Fic - Harry Potter: To Banish the Ghost (a gift for unheardmelody21)
Title: To Banish the Ghost
Author: bluemermaid
Recipient: unheardmelody21
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairing: Neville and Hermione gen (with hints of a possible future romance)
Word count: ~5,290
Rating: PG
Summary: Post-war Neville still has a ghost in his bedroom.
Author's Note: Sorry this is so late! Kelsey, I hope you enjoy this gift. :)
She'd never left him.
Neville had nightmares for weeks afterward, slept fitful and restless, tossing and turning with images of Bellatrix Lestrange dancing around before him, laughing her maniacal laugh and taunting him in her shrill, high-pierced voice.
"Little Nev never avenged his parents," she shouted in sing-song, pointing a finger at him and leaning in close, grinning so broadly he could see all of her teeth, sharp and gleaming. "Little Nev had to go ask his girlfriend's mummy to come kill mean old Bella, didn't he? Little Nev couldn't get to me himself."
Neville glared and clenched his fists but his magic had left his side, his wand was always missing and he couldn't make it work without it. He stood helpless and furious and scared as Bellatrix cornered him, as she reached her hands into his chest and clawed his heart out, laughing all the while.
Then he would wake up in his bedroom, sweating and tangled in his bedsheets, and she would be there still, hovering against the far wall as though she had always been there, just waiting for him.
"Get out of here," he would shout, but she'd just grin again. Her teeth weren't pointed in reality but her smile was just as terrifying. Neville shivered every time.
"Nighty night, Little Nev," said the ghost of Bellatrix Lestrange, cackling loudly as she whirled out of sight.
**
Of course most people believed that Neville had done quite enough even without killing Bellatrix, even Gran, who would proudly proclaim to anyone who'd listen that her grandson was a war hero. "He chopped that nasty serpent's head clean off," she'd say loudly, puffing her chest up. "And you know, Harry Potter couldn't have killed Voldemort at all without that snake being dead."
"Gran, stop saying that," Neville said eventually. "You know Harry was the real hero that day. I'm just...you know, me."
He'd never thought much of himself; he only did what needed to be done. He'd never been popular, had never been the best at anything, had never gotten the girl. But it didn't matter to him, because he was used to it, and what was glory good for, anyway? He'd still be just Neville. And he'd still failed the only real goal he'd ever set himself.
His parents were still in St. Mungo's, still never recognized him when he came to visit, still never improved despite the end of war and darkness. They'd been destroyed, ruined for life by Bellatrix Lestrange, who had been just so full of glee when she'd told him about it. Neville had promised himself after that day in the Department of Mysteries that he would be the one to bring her down, that he would take responsibility for the abuse of his parents and have his revenge. But he hadn't done it.
"Would it really have helped, though?" Luna asked him, tilting her head and placing a hand upon his shoulder. "They'd still not remember you, and you'd have her blood on your hands. Murder doesn't heal broken souls, especially your own."
She meant well, and Neville cared for her a lot, spent many an afternoon post-war just sitting with her outside, picking flowers and just talking, about everything and nothing. But she didn't understand; nobody did. Nobody else was being haunted.
At first Neville tried to convince himself that he was just imagining it, that his mind was playing tricks on him or he just had a Boggart in the house. There was no way Bellatrix could really be there inside his bedroom, laughing and dancing and planting nightmares in his dreams. She said the most horrible things.
"You know you've always been useless, Little Nev," she told him, clapping her hands together as though this was some brand new revelation, and one that delighted her. "You're not a killer at all. So you cut a snake's head off, did you? My beloved Dark Lord had far more use for me than for his pet snake. I was the true enemy to cut down, and you could never have battled me. You hadn't the skill for it, did you, Little Nev?"
Neville pulled the covers over his head and closed his eyes. "You aren't here," he shouted, hoping that he could force her away with merely the force of his will.
But of course he couldn't. And when he did eventually fall asleep, he only saw her again, in the endless world of his nightmares.
**
At first he tried a library, because that was his best option when he was too afraid to actually talk to someone. What if he was simply going mad, and saying it aloud cost him the few friends he actually had? He knew Luna was open-minded but perhaps even she had limits. And he certainly wasn't going to ask Ginny, as much as he denied having feelings for her. She'd started talking to Harry again and Neville could see the writing on that wall; he wasn't going to drive her away any earlier than she would drift off herself.
But the books didn't help. In fact he didn't even know where to begin; there wasn't really a section on ghosts in and of themselves. Sure, they were talked about, in the history books mostly. Notable Wizards Who Are Still Kicking Around and So You Think You've Seen Merlin were no help whatsoever. Neville sighed as he wandered the stacks, stuffing his hands in his pockets and deciding to just give up. Maybe he deserved to be haunted by a mass murderer, anyway. Either way, he'd been through worse.
And then of course he ran into none other than Hermione Granger, because where would anyone run into Hermione if not a library? It made Neville smile; some things never changed. "Hermione! Fancy meeting you here," he said with a grin.
"Oh, who is that, Neville?" She had a hard time seeing him over the tall pile of books in her arms. Once she'd settled them down onto a table she had a much easier time of greeting him. "Lovely to see you," she said, a bit briskly, though she hugged him warmly. "Apologies if I seem distracted; I'm simply buried under work already, you understand. There's so much to do to clean up after the war and they are moving me up the ranks quite quickly."
"Understandable," Neville told her. "You're Hermione, after all."
She blushed slightly. "Well." She shrugged. "But you must be under your fair share of admirers, yourself, aren't you? You were so brave, Neville. What are you up to these days?"
Neville was up to nothing. Immediately after everything ended he'd been besieged by reporters, wanting to hear all about his role in the war effort and in the eventual death of Lord Voldemort. It was much too much for a young boy who didn't think too much of himself. Neville had retreated and gone home, and basically shut himself in, excepting his peaceful outings with Ginny and Luna. Even those had begun to recede lately. Ginny was back to spending all her time with Harry and her brothers, and Luna was preparing for an expedition with her father to some far-off land. Neville didn't mind being alone, but he wasn't exactly eager to explain all of this to Hermione, either, who was probably really eager to be doing all sorts of exciting things.
So he just shrugged and avoided the question. "I'm considering my options, I guess. I hear you've already got a position in the Ministry?"
"Oh, yes, it's fantastic," Hermione replied, beaming. "I think I'm really going to make a difference, there's been such a shift in public opinion now that all of Voldemort's machinations have been outed. Of course I'm really hoping to get into Law Enforcement, you can make the most of it there. But right now I'm in Magical Creatures and it's a perfect place to start, I'll finally get my S.P.E.W. efforts recognized. It may seem silly in light of what I've been through but I have my reasons for wanting to protect house elves." She looked away briefly, blinking, and Neville was startled for a moment, thinking she was about to cry. But then she shook her head and looked back at him, and her eyes were clear. "You should think about trying to get in, Neville, I'm sure they'd love to have you. Harry and Ron are in Auror training, we'd all put in a good word for you."
"Oh, no, I don't think so." He squirmed uncomfortably. "It's not really the place for someone like me."
Hermione scoffed. "Someone like you, what is that supposed to mean? Neville, you held Hogwarts together that last year." She softened, staring hard at him and making his face flush. "You must know that."
Neville did know that, but he knew it in such a faraway way, as though it had happened to someone other than himself. "I only did what was necessary," he told her. "I just wanted everyone to be okay." He heard Bellatrix hissing inside his head; you know you've always been useless. "I'm sure anyone could have done what I did."
"Perhaps, but it was you who did it," Hermione said. She hesitated, then rushed forward to hug him again. "It is good to see you, Neville." Pulling back again, she bit her lip briefly, then took a deep breath. "Have you been sleeping all right? Only, you look...." Trailing off, she shook her head, frowning. "You look very tired."
It was typical Hermione; she cared so much, and approached people's troubles so matter-of-factly. Neville felt a rush of embarrassment, a rush of shame, a rush of reluctance. How could he answer that question without looking completely insane? "I have some nightmares," he muttered, staring down at his feet.
"Oh, Neville." Hermione sighed. "I think we all do. There's no shame in that. Have you tried Dreamless Sleep? It did wonders for me."
Neville laughed bitterly. "I think you're forgetting who you're talking to. Me, brew a potion? I'm abysmal."
She had the grace not to laugh at him, though her lips twitched. "Oh, Neville. I could brew a batch for you, if you'd like?"
"No, please." He didn't like the way this conversation was going; she was too close to his troubles, and he felt small and bothersome. "You have enough to be getting on with. Really, truly, I'm all right."
Hermione just stared at him. It was obvious she didn't believe him, but she seemed torn on how to proceed. Neville forced a smile and gestured towards her pile of books. "Good luck with all that," he said, sounding light-hearted. "Though I know you've never needed luck in your life."
She did laugh then. "Oh, yes, I very much have," she told him. "But all right. Take care, Neville. Please don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything. Send an owl any time, I'm taking mail at the Ministry currently."
"Okay, Hermione," Neville replied, nodding his head. He had no intention of actually asking her for anything. He'd done his fair share of taking help from Hermione Granger. It was time for him to grow up and take care of himself.
He left her there to read, stepping out into the street and feeling no closer to anything. He was still just Neville, lost and haunted. If he went home he would only be confronting the ghost again, and failing to overcome it.
**
He'd done so much already; it didn't seem fair to him that he should be unable to do this. He'd stood up to the Carrows, he'd saved younger students' lives, he'd helped Harry Potter. And yet now a ghost should stop him.
Bellatrix lingered in the bedroom, floating up near the ceiling, grinning excitedly when Neville entered. "Ooh, another day of taunting little Nev. You know I'd rather be anywhere but here; I'd rather be with my Lord. But you took me from him." She laughed shrilly. "Or no, you didn't, did you? Some elderly fool of a mother killed me. But your desires brought me here."
She came towards him where he lay sprawled out upon his bed, lay her cold hands upon him and licked the side of his face, her icy tongue barely passing through his skin. Neville shut his eyes and shivered, clenched his fists and felt the anger slowly rising up the tide of his blood. "You want me here," Bellatrix whispered in his ear. "You need me."
"You're nothing," he spat at her, sitting up abruptly, glaring fiercely in her direction. "You're dead and all you can do is taunt me? You're the one who is pathetic. If you were alive I'd kill you right now. But you're not. You're dead and you're never going to win."
She remained unmoved; she spun in circles above his head, tattered white robes hanging from her limbs, swaying in her own wind. "Little Nevvy Longbottom, Little Nevvy Longbottom," she screamed, singing maniacally. "Thinks he's some sort of a hero! But what has he done, eh? Nothing, nothing, nothing."
"You're wrong," Neville told her. He rose, stalked the length of his room, put his hands on his head to force his frustration away. It did not work. "I've done things. I've done a lot."
"Says you, Little Nev," Bellatrix replied. "Why am I here then, eh? You tell me that."
"I don't owe you a thing," Neville said, before he left the room.
Somehow she never followed him. Somehow she remained in the bedroom, just waiting for him, waiting to laugh and sing and tease him again the moment he returned, the moment he tried to sleep. She was unlike any ghost Neville had ever encountered, even the Bloody Baron, who'd used to terrify him when he was a first year.
He'd been so weak and stupid then, but he was determined not to feel that way anyone. He was brave and he was going to beat this. He just didn't know how yet.
Why was she haunting him, and in his bedroom, of all places? Neville sat down on the floor just outside the closed door of his room and put his head in his hands. He'd wanted so badly to be the one...perhaps this had been his sin, and now he was being punished, for the wrath and desperation he had felt.
What if he had killed her? What if he had stuck his wand in Bellatrix Lestrange's face, and blown her off of this earth? His parents would still be in St. Mungo's. Luna had been right; it would have done nothing. Nothing but perhaps soothe his troubled heart.
But it was too late for regret; Neville knew that it was time for action, instead. He would drive the ghost from his room, and hopefully from his nightmares, too.
**
He tried everything he could think of on his own: casting a patronus, which dived straight through Bellatrix to no effect; tossing magical banishment spells, protective shield spells, vanishing spells, and even an attempt to transfigure her into something silent and harmless, like a rock. But nothing worked. Ghosts were apparently impervious to magic; Bellatrix did nothing but float around him, laughing all the while.
She was there and she would stay there, and Neville was quickly becoming frustrated beyond measure. He'd been furious when the Carrows had tortured his friends, and he'd been driven by vengenence to murder Voldemort's snake, but this was something else; this was a gnawing ache in the center of his heart, burning away incessantly.
And of course the more he failed, the worse he felt, and the more Bellatrix laughed at him. "Oh, you poor thing," she mocked. "Can't cast a little ghost banishing spell? What kind of a little boy wizard are you, anyway?"
Neville had done so much already, he'd come so far in his final years of schooling, why couldn't he do this? He was a true wizard; he'd learned that lesson already. And yet. Yet still the ghost lingered. Yet still the nightmares came.
**
Hermione burst out the door and stopped short, her eyes widening. "Neville! What brings you here?"
The office was a flurry of activity; memo-bearing owls flew overhead in all directions, whilst Ministry workers bustled from cubicle to cubicle, speaking in low voices and looking harried. Neville had been lingering awkwardly for several minutes before Hermione came out of the lift, worrying all the while. He had no idea what he would say, but he had nowhere left to go.
He couldn't bring this to Luna, who had left to explore the world, or Ginny, who had her own life to be dealing with. Not that Hermione didn't; Neville supposed he was just more used to asking her for help. It humilated him, being there, as he had vowed never to turn to her again, never to bother her with his own failures. But there he was, out of desperation.
"Hi, Hermione," he said, waving weakly, and trying his best to smile and look calm. "Could we talk, maybe? In private?"
"Yes, of course," she told him, guiding him towards the back hall. "I don't have my own office yet, but I know they won't mind me borrowing one right quick."
They went into a small room and sat, Hermione looking worried. "You don't look so good, Neville. Are you still having trouble sleeping? I can whip you up a potion if you'd like, I'm sure I still have the directions in one of my books. I've saved all my school books, you never know when you might need one."
It was typical Hermione, and it made Neville feel better already. "I have been having some troubles," he said slowly. He wasn't sure how to even begin. "I can't sleep because...you see, there's a ghost in my room."
There; he'd said it. It sounded so menial when spoken aloud, so simple. Ghosts, they'd dealt with ghosts a thousand times. Neville himself had been quite fond of the Gryffindor ghost in fact, Nearly-Headless Nick. Bellatrix Lestrange was dead; what harm could she do to him now? But he knew exactly what harm.
Hermione seemed confused; she pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. "Are we talking about an actual ghost? They can't hurt you, you know. Is it a menacing ghost?"
"Well, it's, it's Bellatrix," Neville numbled, looking down at his lap.
Hermione gasped. Neville looked up to see that she had clutched her own shoulder, holding it tightly. "Bellatrix Lestrange," she said quietly. She actually looked frightened.
Neville felt a spark of hope then; perhaps he wasn't so mad, perhaps there was a true danger here. If even Hermione could be scared off by the name, well...he didn't feel so stupid. "She's dead, and yet she won't leave me alone," he mumbled. "I've tried everything."
"No, Neville," Hermione said quickly; she leaned forward and put a hand on his knee. Neville looked up into her eyes and felt a startling combination of fear and hope. Her hand was warm. "You haven't tried me yet. You aren't the only one who had reason to want Lestrange dead, you know."
He flinched at the unspoken mention of his parents. He'd forgotten that she knew about that; it wasn't something he liked to make public. But then why shouldn't she know? The Longbottoms had given their minds to protect their family and friends. They were the bravest people Neville had ever known, and he'd never really even known them at all.
Neville looked at Hermione with a new determination, with a new set strength in his gaze. "All right," he said. "So we'll do it together, then."
Hermione smiled, though it was not a happy smile; it was a smile of grim comradarie. They were in on this together. "Yes," she said. "I believe I have just the thing."
**
Hermione put a tiny beaded bag down upon Neville's dining room table and proceeded to pull from it the largest book he had ever seen. It was also the oldest book he had ever seen - dusty and faded, with torn grey pages sticking out in all directions. "What is that?" he asked, full of wonder, and slightly entranced, because a book that large and that old just had to be important. Neville trusted Hermione's choice of books completely.
"Well, I sort of snuck into the Department of Mysteries," Hermione confessed, sounding sheepish, as a faint blush crept into her cheeks. "It's technically forbidden, but if they knew what I was doing it for I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem. At least I hope not. But the last time I was there I just knew there were rooms with old books in them, and I presumed that the Death Chamber might hold something useful for us. And I found this." She paused, then hurried on at the look on Neville's face. "I'm going to return it, of course, once we're done."
"That wasn't really what I was worried about, Hermione," Neville said. "A creepy book from a Death Chamber? You know what cursed books can do."
"Oh, no, that's nothing to worry about. They wouldn't keep something harmful; they're there to study things, not curse things."
But Neville wasn't so sure. There were books at Hogwarts that did terrible things, and there were children there, so why should a forbidden Ministry room be any safer? He edged away from the table, eyeing the book nervously. Still, he trusted Hermione. He always had.
And so he stood and watched, waiting while she pried open the tome and began to flip furiously through the pages, admiring the way she was able to do so without disturbing the many torn and loose sheets. "Now I know I saw something...." she muttered, apparently speaking to herself.
"Hermione," Neville said, but got no answer, so engrossed was she in her reading. Neville looked up at the ceiling, felt Bellatrix's presence there, just waiting, and he shivered. "Hermione."
Finally, she looked up at him. "Yes, Neville?" She spoke as though startled to see him there.
He smiled in spite of himself. "Do you think you could just...come upstairs with me first?" He found it hard to say what he was thinking. "Maybe...take a look?"
Hermione looked at him and her gaze softened, which only made Neville feel worse. Poor frightened Neville...Little Nev. "If you say she's up there, I believe you," Hermione told him. She laid the book open flat on the table and pointed to the page. "There is historical evidence of ghosts becoming tied to specific locations. It says here that some departed spirits are drawn almost beyond their control to a living being with a strong desire to keep them there. Usually it's of a romantic connection but it isn't unheard of for someone to become bonded to the ghost of a person they wished to conquer. Psychologically speaking, you can't let go of the idea that the rivalry or grudge shouldn't die with the person until you personally have killed it." She hesitated, took a breath. "You did wish to conquer her, didn't you, Neville?"
And there it was. All his inadequacy, summed up in one statement. All he'd worked for, all he'd dreamed of, all he'd wanted. He'd tried so hard to overcome his own shortcomings, all in the deluded belief that it would somehow heal him to kill the person who stole his parents from him. Neville felt a sudden wave of guilt. He'd told Gran so many times that he had only done what he had felt was necessary...and yet inside of himself he had wished that he could have done more. Why had he worried so? All it had done for him was bond him to the ghost of the very last person he wanted to share space with.
Even though he could not answer, Hermione knew, and she touched him, took his hand in hers. "It doesn't make you weak," she said. "And it doesn't make you a terrible person, either. In fact, from reading this I'm a bit worried about Draco Malfoy dying, lest Harry draw that ghost into his bedroom." She laughed. "Come on, Neville. There's quite a bit of information here about breaking that bond. Let's bring the book upstairs and vanquish your ghost."
"All right," Neville said, taking a breath, nodding his head, steeling himself and hoping that he could conjure up a rush of bravery, the same rush he'd felt when he'd pulled Gryffindor's sword from the sorting hat. "Let's do it."
**
She was there, of course she was there, she had never left him since the very night of the final battle, swirling around his nightmares and the darkness of his bedroom. The gloom hit them the moment they opened the door, the oppressive chill in the air and the dreary grey of her spirit.
"Ooh, it's the Mudblood," Bellatrix said with joy, clapping her hands. "Tell me, girlie, have the wounds healed yet? Or does the reminder of your filth hurt you still?"
Hermione's jaw set, and a look of fury settled over her face. "You don't frighten me, Bellatrix," she said. "You know, I became you once. I've been in your skin. I didn't enjoy it much, but it didn't scare me, either. I'm Muggleborn and proud of it. I've got the same blood."
Bellatrix sneered at her, and at Neville. "Switched girlfriends, have you, Little Nev?" she asked disdainfully. "At least the last one was pureblooded, however traitorous."
Neville refused to feel embarrassed by the remark; he turned to the woman by his side. "What does the book say?" he asked Hermione.
"Well, Neville, really it's all in your mind," she told him.
"What?" He felt a deep sinking feeling in his stomach. Had he gone mad after all?
"The magic," Hermione explained. "It's all mindpower. The both of us have to focus our inner power on pushing Bellatrix out of this plane. It's all in the book here. Death still has some hold over those who choose to stay in this realm. If we think hard enough about letting go, she'll stop being drawn to your room and move on."
Bellatrix was laughing, her cackles nearly loud enough to drown out every word Hermione spoke. "You think I don't know the power of Death?" she demanded. "I was Death, Little Nev. I killed Sirius Black! I nearly killed your parents, boy. Tell me, how's the Longbottom family doing? They still don't know your name, do they?"
"Neville!" Hermione grabbed him by the shoulders, yanked him away from Bellatrix's cold stare and looked him right in the eyes, her own gaze wide and pleading, her deep brown eyes glistening. "Listen to me, you can't keep her here, do you understand? You didn't kill her yourself but she's dead. There's nothing more you can do. Listening to her taunt you isn't going to help anyone, least of all you. You've got to be strong, Neville, I know you can. Drive her out! Repeat after me: Discedas spiritus!"
They stood facing her then, the two of them. Neville drew his wand and felt Hermione do the same beside him. They spoke the words, chanting the spell again and again. Pale blue light shot out of their wand tips, struck Bellatrix as she whirled and laughed above them. But it seemed not to do a single thing.
"You have to truly mean it, Neville," Hermione said, putting on her teacher's voice. "That's an important part of magic, you know. Spells will never work properly unless you mean them. You have to truly want her to go."
But why on earth wouldn't he want her to go? Of course he meant it, of course he wanted to banish her, wanted to cast away her constant laughter, her constant insults, her constant jabs at his uselessness, at his failure to have killed her, his failure to have done anything meaningful for his parents....
That was it, though, wasn't it? If he had Bellatrix Lestrange's ghost in his bedroom, Neville still had a chance. If she was real, if she wasn't just a nightmare he could wake up from, then she was still an enemy to be battled, a war to be won. This, though, this spell, this moment standing beside Hermione Granger, this was how he could win it. This was how he could finally kill her, and do what needed to be done.
It was all right if it didn't save his parents; Neville loved them anyway. And it was all right if it didn't make him feel any braver or more accomplished at life. He had friends and family who thought he'd done enough already. Neville thought of his Gran sprouting his praises; he thought of Luna and Ginny standing beside him during DA raids; he thought of Hermione, there with him now. He thought about all of them, and he felt that rush again, the thrill of impending victory, the confidence of doing what was right.
"Discedas spiritus," Neville cried, and the light grew brighter from his wand, grew and blasted Bellatrix in brilliant blue, ripped a great wide hole in the ceiling of his bedroom, through which the spirit who had haunted him for weeks flew, flew as though sucked powerfully away, and vanished. The light faded, and the hole closed up again.
Neville and Hermione stood alone in his bedroom. The air felt natural again. Neville could breathe. "That was incredible," Hermione gasped beside him. "This will open up such amazing opportunities in research; the Unspeakables will be thrilled!" She cut herself off, and flung herself so suddenly at him that Neville felt completely overwhelmed, and his body flushed all over. "Oh, Neville, I knew you could do it! You were amazing."
"I couldn't have done it without you, Hermione," he said, feeling bashful, looking down at the floor as she pulled away from him. "You showed me what was necessary. You gave me the answers, as always."
"Yes, but you used them," she replied. "You never did give yourself enough credit. You banished that spirit, Neville. That's the first step towards getting your life back, you know. It'll be easier now, without her. Won't it?"
"Yeah," Neville said, smiling, and finally able to meet her gaze again. They smiled at one another. "I reckon it will. Thank you."
"Any time," Hermione said, beaming as she stuffed the book back into her little bag. Neville startled as he heard it hit the bottom with a loud thud. "You know, you should consider going into Auror training. I think you could do a lot of good."
"Oh, I don't know about that. I think that sort of life is a little too exciting for me. I prefer the quiet," Neville told her with a shrug. "I think I've done all I can for the moment." Still, he had an image of righting wrongs, of helping others overcome their demons, as he would work on overcoming his own. He kind of liked it.
Hermione was giving him a knowing look. "As you like," she said. "You're welcome to come and visit me, at any rate. You know where to find me."
Neville thought it would be rather nice, indeed, to see Hermione outside the context of needing her help. "I do," he said, and felt a warm sense of comfort settle over him.
He would still have nightmares; he would still see Bellatrix laughing at him in his sleep. But the room would be light again once his eyes opened, and he'd be free.
Author: bluemermaid
Recipient: unheardmelody21
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairing: Neville and Hermione gen (with hints of a possible future romance)
Word count: ~5,290
Rating: PG
Summary: Post-war Neville still has a ghost in his bedroom.
Author's Note: Sorry this is so late! Kelsey, I hope you enjoy this gift. :)
She'd never left him.
Neville had nightmares for weeks afterward, slept fitful and restless, tossing and turning with images of Bellatrix Lestrange dancing around before him, laughing her maniacal laugh and taunting him in her shrill, high-pierced voice.
"Little Nev never avenged his parents," she shouted in sing-song, pointing a finger at him and leaning in close, grinning so broadly he could see all of her teeth, sharp and gleaming. "Little Nev had to go ask his girlfriend's mummy to come kill mean old Bella, didn't he? Little Nev couldn't get to me himself."
Neville glared and clenched his fists but his magic had left his side, his wand was always missing and he couldn't make it work without it. He stood helpless and furious and scared as Bellatrix cornered him, as she reached her hands into his chest and clawed his heart out, laughing all the while.
Then he would wake up in his bedroom, sweating and tangled in his bedsheets, and she would be there still, hovering against the far wall as though she had always been there, just waiting for him.
"Get out of here," he would shout, but she'd just grin again. Her teeth weren't pointed in reality but her smile was just as terrifying. Neville shivered every time.
"Nighty night, Little Nev," said the ghost of Bellatrix Lestrange, cackling loudly as she whirled out of sight.
**
Of course most people believed that Neville had done quite enough even without killing Bellatrix, even Gran, who would proudly proclaim to anyone who'd listen that her grandson was a war hero. "He chopped that nasty serpent's head clean off," she'd say loudly, puffing her chest up. "And you know, Harry Potter couldn't have killed Voldemort at all without that snake being dead."
"Gran, stop saying that," Neville said eventually. "You know Harry was the real hero that day. I'm just...you know, me."
He'd never thought much of himself; he only did what needed to be done. He'd never been popular, had never been the best at anything, had never gotten the girl. But it didn't matter to him, because he was used to it, and what was glory good for, anyway? He'd still be just Neville. And he'd still failed the only real goal he'd ever set himself.
His parents were still in St. Mungo's, still never recognized him when he came to visit, still never improved despite the end of war and darkness. They'd been destroyed, ruined for life by Bellatrix Lestrange, who had been just so full of glee when she'd told him about it. Neville had promised himself after that day in the Department of Mysteries that he would be the one to bring her down, that he would take responsibility for the abuse of his parents and have his revenge. But he hadn't done it.
"Would it really have helped, though?" Luna asked him, tilting her head and placing a hand upon his shoulder. "They'd still not remember you, and you'd have her blood on your hands. Murder doesn't heal broken souls, especially your own."
She meant well, and Neville cared for her a lot, spent many an afternoon post-war just sitting with her outside, picking flowers and just talking, about everything and nothing. But she didn't understand; nobody did. Nobody else was being haunted.
At first Neville tried to convince himself that he was just imagining it, that his mind was playing tricks on him or he just had a Boggart in the house. There was no way Bellatrix could really be there inside his bedroom, laughing and dancing and planting nightmares in his dreams. She said the most horrible things.
"You know you've always been useless, Little Nev," she told him, clapping her hands together as though this was some brand new revelation, and one that delighted her. "You're not a killer at all. So you cut a snake's head off, did you? My beloved Dark Lord had far more use for me than for his pet snake. I was the true enemy to cut down, and you could never have battled me. You hadn't the skill for it, did you, Little Nev?"
Neville pulled the covers over his head and closed his eyes. "You aren't here," he shouted, hoping that he could force her away with merely the force of his will.
But of course he couldn't. And when he did eventually fall asleep, he only saw her again, in the endless world of his nightmares.
**
At first he tried a library, because that was his best option when he was too afraid to actually talk to someone. What if he was simply going mad, and saying it aloud cost him the few friends he actually had? He knew Luna was open-minded but perhaps even she had limits. And he certainly wasn't going to ask Ginny, as much as he denied having feelings for her. She'd started talking to Harry again and Neville could see the writing on that wall; he wasn't going to drive her away any earlier than she would drift off herself.
But the books didn't help. In fact he didn't even know where to begin; there wasn't really a section on ghosts in and of themselves. Sure, they were talked about, in the history books mostly. Notable Wizards Who Are Still Kicking Around and So You Think You've Seen Merlin were no help whatsoever. Neville sighed as he wandered the stacks, stuffing his hands in his pockets and deciding to just give up. Maybe he deserved to be haunted by a mass murderer, anyway. Either way, he'd been through worse.
And then of course he ran into none other than Hermione Granger, because where would anyone run into Hermione if not a library? It made Neville smile; some things never changed. "Hermione! Fancy meeting you here," he said with a grin.
"Oh, who is that, Neville?" She had a hard time seeing him over the tall pile of books in her arms. Once she'd settled them down onto a table she had a much easier time of greeting him. "Lovely to see you," she said, a bit briskly, though she hugged him warmly. "Apologies if I seem distracted; I'm simply buried under work already, you understand. There's so much to do to clean up after the war and they are moving me up the ranks quite quickly."
"Understandable," Neville told her. "You're Hermione, after all."
She blushed slightly. "Well." She shrugged. "But you must be under your fair share of admirers, yourself, aren't you? You were so brave, Neville. What are you up to these days?"
Neville was up to nothing. Immediately after everything ended he'd been besieged by reporters, wanting to hear all about his role in the war effort and in the eventual death of Lord Voldemort. It was much too much for a young boy who didn't think too much of himself. Neville had retreated and gone home, and basically shut himself in, excepting his peaceful outings with Ginny and Luna. Even those had begun to recede lately. Ginny was back to spending all her time with Harry and her brothers, and Luna was preparing for an expedition with her father to some far-off land. Neville didn't mind being alone, but he wasn't exactly eager to explain all of this to Hermione, either, who was probably really eager to be doing all sorts of exciting things.
So he just shrugged and avoided the question. "I'm considering my options, I guess. I hear you've already got a position in the Ministry?"
"Oh, yes, it's fantastic," Hermione replied, beaming. "I think I'm really going to make a difference, there's been such a shift in public opinion now that all of Voldemort's machinations have been outed. Of course I'm really hoping to get into Law Enforcement, you can make the most of it there. But right now I'm in Magical Creatures and it's a perfect place to start, I'll finally get my S.P.E.W. efforts recognized. It may seem silly in light of what I've been through but I have my reasons for wanting to protect house elves." She looked away briefly, blinking, and Neville was startled for a moment, thinking she was about to cry. But then she shook her head and looked back at him, and her eyes were clear. "You should think about trying to get in, Neville, I'm sure they'd love to have you. Harry and Ron are in Auror training, we'd all put in a good word for you."
"Oh, no, I don't think so." He squirmed uncomfortably. "It's not really the place for someone like me."
Hermione scoffed. "Someone like you, what is that supposed to mean? Neville, you held Hogwarts together that last year." She softened, staring hard at him and making his face flush. "You must know that."
Neville did know that, but he knew it in such a faraway way, as though it had happened to someone other than himself. "I only did what was necessary," he told her. "I just wanted everyone to be okay." He heard Bellatrix hissing inside his head; you know you've always been useless. "I'm sure anyone could have done what I did."
"Perhaps, but it was you who did it," Hermione said. She hesitated, then rushed forward to hug him again. "It is good to see you, Neville." Pulling back again, she bit her lip briefly, then took a deep breath. "Have you been sleeping all right? Only, you look...." Trailing off, she shook her head, frowning. "You look very tired."
It was typical Hermione; she cared so much, and approached people's troubles so matter-of-factly. Neville felt a rush of embarrassment, a rush of shame, a rush of reluctance. How could he answer that question without looking completely insane? "I have some nightmares," he muttered, staring down at his feet.
"Oh, Neville." Hermione sighed. "I think we all do. There's no shame in that. Have you tried Dreamless Sleep? It did wonders for me."
Neville laughed bitterly. "I think you're forgetting who you're talking to. Me, brew a potion? I'm abysmal."
She had the grace not to laugh at him, though her lips twitched. "Oh, Neville. I could brew a batch for you, if you'd like?"
"No, please." He didn't like the way this conversation was going; she was too close to his troubles, and he felt small and bothersome. "You have enough to be getting on with. Really, truly, I'm all right."
Hermione just stared at him. It was obvious she didn't believe him, but she seemed torn on how to proceed. Neville forced a smile and gestured towards her pile of books. "Good luck with all that," he said, sounding light-hearted. "Though I know you've never needed luck in your life."
She did laugh then. "Oh, yes, I very much have," she told him. "But all right. Take care, Neville. Please don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything. Send an owl any time, I'm taking mail at the Ministry currently."
"Okay, Hermione," Neville replied, nodding his head. He had no intention of actually asking her for anything. He'd done his fair share of taking help from Hermione Granger. It was time for him to grow up and take care of himself.
He left her there to read, stepping out into the street and feeling no closer to anything. He was still just Neville, lost and haunted. If he went home he would only be confronting the ghost again, and failing to overcome it.
**
He'd done so much already; it didn't seem fair to him that he should be unable to do this. He'd stood up to the Carrows, he'd saved younger students' lives, he'd helped Harry Potter. And yet now a ghost should stop him.
Bellatrix lingered in the bedroom, floating up near the ceiling, grinning excitedly when Neville entered. "Ooh, another day of taunting little Nev. You know I'd rather be anywhere but here; I'd rather be with my Lord. But you took me from him." She laughed shrilly. "Or no, you didn't, did you? Some elderly fool of a mother killed me. But your desires brought me here."
She came towards him where he lay sprawled out upon his bed, lay her cold hands upon him and licked the side of his face, her icy tongue barely passing through his skin. Neville shut his eyes and shivered, clenched his fists and felt the anger slowly rising up the tide of his blood. "You want me here," Bellatrix whispered in his ear. "You need me."
"You're nothing," he spat at her, sitting up abruptly, glaring fiercely in her direction. "You're dead and all you can do is taunt me? You're the one who is pathetic. If you were alive I'd kill you right now. But you're not. You're dead and you're never going to win."
She remained unmoved; she spun in circles above his head, tattered white robes hanging from her limbs, swaying in her own wind. "Little Nevvy Longbottom, Little Nevvy Longbottom," she screamed, singing maniacally. "Thinks he's some sort of a hero! But what has he done, eh? Nothing, nothing, nothing."
"You're wrong," Neville told her. He rose, stalked the length of his room, put his hands on his head to force his frustration away. It did not work. "I've done things. I've done a lot."
"Says you, Little Nev," Bellatrix replied. "Why am I here then, eh? You tell me that."
"I don't owe you a thing," Neville said, before he left the room.
Somehow she never followed him. Somehow she remained in the bedroom, just waiting for him, waiting to laugh and sing and tease him again the moment he returned, the moment he tried to sleep. She was unlike any ghost Neville had ever encountered, even the Bloody Baron, who'd used to terrify him when he was a first year.
He'd been so weak and stupid then, but he was determined not to feel that way anyone. He was brave and he was going to beat this. He just didn't know how yet.
Why was she haunting him, and in his bedroom, of all places? Neville sat down on the floor just outside the closed door of his room and put his head in his hands. He'd wanted so badly to be the one...perhaps this had been his sin, and now he was being punished, for the wrath and desperation he had felt.
What if he had killed her? What if he had stuck his wand in Bellatrix Lestrange's face, and blown her off of this earth? His parents would still be in St. Mungo's. Luna had been right; it would have done nothing. Nothing but perhaps soothe his troubled heart.
But it was too late for regret; Neville knew that it was time for action, instead. He would drive the ghost from his room, and hopefully from his nightmares, too.
**
He tried everything he could think of on his own: casting a patronus, which dived straight through Bellatrix to no effect; tossing magical banishment spells, protective shield spells, vanishing spells, and even an attempt to transfigure her into something silent and harmless, like a rock. But nothing worked. Ghosts were apparently impervious to magic; Bellatrix did nothing but float around him, laughing all the while.
She was there and she would stay there, and Neville was quickly becoming frustrated beyond measure. He'd been furious when the Carrows had tortured his friends, and he'd been driven by vengenence to murder Voldemort's snake, but this was something else; this was a gnawing ache in the center of his heart, burning away incessantly.
And of course the more he failed, the worse he felt, and the more Bellatrix laughed at him. "Oh, you poor thing," she mocked. "Can't cast a little ghost banishing spell? What kind of a little boy wizard are you, anyway?"
Neville had done so much already, he'd come so far in his final years of schooling, why couldn't he do this? He was a true wizard; he'd learned that lesson already. And yet. Yet still the ghost lingered. Yet still the nightmares came.
**
Hermione burst out the door and stopped short, her eyes widening. "Neville! What brings you here?"
The office was a flurry of activity; memo-bearing owls flew overhead in all directions, whilst Ministry workers bustled from cubicle to cubicle, speaking in low voices and looking harried. Neville had been lingering awkwardly for several minutes before Hermione came out of the lift, worrying all the while. He had no idea what he would say, but he had nowhere left to go.
He couldn't bring this to Luna, who had left to explore the world, or Ginny, who had her own life to be dealing with. Not that Hermione didn't; Neville supposed he was just more used to asking her for help. It humilated him, being there, as he had vowed never to turn to her again, never to bother her with his own failures. But there he was, out of desperation.
"Hi, Hermione," he said, waving weakly, and trying his best to smile and look calm. "Could we talk, maybe? In private?"
"Yes, of course," she told him, guiding him towards the back hall. "I don't have my own office yet, but I know they won't mind me borrowing one right quick."
They went into a small room and sat, Hermione looking worried. "You don't look so good, Neville. Are you still having trouble sleeping? I can whip you up a potion if you'd like, I'm sure I still have the directions in one of my books. I've saved all my school books, you never know when you might need one."
It was typical Hermione, and it made Neville feel better already. "I have been having some troubles," he said slowly. He wasn't sure how to even begin. "I can't sleep because...you see, there's a ghost in my room."
There; he'd said it. It sounded so menial when spoken aloud, so simple. Ghosts, they'd dealt with ghosts a thousand times. Neville himself had been quite fond of the Gryffindor ghost in fact, Nearly-Headless Nick. Bellatrix Lestrange was dead; what harm could she do to him now? But he knew exactly what harm.
Hermione seemed confused; she pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. "Are we talking about an actual ghost? They can't hurt you, you know. Is it a menacing ghost?"
"Well, it's, it's Bellatrix," Neville numbled, looking down at his lap.
Hermione gasped. Neville looked up to see that she had clutched her own shoulder, holding it tightly. "Bellatrix Lestrange," she said quietly. She actually looked frightened.
Neville felt a spark of hope then; perhaps he wasn't so mad, perhaps there was a true danger here. If even Hermione could be scared off by the name, well...he didn't feel so stupid. "She's dead, and yet she won't leave me alone," he mumbled. "I've tried everything."
"No, Neville," Hermione said quickly; she leaned forward and put a hand on his knee. Neville looked up into her eyes and felt a startling combination of fear and hope. Her hand was warm. "You haven't tried me yet. You aren't the only one who had reason to want Lestrange dead, you know."
He flinched at the unspoken mention of his parents. He'd forgotten that she knew about that; it wasn't something he liked to make public. But then why shouldn't she know? The Longbottoms had given their minds to protect their family and friends. They were the bravest people Neville had ever known, and he'd never really even known them at all.
Neville looked at Hermione with a new determination, with a new set strength in his gaze. "All right," he said. "So we'll do it together, then."
Hermione smiled, though it was not a happy smile; it was a smile of grim comradarie. They were in on this together. "Yes," she said. "I believe I have just the thing."
**
Hermione put a tiny beaded bag down upon Neville's dining room table and proceeded to pull from it the largest book he had ever seen. It was also the oldest book he had ever seen - dusty and faded, with torn grey pages sticking out in all directions. "What is that?" he asked, full of wonder, and slightly entranced, because a book that large and that old just had to be important. Neville trusted Hermione's choice of books completely.
"Well, I sort of snuck into the Department of Mysteries," Hermione confessed, sounding sheepish, as a faint blush crept into her cheeks. "It's technically forbidden, but if they knew what I was doing it for I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem. At least I hope not. But the last time I was there I just knew there were rooms with old books in them, and I presumed that the Death Chamber might hold something useful for us. And I found this." She paused, then hurried on at the look on Neville's face. "I'm going to return it, of course, once we're done."
"That wasn't really what I was worried about, Hermione," Neville said. "A creepy book from a Death Chamber? You know what cursed books can do."
"Oh, no, that's nothing to worry about. They wouldn't keep something harmful; they're there to study things, not curse things."
But Neville wasn't so sure. There were books at Hogwarts that did terrible things, and there were children there, so why should a forbidden Ministry room be any safer? He edged away from the table, eyeing the book nervously. Still, he trusted Hermione. He always had.
And so he stood and watched, waiting while she pried open the tome and began to flip furiously through the pages, admiring the way she was able to do so without disturbing the many torn and loose sheets. "Now I know I saw something...." she muttered, apparently speaking to herself.
"Hermione," Neville said, but got no answer, so engrossed was she in her reading. Neville looked up at the ceiling, felt Bellatrix's presence there, just waiting, and he shivered. "Hermione."
Finally, she looked up at him. "Yes, Neville?" She spoke as though startled to see him there.
He smiled in spite of himself. "Do you think you could just...come upstairs with me first?" He found it hard to say what he was thinking. "Maybe...take a look?"
Hermione looked at him and her gaze softened, which only made Neville feel worse. Poor frightened Neville...Little Nev. "If you say she's up there, I believe you," Hermione told him. She laid the book open flat on the table and pointed to the page. "There is historical evidence of ghosts becoming tied to specific locations. It says here that some departed spirits are drawn almost beyond their control to a living being with a strong desire to keep them there. Usually it's of a romantic connection but it isn't unheard of for someone to become bonded to the ghost of a person they wished to conquer. Psychologically speaking, you can't let go of the idea that the rivalry or grudge shouldn't die with the person until you personally have killed it." She hesitated, took a breath. "You did wish to conquer her, didn't you, Neville?"
And there it was. All his inadequacy, summed up in one statement. All he'd worked for, all he'd dreamed of, all he'd wanted. He'd tried so hard to overcome his own shortcomings, all in the deluded belief that it would somehow heal him to kill the person who stole his parents from him. Neville felt a sudden wave of guilt. He'd told Gran so many times that he had only done what he had felt was necessary...and yet inside of himself he had wished that he could have done more. Why had he worried so? All it had done for him was bond him to the ghost of the very last person he wanted to share space with.
Even though he could not answer, Hermione knew, and she touched him, took his hand in hers. "It doesn't make you weak," she said. "And it doesn't make you a terrible person, either. In fact, from reading this I'm a bit worried about Draco Malfoy dying, lest Harry draw that ghost into his bedroom." She laughed. "Come on, Neville. There's quite a bit of information here about breaking that bond. Let's bring the book upstairs and vanquish your ghost."
"All right," Neville said, taking a breath, nodding his head, steeling himself and hoping that he could conjure up a rush of bravery, the same rush he'd felt when he'd pulled Gryffindor's sword from the sorting hat. "Let's do it."
**
She was there, of course she was there, she had never left him since the very night of the final battle, swirling around his nightmares and the darkness of his bedroom. The gloom hit them the moment they opened the door, the oppressive chill in the air and the dreary grey of her spirit.
"Ooh, it's the Mudblood," Bellatrix said with joy, clapping her hands. "Tell me, girlie, have the wounds healed yet? Or does the reminder of your filth hurt you still?"
Hermione's jaw set, and a look of fury settled over her face. "You don't frighten me, Bellatrix," she said. "You know, I became you once. I've been in your skin. I didn't enjoy it much, but it didn't scare me, either. I'm Muggleborn and proud of it. I've got the same blood."
Bellatrix sneered at her, and at Neville. "Switched girlfriends, have you, Little Nev?" she asked disdainfully. "At least the last one was pureblooded, however traitorous."
Neville refused to feel embarrassed by the remark; he turned to the woman by his side. "What does the book say?" he asked Hermione.
"Well, Neville, really it's all in your mind," she told him.
"What?" He felt a deep sinking feeling in his stomach. Had he gone mad after all?
"The magic," Hermione explained. "It's all mindpower. The both of us have to focus our inner power on pushing Bellatrix out of this plane. It's all in the book here. Death still has some hold over those who choose to stay in this realm. If we think hard enough about letting go, she'll stop being drawn to your room and move on."
Bellatrix was laughing, her cackles nearly loud enough to drown out every word Hermione spoke. "You think I don't know the power of Death?" she demanded. "I was Death, Little Nev. I killed Sirius Black! I nearly killed your parents, boy. Tell me, how's the Longbottom family doing? They still don't know your name, do they?"
"Neville!" Hermione grabbed him by the shoulders, yanked him away from Bellatrix's cold stare and looked him right in the eyes, her own gaze wide and pleading, her deep brown eyes glistening. "Listen to me, you can't keep her here, do you understand? You didn't kill her yourself but she's dead. There's nothing more you can do. Listening to her taunt you isn't going to help anyone, least of all you. You've got to be strong, Neville, I know you can. Drive her out! Repeat after me: Discedas spiritus!"
They stood facing her then, the two of them. Neville drew his wand and felt Hermione do the same beside him. They spoke the words, chanting the spell again and again. Pale blue light shot out of their wand tips, struck Bellatrix as she whirled and laughed above them. But it seemed not to do a single thing.
"You have to truly mean it, Neville," Hermione said, putting on her teacher's voice. "That's an important part of magic, you know. Spells will never work properly unless you mean them. You have to truly want her to go."
But why on earth wouldn't he want her to go? Of course he meant it, of course he wanted to banish her, wanted to cast away her constant laughter, her constant insults, her constant jabs at his uselessness, at his failure to have killed her, his failure to have done anything meaningful for his parents....
That was it, though, wasn't it? If he had Bellatrix Lestrange's ghost in his bedroom, Neville still had a chance. If she was real, if she wasn't just a nightmare he could wake up from, then she was still an enemy to be battled, a war to be won. This, though, this spell, this moment standing beside Hermione Granger, this was how he could win it. This was how he could finally kill her, and do what needed to be done.
It was all right if it didn't save his parents; Neville loved them anyway. And it was all right if it didn't make him feel any braver or more accomplished at life. He had friends and family who thought he'd done enough already. Neville thought of his Gran sprouting his praises; he thought of Luna and Ginny standing beside him during DA raids; he thought of Hermione, there with him now. He thought about all of them, and he felt that rush again, the thrill of impending victory, the confidence of doing what was right.
"Discedas spiritus," Neville cried, and the light grew brighter from his wand, grew and blasted Bellatrix in brilliant blue, ripped a great wide hole in the ceiling of his bedroom, through which the spirit who had haunted him for weeks flew, flew as though sucked powerfully away, and vanished. The light faded, and the hole closed up again.
Neville and Hermione stood alone in his bedroom. The air felt natural again. Neville could breathe. "That was incredible," Hermione gasped beside him. "This will open up such amazing opportunities in research; the Unspeakables will be thrilled!" She cut herself off, and flung herself so suddenly at him that Neville felt completely overwhelmed, and his body flushed all over. "Oh, Neville, I knew you could do it! You were amazing."
"I couldn't have done it without you, Hermione," he said, feeling bashful, looking down at the floor as she pulled away from him. "You showed me what was necessary. You gave me the answers, as always."
"Yes, but you used them," she replied. "You never did give yourself enough credit. You banished that spirit, Neville. That's the first step towards getting your life back, you know. It'll be easier now, without her. Won't it?"
"Yeah," Neville said, smiling, and finally able to meet her gaze again. They smiled at one another. "I reckon it will. Thank you."
"Any time," Hermione said, beaming as she stuffed the book back into her little bag. Neville startled as he heard it hit the bottom with a loud thud. "You know, you should consider going into Auror training. I think you could do a lot of good."
"Oh, I don't know about that. I think that sort of life is a little too exciting for me. I prefer the quiet," Neville told her with a shrug. "I think I've done all I can for the moment." Still, he had an image of righting wrongs, of helping others overcome their demons, as he would work on overcoming his own. He kind of liked it.
Hermione was giving him a knowing look. "As you like," she said. "You're welcome to come and visit me, at any rate. You know where to find me."
Neville thought it would be rather nice, indeed, to see Hermione outside the context of needing her help. "I do," he said, and felt a warm sense of comfort settle over him.
He would still have nightmares; he would still see Bellatrix laughing at him in his sleep. But the room would be light again once his eyes opened, and he'd be free.