(no subject)
Title: Into a Cage of Lions
Author: lyras
Challenge: Back to school
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst? Neville generally angsts when I'm in charge of him.
Warnings: None
Summary: Someone seems to have funny ideas about who's going to be head boy at Hogwarts next year.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Affiliation: Hufflepuff
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Dear Mr Longbottom,
I am pleased to inform you that you have been appointed head boy for your final year at Hogwarts. The head girl will be Susan Bones of Hufflepuff. You will be expected to work together to set and maintain standards, as well as to ensure the wellbeing of the other children.
As the former (and acting) head of Gryffindor House, I am delighted that it has produced yet another pupil of such calibre.
I look forward to seeing you in my office upon your arrival at Hogwarts, where you will receive full details of your duties during the forthcoming year.
I need not remind you that these are difficult times. I have every confidence in your ability to fill this position successfully.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
British transport police lined the entrance to King’s Cross, bored eyes following travellers as they hurried into the station. Neville inched his trunk towards platform nine, and dropped it gratefully when he was close.
"Well," said his grandmother briskly, "Last time!"
Neville nodded. He could see Dean approaching out of the corner of his eye, and hoped she wasn't going to make a scene.
"Head boy!" His grandmother smiled fiercely. "You make sure you set everyone else an example, mind."
"I will, Gran." He leaned down to peck her on the cheek, and found himself enveloped in a brief, forceful hug.
"You've made me proud of you, and your father would have been, too," she said shakily as she released him.
They will be proud of me, he thought stubbornly, although all he said was, "Thanks. Take care, Gran."
"You too, dear." Only the brightness of her eyes betrayed any emotion as she stepped back. "Have a good term."
"Bye." Neville watched her imposing bulk disappear into the crowd, and then turned to greet Dean.
Dear Practical Joker,
Nice try, but I'm sorry you think I'd be stupid enough to fall for that. There are plenty of people who might be head boy this year, but I'm not one of them. I think you're probably right about Susan, though.
Neville Longbottom
Not the head boy
"All right, mate?" Dean dropped his suitcase and began wringing the fingers of his right hand.
"Not bad," said Neville. "You?"
"Yeah, OK," said Dean, although he didn't look particularly enthusiastic. "Things've been a bit weird at home - we've had people round, asking about my dad. Said they were detectives, but I dunno why they thought they'd find anything out from us. I was only a kid when he walked out."
"Sorry..."
Dean waved an arm. "No need, mate. My step-dad's the one I'm bothered about, know what I mean? But my mum's upset - I think it's bringing it all back, y'know? She dun't need it."
Neville nodded. Every couple of years, a Healer suggested some new way of treating his parents. It never made a jot of difference, but as his grandmother said, you had to try. But as Dean said, he didn't need it, and he often thought that his parents, who hated having their routine upset, didn't either.
"Seen Seamus?" he asked, and Dean frowned.
"He's not coming back," he said. "Not this year, anyway. Bloody stupid if you ask me - Hogwarts is at least as safe as anywhere else in Britain - or Ireland. But you know what his mum's like."
"Harry, Ron and Hermione aren't coming back, either," volunteered Neville. "I don't know about the others."
"Gawd." Dean made a face. "Just you and me at the minute, then."
"Looks that way," agreed Neville, ignoring the ache in his chest. Dean didn't look particularly pleased at the prospect of spending the entire term with him.
"Oh, well. Can't be helped. Hey, we should go and find a carriage. Preferably one that's free of Slytherins and kids."
"OK," agreed Neville. "Oh! Um, I've got to go up to the prefects' carriage for a bit. But I'll be back once we've got things organised."
"Ah, are you the new prefect, now Ron's gone?" Dean grinned. "I suppose someone's got to do it - and rather you than me!" He turned towards the barrier. "Come on, mate. You can leave your stuff with me so no one bags your seat."
Neville patted his pockets, checking for Trevor, money, ticket and badge. When he was sure that he had everything, he shouldered the weight of his trunk and followed Dean onto the platform.
Dear Neville,
I had a letter from Professor McGonagall yesterday, and I imagine you did, too. Congratulations, Mr Head Boy!
It's a bit scary, though, isn't it, what with everything that's been going on? Talk about responsibility. Anyway, I'm looking forward to working with you - I promise I'm not just being polite.
Funny, with all these awful things happening, I'd almost forgotten about school. Did you hear about Justin's mum? Poor Justin, I can't imagine how he must be feeling. I wrote to him, of course, but I haven't heard back yet. And as for what they did to Theodore Nott - well, I never liked him particularly, but that was barbaric.
It only makes me more determined than ever to do what I can to help out at school. Some of those poor kids are going to be so frightened, and I think we should make a special effort with the Slytherins. We've been ostracising them for too long, and all we're doing them is chasing them into Voldemort's arms as soon as they're old enough.
I'll be in Diagon Alley next Wednesday, so Owl me if you want to meet up. Otherwise I'll see you on the train!
Love,
Susan
Susan hadn't mentioned her own tragedies, Neville mused as he made his way down the train. He nodded at the Auror guarding the vestibule, and waved his head boy's badge for the third time.
"Neville!" Ginny was just leaving the first compartment that he came to, her red hair glinting in the light that filtered through the windows.
Neville felt a familiar crunch in his chest. "Hi!" He fumbled for something else to say. "Did you have good holidays?"
Stupid, stupid question! Nobody had had good holidays.
Ginny appeared not to mind, though. "Oh, you know." She shrugged, dislodging a lock of hair that flopped from her shoulder onto her top, highlighting and then concealing the word Prefect.
"Ah," she added, her eyes on his hand. "You too?"
Neville nodded. "Someone's got to do it." His fingers closed over the badge, although he knew it was pointless, because in about five minutes he'd need to face everyone, all the prefects, and read the derision and disbelief that would be written all over their faces. But he didn't want to see mockery on Ginny's face just yet.
"Your brother got married, didn't he?" he asked as they made their way towards the next sentry. "Did everything go off all right?" A loaded question, given that Voldemort and his cohorts seemed to be concentrating their efforts wherever they would create the most havoc, be it emotional, logical or administrative. But if anything too terrible had transpired, it would have been reported in the Prophet; Neville would have heard.
Ginny shrugged again. "A fairytale wedding between Beauty and the Beast," she intoned, and Neville wondered if she was quoting a genuine write-up. "The bride's charms more than compensated for any deficiencies in the looks of the groom, who recently fell victim to a werewolf attack. Bastards didn't bother to point out that the groom hadn't actually been turned into a werewolf, so we've been inundated with Owls ever since. Anyway. Gabrielle Delacour looked every inch the fairytale princess, eclipsing the more prosaic appeal of the bridegroom's sister, Ginevra. Harry Potter graced the ceremony with his presence." Neville noticed the faint bitterness that crept into her tone, although her face remained impassive.
They displayed their badges to the Auror on duty. Nearly there now, and he had to ask: "Have you - have you heard from them at all?" There was no need to specify to whom he was referring.
"We get Owls once a week," Ginny's voice was neutral, but something about her enunciation spoke of care taken and speeches rehearsed. "Usually from Hermione. You know what the other two are like. But they're all right. The latest one arrived this morning, and Hermione said to say hello to you from them."
"Thanks. That's good." They had almost reached the prefects' compartment; the door had been pushed back and voices spilled into the corridor. Neville glanced back and saw Susan approaching a few compartments behind them.
"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly, "about you and Harry, I mean. I thought you were so happy together." I'm sorry if you were hurt. I'm sorry your boyfriend dumped you and went off on a suicide mission. I'm sorry we live in such a horrible world. What was there to say?
The shadows under Ginny's eyes seemed to darken as she looked at him. "I'm fine," she said, a lie in which they were both complicit. "But thanks, Neville."
She craned her neck, and moved head first into the compartment.
"I always thought Ernie would be head boy in our year. Or Harry." Neville swatted a bluebottle from the biscuit tray.
"Ernie's a nice lad, and very well-meaning," Professor McGonagall said, sipping her tea, "but he doesn't possess certain qualities that the professors and governors feel are vital this year."
"And I do?" Neville wrinkled his forehead sceptically.
"Determination. Bravery. Compassion." There was a glimmer of affection in her eyes. "All of which you possess in ample measures."
Neville stared into his teacup. His father had also been head boy during difficult times - as Gran had often reminded him. But his father had indeed been brave and determined, of that there was no question. He liked to think that he'd been compassionate, too, although it was hard to tell that from Gran's reminiscences.
He remembered the fight - hardly a battle - and funeral that had concluded the previous term, and his stomach twisted.
"I'm really not sure I'm the person you're looking for." I'm not my father.
Professor McGonagall gave him a lovely warm smile that took his breath away with its unfamiliarity.
"Well, I am sure - and that will have to do for now."
A breeze rattled the crockery and she stood up, pulling her cloak closed. "I must catch up with Augusta; it's been years since we had a good chat. You can of course consult me if you have any problems. But I have every confidence in you and Susan."
She disappeared inside, leaving Neville to contemplate the tea tray.
"Ready?" Susan favoured Neville with a confident smile, although her cheeks were rather red and she seemed to be breathing quickly.
He fixed his badge in place, pricking his thumb in the process. "Ready," he answered and took a deep breath.
They stepped through the doorway together.
Author: lyras
Challenge: Back to school
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst? Neville generally angsts when I'm in charge of him.
Warnings: None
Summary: Someone seems to have funny ideas about who's going to be head boy at Hogwarts next year.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Affiliation: Hufflepuff
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Dear Mr Longbottom,
I am pleased to inform you that you have been appointed head boy for your final year at Hogwarts. The head girl will be Susan Bones of Hufflepuff. You will be expected to work together to set and maintain standards, as well as to ensure the wellbeing of the other children.
As the former (and acting) head of Gryffindor House, I am delighted that it has produced yet another pupil of such calibre.
I look forward to seeing you in my office upon your arrival at Hogwarts, where you will receive full details of your duties during the forthcoming year.
I need not remind you that these are difficult times. I have every confidence in your ability to fill this position successfully.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
British transport police lined the entrance to King’s Cross, bored eyes following travellers as they hurried into the station. Neville inched his trunk towards platform nine, and dropped it gratefully when he was close.
"Well," said his grandmother briskly, "Last time!"
Neville nodded. He could see Dean approaching out of the corner of his eye, and hoped she wasn't going to make a scene.
"Head boy!" His grandmother smiled fiercely. "You make sure you set everyone else an example, mind."
"I will, Gran." He leaned down to peck her on the cheek, and found himself enveloped in a brief, forceful hug.
"You've made me proud of you, and your father would have been, too," she said shakily as she released him.
They will be proud of me, he thought stubbornly, although all he said was, "Thanks. Take care, Gran."
"You too, dear." Only the brightness of her eyes betrayed any emotion as she stepped back. "Have a good term."
"Bye." Neville watched her imposing bulk disappear into the crowd, and then turned to greet Dean.
Dear Practical Joker,
Nice try, but I'm sorry you think I'd be stupid enough to fall for that. There are plenty of people who might be head boy this year, but I'm not one of them. I think you're probably right about Susan, though.
Neville Longbottom
Not the head boy
"All right, mate?" Dean dropped his suitcase and began wringing the fingers of his right hand.
"Not bad," said Neville. "You?"
"Yeah, OK," said Dean, although he didn't look particularly enthusiastic. "Things've been a bit weird at home - we've had people round, asking about my dad. Said they were detectives, but I dunno why they thought they'd find anything out from us. I was only a kid when he walked out."
"Sorry..."
Dean waved an arm. "No need, mate. My step-dad's the one I'm bothered about, know what I mean? But my mum's upset - I think it's bringing it all back, y'know? She dun't need it."
Neville nodded. Every couple of years, a Healer suggested some new way of treating his parents. It never made a jot of difference, but as his grandmother said, you had to try. But as Dean said, he didn't need it, and he often thought that his parents, who hated having their routine upset, didn't either.
"Seen Seamus?" he asked, and Dean frowned.
"He's not coming back," he said. "Not this year, anyway. Bloody stupid if you ask me - Hogwarts is at least as safe as anywhere else in Britain - or Ireland. But you know what his mum's like."
"Harry, Ron and Hermione aren't coming back, either," volunteered Neville. "I don't know about the others."
"Gawd." Dean made a face. "Just you and me at the minute, then."
"Looks that way," agreed Neville, ignoring the ache in his chest. Dean didn't look particularly pleased at the prospect of spending the entire term with him.
"Oh, well. Can't be helped. Hey, we should go and find a carriage. Preferably one that's free of Slytherins and kids."
"OK," agreed Neville. "Oh! Um, I've got to go up to the prefects' carriage for a bit. But I'll be back once we've got things organised."
"Ah, are you the new prefect, now Ron's gone?" Dean grinned. "I suppose someone's got to do it - and rather you than me!" He turned towards the barrier. "Come on, mate. You can leave your stuff with me so no one bags your seat."
Neville patted his pockets, checking for Trevor, money, ticket and badge. When he was sure that he had everything, he shouldered the weight of his trunk and followed Dean onto the platform.
Dear Neville,
I had a letter from Professor McGonagall yesterday, and I imagine you did, too. Congratulations, Mr Head Boy!
It's a bit scary, though, isn't it, what with everything that's been going on? Talk about responsibility. Anyway, I'm looking forward to working with you - I promise I'm not just being polite.
Funny, with all these awful things happening, I'd almost forgotten about school. Did you hear about Justin's mum? Poor Justin, I can't imagine how he must be feeling. I wrote to him, of course, but I haven't heard back yet. And as for what they did to Theodore Nott - well, I never liked him particularly, but that was barbaric.
It only makes me more determined than ever to do what I can to help out at school. Some of those poor kids are going to be so frightened, and I think we should make a special effort with the Slytherins. We've been ostracising them for too long, and all we're doing them is chasing them into Voldemort's arms as soon as they're old enough.
I'll be in Diagon Alley next Wednesday, so Owl me if you want to meet up. Otherwise I'll see you on the train!
Love,
Susan
Susan hadn't mentioned her own tragedies, Neville mused as he made his way down the train. He nodded at the Auror guarding the vestibule, and waved his head boy's badge for the third time.
"Neville!" Ginny was just leaving the first compartment that he came to, her red hair glinting in the light that filtered through the windows.
Neville felt a familiar crunch in his chest. "Hi!" He fumbled for something else to say. "Did you have good holidays?"
Stupid, stupid question! Nobody had had good holidays.
Ginny appeared not to mind, though. "Oh, you know." She shrugged, dislodging a lock of hair that flopped from her shoulder onto her top, highlighting and then concealing the word Prefect.
"Ah," she added, her eyes on his hand. "You too?"
Neville nodded. "Someone's got to do it." His fingers closed over the badge, although he knew it was pointless, because in about five minutes he'd need to face everyone, all the prefects, and read the derision and disbelief that would be written all over their faces. But he didn't want to see mockery on Ginny's face just yet.
"Your brother got married, didn't he?" he asked as they made their way towards the next sentry. "Did everything go off all right?" A loaded question, given that Voldemort and his cohorts seemed to be concentrating their efforts wherever they would create the most havoc, be it emotional, logical or administrative. But if anything too terrible had transpired, it would have been reported in the Prophet; Neville would have heard.
Ginny shrugged again. "A fairytale wedding between Beauty and the Beast," she intoned, and Neville wondered if she was quoting a genuine write-up. "The bride's charms more than compensated for any deficiencies in the looks of the groom, who recently fell victim to a werewolf attack. Bastards didn't bother to point out that the groom hadn't actually been turned into a werewolf, so we've been inundated with Owls ever since. Anyway. Gabrielle Delacour looked every inch the fairytale princess, eclipsing the more prosaic appeal of the bridegroom's sister, Ginevra. Harry Potter graced the ceremony with his presence." Neville noticed the faint bitterness that crept into her tone, although her face remained impassive.
They displayed their badges to the Auror on duty. Nearly there now, and he had to ask: "Have you - have you heard from them at all?" There was no need to specify to whom he was referring.
"We get Owls once a week," Ginny's voice was neutral, but something about her enunciation spoke of care taken and speeches rehearsed. "Usually from Hermione. You know what the other two are like. But they're all right. The latest one arrived this morning, and Hermione said to say hello to you from them."
"Thanks. That's good." They had almost reached the prefects' compartment; the door had been pushed back and voices spilled into the corridor. Neville glanced back and saw Susan approaching a few compartments behind them.
"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly, "about you and Harry, I mean. I thought you were so happy together." I'm sorry if you were hurt. I'm sorry your boyfriend dumped you and went off on a suicide mission. I'm sorry we live in such a horrible world. What was there to say?
The shadows under Ginny's eyes seemed to darken as she looked at him. "I'm fine," she said, a lie in which they were both complicit. "But thanks, Neville."
She craned her neck, and moved head first into the compartment.
"I always thought Ernie would be head boy in our year. Or Harry." Neville swatted a bluebottle from the biscuit tray.
"Ernie's a nice lad, and very well-meaning," Professor McGonagall said, sipping her tea, "but he doesn't possess certain qualities that the professors and governors feel are vital this year."
"And I do?" Neville wrinkled his forehead sceptically.
"Determination. Bravery. Compassion." There was a glimmer of affection in her eyes. "All of which you possess in ample measures."
Neville stared into his teacup. His father had also been head boy during difficult times - as Gran had often reminded him. But his father had indeed been brave and determined, of that there was no question. He liked to think that he'd been compassionate, too, although it was hard to tell that from Gran's reminiscences.
He remembered the fight - hardly a battle - and funeral that had concluded the previous term, and his stomach twisted.
"I'm really not sure I'm the person you're looking for." I'm not my father.
Professor McGonagall gave him a lovely warm smile that took his breath away with its unfamiliarity.
"Well, I am sure - and that will have to do for now."
A breeze rattled the crockery and she stood up, pulling her cloak closed. "I must catch up with Augusta; it's been years since we had a good chat. You can of course consult me if you have any problems. But I have every confidence in you and Susan."
She disappeared inside, leaving Neville to contemplate the tea tray.
"Ready?" Susan favoured Neville with a confident smile, although her cheeks were rather red and she seemed to be breathing quickly.
He fixed his badge in place, pricking his thumb in the process. "Ready," he answered and took a deep breath.
They stepped through the doorway together.