fic: Suicide Fish for marseverlasting by derryere
Title: Suicide Fish
Author: derryere
Giftee: marseverlasting
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: Around 14.000
Characters/Pairing: Seamus/Neville - and with a little imagination on your side, Seamus/Dean and Neville/Harry
Warnings: Language and confined spaces, for the claustrophobics amongst us :)
Author/Artist's Notes: Alex, I believe I owe you two big fat apologies. Firstly, for being so amazingly late, and secondly for the angst. Yep! The angst you insisted on not having, that’s the one. But! It’s not that much, and I hope it won’t ruin the overall story for you. Your request for an unusual narration was really cool, because I’ve never done anything like this before. So kudos for that :) Enjoy!
Summary: If a person could live without ever being reminded of the one thing that scares him the most, then why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t you?
MOD NOTE: I had to split this up in two parts myself. The break is not necessarily where the author would choose to put it.
A young lion shall defeat the old one in a field of combat. In a single duel he shall breach his eyes through their golden cage; with two wounds in one, he then dies a cruel death.
- Nostradamus, The Prophecies.
~~
Harry has such a kind face, in your opinion. Seamus used to say that it wasn’t kind at all, but impassive. Ron would punch Seamus’ shoulder and tell him to shut up, that it was just a face and to get over it. Dean shrugged and mumbled something about boys fussing too much over each other.
But you just thought it was a kind face. Just that.
Harry didn’t like it when people paid him compliments that somehow related to his name. The public knew his face and when a girl liked his face, it pissed the bloke off.
And you never really got it, because…isn’t it always nice when someone likes the way you look? No matter why?
‘They don’t like the way I LOOK, Neville,’ he explained. ‘They like the idea of what…you know, what my face stands for and stuff. It’s not the same thing.’
That wasn’t entirely true. And you quietly tell Harry that he couldn’t really know, because he never gave anyone a real chance-he barely made an effort after his fourth year being so bloody scared of real and not real and truth because-(Oh Lord, here we go again)-above all, Harry treasured truth. In people and in what they said; he held it above their heads like an ancient bomb with his family’s names scribbled all over, holding onto his friends as if they owed him or something. Owed him for being the only ones who accepted him for Harry, and not Potter.
Odd boy. Head full of everything, often mistook truth for loyalty.
And you reckon that that would come around to bite him in the ass someday.
‘You’re so full of it, Neville. You know just as well as I do, I let plenty people near-and that they just never like me. And I’m okay with that, really. Just don’t pretend, you know? I hate pretentious people. HATE them.’
And it’s best to not reply when he starts using the h-word. You never do and the conversation bleeds to death. But secretly, you allow yourself to tell the miniature Harry in your head that he’s being silly, because people would like him if he were just Harry. Just Harry! Because he never is, with that big mouth and distrusting attitude; indifferent and sour, like your second grand aunt. She’s old and has money she doesn’t like, but by the same token dislikes people. Because people like money.
And Harry is kind of like that, you think.
You hope he’ll grow out of it because it’s not a charming characteristic-not that you’re really in any place to say that. But he should still know that in your eyes, he’s kind of a cool person. Not always nice, but hey! No one ever is! You will tell him. Hell, you have confidence problems, sure-but it’s actually nothing compared to what that guy’s going through. So he needs to know that if it weren’t for him, you’d never even consider going into the hatch. If it weren’t for his kind face and that smile that said, hey Neville, I totally trust you. Because I know you’ll do the right thing. Because you’re an okay guy, Neville. You’re okay!
Because if it were up to you, you would’ve just went with them.
And it was cool. It was so cool they didn’t tell you you’d be a burden, that you’d stand in the way and screw up their plans with your messed-up philosophies and that in reality? They just didn’t enjoy your company. And you were sure that they were THIS close to saying that; but they didn’t, and your heart skipped a little because they cared for your feelings. And it was always nice when someone cared about your feelings, no matter why.
‘We-we need you there, Neville. They’re all so scared right now, and with Harry and Ron and myself gone…they really need a leader, Neville. The last thing we can use right now is chaos, it would just undermine the whole point of the hatch and- hey! No no, don’t look at me like that! We DO need you, we do! The Order is doing its best and as soon as all the parents are located…I swear Neville, you’ll be out of there in no time. I swear. Hmn? Yes, yes, especially that and…What? Oh, OF COURSE! You will? REALLY? OH! Thank you, Neville, you’re an angel. AN ANGEL!’
Hermione cried so easily in those days. She hugged you and sobbed loudly into your shoulder; Ron and Harry had to peel her off with an apologetic smile, as if they were responsible for the girl’s emotions. It annoyed you somewhat, but you did like the fact that the three seemed to guilt-trip themselves into respecting you.
Even if it was a bit pretentious.
You didn’t have that much against pretentious people.
~~
No one had brought much with them, not even the girls. You figure it’s because when you come home one day and find that a big, green fucking skull is hovering above your empty house, you don’t take your time to search for Nibble the teddy bear and a toothbrush between the remains of the rooms.
Hermione said they were scared, but as awful as it may sound-you really cannot see it. If you were to name it, you’d sooner call it indifference or plain sadness, rather than fright. Some were so pale you didn’t want to know how long they’d been hiding here in the shadows…how long their parents have been gone.
You swallow, one hand sticky in your pocket, the other clammily holding the list to your chest.
Do these kids honestly need a leader? Or did Hermione just say it to get you out of the way?
That’s an unsettling thought, one you’d rather reserve for times more appropriate than this for resentment.
“Eeuhh…”
No one looks up-not even the two playing exploding snaps at the table.
“Euhh- everyone? If…if I could just have a moment…?”
A young girl he recognised from Ravenclaw looks up from across the room and mumbles something to an older Ravenclaw before walking up to you - she barely reaches your chest. But she is smiling faintly and seems interested, which is a start.
“Hi.”
“Hello,” you reply, smiling back. “I’m Neville Long-”
“Longbottom, we know. Harry said you’d come to take over because he had to go.”
You blink, a little confused by the bluntness of her statement.
“They weren’t really happy about that,” she gravely adds.
You frown in question and she vaguely gestures to the small group of former students behind her - some quietly talking, leaning against a wall, some reading books and some sitting at the large table that occupied most of the space of the strange oval-shaped living area.
“Is this all of you?” you ask, quickly counting seven heads, thirteen less than the list read.
The girl nods. “There were more, but most went away.”
“Went away? Why?”
She shrugs. “No one likes it here. The other people say they’ll let us know when mum or dad are found but…no one ever gets a message.”
It’s a rather hopeless situation; in an awkward way, one that makes it harder to say the right thing-more than usual. You had expected…not an awful lot, as a matter of fact. You hadn’t really known what to imagine and therefore deliberately chose not to think of it, just waited for it to happen. And it wasn’t like you got a notice or something-not two weeks, not one week, not even half a bloody week; three days you had to prepare, explain to grandma you had to do your duty now, your part of the war, fulfil it and make her proud.
She wasn’t as enthusiastic though, and screamed about stupidity and danger and incapability and a whole lot more that you hadn’t bothered listening to. So what else was there to do? You ended up sneaking out at the last minute.
As childish as it seemed, it made you feel older than ever. Everyone feels better with a goal in their hands-whether it’s their own or not.
You sink to your knees, level to the girl’s eyes, a shadow of a smile about your lips. “So…is there anything specific that I need to do?”
She seems to consider this for a moment, and then firmly shakes her head. “No. I don’t think so. We manage pretty well on our own.”
“But…” You stand back up, scratching the side of your face. “What did Harry do, then?”
“He wasn’t here often, you know. But when he was, he usually stayed in his room.” She points at a door to her left, with the initials N.L. engraved on its surface. “But I suppose it’s your room now.”
“Did you…” you trail off, inspecting the curly letters on the door when you notice each door has its own set of letters. “Was this Harry’s idea?”
“Oh, no!” she says. “They change themselves!”
Your first impulse is to question this, even though you know better. Why wouldn’t this be a magical place, after all? When you look again you notice there are nine doors too, and not twenty-the initial number of people that had entered the hatch last summer.
The two boys, barely fourteen-you suppose-that were playing at the table had stopped their game somewhere along the way and were now looking at you with a rather blank curiosity. And you count, you count again and come to the conclusion that…
“There’s one door too many.”
“No, there isn’t,” the girl corrects. “He just never comes out of his room.” And then, more quietly, “He hates Harry.”
“He?” you repeat, hurriedly snatching your list-it’s the first time you actually look at the names. “He who?”
“Finnigan,” she says with a gulp of air, eyes wide. “Seamus. He hates Harry.”
~~
There’s a tube in the wall that leads nowhere. It’s next to the ladder, in the only vacant space with no door. It’s an old tube and the glass is no longer transparent, the silver rings that held it in place are rusty. But it works fine, even if you doubt it sometimes because no messages ever came.
On the first day, Harry sent a message, and the whole hatch held its breath. The cylinder bottle glided through the tube with a vacuum-like sound before loudly coming to a stop at the bottom. At the time, you didn’t know what went through the kids’ heads, what that sound did to them. And it was rather foolish to pull an interested face, opening the tiny glass door to pull out the message bottle as if it were the most ordinary case in the world.
Hope everything’s going okay -
Harry said.
We’re heading West tomorrow. If anything happens from now on, someone else will keep you updated.
Please send a note back if you got this.
So thanks - and good luck,
Harry.
You shrugged and turned the parchment around, fishing a pen out of your front pocket and quickly scribbling-
Everything’s going fine. Things are pretty quiet around here.
Keep safe,
Neville.
It wasn’t until you made to roll the parchment and put it back in the cylinder when you noticed the silence the room greeted you with-you looked up only to find everyone had yet to move, blinking at you with bated breaths and widened eyes.
You had no idea.
“It’s…it’s Harry,” you begin apprehensively. “He just wanted to know how things were going…”
It would take a few days before you learned that it had been the first message to arrive in two weeks.
One of the boys who was sitting at the table with a thumb between the pages of his book marking the point where he had stopped reading loudly, stood up, shooting you a filthy glare before storming into one of the rooms with E. v A carved on the door. He slammed it shut behind him, not showing his face for the rest of the day.
Eimhurst van Aken would be gone the next morning.
~~
There’s no trace of Harry’s existence in the room. It’s like no one had entered the room before you. You know Harry and in all fairness, you know he’s not the neatest guy-but the floor is meticulous and the bed is spotless, you can’t help but quietly mull over the hatch’s magical prowess.
Perhaps that’s not it at all. Perhaps people just change. Wake up one day and decide it’s time to clean up, to make their beds and dust the cabinets and…
Seamus sure did change.
You knocked on his door a few times, a little excited and relieved you wouldn’t be stuck here on your own. You called out his name, saying that you came to replace Harry and how wonderful it was-how WONDERFUL it is that you got to see each other again after so long. And it didn’t occur to you, not even once, as to why he was here. Not until he told you to shove off, that he wasn’t glad to see you and that he wanted to be left alone.
But how could you’ve known? How? No one ever bothered to tell you about Seamus’ parents.
It’s just so hard to understand why Harry wouldn’t tell you something like that. Weren’t you all friends? Seamus and Dean and Ron and…weren’t you? Not best friends, but just. Roommates. Didn’t that mean something? You went to Susan’s wake together, you all gathered to say goodbye to Dean before he went away with his family-why should it be any different with Seamus?
You wonder if there was even a funeral.
Maybe Harry did change. Maybe he just stopped caring that much along the way. Maybe letting Seamus stay in here was the best he could do…
At five to seven, the little Ravenclaw girl, Noelle Duncan, knocks on your door. It’s time for dinner, she says. And you better take your place or there won’t be any food for you. This doesn’t make much sense at first until you glance over at the table-its surface is empty of games and books, and all the children stand around it, seemingly waiting. Noelle drags you by the sleeve to stand with them; when you attempt to question the scene in front of you, she hushes you, pointing at the ceiling. You look up, partially expecting to see a face in the iron door of the hatch. There’s nothing there but when you look back down, eight plates with humble meals have decorated the table. One for every person.
Most of the boys take their dinner back to their room, not particularly caring for the company. The girls on the other hand, take a seat at the table and you follow their example, choosing a chair next to Noelle.
“Does…does it always do that?” you ask, eyeing the rice and peas in a distrusting manner. “Giving you food like that?”
“The hatch?” she clarifies, glancing up quickly. “Yes, it does. It’s good food though, I’d eat it if I were you.”
You look at the others who seemed to be solely concentrated on eating. Awkwardly you attempt a bite yourself, and it’s not that bad. That is to say you’ve had worse, anyway.
“Noelle…”
She cocks her head, chewing on a piece of chicken.
“Why did I have to be quiet? Before the…” you vaguely gesture at your plate.
“If you unsettle it,” she replies in between bites, “it doesn’t give any of us food.”
You blink, and slowly put down your fork.
“The…” You pause, feeling a little silly. “The hatch?”
She nods. “It takes care of us. It’s okay, Neville.”
Despite this, you look around once more and the surroundings somehow seem so much more different now. You unwillingly shiver and deeply hope this feeling-like hundreds of eyes are watching your every move-will go away soon.
“Does Seamus ever come out?” you change the subject, nodding at the said boy’s door.
“Well, not a lot…sometimes, at dinner.” She looks down, lightly biting her lips. “The hatch doesn’t give him much food anymore. He says mean things about it…”
For a split second, you wonder whether even your thoughts are safe in here. If even thinking bad things could influence how good you had it here and-Oh Lord, OH LORD! What did you get yourself into?
“Carah says the hatch wants him to leave,” Noelle adds quietly, tapping her knife on the plate’s rim.
You make a mental note to save some food for Seamus, bring it to him later-but you hadn’t even unfolded your napkin before the food disappeared right before your eyes.
Noelle silently shakes her head, and finishes her dinner without another word.
~~
On the third day, you find a book. It was under your bed and probably had belonged to Harry. It’s a bit strange, you admit, for him to forget something like that but not completely impossible, by any means.
You flip it over once, twice, and conclude it must’ve been the school’s property. You know how it went, forgetting to return a book then realising it and not returning it on principle-being frightened since it’s been so long.
Nostradamus, the title read. The Prophecies.
A vague image of the last time you spent an honest day with Harry flashed through your mind. Last summer, a while after they had found the hatch, a while before a use for it was determined. It was a sunny day at the Burrow, and you were happy because it was always nice to be invited over. Ron had been somewhat grumpy and Harry with his nose buried in books; Hermione took you for a walk in the fields behind the house and explained that Harry was reading up on Divination. Why? Was your initial reaction. Because, she explained, it’s important for him to know about prophecies. How to use them to his advantage -Hermione looked up seriously, as if a point had been made that should have meant a lot to you. What prophecy? You wanted to know. Just a prophecy…she mumbled, hooking her arm with yours, urging you to climb faster. Race you to the top, Neville!
You plopped down on the bed, frowning, and opened at the first page.
~~
It’s really not that hard, you find, once the hatch is a little distracted; when everyone’s talking in the oval room, walking about and trying to keep themselves busy-that’s when the hatch can’t trace everything.
On the fourth day, you eat very slowly, and once everyone is done and starts talking again you think about how hungry you’ll be later, how hungry you’ll be the next morning and with that, you slip a few meatballs and some cabbage off the plate, into a tight package made of your napkin.
You’re so thrilled it worked, and finish your dinner while wondering what else you can do with this newfound system.
Later, once everyone’s asleep and the lights have gone out, you get out of bed and quietly tiptoe into the living area, locating Seamus’ door in the dark. You knock quietly, hoping the boy won’t start shouting again and wake everyone up.
“Seamus! Seamus, wake up!”
Nothing.
“Seamus!”
You hear a muffled groan and the rustling of sheets, and can’t help but feel a little relieved.
A moment later the door flies open, startling you because this isn’t entirely the Seamus you remember. Cheeks hollowed and eyes red, and even in the dark, you could see his complexion is a little bluer than what it should’ve been.
“WHAT, Neville?” It’s short and irritated, and you can see him grinding his teeth.
“I-I…” You swallow, reaching inside your pocket and showing him the napkin package. “I brought you food.”
Seamus glances from the napkin to you, a little puzzled and unsure. But he didn’t need to be told twice and quickly snatches it, fisting it as though it would disappear. Which it probably could.
It’s quiet for a moment, and you wonder whether he expects you to go away.
“Euuh…” Seamus begins, shifting a bit awkwardly. “Thanks, Neville.”
You shrug, smiling. “No problem.” And then, thoughtlessly blurted, “So how’ve you been?”
“My parents are dead,” he replied dryly, as if it was the only logical answer to the question.
“Oh…” You glance down, feeling a little ashamed and apprehensive. You should’ve expected this but you didn’t-you just didn’t. “You know I didn’t know, Seamus. About your parents and all…”
He blinks. “Okay.”
“I’m really sorry about what happened. I wish I could’ve…” You swallow; your hands feel a bit too clammy. “You know, been there or…or something.”
Seamus quirks a brow. “Okay.”
“I just didn’t know. Harry never told me and-”
“Harry Potter is a bastard,” he cuts you off, with a harder edge to his voice now.
“Oh…” You stuff your hand back into your pocket, rocking a bit on your feet. “Wh…why would you say that about Harr-”
“Look, Neville, I appreciate the food and all.”
You blink at him, waiting for a ‘but’ or ‘and’, though none come. You open your mouth to add something but Seamus beats you to it with a-
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
“Good-”
The door slams shut.
“…Night.”
And you find yourself a little hurt. Even if your days at Hogwarts seemed ages ago, this-Seamus and you, talking and awkward and everything-is so different from what it used to be and it chokes you up a little.
You get that he lost someone he cared for-you so get that! But…it’s not like everyone else here didn’t. And you get that it’s hard, but it’s how it is. How things are.
Maybe that’s just who Seamus is now, too.
On your way back to bed, you notice a minor change in the oval room. Like something changed-like something is not the same. It’s eerie and interesting at the same time, because it wasn’t like this before and you squint your eyes, wanting to pinpoint it.
It takes a few minutes, but when you see it, it doesn’t go away.
The doors shifted places.
Eimhurst van Aken’s door is gone.
~~
It’s the second week now, and you start to wonder if winter was fading away above ground. Because down here, it was always the same temperature.
You’ve never been very good at Divination; in fact, you were quite awful. And even when you tried to make up the answers, they always sounded a little sappy and not horrid enough to please old Trelawney. There was just something about predicting a certain death that gave you the shivers-even if you just wrote it down! Just said it or even thought it-who knew what kind of force was at work? Someone could always hear or see it and think, ‘hey, if this kid wants to die so badly-I might as well give him a hand!’
But even with that, it wasn’t hard to distinguish something honestly extraordinary.
Nostradamus was more than a seer, you think. He was a great man granted, but it was more than that. The words you read weren’t his, but someone else’s. It wasn’t like you could explain it because it was kind of strange and not a subject you preferred to think of that much -but the footnotes sometimes clarified it. It was like when Nostradamus had a vision, things like time and space stopped and told him all kinds of things-things you’d so dearly like to know! Things about life and the way it flows, when it begins and stops and-certainty. We all could use some certainty. How would it be like, being chosen by the humongous things of the universe to speak for them?
Must be grand, you think.
You’d give your big toe to be like Nostradamus when you grow up, you would.
It isn’t until you’re five chapters later, at the prophecy for the king of France, when you decide you’d probably even give a whole foot.
~~
On the twentieth day, you had soup for dinner. You saved the bowl and the hatch let you, and a big part of you thought that perhaps if the hatch let it be-perhaps it was meant to be, and it really would work.
You sat at the table for at least two hours with a shirt over your head, tracing the bowl’s rim with your wand-just like Nostradamus had whenever he got a vision. You stared into the bowl, waiting for something to happen but no infinities or endless universes spoke and no deaths displayed themselves before you.
But it had to work. It had to! Why otherwise would the hatch let you keep the bowl?
One of the doors opened, and you instantly look up, pushing the shirt off your head because, well, it just looked plain silly.
Seamus paused, looking at you strangely. Looking with a what-the-hell-are-you-doing-Neville expression and it was so familiar-so, so familiar on him that you almost smiled.
He shrugged and walked to the table, tossing a dirty napkin on the table.
“Your napkin,” he said, ignoring your pronounced shaking of the head. “Thanks for the food again.”
With an odd grin, Seamus nodded at you, before making his way back to his room.
And now you’re left behind on your own, heavy sensation in the pit of your stomach and wondering why, why he’d do such a thing-because now the hatch SURELY heard it! Now it would never let you bring him food or even-
You quickly look down, and with a sinking feeling, watched the bowl slowly disappear.
~~
The next day’s meal was smaller than usual.
You clench your teeth and glare at Seamus’ door, quietly wondering why he didn’t just leave if he had it so bad. If he hated the hatch so much.
A part of you knows everyone is wondering the same thing. And another part knows everyone doesn’t know he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.
~~
On one of the nights at the end of the month, you are awakened by a noise you hadn’t heard in a long time.
Outside your door, there’s the sound of clanking, muffled groans and intangible exclaims of despair-or perhaps anger. It’s a frightening sound and you’re out of your bed so quickly, eyes wide and it’s a peculiar thing, since you normally have such trouble with waking up.
Heart thudding in your throat, you approach the door, gently opening it. It’s as dark as everywhere else in the hatch, but the wild movements make it much easier to distinguish a person from a table.
And there is a person. And a table.
Seamus is shouting, yelling and screaming. He picks up a chair from the floor and throws it against the wall, picks it up again and repeats the action until there’s nothing left but a splintery heap.
He’s kicking-kicking the table and the rest of the chairs, the wall and everything he can reach. He’s saying things too, but they’re hard to make out. You frown and concentrate, leaning your head against the door.
“GIVE IT TO ME!” he says.
Your frown deepens.
“GIVE-” He picks up another chair. “-ME-” He lifts it above his head. “-FOOD! YOU STUPID-” Seamus smashes it against one of the doors, and you hope it’s his own. “-FUCKING-”Another smash. “-HATCH!”
The chair breaks and pieces of wood soar into the air. Seamus sinks to his knees, head in his hands, breathing heavily. You wait a moment before carefully stepping out from behind your door, observing the damage done with a worried expression.
“Make it give me food,” Seamus rasps. “MAKE IT, NEVILLE!”
You recoil at his volume, stepping back. “I…I don’t know how to-”
“MAKE IT!!”
“ALRIGHT!” you shout back, fisting your hands. “Alright! I’ll try! Just-stop screaming, okay!”
Looking around, you realise you really have no idea what to do. Apprehensively you do the only thing that seems logical, “Ehh…could you maybe…” you start, looking up at the hatch’s iron opening. “Could you maybe give my friend something to eat?”
After a pause in which both yours and Seamus’ eyes are hopefully directed at the table, you deduce it’s not enough.
“Please? He’s really hungry and…” You lick your lips, glancing at Seamus. “And he promises never to break the chairs again! Don’t you, Seamus?”
Seamus’ attention snaps to you and he’s glaring, somewhat unsettled.
“DON’T YOU, SEAMUS?”
With a small huff, he nods, adding a quiet, “Yeah. Promise.”
And surely enough, after a breathless minute of hopeful waiting, a small plate appears on the table. It’s not a great meal and definitely not a whole-hearted truce, but you think it’s a beginning. Seamus doesn’t seem to think anything as he throws himself at the food; shoving it into his mouth so quickly you wonder if he’s even chewing to begin with.
Sighing exasperatedly, you lean against the table, head in your hands.
At least that war was over.
~~
You noticed your dreams have changed ever since you moved under. It wasn’t a significant change, not big or important-just there. The lighting gradually became somewhat darker, and you dreamt of surroundings akin to woods or beaches less and less-and even if you did, the trees or yellow sand would flatten, fold themselves around you very quickly into a room with scenery painted on walls. It wasn’t a matter of claustrophobia, since it never actually bothered you. Just interesting. It’s just peculiar.
Sometimes, Harry would appear as well. Dean and Ron, old Seamus, Luna and Ginny and some others. They’d be in rooms as well, wearing golden helmets with eyes painted all over - and you looked down, at your brown and tattered robe in question, mildly wondering what you were doing there. And you look up at Harry, somehow expecting him to be mad, to be cross with you, although you forgot why.
He points at the walls and you see the wonderful drawings, fields of crops so vivid and real you can almost reach out feel the straws between your fingers. But Harry shakes his head, and point again and you see - you see it. You see the miles and miles of planted seeds that grew from the ground, made their way to the sun, you see them shrivel and slowly die-curl up in a brown bundle of rotten vegetation. The land is vacant and dead, the earth useless and you don’t understand, who could have let this happen?
Who could know this was going to happen and just let it?
You look at Harry-he’s holding a book for you to take, a small brown one. You know this book so well, yet you’re unable to recall its name, and you don’t want it. You don’t want the burden, it’s Harry’s burden-you don’t want it! You shake your head, but he won’t listen. He shoves it into your hands, and you’re so scared you might drop it.
But it’s not your fault! You just predicted it; you’re not there to prevent it! You’re not their saviour, you’re not anyone’s saviour!
You want to tell Harry this, but when you look for him he’s not there anymore. Where he stood, there’s now Seamus, he’s angry and screaming, pointing at your book and saying it was your fault. That if you’d have warned him, his parents wouldn’t have died, that they could’ve made it on time-and you close your eyes, as tight as you can, until the shouting stops.
~~
Carah Sednaoui was the one to make the final decision, although you found out too late. Your position in the hatch had never been discussed nor acknowledged; the others rarely talked or came to you with questions. You supposed it wasn’t really necessary, since everyone more or less knew whatever there was to know. And when you don’t have that natural leader thing, that innate aura that tells everyone you’re stronger than the average person, then people, under a silent anarchy, quickly find they can’t precisely use you. The title was just that: a title.
They were all ready when you woke up. All, except Seamus, sat at the table when you walked into the room. Carah, the oldest, was holding a folded piece of paper in one hand, and a cylinder bottle in the other.
“A message came?” you quickly ask, blinking the last vestiges of sleep out of your eyes. When no one replies, you immediately fear the worse.
“What does it say?” you ask urgently, walking towards Carah, wanting to read over her shoulder. Though such action is not needed; she hands over the paper, almost challengingly, you believe.
You turn it over and your eyes catch the large message written on the back and you’re confused for a moment.
NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM-CLASSIFIED.
“You…you read my message?” You look up at the rest. “MY message? Without permission?”
“We have a right to know what’s going on too, Neville,” says Hennesy, a fifth year Hufflepuff.
“I would’ve told you!” you cry indignantly. “What reason do I have for NOT telling you?!”
“It shouldn’t be a decision to begin with,” interjects Carah. “When a message comes in, we should all be allowed to know its content immediately.” She looks at the paper, then cocks her brow at you. “You gonna read it, or what?”
You’re rather angry. There’s a thin line between the right for knowledge and right for privacy and it was fading away here, in this place, and you wonder if they would’ve done the same if Harry were around.
Unfolding the paper, you decide to address the issue later. If this message meant news from the expedition, then you can always deal with the moral sense of the group another time.
Neville-this is very important. The Death Eaters changed directions last night; they’re heading Northwest at a high speed and will be crossing paths with the hatch coming tomorrow. This is not a call for distress, so I’m asking you to keep it to yourself. There’s no need to unsettle the younger ones - nothing will happen. Nnot as long as you keep quiet; the hatch will protect you-simply don’t do anything out of the ordinary, no funny stuff, and it will pass quietly.
Please keep us updated each day starting today- if we hear nothing, we will come get you immediately.
- Kingsley.
You lick your lips, heart beating thickly in your ears. You look up with a plead for calmness, for rational thinking and for Pete’s sake-whatever they’re thinking, please don’t let it lead to chaos!
Though when you see them, silently sitting at the table, you remember they’ve already read this-they’ve had time, Merlin knows how much, to think it over. If so, why so calm? He knew they’ve been through quite a lot, these children, but surely they still had some sense of human instincts! Why on earth would they be so impassive during a time so-so-
Aaah, of course. How foolish of you. How fan-FUCKING-tastic!
“You’ve decided something,” you declare quietly, throwing the paper back on the table. “Without me.”
Carah stands up, and in doing so, you notice she is nearly an inch taller than you. Never before had you acknowledged she was actually just a year younger than you, but right now, there’s no way around it.
“You’re not our leader, Longbottom,” she coldly replies. You open your mouth to protest but she quickly cuts you off, “And neither was Harry. Look, it was very nice of him to offer us this…” She looks around with an odd smile. “This safety…thing. But we can’t live in safety if we can’t live at all-up there, that’s our war. Our parents. We want to fight it just as much as everyone else. We want to be there when we win.”
Despite the graveness of this statement, you can’t help but note the ridiculousness of it all. You manage a chuckle, looking around to see if the others are as amused as you are-but they’re not. They’re so serious, each and every one of them, even little Noelle. But surely-they couldn’t be! Going up there now would be like walking straight into the jaws of the monster! And what was this ‘just as much as everyone else’ thing? No one wanted to fight! No one willed this war, and it wasn’t even a matter of winning or losing any longer, but getting it over with. What did these kids think? All they have is vengeance on their minds-and wars were not won out of revenge.
“You’re not going away,” you say. “It’s not even an option, Carah, you’re staying here. What are you thinking? Where will you go? If the troops are coming this way it’ll take barely a day for them to catch up with the seven of you! And you can’t take Noelle with you!” You gesture at the little girl pouting at you. “She’s barely thirteen! This is SUICIDE, Carah!”
“We’re not stupid, Longbottom,” she quickly spits. “I have a plan. Nigel has relatives living a mile off, we can get there by sunset. From there we can floo, go back home, look for the rest of our family-something we never even got the chance to do!” Carah lifts her chin a little, taunting you to tell her she’s wrong. “Potter didn’t really care about US being safe. He cared about ‘the involved victims’ being safe-we were just chunks of the war to him, Neville! And you…you have nothing to do with it! With any of it!”
“Just because I’m not out there getting my HEAD chucked off, doesn’t mean I’m not-”
“Oh PLEASE!” she interrupts. “Do you actually think the Death Eaters care about us? That they actually knew whose house they were plundering when taking our parents? It was a random act. No thought to it, no heart, no nothing. What are we to them? They can’t use us, won’t miss us, they don’t even know we exist! Just like…”
You swallow, clenching your teeth for what’s to come.
“Just like we are for the Order,” Hennesy finishes.
“The only difference is,” continues Carah. “They are something to us. And if they won’t come looking for us,” she pauses, crossing her arms to her chest. “We’ll go looking for them.”
~~
“NO!” you cry, punching the wall feebly. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong! They’ll be back-they’re not gone!”
You push the wall, you kick and groan, jump and curse but it’s of no avail. The hatch had decided, made up its mind and the doors were gone. Seven doors, one by one, faded into nothingness the moment the trapdoor closed with a clunk above you. You tried opening all the doors, figuring that they wouldn’t disappear that way, but the hatch wasn’t stupid and locked them all before you even reached for the knobs.
You must’ve scribbled about a dozen of panicked notes by now, sent them off in the tube. But no answer comes, and you begin to wonder if they even receive them to begin with.
With forehead against the cold stone, you sink to the floor, breathing heavily. There are only two doors left now.
You hadn’t even noticed that he came out of his room until he spoke-you hadn’t noticed your had your eyes closed till then.
“HEY, what the fuck is up with the nois-” Seamus stopped, looking around the room. “Where…where is everybody?”
You let out a dry laugh, spreading your arms to the sides. “GONE!”
He frowns, looking at the trapdoor, then at the non-existent doors. “What do… what do you MEAN, gone?”
“How many kinds of gone do you know, Seamus?” you ask, genuinely waiting for a reply.
And he stares at you for a moment before his eyes widen, and you can see him swallowing.
“Yeah,” you nod. “That one.”
“Why didn’t you stop them?!” he exclaims, stepping into the room, turning on the spot once looking for remaining souls that weren’t there. “What did you-YOU just, what? Just SAT there, Neville?”
“What COULD I have done?” you retort, exasperated. “It’s not like I was in the MAJORITY, Seamus! And you weren’t exactly here to back me up or anything!”
“Bullshit, Neville! You could’ve stunned them, locked the hatch-heck, you could have hit them with sleeping hexes for Merlin’s sake! Did you even USE your wand, Neville? DID YOU EVEN TRY? You’ll have to grab the bloody thing sooner or later, you daft prick! THIS IS SERIOUS, NEVILLE, YOU HAVE TO GET OV-”
There were a number of discussions you don’t partake in any longer. Discussions like, ‘what was it like to be at the first battle?’ or ‘why do you always forget everything?’
But those are matters of exhaustion. You don’t talk about them because you’ve done it too many times, repeated the sentences and told the stories so often you could sing them to a tune if you felt like it.
The discussion concerning your magic was different.
It had nothing to do with exhaustion or tunes, none at all. It had all to do with the deep, dire need to ignore certain facts, certain memories and moments in life that shouldn’t have happened. And if it were easy for you to erase all the links, then why not? And what if a person could live without ever being reminded of the one thing that scared him the most? What then? Why shouldn’t he?
Why shouldn’t you?
And you didn’t hurt anyone. You didn’t HURT ANYONE!
It was so much easier to storm past Seamus, into your room and slam the door squarely in his face. So much easier than sitting there and explaining to him he knew nothing, because he didn’t, explaining how important it was to ignore this. How very, very important.
~~
A small group had fought their way into the woods behind, spitting heat and fire and curses from the depths of the earth at one another. One ducked, the other jumped, and the hateful sparks hit some trees. A fire was soon caught, and a flock of birds loudly flew out of the crown of the Forbidden Forest as it turned blue and orange and yellow with energy-with oxygen and temperature and whatever the fire could get its claws on.
You tried to run but your knees were shaky and your forehead sweaty, the prominent roots jumping out of the dirt seemed to make it impossible to get a step farther. You fell once, twice, scraped your knees and hands but got up all the same-just keep on running, Neville-you told yourself. Whatever happens just RUN. Don’t look back, Neville, RUN!
But looking back wasn’t necessary. They were quicker, swifter and their speed was oddly inhuman. And then one of them was in your path, in the middle of the freaking path. Stepped out from between the trees and simply stood there, waiting for you to crash into him. His mask shone gold in the light of the fire, eyes shimmering with amusement from behind it.
You froze. And it took a few breaths, a few blinks to realise the man wasn’t doing anything-yet. Slowly, you started retreating, staggering back on the path you came from.
Three steps you took before he pulled his wand on you, ordering you to stop moving.
But this wasn’t your destiny. This couldn’t be your way, your personal last page-you would’ve known if it was, you would’ve KNOWN. And your wand was out and ready so fast, he barely uttered his curse before you replied with yours. You ducked a green light, but the hundreds of tiny needles, shooting poisonous arrows out of the end of your wand could not be avoided at the other end.
Only at one place was he fragile.
Only at one place was he stricken.
And a young lion shall defeat the old one in a field of combat. In a single duel he shall breach his eyes through their golden cage; with two wounds in one, he then dies a cruel death.
~~
The next day, a message came.
Don’t go anywhere, don’t do anything, keep as a low profile as possible. We’re tracking them down.
- Kingsley
~~
Harry had circled one of the passages towards the end of the book with a pencil and a little arrow that led to an exclamation mark in the margin. At first, you thought it was a joke-your eyes and your mind, playing tricks on you because of the lack of sun. But you ran your fingers over it, closed it and opened and threw it on the ground-but it was still there.
And you found your heart beating unusually fast.
Was it a joke on Harry’s part? A cruel joke? Did he leave the book behind purposely for you to find, encircled precisely that bit as to show you what he really thought of what you’ve done? No-NO, what had accidentally happened. Doing involves a certain amount of will, and you didn’t have that. You never willed any of it.
It was so accidental.
Part 2 can be found here
Author: derryere
Giftee: marseverlasting
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: Around 14.000
Characters/Pairing: Seamus/Neville - and with a little imagination on your side, Seamus/Dean and Neville/Harry
Warnings: Language and confined spaces, for the claustrophobics amongst us :)
Author/Artist's Notes: Alex, I believe I owe you two big fat apologies. Firstly, for being so amazingly late, and secondly for the angst. Yep! The angst you insisted on not having, that’s the one. But! It’s not that much, and I hope it won’t ruin the overall story for you. Your request for an unusual narration was really cool, because I’ve never done anything like this before. So kudos for that :) Enjoy!
Summary: If a person could live without ever being reminded of the one thing that scares him the most, then why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t you?
MOD NOTE: I had to split this up in two parts myself. The break is not necessarily where the author would choose to put it.
A young lion shall defeat the old one in a field of combat. In a single duel he shall breach his eyes through their golden cage; with two wounds in one, he then dies a cruel death.
- Nostradamus, The Prophecies.
~~
Harry has such a kind face, in your opinion. Seamus used to say that it wasn’t kind at all, but impassive. Ron would punch Seamus’ shoulder and tell him to shut up, that it was just a face and to get over it. Dean shrugged and mumbled something about boys fussing too much over each other.
But you just thought it was a kind face. Just that.
Harry didn’t like it when people paid him compliments that somehow related to his name. The public knew his face and when a girl liked his face, it pissed the bloke off.
And you never really got it, because…isn’t it always nice when someone likes the way you look? No matter why?
‘They don’t like the way I LOOK, Neville,’ he explained. ‘They like the idea of what…you know, what my face stands for and stuff. It’s not the same thing.’
That wasn’t entirely true. And you quietly tell Harry that he couldn’t really know, because he never gave anyone a real chance-he barely made an effort after his fourth year being so bloody scared of real and not real and truth because-(Oh Lord, here we go again)-above all, Harry treasured truth. In people and in what they said; he held it above their heads like an ancient bomb with his family’s names scribbled all over, holding onto his friends as if they owed him or something. Owed him for being the only ones who accepted him for Harry, and not Potter.
Odd boy. Head full of everything, often mistook truth for loyalty.
And you reckon that that would come around to bite him in the ass someday.
‘You’re so full of it, Neville. You know just as well as I do, I let plenty people near-and that they just never like me. And I’m okay with that, really. Just don’t pretend, you know? I hate pretentious people. HATE them.’
And it’s best to not reply when he starts using the h-word. You never do and the conversation bleeds to death. But secretly, you allow yourself to tell the miniature Harry in your head that he’s being silly, because people would like him if he were just Harry. Just Harry! Because he never is, with that big mouth and distrusting attitude; indifferent and sour, like your second grand aunt. She’s old and has money she doesn’t like, but by the same token dislikes people. Because people like money.
And Harry is kind of like that, you think.
You hope he’ll grow out of it because it’s not a charming characteristic-not that you’re really in any place to say that. But he should still know that in your eyes, he’s kind of a cool person. Not always nice, but hey! No one ever is! You will tell him. Hell, you have confidence problems, sure-but it’s actually nothing compared to what that guy’s going through. So he needs to know that if it weren’t for him, you’d never even consider going into the hatch. If it weren’t for his kind face and that smile that said, hey Neville, I totally trust you. Because I know you’ll do the right thing. Because you’re an okay guy, Neville. You’re okay!
Because if it were up to you, you would’ve just went with them.
And it was cool. It was so cool they didn’t tell you you’d be a burden, that you’d stand in the way and screw up their plans with your messed-up philosophies and that in reality? They just didn’t enjoy your company. And you were sure that they were THIS close to saying that; but they didn’t, and your heart skipped a little because they cared for your feelings. And it was always nice when someone cared about your feelings, no matter why.
‘We-we need you there, Neville. They’re all so scared right now, and with Harry and Ron and myself gone…they really need a leader, Neville. The last thing we can use right now is chaos, it would just undermine the whole point of the hatch and- hey! No no, don’t look at me like that! We DO need you, we do! The Order is doing its best and as soon as all the parents are located…I swear Neville, you’ll be out of there in no time. I swear. Hmn? Yes, yes, especially that and…What? Oh, OF COURSE! You will? REALLY? OH! Thank you, Neville, you’re an angel. AN ANGEL!’
Hermione cried so easily in those days. She hugged you and sobbed loudly into your shoulder; Ron and Harry had to peel her off with an apologetic smile, as if they were responsible for the girl’s emotions. It annoyed you somewhat, but you did like the fact that the three seemed to guilt-trip themselves into respecting you.
Even if it was a bit pretentious.
You didn’t have that much against pretentious people.
~~
No one had brought much with them, not even the girls. You figure it’s because when you come home one day and find that a big, green fucking skull is hovering above your empty house, you don’t take your time to search for Nibble the teddy bear and a toothbrush between the remains of the rooms.
Hermione said they were scared, but as awful as it may sound-you really cannot see it. If you were to name it, you’d sooner call it indifference or plain sadness, rather than fright. Some were so pale you didn’t want to know how long they’d been hiding here in the shadows…how long their parents have been gone.
You swallow, one hand sticky in your pocket, the other clammily holding the list to your chest.
Do these kids honestly need a leader? Or did Hermione just say it to get you out of the way?
That’s an unsettling thought, one you’d rather reserve for times more appropriate than this for resentment.
“Eeuhh…”
No one looks up-not even the two playing exploding snaps at the table.
“Euhh- everyone? If…if I could just have a moment…?”
A young girl he recognised from Ravenclaw looks up from across the room and mumbles something to an older Ravenclaw before walking up to you - she barely reaches your chest. But she is smiling faintly and seems interested, which is a start.
“Hi.”
“Hello,” you reply, smiling back. “I’m Neville Long-”
“Longbottom, we know. Harry said you’d come to take over because he had to go.”
You blink, a little confused by the bluntness of her statement.
“They weren’t really happy about that,” she gravely adds.
You frown in question and she vaguely gestures to the small group of former students behind her - some quietly talking, leaning against a wall, some reading books and some sitting at the large table that occupied most of the space of the strange oval-shaped living area.
“Is this all of you?” you ask, quickly counting seven heads, thirteen less than the list read.
The girl nods. “There were more, but most went away.”
“Went away? Why?”
She shrugs. “No one likes it here. The other people say they’ll let us know when mum or dad are found but…no one ever gets a message.”
It’s a rather hopeless situation; in an awkward way, one that makes it harder to say the right thing-more than usual. You had expected…not an awful lot, as a matter of fact. You hadn’t really known what to imagine and therefore deliberately chose not to think of it, just waited for it to happen. And it wasn’t like you got a notice or something-not two weeks, not one week, not even half a bloody week; three days you had to prepare, explain to grandma you had to do your duty now, your part of the war, fulfil it and make her proud.
She wasn’t as enthusiastic though, and screamed about stupidity and danger and incapability and a whole lot more that you hadn’t bothered listening to. So what else was there to do? You ended up sneaking out at the last minute.
As childish as it seemed, it made you feel older than ever. Everyone feels better with a goal in their hands-whether it’s their own or not.
You sink to your knees, level to the girl’s eyes, a shadow of a smile about your lips. “So…is there anything specific that I need to do?”
She seems to consider this for a moment, and then firmly shakes her head. “No. I don’t think so. We manage pretty well on our own.”
“But…” You stand back up, scratching the side of your face. “What did Harry do, then?”
“He wasn’t here often, you know. But when he was, he usually stayed in his room.” She points at a door to her left, with the initials N.L. engraved on its surface. “But I suppose it’s your room now.”
“Did you…” you trail off, inspecting the curly letters on the door when you notice each door has its own set of letters. “Was this Harry’s idea?”
“Oh, no!” she says. “They change themselves!”
Your first impulse is to question this, even though you know better. Why wouldn’t this be a magical place, after all? When you look again you notice there are nine doors too, and not twenty-the initial number of people that had entered the hatch last summer.
The two boys, barely fourteen-you suppose-that were playing at the table had stopped their game somewhere along the way and were now looking at you with a rather blank curiosity. And you count, you count again and come to the conclusion that…
“There’s one door too many.”
“No, there isn’t,” the girl corrects. “He just never comes out of his room.” And then, more quietly, “He hates Harry.”
“He?” you repeat, hurriedly snatching your list-it’s the first time you actually look at the names. “He who?”
“Finnigan,” she says with a gulp of air, eyes wide. “Seamus. He hates Harry.”
~~
There’s a tube in the wall that leads nowhere. It’s next to the ladder, in the only vacant space with no door. It’s an old tube and the glass is no longer transparent, the silver rings that held it in place are rusty. But it works fine, even if you doubt it sometimes because no messages ever came.
On the first day, Harry sent a message, and the whole hatch held its breath. The cylinder bottle glided through the tube with a vacuum-like sound before loudly coming to a stop at the bottom. At the time, you didn’t know what went through the kids’ heads, what that sound did to them. And it was rather foolish to pull an interested face, opening the tiny glass door to pull out the message bottle as if it were the most ordinary case in the world.
Hope everything’s going okay -
Harry said.
We’re heading West tomorrow. If anything happens from now on, someone else will keep you updated.
Please send a note back if you got this.
So thanks - and good luck,
Harry.
You shrugged and turned the parchment around, fishing a pen out of your front pocket and quickly scribbling-
Everything’s going fine. Things are pretty quiet around here.
Keep safe,
Neville.
It wasn’t until you made to roll the parchment and put it back in the cylinder when you noticed the silence the room greeted you with-you looked up only to find everyone had yet to move, blinking at you with bated breaths and widened eyes.
You had no idea.
“It’s…it’s Harry,” you begin apprehensively. “He just wanted to know how things were going…”
It would take a few days before you learned that it had been the first message to arrive in two weeks.
One of the boys who was sitting at the table with a thumb between the pages of his book marking the point where he had stopped reading loudly, stood up, shooting you a filthy glare before storming into one of the rooms with E. v A carved on the door. He slammed it shut behind him, not showing his face for the rest of the day.
Eimhurst van Aken would be gone the next morning.
~~
There’s no trace of Harry’s existence in the room. It’s like no one had entered the room before you. You know Harry and in all fairness, you know he’s not the neatest guy-but the floor is meticulous and the bed is spotless, you can’t help but quietly mull over the hatch’s magical prowess.
Perhaps that’s not it at all. Perhaps people just change. Wake up one day and decide it’s time to clean up, to make their beds and dust the cabinets and…
Seamus sure did change.
You knocked on his door a few times, a little excited and relieved you wouldn’t be stuck here on your own. You called out his name, saying that you came to replace Harry and how wonderful it was-how WONDERFUL it is that you got to see each other again after so long. And it didn’t occur to you, not even once, as to why he was here. Not until he told you to shove off, that he wasn’t glad to see you and that he wanted to be left alone.
But how could you’ve known? How? No one ever bothered to tell you about Seamus’ parents.
It’s just so hard to understand why Harry wouldn’t tell you something like that. Weren’t you all friends? Seamus and Dean and Ron and…weren’t you? Not best friends, but just. Roommates. Didn’t that mean something? You went to Susan’s wake together, you all gathered to say goodbye to Dean before he went away with his family-why should it be any different with Seamus?
You wonder if there was even a funeral.
Maybe Harry did change. Maybe he just stopped caring that much along the way. Maybe letting Seamus stay in here was the best he could do…
At five to seven, the little Ravenclaw girl, Noelle Duncan, knocks on your door. It’s time for dinner, she says. And you better take your place or there won’t be any food for you. This doesn’t make much sense at first until you glance over at the table-its surface is empty of games and books, and all the children stand around it, seemingly waiting. Noelle drags you by the sleeve to stand with them; when you attempt to question the scene in front of you, she hushes you, pointing at the ceiling. You look up, partially expecting to see a face in the iron door of the hatch. There’s nothing there but when you look back down, eight plates with humble meals have decorated the table. One for every person.
Most of the boys take their dinner back to their room, not particularly caring for the company. The girls on the other hand, take a seat at the table and you follow their example, choosing a chair next to Noelle.
“Does…does it always do that?” you ask, eyeing the rice and peas in a distrusting manner. “Giving you food like that?”
“The hatch?” she clarifies, glancing up quickly. “Yes, it does. It’s good food though, I’d eat it if I were you.”
You look at the others who seemed to be solely concentrated on eating. Awkwardly you attempt a bite yourself, and it’s not that bad. That is to say you’ve had worse, anyway.
“Noelle…”
She cocks her head, chewing on a piece of chicken.
“Why did I have to be quiet? Before the…” you vaguely gesture at your plate.
“If you unsettle it,” she replies in between bites, “it doesn’t give any of us food.”
You blink, and slowly put down your fork.
“The…” You pause, feeling a little silly. “The hatch?”
She nods. “It takes care of us. It’s okay, Neville.”
Despite this, you look around once more and the surroundings somehow seem so much more different now. You unwillingly shiver and deeply hope this feeling-like hundreds of eyes are watching your every move-will go away soon.
“Does Seamus ever come out?” you change the subject, nodding at the said boy’s door.
“Well, not a lot…sometimes, at dinner.” She looks down, lightly biting her lips. “The hatch doesn’t give him much food anymore. He says mean things about it…”
For a split second, you wonder whether even your thoughts are safe in here. If even thinking bad things could influence how good you had it here and-Oh Lord, OH LORD! What did you get yourself into?
“Carah says the hatch wants him to leave,” Noelle adds quietly, tapping her knife on the plate’s rim.
You make a mental note to save some food for Seamus, bring it to him later-but you hadn’t even unfolded your napkin before the food disappeared right before your eyes.
Noelle silently shakes her head, and finishes her dinner without another word.
~~
On the third day, you find a book. It was under your bed and probably had belonged to Harry. It’s a bit strange, you admit, for him to forget something like that but not completely impossible, by any means.
You flip it over once, twice, and conclude it must’ve been the school’s property. You know how it went, forgetting to return a book then realising it and not returning it on principle-being frightened since it’s been so long.
Nostradamus, the title read. The Prophecies.
A vague image of the last time you spent an honest day with Harry flashed through your mind. Last summer, a while after they had found the hatch, a while before a use for it was determined. It was a sunny day at the Burrow, and you were happy because it was always nice to be invited over. Ron had been somewhat grumpy and Harry with his nose buried in books; Hermione took you for a walk in the fields behind the house and explained that Harry was reading up on Divination. Why? Was your initial reaction. Because, she explained, it’s important for him to know about prophecies. How to use them to his advantage -Hermione looked up seriously, as if a point had been made that should have meant a lot to you. What prophecy? You wanted to know. Just a prophecy…she mumbled, hooking her arm with yours, urging you to climb faster. Race you to the top, Neville!
You plopped down on the bed, frowning, and opened at the first page.
~~
It’s really not that hard, you find, once the hatch is a little distracted; when everyone’s talking in the oval room, walking about and trying to keep themselves busy-that’s when the hatch can’t trace everything.
On the fourth day, you eat very slowly, and once everyone is done and starts talking again you think about how hungry you’ll be later, how hungry you’ll be the next morning and with that, you slip a few meatballs and some cabbage off the plate, into a tight package made of your napkin.
You’re so thrilled it worked, and finish your dinner while wondering what else you can do with this newfound system.
Later, once everyone’s asleep and the lights have gone out, you get out of bed and quietly tiptoe into the living area, locating Seamus’ door in the dark. You knock quietly, hoping the boy won’t start shouting again and wake everyone up.
“Seamus! Seamus, wake up!”
Nothing.
“Seamus!”
You hear a muffled groan and the rustling of sheets, and can’t help but feel a little relieved.
A moment later the door flies open, startling you because this isn’t entirely the Seamus you remember. Cheeks hollowed and eyes red, and even in the dark, you could see his complexion is a little bluer than what it should’ve been.
“WHAT, Neville?” It’s short and irritated, and you can see him grinding his teeth.
“I-I…” You swallow, reaching inside your pocket and showing him the napkin package. “I brought you food.”
Seamus glances from the napkin to you, a little puzzled and unsure. But he didn’t need to be told twice and quickly snatches it, fisting it as though it would disappear. Which it probably could.
It’s quiet for a moment, and you wonder whether he expects you to go away.
“Euuh…” Seamus begins, shifting a bit awkwardly. “Thanks, Neville.”
You shrug, smiling. “No problem.” And then, thoughtlessly blurted, “So how’ve you been?”
“My parents are dead,” he replied dryly, as if it was the only logical answer to the question.
“Oh…” You glance down, feeling a little ashamed and apprehensive. You should’ve expected this but you didn’t-you just didn’t. “You know I didn’t know, Seamus. About your parents and all…”
He blinks. “Okay.”
“I’m really sorry about what happened. I wish I could’ve…” You swallow; your hands feel a bit too clammy. “You know, been there or…or something.”
Seamus quirks a brow. “Okay.”
“I just didn’t know. Harry never told me and-”
“Harry Potter is a bastard,” he cuts you off, with a harder edge to his voice now.
“Oh…” You stuff your hand back into your pocket, rocking a bit on your feet. “Wh…why would you say that about Harr-”
“Look, Neville, I appreciate the food and all.”
You blink at him, waiting for a ‘but’ or ‘and’, though none come. You open your mouth to add something but Seamus beats you to it with a-
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
“Good-”
The door slams shut.
“…Night.”
And you find yourself a little hurt. Even if your days at Hogwarts seemed ages ago, this-Seamus and you, talking and awkward and everything-is so different from what it used to be and it chokes you up a little.
You get that he lost someone he cared for-you so get that! But…it’s not like everyone else here didn’t. And you get that it’s hard, but it’s how it is. How things are.
Maybe that’s just who Seamus is now, too.
On your way back to bed, you notice a minor change in the oval room. Like something changed-like something is not the same. It’s eerie and interesting at the same time, because it wasn’t like this before and you squint your eyes, wanting to pinpoint it.
It takes a few minutes, but when you see it, it doesn’t go away.
The doors shifted places.
Eimhurst van Aken’s door is gone.
~~
It’s the second week now, and you start to wonder if winter was fading away above ground. Because down here, it was always the same temperature.
You’ve never been very good at Divination; in fact, you were quite awful. And even when you tried to make up the answers, they always sounded a little sappy and not horrid enough to please old Trelawney. There was just something about predicting a certain death that gave you the shivers-even if you just wrote it down! Just said it or even thought it-who knew what kind of force was at work? Someone could always hear or see it and think, ‘hey, if this kid wants to die so badly-I might as well give him a hand!’
But even with that, it wasn’t hard to distinguish something honestly extraordinary.
Nostradamus was more than a seer, you think. He was a great man granted, but it was more than that. The words you read weren’t his, but someone else’s. It wasn’t like you could explain it because it was kind of strange and not a subject you preferred to think of that much -but the footnotes sometimes clarified it. It was like when Nostradamus had a vision, things like time and space stopped and told him all kinds of things-things you’d so dearly like to know! Things about life and the way it flows, when it begins and stops and-certainty. We all could use some certainty. How would it be like, being chosen by the humongous things of the universe to speak for them?
Must be grand, you think.
You’d give your big toe to be like Nostradamus when you grow up, you would.
It isn’t until you’re five chapters later, at the prophecy for the king of France, when you decide you’d probably even give a whole foot.
~~
On the twentieth day, you had soup for dinner. You saved the bowl and the hatch let you, and a big part of you thought that perhaps if the hatch let it be-perhaps it was meant to be, and it really would work.
You sat at the table for at least two hours with a shirt over your head, tracing the bowl’s rim with your wand-just like Nostradamus had whenever he got a vision. You stared into the bowl, waiting for something to happen but no infinities or endless universes spoke and no deaths displayed themselves before you.
But it had to work. It had to! Why otherwise would the hatch let you keep the bowl?
One of the doors opened, and you instantly look up, pushing the shirt off your head because, well, it just looked plain silly.
Seamus paused, looking at you strangely. Looking with a what-the-hell-are-you-doing-Neville expression and it was so familiar-so, so familiar on him that you almost smiled.
He shrugged and walked to the table, tossing a dirty napkin on the table.
“Your napkin,” he said, ignoring your pronounced shaking of the head. “Thanks for the food again.”
With an odd grin, Seamus nodded at you, before making his way back to his room.
And now you’re left behind on your own, heavy sensation in the pit of your stomach and wondering why, why he’d do such a thing-because now the hatch SURELY heard it! Now it would never let you bring him food or even-
You quickly look down, and with a sinking feeling, watched the bowl slowly disappear.
~~
The next day’s meal was smaller than usual.
You clench your teeth and glare at Seamus’ door, quietly wondering why he didn’t just leave if he had it so bad. If he hated the hatch so much.
A part of you knows everyone is wondering the same thing. And another part knows everyone doesn’t know he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.
~~
On one of the nights at the end of the month, you are awakened by a noise you hadn’t heard in a long time.
Outside your door, there’s the sound of clanking, muffled groans and intangible exclaims of despair-or perhaps anger. It’s a frightening sound and you’re out of your bed so quickly, eyes wide and it’s a peculiar thing, since you normally have such trouble with waking up.
Heart thudding in your throat, you approach the door, gently opening it. It’s as dark as everywhere else in the hatch, but the wild movements make it much easier to distinguish a person from a table.
And there is a person. And a table.
Seamus is shouting, yelling and screaming. He picks up a chair from the floor and throws it against the wall, picks it up again and repeats the action until there’s nothing left but a splintery heap.
He’s kicking-kicking the table and the rest of the chairs, the wall and everything he can reach. He’s saying things too, but they’re hard to make out. You frown and concentrate, leaning your head against the door.
“GIVE IT TO ME!” he says.
Your frown deepens.
“GIVE-” He picks up another chair. “-ME-” He lifts it above his head. “-FOOD! YOU STUPID-” Seamus smashes it against one of the doors, and you hope it’s his own. “-FUCKING-”Another smash. “-HATCH!”
The chair breaks and pieces of wood soar into the air. Seamus sinks to his knees, head in his hands, breathing heavily. You wait a moment before carefully stepping out from behind your door, observing the damage done with a worried expression.
“Make it give me food,” Seamus rasps. “MAKE IT, NEVILLE!”
You recoil at his volume, stepping back. “I…I don’t know how to-”
“MAKE IT!!”
“ALRIGHT!” you shout back, fisting your hands. “Alright! I’ll try! Just-stop screaming, okay!”
Looking around, you realise you really have no idea what to do. Apprehensively you do the only thing that seems logical, “Ehh…could you maybe…” you start, looking up at the hatch’s iron opening. “Could you maybe give my friend something to eat?”
After a pause in which both yours and Seamus’ eyes are hopefully directed at the table, you deduce it’s not enough.
“Please? He’s really hungry and…” You lick your lips, glancing at Seamus. “And he promises never to break the chairs again! Don’t you, Seamus?”
Seamus’ attention snaps to you and he’s glaring, somewhat unsettled.
“DON’T YOU, SEAMUS?”
With a small huff, he nods, adding a quiet, “Yeah. Promise.”
And surely enough, after a breathless minute of hopeful waiting, a small plate appears on the table. It’s not a great meal and definitely not a whole-hearted truce, but you think it’s a beginning. Seamus doesn’t seem to think anything as he throws himself at the food; shoving it into his mouth so quickly you wonder if he’s even chewing to begin with.
Sighing exasperatedly, you lean against the table, head in your hands.
At least that war was over.
~~
You noticed your dreams have changed ever since you moved under. It wasn’t a significant change, not big or important-just there. The lighting gradually became somewhat darker, and you dreamt of surroundings akin to woods or beaches less and less-and even if you did, the trees or yellow sand would flatten, fold themselves around you very quickly into a room with scenery painted on walls. It wasn’t a matter of claustrophobia, since it never actually bothered you. Just interesting. It’s just peculiar.
Sometimes, Harry would appear as well. Dean and Ron, old Seamus, Luna and Ginny and some others. They’d be in rooms as well, wearing golden helmets with eyes painted all over - and you looked down, at your brown and tattered robe in question, mildly wondering what you were doing there. And you look up at Harry, somehow expecting him to be mad, to be cross with you, although you forgot why.
He points at the walls and you see the wonderful drawings, fields of crops so vivid and real you can almost reach out feel the straws between your fingers. But Harry shakes his head, and point again and you see - you see it. You see the miles and miles of planted seeds that grew from the ground, made their way to the sun, you see them shrivel and slowly die-curl up in a brown bundle of rotten vegetation. The land is vacant and dead, the earth useless and you don’t understand, who could have let this happen?
Who could know this was going to happen and just let it?
You look at Harry-he’s holding a book for you to take, a small brown one. You know this book so well, yet you’re unable to recall its name, and you don’t want it. You don’t want the burden, it’s Harry’s burden-you don’t want it! You shake your head, but he won’t listen. He shoves it into your hands, and you’re so scared you might drop it.
But it’s not your fault! You just predicted it; you’re not there to prevent it! You’re not their saviour, you’re not anyone’s saviour!
You want to tell Harry this, but when you look for him he’s not there anymore. Where he stood, there’s now Seamus, he’s angry and screaming, pointing at your book and saying it was your fault. That if you’d have warned him, his parents wouldn’t have died, that they could’ve made it on time-and you close your eyes, as tight as you can, until the shouting stops.
~~
Carah Sednaoui was the one to make the final decision, although you found out too late. Your position in the hatch had never been discussed nor acknowledged; the others rarely talked or came to you with questions. You supposed it wasn’t really necessary, since everyone more or less knew whatever there was to know. And when you don’t have that natural leader thing, that innate aura that tells everyone you’re stronger than the average person, then people, under a silent anarchy, quickly find they can’t precisely use you. The title was just that: a title.
They were all ready when you woke up. All, except Seamus, sat at the table when you walked into the room. Carah, the oldest, was holding a folded piece of paper in one hand, and a cylinder bottle in the other.
“A message came?” you quickly ask, blinking the last vestiges of sleep out of your eyes. When no one replies, you immediately fear the worse.
“What does it say?” you ask urgently, walking towards Carah, wanting to read over her shoulder. Though such action is not needed; she hands over the paper, almost challengingly, you believe.
You turn it over and your eyes catch the large message written on the back and you’re confused for a moment.
NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM-CLASSIFIED.
“You…you read my message?” You look up at the rest. “MY message? Without permission?”
“We have a right to know what’s going on too, Neville,” says Hennesy, a fifth year Hufflepuff.
“I would’ve told you!” you cry indignantly. “What reason do I have for NOT telling you?!”
“It shouldn’t be a decision to begin with,” interjects Carah. “When a message comes in, we should all be allowed to know its content immediately.” She looks at the paper, then cocks her brow at you. “You gonna read it, or what?”
You’re rather angry. There’s a thin line between the right for knowledge and right for privacy and it was fading away here, in this place, and you wonder if they would’ve done the same if Harry were around.
Unfolding the paper, you decide to address the issue later. If this message meant news from the expedition, then you can always deal with the moral sense of the group another time.
Neville-this is very important. The Death Eaters changed directions last night; they’re heading Northwest at a high speed and will be crossing paths with the hatch coming tomorrow. This is not a call for distress, so I’m asking you to keep it to yourself. There’s no need to unsettle the younger ones - nothing will happen. Nnot as long as you keep quiet; the hatch will protect you-simply don’t do anything out of the ordinary, no funny stuff, and it will pass quietly.
Please keep us updated each day starting today- if we hear nothing, we will come get you immediately.
- Kingsley.
You lick your lips, heart beating thickly in your ears. You look up with a plead for calmness, for rational thinking and for Pete’s sake-whatever they’re thinking, please don’t let it lead to chaos!
Though when you see them, silently sitting at the table, you remember they’ve already read this-they’ve had time, Merlin knows how much, to think it over. If so, why so calm? He knew they’ve been through quite a lot, these children, but surely they still had some sense of human instincts! Why on earth would they be so impassive during a time so-so-
Aaah, of course. How foolish of you. How fan-FUCKING-tastic!
“You’ve decided something,” you declare quietly, throwing the paper back on the table. “Without me.”
Carah stands up, and in doing so, you notice she is nearly an inch taller than you. Never before had you acknowledged she was actually just a year younger than you, but right now, there’s no way around it.
“You’re not our leader, Longbottom,” she coldly replies. You open your mouth to protest but she quickly cuts you off, “And neither was Harry. Look, it was very nice of him to offer us this…” She looks around with an odd smile. “This safety…thing. But we can’t live in safety if we can’t live at all-up there, that’s our war. Our parents. We want to fight it just as much as everyone else. We want to be there when we win.”
Despite the graveness of this statement, you can’t help but note the ridiculousness of it all. You manage a chuckle, looking around to see if the others are as amused as you are-but they’re not. They’re so serious, each and every one of them, even little Noelle. But surely-they couldn’t be! Going up there now would be like walking straight into the jaws of the monster! And what was this ‘just as much as everyone else’ thing? No one wanted to fight! No one willed this war, and it wasn’t even a matter of winning or losing any longer, but getting it over with. What did these kids think? All they have is vengeance on their minds-and wars were not won out of revenge.
“You’re not going away,” you say. “It’s not even an option, Carah, you’re staying here. What are you thinking? Where will you go? If the troops are coming this way it’ll take barely a day for them to catch up with the seven of you! And you can’t take Noelle with you!” You gesture at the little girl pouting at you. “She’s barely thirteen! This is SUICIDE, Carah!”
“We’re not stupid, Longbottom,” she quickly spits. “I have a plan. Nigel has relatives living a mile off, we can get there by sunset. From there we can floo, go back home, look for the rest of our family-something we never even got the chance to do!” Carah lifts her chin a little, taunting you to tell her she’s wrong. “Potter didn’t really care about US being safe. He cared about ‘the involved victims’ being safe-we were just chunks of the war to him, Neville! And you…you have nothing to do with it! With any of it!”
“Just because I’m not out there getting my HEAD chucked off, doesn’t mean I’m not-”
“Oh PLEASE!” she interrupts. “Do you actually think the Death Eaters care about us? That they actually knew whose house they were plundering when taking our parents? It was a random act. No thought to it, no heart, no nothing. What are we to them? They can’t use us, won’t miss us, they don’t even know we exist! Just like…”
You swallow, clenching your teeth for what’s to come.
“Just like we are for the Order,” Hennesy finishes.
“The only difference is,” continues Carah. “They are something to us. And if they won’t come looking for us,” she pauses, crossing her arms to her chest. “We’ll go looking for them.”
~~
“NO!” you cry, punching the wall feebly. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong! They’ll be back-they’re not gone!”
You push the wall, you kick and groan, jump and curse but it’s of no avail. The hatch had decided, made up its mind and the doors were gone. Seven doors, one by one, faded into nothingness the moment the trapdoor closed with a clunk above you. You tried opening all the doors, figuring that they wouldn’t disappear that way, but the hatch wasn’t stupid and locked them all before you even reached for the knobs.
You must’ve scribbled about a dozen of panicked notes by now, sent them off in the tube. But no answer comes, and you begin to wonder if they even receive them to begin with.
With forehead against the cold stone, you sink to the floor, breathing heavily. There are only two doors left now.
You hadn’t even noticed that he came out of his room until he spoke-you hadn’t noticed your had your eyes closed till then.
“HEY, what the fuck is up with the nois-” Seamus stopped, looking around the room. “Where…where is everybody?”
You let out a dry laugh, spreading your arms to the sides. “GONE!”
He frowns, looking at the trapdoor, then at the non-existent doors. “What do… what do you MEAN, gone?”
“How many kinds of gone do you know, Seamus?” you ask, genuinely waiting for a reply.
And he stares at you for a moment before his eyes widen, and you can see him swallowing.
“Yeah,” you nod. “That one.”
“Why didn’t you stop them?!” he exclaims, stepping into the room, turning on the spot once looking for remaining souls that weren’t there. “What did you-YOU just, what? Just SAT there, Neville?”
“What COULD I have done?” you retort, exasperated. “It’s not like I was in the MAJORITY, Seamus! And you weren’t exactly here to back me up or anything!”
“Bullshit, Neville! You could’ve stunned them, locked the hatch-heck, you could have hit them with sleeping hexes for Merlin’s sake! Did you even USE your wand, Neville? DID YOU EVEN TRY? You’ll have to grab the bloody thing sooner or later, you daft prick! THIS IS SERIOUS, NEVILLE, YOU HAVE TO GET OV-”
There were a number of discussions you don’t partake in any longer. Discussions like, ‘what was it like to be at the first battle?’ or ‘why do you always forget everything?’
But those are matters of exhaustion. You don’t talk about them because you’ve done it too many times, repeated the sentences and told the stories so often you could sing them to a tune if you felt like it.
The discussion concerning your magic was different.
It had nothing to do with exhaustion or tunes, none at all. It had all to do with the deep, dire need to ignore certain facts, certain memories and moments in life that shouldn’t have happened. And if it were easy for you to erase all the links, then why not? And what if a person could live without ever being reminded of the one thing that scared him the most? What then? Why shouldn’t he?
Why shouldn’t you?
And you didn’t hurt anyone. You didn’t HURT ANYONE!
It was so much easier to storm past Seamus, into your room and slam the door squarely in his face. So much easier than sitting there and explaining to him he knew nothing, because he didn’t, explaining how important it was to ignore this. How very, very important.
~~
A small group had fought their way into the woods behind, spitting heat and fire and curses from the depths of the earth at one another. One ducked, the other jumped, and the hateful sparks hit some trees. A fire was soon caught, and a flock of birds loudly flew out of the crown of the Forbidden Forest as it turned blue and orange and yellow with energy-with oxygen and temperature and whatever the fire could get its claws on.
You tried to run but your knees were shaky and your forehead sweaty, the prominent roots jumping out of the dirt seemed to make it impossible to get a step farther. You fell once, twice, scraped your knees and hands but got up all the same-just keep on running, Neville-you told yourself. Whatever happens just RUN. Don’t look back, Neville, RUN!
But looking back wasn’t necessary. They were quicker, swifter and their speed was oddly inhuman. And then one of them was in your path, in the middle of the freaking path. Stepped out from between the trees and simply stood there, waiting for you to crash into him. His mask shone gold in the light of the fire, eyes shimmering with amusement from behind it.
You froze. And it took a few breaths, a few blinks to realise the man wasn’t doing anything-yet. Slowly, you started retreating, staggering back on the path you came from.
Three steps you took before he pulled his wand on you, ordering you to stop moving.
But this wasn’t your destiny. This couldn’t be your way, your personal last page-you would’ve known if it was, you would’ve KNOWN. And your wand was out and ready so fast, he barely uttered his curse before you replied with yours. You ducked a green light, but the hundreds of tiny needles, shooting poisonous arrows out of the end of your wand could not be avoided at the other end.
Only at one place was he fragile.
Only at one place was he stricken.
And a young lion shall defeat the old one in a field of combat. In a single duel he shall breach his eyes through their golden cage; with two wounds in one, he then dies a cruel death.
~~
The next day, a message came.
Don’t go anywhere, don’t do anything, keep as a low profile as possible. We’re tracking them down.
- Kingsley
~~
Harry had circled one of the passages towards the end of the book with a pencil and a little arrow that led to an exclamation mark in the margin. At first, you thought it was a joke-your eyes and your mind, playing tricks on you because of the lack of sun. But you ran your fingers over it, closed it and opened and threw it on the ground-but it was still there.
And you found your heart beating unusually fast.
Was it a joke on Harry’s part? A cruel joke? Did he leave the book behind purposely for you to find, encircled precisely that bit as to show you what he really thought of what you’ve done? No-NO, what had accidentally happened. Doing involves a certain amount of will, and you didn’t have that. You never willed any of it.
It was so accidental.
Part 2 can be found here