Awakening || Harry & Hermione

Chapter 12.2

Neville was another surprise. Not that he came to visit Harry—no, they had begun speaking much more after the Yule Ball and became closer. What was surprising was that he walked in with bloodshot eyes, not bothering with a hello, and simply said:

"I'm glad you cut off his arm."

Harry was caught off guard with the pure hatred in Neville's voice, but then the memory he had seen in the pensieve hit him. Hermione turned white, probably remembering the trial he had told her about, of Bartemius Crouch Jr being sentenced for the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom...

"You know what he did, don't you? Barty Crouch." He scrutinized their expressions. "The others—they think he's just a random Death Eater imposter. But I grew up memorizing the names and faces of the people who tortured my parents from old newspaper clippings—I saw his face when they were carrying him out of the fields and I knew."

"After you fainted, he wouldn't stop screaming and wailing. He kept saying, 'Give me back my arm! Give me back my mark!' It's not like me crying, 'give me back my parents!" ever did anything; I'm glad he felt a taste of that helplessness." Neville looked at them with searching, desperate eyes. "Where is he now? Do you know?"

Hermione spoke hesitantly, "Neville, the Minister already subjected him to the Dementor's Kiss. He's gone."

"Gone? Just like that?" He seemed to deflate before their eyes, appearing lost. "He gets off like that while my parents will spend the rest of their lives at St Mungos. He was at Hogwarts this whole time, probably laughing when he taught classes on the cruciatus! I bet my parents would have seen through him—they were renowned aurors, you know. I'm their son. I should have known."

"No one knew. Not Dumbledore. Not the Ministry. He fooled everyone!" Hermione was getting agitated. "You couldn't have known, Neville."

"Harry knew, didn't he?" Neville turned to Harry. "He saw through Crouch. My grandmother sent me a letter this morning telling me that she wants to thank you for being brave and doing the right thing. For making him suffer. She always wanted someone smart and brave like my father, but she got me instead."

"Your grandmother wouldn't want you to be like me either," Harry said quietly. "It wasn't bravery that made me hurt him. It was hatred."

"You think I don't hate too? There's just nothing I can do with it." Nevillle said bitterly.

Harry groaned out loud. He didn't know if what he was about to say was good advice, but he knew the pain of being orphaned, the all consuming loathing when he realized exactly what had been taken from him. He knew that horrible feeling of being helpless all too well.

"Then learn—turn the skills you do have into something useful or gain new ones. Tell your grandmother to prepare too. We're going to need all the help we can get now that Voldemort's back."

"I t-thought that was just a rumour."

"Not only is he back, he's depleted his death eaters," Harry said. "And where do you think he'll go to fill up his ranks?"

_____

It was strange to see Flitwick walk into the Hospital Wing without his customary smile and spring in his step.

"Do you have any idea how relieved I am that you're alive?" the half goblin said, his eyes glistening. "I keep asking myself: if you hadn't come that day to ask about the Fidelius, would I have still turned a blind eye? Would I have watched unflinchingly as you walked into that maze and shook my head had you died?"

"But I didn't die," Harry said, confused. "You made sure of that with your help."

"If I had known you were bait for You-Know-Who of all people, I wouldn't have waited so long to break the rules to help you! Merlin, I would have taken you out of that tournament myself!"

"Was that even possible?" Hermione asked.

"Don't underestimate the convoluted means goblins have devised to cheat Wizarding contracts, Miss Granger." Flitwick humphed. "It would have likely been a nasty deal, but it would beat fighting a Dark Lord! I didn't—I just never thought it would turn out like this. Harry, did you have any idea at all about You Know Who's involvement in this? Did Dumbledore?"

"I had nightmares. Terrible ones that left my scar aching," Harry recalled the tale Voldemort had told in the graveyard. "Looking back, they weren't nightmares at all. They were visions showing what Voldemort was doing. I saw him discussing a plan with his Death Eaters, discussing Hogwarts. I saw him kill a muggle: Frank Bryce was his name."

"That can't be." Flitwick shook his head, as if willing away the truth of Harry's words. "It's impossible unless—that can't be."

"What can't be?" Hermione's voice was steely. Harry had never heard her speak to a professor that way before. "If it concerns Harry, he deserves to know."

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't inform you right away. Something of this caliber must be researched heavily before confirming." The half goblin asked Harry again, this time more urgently: "But did you tell Dumbledore of this? About the scar? The dreams? Your connection with the Dark Lord?"

"I did. He said it was a product of the killing curse and that there wasn't much to go on since no one had survived it before." Harry frowned. "As for the dreams, he confirmed that Voldemort seemed to be up to something and told me to be careful."

"T-told you to be careful?" Flitwick looked devastated. "Product of the killing curse indeed!"

"I don't understand. I've told you of my mistrust towards Dumbledore before, but it didn't bother you then."

"I respect Albus Dumbledore, Harry." Flitwick sighed. "He took me into his inner circle despite my heritage and hired me at Hogwarts when others would have shrunk away in disgust. He had been nothing but an exemplary wizard to my knowledge when you confronted me with your suspicions. But... doubts have grown since then."

He took out a letter from his robes and handed it to Harry. "What I'm about to say next concerns your vaults and your parents' will. If you would like to be alone for that—"

"Hermione stays," Harry interrupted, reaching out and grabbing her hand.