Chapter 188: The Crimson Light 

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I would like to thank my beta, Akisu, for his help in this chapter.

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14 February 1994, Hogwarts

Neville woke up with a killer headache, and his ears ringing. What had happened? He was confused. He remembered being prepared to enter the duel, but it felt more like a fog than anything else. He was fighting this older Slytherin, Warrington. He wanted to win so much. He wanted to impress his grandmother, he wanted to show the world that he was more than a name, more than the product of his parents' sacrifice, he wanted to show Harry that he was worthy of his friendship.

Did he lose?

He must have, he was knocked out, from the looks of it. He didn't remember much at the end of the duel, only that he was overwhelmed and how angry he was.

It was hard to think. Everything was just drowsy.

The Longbottom scion tried to get up, but his body just wouldn't move. He couldn't even turn his neck. Instead, he heard voices. It took a lot of effort on his part to focus enough to hear them.

"What am I going to do with you, Neville?"

He recognized the voice. It was his grandmother. Why was she here? Shouldn't she have stayed in the stands with the rest of the spectators? She sounded so sad, so heartbroken. Neville had never seen her as anything but a strict and unyielding woman with nerves of steel. To see her like this… It hurt. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her hand. He wanted to tell her not to be so sad.

That was until he heard her next sentence, "Frank would be so disappointed. Alice would be horrified. Dark Magic, Neville? Why did you think that using something like that would be worth it? Why would you tarnish our legacy like this? You were supposed to be the best of us, the best of all Longbottoms before you…"

Wait what? What Dark Magic? Neville never learned any dark magic. He never so much as opened a book that had a dark spell inside. He knew a lot of duelling spells, and he had prepared himself ever since the first task was over, but he never touched dark magic.

"What you did was reprehensible. Was it my fault? Was I too indulgent? Maybe I was too hard on you? Sometimes I wonder if you're doing your best to push the edges of how much I love you. The way you behaved in school, the bullying, the pranking, breaking into another house's common room, using illegal potions… Frank was never like that. Maybe I should have agreed with Dumbledore's demands all those years ago to let him take care of you. But I loved you too much. You what remains of my son's legacy in this world, and the first moment I ever saw you, I knew then, that I would never have let you go, not for anything. Perhaps you would have grown differently, grown into a better man if Dumbledore had raised you. But the past is the past. I really don't know what to do with you."

Before Neville could even think about what his grandmother revealed, sleep overtook him once more.

The next time he woke up, his mind felt just as clouded as before. He heard another voice speaking. It wasn't his grandmother, it was a male voice, an old voice. It was Dumbledore's but it felt a lot harsher than it used to be. The kindly old man wasn't there, just an imposter stealing his face, and an unkind one at that, "You stupid boy. What were you thinking, using Dark Magic publicly?"

Wait a minute, was he talking about Neville?

"If I hadn't been able to salvage things, you would have ruined twelve years of work and planning. I swear you aren't worth the trouble to keep you around. Sometimes I still wonder if you were worth the sacrifices… Frank and Alice were so promising…." His voice was slightly muffled at the end but still sounded furious.

What did he mean by twelve years of planning? And what about his parents? Was Dumbledore using him? Did Neville mean so little to him? This had to be a dream, some kind of nightmare, at least. His mind definitely felt foggy. Yeah, that sounded about right, a dream…

Dumbledore's voice became less furious, and became more curious, even if there was an undertone of irritation in it, "Perhaps I'm not being fair to you. Perhaps it wasn't your fault at all. Perhaps this was always meant to be… I wonder if this is part of the prophecy, a way it is manifesting due to my influence. At least you're not as troublesome as that Potter boy, though… But you're coming very close to becoming a wasted asset and there are very few things that I loathe as much as wasted assets. Time will tell. Time always does, after all…"

And with that last ominous message, Neville returned to the realm of Morpheus, hoping that it had all been in his head after all.

His eyelids fluttered open, revealing a blurred world that slowly swam into focus. The ceiling above him was an unfamiliar tapestry of shadow and light, making him wonder for a fleeting, disoriented moment where he was. It didn't take long for him to realize where he was. He remembered that ceiling and the faint odour of healing potions and herbs. He was in the hospital wing.

He lay there for a moment, his gaze wandering over the high, vaulted ceilings, where the moonlight streamed in through the tall, arched windows, painting silver patterns on the polished floor. Huh, so it was nighttime.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that. It could have been a minute, and it also could have been an hour, but finally, Neville attempted to sit up.

He felt a mild ache in his chest. Had he gotten hurt? That was when he finally remembered what happened. Oh, Merlin, the duel. What had he done?

Memories of the duel came back slowly, as if he was remembering it for the first time. Warrington was good. He remembered being frustrated after their first bout. The older student was easily the better wizard, probably because he had twice as much experience with magic than Neville did, and it showed. He was more graceful, surer of himself. Neville's Reductor curses were shielded against, his spell chains were dodged and countered, his tricks were unravelled in seconds, and it was just unnerving.

The Longbottom scion remembered getting angrier, as Warrington was obviously not putting his whole into the duel; he wasn't even attacking. And when he was taken aback by the Slytherin's trick with the shield charm, he was almost about to lose. He saw the stunner coming in towards him, everything just turned hazy.

The duel and the spectators were gone. There was only the enemy and he had to defeat him. The dark cutting curse was a bit overkill, even if it was frowned upon in official duels, it was legal. He had learnt this spell from his tutors in Christmas, in case he was attacked by Death Eater sympathizers.

But that's when he used a few spells that he had literally never used in his life. He doesn't even remember where he had learned them. Yet now he could cast them perfectly.

And that last wandless spell. Neville never even knew that you could cast curses wandlessly. He had only seen his grandmother wandlessly cast some basic charms around the manor.

"What is happening to me?" he couldn't help but say to himself.

"That's exactly what I wanted to ask you…" a voice responded in the dark.

Neville stiffened and turned briskly, only relaxing at the sight of Harry's face, "What are you doing here, Harry?"

"You're joking, right? You almost killed someone in a fucking school duel."

"Almost being the keyword," Neville joked back, trying to alleviate the situation.

"This is not the time for jokes. If Madam Pomfrey wasn't there at the scene, then you would have killed Warrington. And don't tell me he would deserve it; Warrington is probably one of the best students coming out of Slytherin in years. He's ambitious, but not immoral, and he's not some spoilt brat like the rest of our house. I admit that I never really interacted with him, but he's never so much as insulted a muggleborn, let alone bullied anyone in school. What you did was wrong, and you need to admit that before you move forward with your life."

"Accidents happen in duels," Neville protested, "It's normal for people to get hurt."

"And that's what Dumbledore said to the press a couple of hours ago, and that's probably what the Daily Prophet will be printing. He gave a long speech about the unpredictability of accidental magic, and that the curses you used were only dark in name, and not banned by the ministry or duelling regulations in any way, since their effects are superficial and easily reversible. But who knows with that old man; he always has an agenda with every action he takes…"

Neville's dream about the evil Dumbledore came to the forefront of his mind. Had Dumbledore really sorted things out for him again? He owed a lot to the headmaster, but the harsh tone in the dream and the distasteful way he addressed him just made Harry's statement sting for some reason. It just felt so real, as did his grandmother's disappointment and heartbreak.

"But we both know differently. What you did was not accidental magic. You cast a dangerous curse wandlessly, a potentially lethal spell… So, how did you do it?" The Slytherin finished.

Neville remembered the red haze, the uncontrollable rage that overcame him in the middle of the duel. Everything was hazy yet clear. He knew what he was supposed to do as if he had done it a thousand times before. He didn't want to admit it to Harry, "That's not any of your business!"

Harry didn't seem deterred in any way by his denial and gave him a piercing look, "You don't remember, do you? You don't know what happened and you're not even trying to find out. Is something stopping you from trying to understand what happened? No, you're scared but you're supplementing it with anger. You don't feel guilty about Warrington, not really, you're mostly just scared that it would happen again. You really should have spoken to someone about it."

"You're out of line, Potter!" Neville screamed back at the Slytherin. He didn't know why he was getting angrier, only that he did.

"Oh, I did notice that your temper was getting more unstable. I thought it was just your moody teenager phase, but what if it wasn't? In the duel, you got better the angrier you felt. You somehow learned new spells, new tactics, stuff that's too trivial to be put in a magical crest. So, it's something else… something more…"

"Enough!" Neville yelled and he waved his arm. He didn't have his wand on him. He didn't even know what this was supposed to do, but Harry immediately waved his wand and caught the spell on its end.

The Slytherin gave the spell a curious look, "A piercing curse. That could have killed anyone else. And you're even surprised that you know it and can cast it wandlessly. So, a defence mechanism since I know too much. But your eyes… Oh!"

"What is it?" Neville bit out.

Harry seemed lost in his own world, "I'm such an idiot. I'm so thick. How did I not see this coming? I thought it would have been inert after so much time. I should have realized…"

"Stop being a cryptic bastard, Harry, and just fucking tell me. What's happening to me?"

"When was the last time your scar was burning?"

"What are you on about?" the young Gryffindor asked, baffled by the question.

Harry didn't seem inclined to answer, instead, he kept talking to himself, "It was always there, in the back of your head, trying to extend its influence. All those years, burrowing in, but stopped by your parents' sacrifice, like a locked door. It was inert, contained for over a decade, until someone opened a window. The way it expressed itself, through rage and knowledge of spells in your subconscious. It was already attached, even without meaning to, it was how it survived. It would definitely explain the Parseltongue."

"What the fuck is going on?" Neville yelled out.

"Just answer the fucking question, Neville. You're distracting yourself from answering the question. Just answer!"

"Answer what?"

Harry sneered at him, "Are you so stupid that you can't even remember a fucking question. It's such a simple thing. Maybe they're all right about you. Maybe you really are just a mad boy."

"Fuck you, Potter. I'm not fucking mad!"

"Then answer the fucking question! WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOUR SCAR BURNED!"

Neville didn't even try to process the question Harry asked. He just wanted to prove him wrong. For Harry to take back his words. The answer just came out of his mouth without even thought, "When I unlocked my crest!"

Harry gave him a weird smile, "Exactly!" that was when the boy's expression turned sad and he gave Neville a pitying look, "This is a bit out of my paygrade. I can't help you with this. What you need is to talk to your grandmother, and tell her that your scar got connected to your crest when it was unlocked. She'll probably know what to do."

"My scar did what?"

The green-eyed boy just gave him a pitying look, "I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do. Your best bet will be a specialized healer or maybe even Dumbledore, but I'm not sure that would be a good idea."

"Explain, Potter!"

"Someone is coming," he simply whispered. Neville turned towards the door, and then looked back at Harry, only to find the Slytherin having completely disappeared like a ghost.

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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.