132 Chapter 132: Lion’s Grief
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I would like to thank my beta, Akisu, for his help in this chapter.
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9 June 1993, Longbottom Manor
Neville knew that he looked like a mess. He had barely gotten out of his bedroom ever since his summer vacation started, and even his grandmother was visibly starting to get worried. His family had given him time to mourn, but the boy who lived knew that they would confront him soon.
Usually, Neville often got bored during the summer. Most of the 'young scion' engagements were scheduled then, and they were so boring. With Yule being considered a private event, the summer was the only time Hogwarts graduates could attend any political event, so they were all put together in the three months of summer.
Adding in the fact that this was the time his grandmother tended to deny him any kind of fun as a punishment for his actions at school, as well as his grades, summer was never a nice time in the Longbottom Manor.
The Longbottom scion remembered the previous summer when his grandmother stopped him from attending an exhibition quidditch match for Puddlemere United, his favourite team because his grades were lower than his father's.
It was so frustrating. Neville had literally been in the top half in most of his classes, apart from Potions, Astronomy, and History of Magic, but then again, who cared about those? He got first place in Herbology and got an Outstanding for most of the wanded subjects.
But that wasn't enough. Neville had to be better than 'Frank Longbottom'. Sometimes Neville hated the man, despite never meeting him, and sometimes, he wished he could have a single conversation with him and his mother.
Anyway, this was the last summer, which honestly felt like a paradise compared to what he was feeling currently.
Hermione had just been moved out of Saint Mungo's and to the Department of Mysteries. The healers had literally given up on her, and that meant that the Unspeakables were probably going to use her as some kind of experiment. It also meant that Neville couldn't visit her anymore.
It was different, now. School was a good distraction. Going to classes, attending detention, and being subjected to absurd rumours, wasn't fun, but it took Neville's mind out of the pit that was Hermione's condition. He looked back and remembered how much he mistreated her.
He was a crappy friend. He and Ron were, in fact. They used the muggleborn to help with their research and their homework but made fun of her every time she tried to explain something. Whenever there was an argument, Neville took Ron's side every single time. She looked hurt, at first, but she had obviously gotten used to it since she stopped arguing with them when she disagreed with any decision.
How could Neville have been blinded by Ron like this? He tried to ignore his words about suspecting Neville to be the Heir of Slytherin. It was understandable; the Longbottom scion was a viable suspect. But the way Ron kept claiming that he knew that Hermione was dark and that they should have left her to die at the hands of the troll in their first year, Neville really started to see the ugly creature that was Ron Weasley.
The redhead was a jealous braggart who would never admit to being wrong. He would always be inclined to justify anything in absurd ways to convince himself that his worldview was not wrong and that he was in the right for his actions.
Neville had chosen Ron to be his friend because the boy was loyal to a fault. The redhead had no expectations from him. He wasn't trying to befriend him for some kind of political angle like the other children did pretty badly during the ministry functions. It wasn't their fault; they were told by their parents to do it. Still, it was very frustrating.
But to see that loyalty was disregarded completely when it came to Hermione. Well, that proved how little it was worth, and that Neville would probably be next.
So, yeah. Hermione was in a coma because of that blasted Diary and Ron proved to be an unreliable friend. Neville had lost every single true friend he had in the span of a few months. He didn't even try to get closer to other people. They had shunned him when they thought he was the heir of Slytherin, he couldn't trust them either.
Not that he needed any friends. He was wracked with guilt for what happened to Hermione.
He didn't need anyone.
He was the boy who lived, after all.
Neville froze when he heard a knock on his door, "Neville, it's me. Can I come in?"
It was his grandmother. She sounded odd; her voice lacked that haughty severity that it always had.
Neville just grunted in response and the woman entered his room with that weird vulture hat in her hands. She looked at the room, and the young Gryffindor waited for her to whine about the state of his room like she always did.
She would have a point, this time. The room was a mess. Clothes lay strewn across the floor, like a chaotic battlefield, their vibrant colours clashing with the somberness of Neville's mood. Piles of books teetered precariously on a rickety shelf, threatening to collapse at any moment. Quills, parchment, and ink bottles were scattered across his desk, buried under half-finished assignments and crumpled notes. The scent of stale pumpkin pasties lingered in the air, a testament to his recent neglect of basic self-care. And in the corner, his beloved Mimbulus mimbletonia plant had wilted, its normally lively tentacles now drooping mournfully. Neville's room was a reflection of his heart, a place where the chaos of his grief was laid bare for anyone to see.
Surprisingly, she didn't. Instead, she waved her wand, summoned one of his chairs and sat on it. She gave him an oddly sympathetic expression, "Neville, I'm worried about you."
"I'm fine," he insisted.
"How is this, fine?" she said while pointing at the state of the room, "Look, you showered since you came back from school, you haven't pestered me about going to see any Quidditch games like you usually do. You haven't even gone to the family greenhouse to check on your plants. Hell, we're unlocking your magical crest in a couple of months, and you didn't even pester me about it."
"Isn't that what you always wanted? The perfect little heir that my father was," The young boy said bitterly.
She let out an explosive sigh, "Your father wasn't a perfect heir. He didn't get in trouble as much as you did, or smuggle a dragon, or illegally use Polyjuice, or fly a car to school, but he had his fair share of fights and troubles. Frank was like a storm. He would be calm one day, and he would explode in another. Alice was a lot gentler, but she knew how to curb his worst impulses much better than I better did. It was like they were made for each other. It's what made them such a fearsome Auror duo. Oh, sometimes I wished he was a bit easier to handle, but in the end, I loved him unconditionally, just as I love you unconditionally. I know that I push you to be better, but that's just me wishing that if I do right by you, you won't end up like my Frankie. I wished that you'd never have the expression you have now."
Neville stiffened, "What would you know…"
"I know enough," the Longbottom Matriarch interrupted, "you're desperate that this would be a dream, that this was all wrong. You hate the fact that it happened. You're angry all the time. It's like this overwhelming fire that just wants to escape, to burn the world. But the sad thing is that as much as you hate the world, you hate yourself even more and it's eating you alive. You think about the few things that could have done differently and you wallow in despair."
"How?" the boy croaked.
"Because that's how I felt after my son died. You're not the only one who ever experienced grief."
"But that's not your fault. Voldemort Attacked my parents."
The woman let out a mournful smile, "And yet I felt guilty, nonetheless. He was my son, my whole world, and he died so suddenly. I never got to say goodbye. Just like your friend being in her coma was not your fault. You didn't give her that cursed diary, nor did you make the damned thing. You literally didn't push her into writing in it, and yet you try to blame yourself for what happened because it's an easy thing to do. It's the human thing to do. Hermione Granger is a nice girl, with a good mind and a very bright future ahead of her, a future that was robbed from her. You're right to be sad, you're right to mourn, I just don't want you to destroy yourself while you're at it."
Neville shook his head, "I know it's not my fault, Gran. It's just… I don't even know what happened. I don't know who gave her the diary or why. Everyone kept telling me that I was under some curse, but I remember fighting that Basilisk. I remember being afraid, and sweaty. I remember the smell of its breath, its screams when I used Potter's bombs at it. I remember seeing it fall and die by my hand. I couldn't have imagined all of that. I didn't even know what a Basilisk was. It's just, that I was so consumed with proving to everyone that I wasn't lying, that I forgot what happened to Hermione. It took Potter of all people to remind me how selfish I was. How much I underappreciated everything. Hermione trusted me and I failed her. I'm supposed to be this hero, but I couldn't save my best friend."
"You're young, Neville. You're not supposed to be the hero, no matter what everyone says. We're supposed to take care of you."
Neville looked down at his hands, fidgeting with a loose thread on his threadbare robe. "I just wish I could do something, Gran. I wish I could wake her up, and make things right."
Augusta Longbottom reached out and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch warm and comforting. "I understand that feeling, Neville. But sometimes, all we can do is be there for our loved ones, even when they can't be there for themselves. Hermione needs you to be strong, to keep going, to honour her memory with your actions."
"I miss her."
Augusta's voice softened as she spoke, "I know, dear. Grief is a powerful emotion, and it's okay to miss her. It's okay to feel lost and alone. But you're not truly alone, Neville. You'll always have me, have your family. Your friend would have wanted you to move on, just like Frank would have wanted me to do the same. And I might have failed, and I still see his face every time I look at yours, but that pain will slowly fade until it becomes a bitter memory at best. You have the advantage that your friend can still recover. Do not lose that hope and assume that you'll never see her again. I know I'm strict with you, and you try to challenge that as much as possible, but I want you to know that I will never judge you if you come to me with serious stuff. I will always be there for you."
Neville hugged his grandmother. The pain wasn't gone, but he felt oddly lighter.
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In the depths of an ancient, candlelit room shrouded in darkness, a figure sat alone. There was barely any light to see his face. However, his fingers, long and bony, clutched a small, weathered piece of parchment. With a grin on his lips, he muttered softly to himself, his voice a chilling whisper in the void, "So, it begins. I wonder how you'll react to my opening move, Albus."
He then let out a mirthless laugh, "The bells have been rung, dear Albus. The end is coming, Death is coming. I wonder if you'll even realize what's coming before it comes for you too. Has your light blinded you so much that you cannot see it, that you cannot see me? I guess we'll find out soon enough."
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If you want to support me check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr
I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions of them so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.
