue eyes evaluating what was happening.
"Snape!" Carrow said, trying to get his attention.
Snape kept working on the scroll in front of him, not even sparing the intruders a glance. "What could possibly be so important that you drag Neville Longbottom into my presence, interrupting my studies?"
"I thought it would be a good idea to make sure Mr. Longbottom is aware of exactly what will happen to him if he decides to rebel," Carrow replied. "He's a Pureblood, and it shouldn't be too hard-"
"I'll deal with him, Amycus," Snape said in a sharp voice. He still didn't look up from his work. The scratching of the quill on paper was the only other sound, since the portraits were all maintaining their silence. "I'm sure there's other students who could benefit from your... instruction right now."
The insult wasn't as subtle as Snape usually used, and Carrow was a smart enough man to realize he was being curtly dismissed. "Fine!" said Carrow snappishly before whirling and thundering out of the room.
Neville made a mental note - which he'd probably forget in the next five minutes - that Snape didn't like Carrow. That tidbit might be valuable in helping the DA sometime in the future.
Providing he survived this meeting first. Now that there was only one visible threat, Neville's attention was riveted on Snape. The man was thinner than he'd been last spring, Neville noted critically, and the lines around his eyes were more pronounced. There was still that pinched look on his face. The Weasley twins had once said Snape suffered from perpetual constipation. It would explain a lot.
"Sit down, Longbottom," Snape said.
Neville's knees were shaking, but he managed to stumble into the chair across from Snape without falling flat on his face. He felt wane and washed-out, knowing that he was about to be chewed out, and this time there was no higher authority keeping a leash on Snape's temper. He wouldn't be surprised if Snape decided to throw a Cruciatus or two himself.
He waited, digging his fingers into the arms of the chair, for the tongue-lashing to begin. A minute later he blinked as no tirade came forth. Sweat started to form on his forehead as the anticipation began to weigh on him, because the longer it was quiet, the more time Snape had to mentally prepare. Ten minutes passed, and Neville started to get irritated - the silent treatment was getting on his nerves.
He didn't dare take his attention off Snape, though, because the man would notice without even needing to look. Threads of white had appeared in Snape's hair near his temples. He was one of the youngest staff members at Hogwarts - adding more insult to the Ministry's bypassing McGonagall as headmistress - but even he was aging. Lately Neville was becoming more cognizant of the fact that everyone around him was altering as time passed.
Twenty minutes later, he was nearly agitated enough to try to draw Snape's attention intentionally. Just as he started to consider the safest way (at least for the integrity of his limbs) to make Snape notice him, the man finally set aside his quill and folded his hands the desk. The sudden movement made him jump in his seat, and Snape's lips curved derisively.
"I am quite aware that despite your breeding, your incompetency knows no bounds," said Snape. "Therefore, I see no need to punish you for failing to perform a spell which is beyond your limited abilities."
Neville had always admired Snape's way with words, his ability to twist language and make it do his bidding. There was something nearly hypnotizing about his speech, and Neville took a moment to process what was being said.
"You're... you're not punishing me?"
"You didn't cause any damage this time, and I know better than to try to squeeze blood from a stone. I'm sure Professor Carrow will figure that out eventually. Even so, I'll be keeping an eye on you, Longbottom," Snape warned as he lifted one of his hands to point it accusingly at Neville. "I'm not unaware of what transpires in the school. Without certain... undesirable elements which have fortunately been expelled from this august institution, other students may feel the need to... fill the gap. Perhaps even those who should - in fact, do - know better."
Neville was having a nasty flashback to his first year, when he'd had no self esteem and a nearly insurmountable fear of Snape, being rejected by his classmates, and proving to be a Squib. Snape had come to personify all that he wasn't - talented, confident, uncaring what others thought, Slytherin.
But that was nearly seven years ago, and he wasn't a cowering child. He opened his mouth to retort, before shutting it hastily as he recognized that fighting with Snape would get him nowhere. There was standing up for yourself, and then there was foolishly making a target of yourself. Neville bit his tongue, sucking up his anger, and let Snape continue.
"While I am not foolish enough to assume you have redeeming value because of your blood status, I similarly am not foolish enough to believe you won't try to be stupidly Gryffindor," Snape finished, emphasizing the final word as though it tasted vile. "In fact, perhaps-"
But then a flash of light came from the fireplace, and a face appeared in the fire. Neville blinked as he recognized the features of Lucius Malfoy in the coals. "Severus, you need to come here immediately," Malfoy Senior said imperiously. "It seems Nott has had an unfortunate encounter with a Nix, and we need to brew a Brännvin potion." Lucius disappeared as soon as he finished his sentence.
"I do not have time to deal with this idiocy," Snape muttered under his breath, tossing his hands up in the air in angry gesture. Rising to his feet, he pulled on a black cloak that had been hanging behind his chair and threw it over his shoulders. "Get out of here, Longbottom." He moved over to the mantel and dunked a hand into the small, golden cup that sat on the edge. "Malfoy Manor!" Snape called, before throwing the floo powder and stepping into the fireplace. A flash of green later, and the smoke was gone.
Leaving Neville alone in the headmaster's office.
Neville finally allowed himself to slump. The last hour had been exceedingly taxing, and he was amazed he was still in one piece. Heaving a deep sigh, he took a second to compose himself, earning a derogatory comment from one of the portraits about Gryffindor laziness. He scowled at it in annoyance, but decided against snapping back. Despite all its animate behavior, it wasn't a true living being, and a person only wasted time arguing with the portraits, since their personality and opinions were well-set.
"That could have gone worse," he muttered to himself. "Probably will next time." There was no doubt in his mind that there would be a next time.
Professor Dumbledore smiled at him from his frame. "Have some faith, Longbottom," he encouraged.
Neville didn't find that reassuring. He'd rarely spoken with the headmaster while he'd been alive; few students had, with the notable exception of Harry Potter. Albus Dumbledore had been a powerful figure in life, but often was too wrapped up in politics and the mechanics of running the school to spend time with his pupils.
Neville rose to his feet, straightening his robe and smoothing his hands over his shirt as he collected himself. He didn't want the rest of the DA to see him looking frazzled. It wouldn't do anything for their confidence, and in the end, this confrontation had been fairly easy to survive. He started to move toward the door, but a voice stopped him.
"Perhaps you want to take a moment to examine your surroundings," Dumbledore advised.
Knowing that Dumbledore had never done anything without a reason, Neville stopped immediately, his obedience so ingrained that it didn't matter that the suggestion was from a painting. Then he turned around, trying to figure out what the former headmaster wanted him to notice.
Like Snape, the office was austere, lacking much in the way of ornamentation. There were some signs of his interests - a bookshelf filled to overflowing with Dark Arts texts, and a small laboratory area that was clearly meant to brew potions. But Snape was a meticulous personality, and there was no clutter, no sign of his personal life like a portrait of a friend or knickknacks. That lent credence to the widely-held belief (at least among students not in Slytherin) that Snape had no personal life.
He frowned, then someone coughed. "I think you're supposed to come over here," said a familiar, gravelly voice. Neville looked over and saw the Sorting Hat perched on a coat rack in the corner, above a large glass case that was at least four feet long.
Neville picked his way through the clean room, keeping his arms tightly to his body for fear of accidentally upsetting something. There was no practical risk of that happening, but Neville's childhood clumsiness led him to being cautious. "What-" he started to ask, but then glanced into the case and realized exactly what Dumbledore wanted him to see.
The Sword of Gryffindor was just sitting there, a long blade of metal that made his fingers itch to pick it up. The rubies on the pommel seemed to glow with an inner flame, like some kind of illumination spell had been embedded with them.
His breath caught, and he looked over his shoulder at Dumbledore. He opened his mouth to ask a question when a movement from another portrait reminded him that not all the portraits were allies, since Snape technically was their new master.
Neville could take the sword now, claim it in the name of his house. Snape had no right to keep the blade, not when Dumbledore had willed it to Harry. Not when Harry had been the one to retrieve it five years ago. Not when Snape stood on the side of the Heir of Slytherin, You-Know-Who.
He reached out to touch the glass, to take action as he hadn't so many times in the past, when his common sense got the better of him. The sword was important, but if he took it now, Snape would definitely know who the thief was. He'd still be a prime suspect if the sword disappeared at a later time, but at least he'd have a chance of sneaking under Snape's radar. Sometimes being underestimated wasn't a bad thing.
"Thank you, sir," he murmured to the Sorting Hat, earning a raspy chuckle in reply.
"I did right in Sorting you, didn't I?" the Hat replied.
Neville remembered his discussion during the Sorting, and how his expectation of being relegated to Hufflepuff had been overturned by the strong-willed Hat. Gryffindor is where you belong, Neville Longbottom, the Hat had said. You are your parents' son, and you have greater depths than you believe.
"You did," Neville replied with a smile as he turned back toward the door. He'd come back later tonight, with Ginny. Carrow had foolishly spoken loudly on his way in, giving Neville the password to the headmaster's office.
He was nearly giddy with anticipation - and fear. But he was Gryffindor - foolishly so, according to Snape's standards - and he wouldn't back down.
Chapter Five
~ A Harry Potter Fan Fiction ~
by aishuu
Character: Neville-centric
Rating: Currently PG
Section Wordcount: 3,000
Notes: Spoilers for Deathly Hallows. This fic was originally a oneshot, but it's kind of mushroomed into something much, much longer. C & C is appreciated. Thanks to sophiap for editing.
Summary: Set during DH. Without Harry in the picture, someone has to step up to lead those opposed to Voldemort. That someone is Neville Longbottom. The story of the Hogwarts Underground.
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
Chapter Four: Headmaster Snape
Neville was all too-aware of the sound of his breathing as he sat in the headmaster's office, waiting for Severus Snape to acknowledge his presence.
Which wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
Snape had been ignoring him for fifteen minutes, and was likely to continue doing so, at least until it was time for dinner. He felt like the awkward first year he'd been on first entering Hogwarts, or the third year whose greatest fear had been of Potions Master Severus Snape. There was something about Snape's apathy toward Neville that was almost as terrifying as his hatred. Being ignored was a special kind of insult, a reminder that Snape considered him little better than a Squib.
But a part of him was glad Snape wasn't yelling yet, since Snape could still turn Neville's spine into jelly with a few well-chosen, cutting words. He wished he wasn't stuck here, but it wasn't his fault. He hadn't done anything wrong - except not obey a teacher. But when the teacher had assigned casting an Unforgivable, there was plenty of room to question his competency.
After class, Carrow had pulled him aside. A couple members of the DA lingered, but Neville gave a subtle jerk of his thumb, indicating they should leave him. Seamus signed that he'd be waiting outside the door. Neville was reassured by that, although there would be little Seamus could do if Carrow decided to get nasty - but the moral support was heartening.
Carrow leaned against the edge of his desk, idly tapping his wand against his side. "I watched your wandwork, Longbottom," he said. "It's sloppy - you should have been one of the first to cast that spell."
"I-I've never been a very good student," Neville stammered, uncomfortable with the attention. "Except Herbology." Until sixth year, that had been the strictest truth, but after his stint in the DA, things started to come more naturally to him - and he was good at Defense Against Dark Arts.
Carrow somehow managed to look down his nose at Neville, despite being five inches shorter. "I've reviewed your OWLs, boy," he said. "I would think an O in Defense Against Dark Arts is quite good. Of course, you have several years of education to catch up on when it comes to Dark Arts, but I'm expecting things of you. If you ever need some advice, I'd be happy to give it. Purebloods need to stick together. There's so few of us left," Carrow said.
The idea of being part of an "us" that including Carrow nauseated Neville.
Had Neville been Slytherin, he might have seen Carrow's offer as an opportunity. He might have been able to form an alliance, to get in on the inside, to spy. But he was a Gryffindor, and one of their less appealing traits was the ability to put a foot in their mouth before their brain engaged. "I'd rather not cast an Unforgivable," he mumbled under his breath. "So no thank you."
In comparison to the way he could have rebelled, it was a very minor thing, but the effect on Carrow was like he'd just announced he'd rather bugger a sheep than do anything the teacher wanted.
Carrow's nostrils flared wide and he took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward belligerently. Neville braced himself for the worst. A man who was teaching the Unforgivables wouldn't hesitate to cast them on a student. Witness what had happened to Justin.
"I'm not sure if you understand what's going on, boy," Carrow said with deceptive softness, hissing a bit as the air passed through his crooked teeth. "It's true that Gryffindors aren't terribly bright, so I'll overlook your insolence this once. Though I think a conversation with the headmaster is in order to... inform you... of the new school order."
Reflexive terror choked Neville at the idea, and he forced himself to stay calm and not panic. He almost would have preferred having an Unforgivable cast upon him than having the beard Snape in his new lair.
Carrow hustled him out of the room, a heavy hand on his rigid shoulder. Walking passed Seamus, he kept his eyes forward, not wanting to draw Carrow's attention to his friend. The halls were strangely quiet as he was hustled along.
Usually the most direct route to the entrance of the headmaster's office was only a two-minute walk from the DA classroom, but the staircases were against them. They ended up getting detoured to Ravenclaw tower, and had to work their way back. The additional inconvenience seemed to infuriate Carrow, who gnashed his teeth with annoyance. Neville forced himself to keep his mind carefully blank, knowing that if he thought on what could happen, he'd turn into a gibbering mess.
Ten minutes later, they finally arrived at the entrance of the headmaster's office. "Dark Lord Ascendant," Carrow said to the gargoyle that protected the entry, and the door obliging slid open. Carrow pushed Neville, forcing him onto the stairs. Then the next door opened, and Neville blinked, slightly disoriented.
Severus Snape sat behind the large desk that Dumbledore had used, with scrolls scattered haphazardly over its smooth surface. The desk was one of the few things in the room Neville recognized.
The office had been stripped of much of what had made it such a wonderful place to a child. While Dumbledore had inhabited it, it had been a merry hodgepodge of knickknacks, full of curiosities that were eclectic and strange. Some of the items had been magical or related to the headmaster's research, but in retrospect, Neville realized most of the oddities were junk, collected over a century of life. He'd rarely been invited inside - only three times in his entire career - but each time had been like walking into the very essence of wonder.
But those treasures had been cleared away sometime over the summer, and the room was lessened from the loss.
The only addition Neville could approve of was of Dumbledore's portrait, and that was a bittersweet sight. More than anything, it signified that the greatest wizard was truly dead. The old man was watching them, his sharp blue eyes evaluating what was happening.
"Snape!" Carrow said, trying to get his attention.
Snape kept working on the scroll in front of him, not even sparing the intruders a glance. "What could possibly be so important that you drag Neville Longbottom into my presence, interrupting my studies?"
"I thought it would be a good idea to make sure Mr. Longbottom is aware of exactly what will happen to him if he decides to rebel," Carrow replied. "He's a Pureblood, and it shouldn't be too hard-"
"I'll deal with him, Amycus," Snape said in a sharp voice. He still didn't look up from his work. The scratching of the quill on paper was the only other sound, since the portraits were all maintaining their silence. "I'm sure there's other students who could benefit from your... instruction right now."
The insult wasn't as subtle as Snape usually used, and Carrow was a smart enough man to realize he was being curtly dismissed. "Fine!" said Carrow snappishly before whirling and thundering out of the room.
Neville made a mental note - which he'd probably forget in the next five minutes - that Snape didn't like Carrow. That tidbit might be valuable in helping the DA sometime in the future.
Providing he survived this meeting first. Now that there was only one visible threat, Neville's attention was riveted on Snape. The man was thinner than he'd been last spring, Neville noted critically, and the lines around his eyes were more pronounced. There was still that pinched look on his face. The Weasley twins had once said Snape suffered from perpetual constipation. It would explain a lot.
"Sit down, Longbottom," Snape said.
Neville's knees were shaking, but he managed to stumble into the chair across from Snape without falling flat on his face. He felt wane and washed-out, knowing that he was about to be chewed out, and this time there was no higher authority keeping a leash on Snape's temper. He wouldn't be surprised if Snape decided to throw a Cruciatus or two himself.
He waited, digging his fingers into the arms of the chair, for the tongue-lashing to begin. A minute later he blinked as no tirade came forth. Sweat started to form on his forehead as the anticipation began to weigh on him, because the longer it was quiet, the more time Snape had to mentally prepare. Ten minutes passed, and Neville started to get irritated - the silent treatment was getting on his nerves.
He didn't dare take his attention off Snape, though, because the man would notice without even needing to look. Threads of white had appeared in Snape's hair near his temples. He was one of the youngest staff members at Hogwarts - adding more insult to the Ministry's bypassing McGonagall as headmistress - but even he was aging. Lately Neville was becoming more cognizant of the fact that everyone around him was altering as time passed.
Twenty minutes later, he was nearly agitated enough to try to draw Snape's attention intentionally. Just as he started to consider the safest way (at least for the integrity of his limbs) to make Snape notice him, the man finally set aside his quill and folded his hands the desk. The sudden movement made him jump in his seat, and Snape's lips curved derisively.
"I am quite aware that despite your breeding, your incompetency knows no bounds," said Snape. "Therefore, I see no need to punish you for failing to perform a spell which is beyond your limited abilities."
Neville had always admired Snape's way with words, his ability to twist language and make it do his bidding. There was something nearly hypnotizing about his speech, and Neville took a moment to process what was being said.
"You're... you're not punishing me?"
"You didn't cause any damage this time, and I know better than to try to squeeze blood from a stone. I'm sure Professor Carrow will figure that out eventually. Even so, I'll be keeping an eye on you, Longbottom," Snape warned as he lifted one of his hands to point it accusingly at Neville. "I'm not unaware of what transpires in the school. Without certain... undesirable elements which have fortunately been expelled from this august institution, other students may feel the need to... fill the gap. Perhaps even those who should - in fact, do - know better."
Neville was having a nasty flashback to his first year, when he'd had no self esteem and a nearly insurmountable fear of Snape, being rejected by his classmates, and proving to be a Squib. Snape had come to personify all that he wasn't - talented, confident, uncaring what others thought, Slytherin.
But that was nearly seven years ago, and he wasn't a cowering child. He opened his mouth to retort, before shutting it hastily as he recognized that fighting with Snape would get him nowhere. There was standing up for yourself, and then there was foolishly making a target of yourself. Neville bit his tongue, sucking up his anger, and let Snape continue.
"While I am not foolish enough to assume you have redeeming value because of your blood status, I similarly am not foolish enough to believe you won't try to be stupidly Gryffindor," Snape finished, emphasizing the final word as though it tasted vile. "In fact, perhaps-"
But then a flash of light came from the fireplace, and a face appeared in the fire. Neville blinked as he recognized the features of Lucius Malfoy in the coals. "Severus, you need to come here immediately," Malfoy Senior said imperiously. "It seems Nott has had an unfortunate encounter with a Nix, and we need to brew a Brännvin potion." Lucius disappeared as soon as he finished his sentence.
"I do not have time to deal with this idiocy," Snape muttered under his breath, tossing his hands up in the air in angry gesture. Rising to his feet, he pulled on a black cloak that had been hanging behind his chair and threw it over his shoulders. "Get out of here, Longbottom." He moved over to the mantel and dunked a hand into the small, golden cup that sat on the edge. "Malfoy Manor!" Snape called, before throwing the floo powder and stepping into the fireplace. A flash of green later, and the smoke was gone.
Leaving Neville alone in the headmaster's office.
Neville finally allowed himself to slump. The last hour had been exceedingly taxing, and he was amazed he was still in one piece. Heaving a deep sigh, he took a second to compose himself, earning a derogatory comment from one of the portraits about Gryffindor laziness. He scowled at it in annoyance, but decided against snapping back. Despite all its animate behavior, it wasn't a true living being, and a person only wasted time arguing with the portraits, since their personality and opinions were well-set.
"That could have gone worse," he muttered to himself. "Probably will next time." There was no doubt in his mind that there would be a next time.
Professor Dumbledore smiled at him from his frame. "Have some faith, Longbottom," he encouraged.
Neville didn't find that reassuring. He'd rarely spoken with the headmaster while he'd been alive; few students had, with the notable exception of Harry Potter. Albus Dumbledore had been a powerful figure in life, but often was too wrapped up in politics and the mechanics of running the school to spend time with his pupils.
Neville rose to his feet, straightening his robe and smoothing his hands over his shirt as he collected himself. He didn't want the rest of the DA to see him looking frazzled. It wouldn't do anything for their confidence, and in the end, this confrontation had been fairly easy to survive. He started to move toward the door, but a voice stopped him.
"Perhaps you want to take a moment to examine your surroundings," Dumbledore advised.
Knowing that Dumbledore had never done anything without a reason, Neville stopped immediately, his obedience so ingrained that it didn't matter that the suggestion was from a painting. Then he turned around, trying to figure out what the former headmaster wanted him to notice.
Like Snape, the office was austere, lacking much in the way of ornamentation. There were some signs of his interests - a bookshelf filled to overflowing with Dark Arts texts, and a small laboratory area that was clearly meant to brew potions. But Snape was a meticulous personality, and there was no clutter, no sign of his personal life like a portrait of a friend or knickknacks. That lent credence to the widely-held belief (at least among students not in Slytherin) that Snape had no personal life.
He frowned, then someone coughed. "I think you're supposed to come over here," said a familiar, gravelly voice. Neville looked over and saw the Sorting Hat perched on a coat rack in the corner, above a large glass case that was at least four feet long.
Neville picked his way through the clean room, keeping his arms tightly to his body for fear of accidentally upsetting something. There was no practical risk of that happening, but Neville's childhood clumsiness led him to being cautious. "What-" he started to ask, but then glanced into the case and realized exactly what Dumbledore wanted him to see.
The Sword of Gryffindor was just sitting there, a long blade of metal that made his fingers itch to pick it up. The rubies on the pommel seemed to glow with an inner flame, like some kind of illumination spell had been embedded with them.
His breath caught, and he looked over his shoulder at Dumbledore. He opened his mouth to ask a question when a movement from another portrait reminded him that not all the portraits were allies, since Snape technically was their new master.
Neville could take the sword now, claim it in the name of his house. Snape had no right to keep the blade, not when Dumbledore had willed it to Harry. Not when Harry had been the one to retrieve it five years ago. Not when Snape stood on the side of the Heir of Slytherin, You-Know-Who.
He reached out to touch the glass, to take action as he hadn't so many times in the past, when his common sense got the better of him. The sword was important, but if he took it now, Snape would definitely know who the thief was. He'd still be a prime suspect if the sword disappeared at a later time, but at least he'd have a chance of sneaking under Snape's radar. Sometimes being underestimated wasn't a bad thing.
"Thank you, sir," he murmured to the Sorting Hat, earning a raspy chuckle in reply.
"I did right in Sorting you, didn't I?" the Hat replied.
Neville remembered his discussion during the Sorting, and how his expectation of being relegated to Hufflepuff had been overturned by the strong-willed Hat. Gryffindor is where you belong, Neville Longbottom, the Hat had said. You are your parents' son, and you have greater depths than you believe.
"You did," Neville replied with a smile as he turned back toward the door. He'd come back later tonight, with Ginny. Carrow had foolishly spoken loudly on his way in, giving Neville the password to the headmaster's office.
He was nearly giddy with anticipation - and fear. But he was Gryffindor - foolishly so, according to Snape's standards - and he wouldn't back down.
Chapter Five