Harry ended up in the Library, perched on one of the study tables and feet rocking the chair he was supposed to be sitting in absent-mindedly as he stared at the large bookcase full of Transfiguration texts.
He'd read or leafed through quite a lot of them, he was realizing as he scanned their covers for something to catch his attention. There were certain texts that had turned out to be useful that he'd actually purchased himself from Bethany's or Flourish's, since they were handier to just own a copy and keep in his bottomless bag. He hadn't read all of them cover-to-cover exactly, but he knew when and which ones to pull for any situation or topic he was on. The rest of the books here… he'd opened and read a page or two before realizing the author a) didn't have an editor going by the grammar or reading level, b) didn't have a peer review given the opening sentences usually said something blatantly untrue or too dogmatic for his tastes, or c) were written by robots apparently and were completely, utterly boring to him no matter if they were at least fact checked or not. A good 70% of the books he hadn't yet touched were fourth-year and higher texts he'd strictly been forbidden from getting into until the blocks on his magics were totally off, and while he was really tempted right now, he knew not to cross Madam Pomfrey… and McGonagall at that. He 100% believed they somehow had trackers on those books just in case he touched one preemptively and he wasn't about to risk it.
(He had argued that reading was not the same as practicing magic but for some reason McGonagall had still put a cap on it to only a year ahead of his current level while restricted like this. Which, Harry for one, thought was ridiculous… not that he was going to tell that to her face.)
Transfiguration had never really felt like work to him. I mean it did, but not in a way that had him looking for something else to do or take breaks from it like everything else he learned in his classes. No… Transfiguration was what he came to when he was tired of everything else and looking for something more enjoyable. It was still work to read and practice and ponder over how he could use these spells, but he could easily spend an entire day doing nothing else and not feel the need to take a break; it didn't seem like he'd ever get tired of just whiling away his hours on the topic.
Somehow, his killing time over the past year and change meant he'd put a huge dent in this section of the Hogwarts library, as he was looking but he wasn't seeing anything blatantly new. He'd already re-opened several books he thought were new only to realize he'd definitely checked them before and had just forgotten what their covers looked like. This place was huge though and there were other sections that were still considered "Transfiguration", but the farther away down the aisles you got the closer it got to Transfiguration/Potions or Transfiguration/Charms, or the history of Transfiguration which held no interest to him… essentially Transfiguration adjacent topics but not the real meat and potatoes of the subject he was looking for.
In a situation like this where he was at a loss, he should probably go to McGonagall… but he hadn't really visited her office for a while now. He couldn't quite bring himself to sit in front of her and act like nothing was wrong, or like he was just there for a question.
He didn't have a specific question to bother her with, he just wanted to get lost in the topic for a bit. If he didn't have something specific prepared when he went to her, she'd start asking other questions that he absolutely refused to be part of right now.
A distraction, he was looking for a distraction, and usually Transfiguration would be of help but…
Hm. Maybe I should just properly read through one of the books I have.
That option was less fun, as it was all topics he already kind of knew or had a basic grasp of, and he was looking for something totally new to distract himself.
He felt better after a positively scalding shower and taking far too long fixing his hair and his face after the train-wreck that was this morning. His body felt tired after everything but his mind was still going a thousand miles an minute so, he needed something to make his brain stop thinking about things he didn't want it too but activities like quidditch and football were right out… he wasn't hungry so…
Reading one of his current texts seems too dull right now. Maybe one of the Alchemy texts Nick had given him?
Nah, that sounds like work.
He pouted, not nearly as interested in learning just for fun when it wasn't something he genuinely liked. He wanted to do something fun… that didn't involve other people for a moment because he was just tired of all that right now.
The only upside of this entire day is that somehow almost getting boiled by a rouge potion seemed to snap him out of his hyper-fixation on the monster, at least temporarily. It could come wandering down this Library aisle right now and Harry would be too tired to do anything about it besides let it eat him or whatever it is it did. Petrify him?
Honestly petrification, lying in a bed unaware of all that's happening out here… it doesn't sound so bad.
He instantly leaned back, hands behind him to stare at the ceiling with another pout. Those probably weren't good thoughts to be having, and he wasn't entirely with it right now but even he knew that. He didn't know what would drive Draco insane more: how he was constantly freaking out about the monster and wanting to do something about it like the Gryffindor he was, or if Harry suddenly decided he didn't care if he got eaten by a monster. Either one sounded like Draco was going to have a heart attack by the time this school year came to a close… or the school shut down, whichever came first.
Wait… there's one book I haven't read yet, that McGonagall wouldn't know about!
He sat up and started digging through his bag, but since he hadn't thought he'd get around to it for a long while yet it was buried pretty far down. Still, magical handbags came in handy as with only a bit of searching it popped up and he slipped it out with a tremor of nervous excitement. He had half a paranoid thought that someone might catch him reading this out in the open but… it wasn't like it was obvious that this wasn't like any other book sitting on the shelves around him. It looked pretty normal and wasn't even cursed, it was just… a book.
The incriminating part would be the content of said book, as when Draco had given it to him for Christmas last year, he'd warned him not to get caught with it. Having not read it yet he didn't know for certain but… going by that, Harry was pretty sure this was a book on something the Ministry wouldn't approve of being circulated to the masses.
Meaning dark arts.
Meaning Transfiguration dark arts which was way cooler.
He still wasn't really sure what he thought about the 'dark arts' in general, given Hufflepuff through Gryffindor acted on default like it was a naughty word as a given. The "Defense of" such a thing was an entire class they taught here but given both his teachers hadn't, like, taught them anything that useful Harry still wasn't sure specifically what was so forbidden about it all. Even if he were going to be reading this book he would still like to know the counter-curses obviously, but that was true for every branch of magic automatically—why was there no "Defense Against Transfiguration" class then? In his opinion Transfiguration was waaay more dangerous and could probably benefit from having a counter-class, but no, both the subject and the counter-subject were taught in one class so… why were the dark arts different?
He still didn't have a good definition of what the dark arts were, to be perfectly honest. He didn't know what made it dark or bad or whatever… all he knew is that Slytherin's attitude towards it was that no one spoke about it because you could definitely get in trouble for doing something stupid like that, but none of them were against it. It was a strictly unspoken thing but Harry had picked up that the 'family magic' they spoke about was probably all considered 'dark', and for both legal reasons and also to be sure you had an ace up your sleeve, it was a closely guarded secret within said families. It was a ubiquitous, normal thing to them though.
In fact it was so common and just not a thing that anyone cared that much about in the snake house, that an argument could be made that the rumor "all Slytherins were dark wizards" wasn't… technically untrue.
Slytherins were, mostly likely, all using dark arts so technically yes, they were all 'dark wizards'. They were certainly not all inherently evil though, as Harry knew Draco's parents had taught him plenty before coming to Hogwarts, and if you told him that the little baby cactus firstie-Draco had been last year was inherently evil because he'd listened to his mother, then forgive him while he laughed in your face.
Since he'd been warned Draco and Blaise were horrible examples and Theo was literally dark aligned, Harry considered Daphne instead. She was a true businesswoman and you bet your ass that if the dark arts had a good deal or gave her an advantage over anyone, meaning literally every non-Slytherin who didn't learn this branch of magic because they were told not to, then she sure as hell had a few under-the-bar spells in her arsenal.
And well… that's exactly what Harry wanted.
Since second year had started there wasn't a spell he'd done in class that he hadn't also practiced to be able to do while running, or on someone sneaking up behind him, or from a wand in his sleeve or lying on the floor or—or a lot of contingencies his increasingly paranoid brain had thought up over the weeks since the summer. Since Quirrell really.
And while it made him a good student on the surface, it also made him hopefully more dangerous someday. In the aftermath of everything he'd gone through in the magical world so far, the one thing that had been driven harshly home into his soul was that he was weak.
He hadn't even been able to fight off Vernon fucking Dursley who was a muggle and a fat pig whose greatest bit of exercise was walking to the fridge each morning. What about an actual troll or even Fluffy? Let's not talk about Quirrell or bloody Voldemort or—now we have mysterious voices and monsters to deal with and it was all just further proof that Harry wasn't enough to fight against any of it.
He was twelve.
He was average at Defense and frankly kind of bad at Charms.
He was great at Transfiguration though, and he knew it. It was the only thing he could cling to that he could actually do right now, in the face of a lot of things he knew in his bones he was not strong enough to save himself, or anyone else from.
He had a very passible knowledge base of most other second year topics, but he could probably take the fourth year Transfiguration exam this afternoon and pass it, if not even get an Outstanding on it. If McGonagall would let him into these books in front of him, by Christmas he was sure he could pass the OWL even.
But he couldn't, because he wouldn't break the trust she'd put in him… but he also needed to learn more because no matter how concerned she was about him racing ahead, she was also unfortunately one of the adults who hadn't done anything when he'd mistakenly trusted that they would. She wasn't doing anything, at least that he knew of, and he refused to do the same.
He needed to act and if preparing was the only option he had right now, then so be it. If a book of dark Transfiguration was his only option right now, then so be it.
He wasn't going to rush too far into it… his first objective was to figure out exactlywhy this was considered 'dark' in the first place, and then make the choice of if he was ready to continue learning it or not. But he saw now reason not to get started and learn the truth himself as soon as possible.
If it would also double as an excellent distraction, all the better.
Unfortunately, he only got through the introductory pages before he sensed a presence and snapped it shut automatically, paranoia still high.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized who it was though.
"Harry?"
"Hey, Hermione…"
The curly-haired girl gave him a rather weak smile, clutching a huge book to her chest as she walked down the aisle. It shouldn't have been so weird, she practically lived here among the books like Moaning Myrtle haunted the downstairs bathroom. It would've been weirder if he hadn't run into her here.
"Are you okay? I saw what happened in Potions." She was kind enough to be concerned so he gave her as genuine a smile as he could.
Everyone knew at this point, even those outside of the class. Gryffindor lost over a hundred points after all, as despite both a Gryffindor and Slytherin having been caught in it, somehow it was still Gryffindor's fault. Not that anyone was shocked, given the class it had happened in and the bat that ran it.
"Yeah, jerk that he is Snape actually fixed me no problem."
"I'm… kind of surprised honestly." She admitted and he gave a dry snort.
True. I still think it was only because it would've killed me if he hadn't and he's proud of his record of having no deaths in his classes despite the dangerous topic.
He didn't voice that though, instead giving an exasperated, "Yeah."
He didn't really understand when her brown eyes didn't lessen their intensity, and instead got closer as if inspecting him. Kind of in his personal space to be honest, but Hermione never picked up on stuff like that and she never meant anything by it so he just let it go when it came to her.
"Are you sure you're okay? That was a fire protection potion: half finished like that it was practically an incendiary!"
I actually had no idea what the potion was, nor did I care. He admitted to himself… and stupidly enough his only emotion to that news was relief that his hair didn't burn off. God damn he was vain.
"Well that explains why it hurt so much," He tried to joke but she didn't seem amused at all. In fact, she glared at him rather aggressively for the attempt at humor so he faltered awkwardly. "Hermione, I really am okay. Snape fixed me in an instant; it was over in like a second."
"Did you go to the hospital wing?"
"Yes, and I'm fine." He lied right to her face, but he wasn't about to deal with this from her too. Draco was more than enough, and he knew Neville was going to say something when they caught up tonight as well.
"If you're sure… do you have any idea who did it?" She relented some but her concern at least shifting to the supposed culprit and Harry froze.
I… didn't even think about the fact someone did that… on purpose.
Where… where the fuck was his head at? He was so wound up about monsters and dark lords that when someone actually attacked him, as in maliciously put a firecracker in a dangerous potion, he'd just… not even acknowledged it? He didn't even think about the fact that it wasn't just an accident or a chance happenstance, but that there was clearly an aggressor. Snape even took points off Gryffindor despite not knowing who the real culprit was… meaning there was obviously someone responsible for roasting him. Someone had meant to do that to him.
No, forget that… someone had tried to kill Draco.
Draco had been the one leaning over the potion, Harry had just been handing him things from the side. Draco had his entire head over the cauldron when the firecracker caught Harry's eye… if he hadn't grabbed him, there was a chance the blond's lungs would've been roasted and he would've been dead in the seconds before Snape could get across the room to them. He could've been blinded or permanently disfigured as he'd been so close… would Snape have even been able to undo that level of damage so quickly?
He automatically gripped the book in his arms so tightly he felt the cover deforming under the strain. Something… ice cold, seeped into his stomach.
"It had to have been one of the Slytherins right? Who do you think?" Luckily Hermione either didn't notice his face or he was better at controlling his expressions than he thought he was, but her innocent detective tone pulled him to the surface once more as a good distraction.
Right… everything he'd just been planning was out the window right now.
Forget everything: he was going to find whoever had nearly killed Draco, and he was going to kill them.
Hermione was brilliant, she'd be a good person to bounce things off of. All the quicker to find them.
His focus snapped center and he pushed the emotions he may or may not have to the side to concentrate on the problem at hand with a clinical approach.
"Well… the more I think about it, even if they wanted to stick it to me somehow a Slytherin would never purposefully mess up a potion to do it. They know Snape actually really cares about potions and they'd never actually risk pissing him off to that level."
"Wait so… you think it was a Gryffindor?" Hermione's brown eyes got wide as if the idea had never crossed her mind. Which was a very Gryffindor thing to do: lions never suspected other lions under the inherent belief they were all the good guys, and even if they did do something then it was probably for a good reason so it was okay. It was one of the reasons the snake house hated talking to them: they couldn't stomach the attitude, particularly not when Slytherins were mostly pessimists who were inherently aware of that fact that no one was entirely good.
Everyone had a weak point, after all.
Harry however, liked the Gryffindor blind spot of thinking they were always in the right. As he himself was also a lion, it absolved him of a lot of things without even trying, no matter what he was actually doing, since his dorm mates usually defaulted with the 'well he must've have a good reason to do something so shady'. If he were anyone else he'd be called out or hexed as a dark wizard before anyone asked a question.
"A firecracker in a cauldron? Seems very Gryffindor to me. Or a very ballsy Slytherin which I'm struggling to believe but still possible I guess. And while I'm sure it wasn't one of the Gryffindor guys I also know Lavender avoids me like the plague." He glanced at her pointedly because… well Hermione did share a room with her. "I mean, I thought everyone our year generally got along well. You haven't heard them say anything like, that evil right?"
"No… I mean they're… gossipy, for sure. They say mean stuff but not plotting to hurt someone kind of level." She hedged, seeming uncomfortable as she shifted her weight. "Also… did you and Ron make up then?"
Oh shit I forgot about him.
"You forgot about him," Hermione sounded oddly disappointed, and he winced. Could she read his mind!?
"Ah… yeah I might've." He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. He gave it some honest thought but… he couldn't quite see it. "But he's also not that… I mean he talks a big game but he never actually does anything, you know? How would he get away with throwing that from across the room, but then Dean and Seamus are the ones being screamed at? Seems a bit trickier than something Ron Weasley could do. I mean I don't like him but I don't think he would. I didn't think anyone our year would." He confessed.
"Not even the Slytherins?" She countered with a frown.
"If Blaise had done it he'd have already told me just to rub it in my face. He's kind of crazy so that would check out but anyone else…? Risking Snape's wrath seems not worth it for something he could fix with a wave of his wand. If they were gonna take a risk that big it'd have to be for something way more lasting or humiliating or something."
What he didn't say, was that if the potion was really that dangerous, the snakes would absolutely know it. If one of them were actually trying to kill Draco, there were much cleverer ways to go about it than so publicly like that, and going toe-to-toe with Draco and Snape over potions knowledge was not a good idea, flat out. Banking on this potion killing Draco and blaming it on an accident was never going to happen as Snape, a literal genius at potions, would know immediately that it wasn't a mistake in brewing, but an outside ingredient that had gotten involved. If a Slytherin were the mastermind, then the intent was not to kill anyone since the plan was way too badly made for something like that. Which meant it had to have been for humiliation or pain or something and… frankly no matter how much they hated either him or Draco, risking getting caught by Snape was in no way worth it.
The only ones stupid enough to think they'd get away with it, or at least stupid enough to think humiliating him worth that risk, would be Crabbe and Goyle who… back to Harry's argument with Ron, he sincerely doubted would actually have been able to successfully pull that off.
"I'm overthinking it maybe… who knows, maybe Peeves was invisible or something and has a death wish." He shrugged, although he half suspected Snape would've warded his classroom from the poltergeist… maybe even with school permission since it was a dangerous subject and having a prankster around that couldn't be contained or told what 'too far' was, was not a good idea.
Could you kill a poltergeist? Harry was very willing to give it a shot.
"Well… I'm not sure about the Slytherins but I'll listen to see if Lavender and them say anything." She offered diplomatically, not seeming convinced at all but also at a loss.
"Thanks Hermione… I'd really like to find out if I can." He made his tone as soft and harmless as possible so she didn't suspect the active murder he was plotting. Luckily she smiled eagerly at him with a firm nod, so she bought it.
"Of course! I'll keep an eye out." She agreed easily and he flashed her a smile. "In any case, what were you reading?"
I should've figured there was no chance she wouldn't ask.
"Transfiguration again. This one kind of sucks though—the author clearly doesn't know what they're talking about again." He deflected easily.
He grinned at her very annoyed, yet playful pout. "I hate how you do that! Books are great resources, how would one get published if it wasn't true?" She insisted. She always hated when he started calling books trash because of their writing styles or because the authors were clearly making shit up, and it was always great entertainment to him.
"Very easily in the magical world apparently. If I could wave my wand and make a book appear, I can put anything I want in it, regardless of if it's true! And people don't like to question things in the wizarding world so people just buy it."
"But it wouldn't have made it into the Hogwarts Library if that were true!"
"Are you sure about that?" He chuckled, because he knew for a fact it was. Half the books in this one section were written by people Harry was fairly sure would never be able to pass the Transfiguration OWL of today. Before she could blow a gasket or he started coming off too condescending, he had an idea and dug into his bag once more. "Actually, I have a book you might like that will help you understand where I'm coming from." He found it easily and handed it over.
She eagerly accepted the new book, needing to place the huge one she was holding down on the table for a second to take it and happily examined it—only for her face to drop a bit.
"Alchemy again?"
"Oh come on, we had fun with it last time, didn't we?"
"I mean I guess… but I didn't need to set things on fire to know rocks aren't made of cotton." She gave him a flippant look and he rolled his eyes.
"That's so not the point, the point is to question things and to understand why things happen. I really think you'll like it; give it a read!"
She still looked unconvinced, but Hermione was also never one to turn down a book recommendation either so she got over it and gave him an earnest smile.
"Alright I will… thanks Harry." She clutched the new book tightly to her chest, face flickering some. "Did you… did you finish the book I gave you before? On the study of emotions."
He winced before he could stop himself but gave her a reassuring wave when she wilted some at that reaction. "I didn't finish it yet but I mean to! The first one was really helpful, I promise… I haven't punched anyone this year, have I?"
Which pulled a very small, exasperated smile from her. "I guess not."
"See? It's totally working, and that's thanks to you!"
"But I hear you've been bullying the first years so I really think you should finish the next one."
"Wha--!?" He spluttered a bit wildly, having been called out so bluntly like that, and she gave an honest laugh.
She shifted a bit uncertainly. "Did you eat dinner yet? The Great Hall's about to be open." She offered.
"I'm really not that hungry," he admitted honestly. After the day he'd had… but instantly realized he'd messed up when she positively wilted in front of him. Oh, right… she didn't… really have a lot of close friends, from what he saw. Hence the haunting of the library being a common occurrence. He plastered on a smile instead, despite really wanting to not show his face in the Great Hall after word about today's potions class had undoubtedly spread to the entire student body by now. "But I probably should have something small after that potion incident… I'll come sit with you at least for a little bit."
He offered the olive branch, but she lit up like it was the moon he'd offered instead. He would probably bail early in the meal, feigning the need to get some rest after his incident today, but he also wasn't about to trample on her kindness either.
He really, really wasn't hungry though.
000
Whatever Harry had been expecting when he got back to his dorm, it certainly wasn't Neville standing in the middle of the room with his arms wrapped around himself.
He'd been certain he would've had time to himself here, dinner was barely half over and he'd slipped out after listening to Hermione regal him with her homework troubles for thirty minutes. The fact Neville had beat him back here meant he hadn't gone to dinner at all, but instead was waiting on him.
"Neville?" He blinked in surprise, because the blond faced him head-on so it was kind of obvious he had something to talk about.
Not that Harry hadn't completely been expecting it, but the meek Gryffindor usually waited until he was settled to slink up to him and quietly ask if he was okay rather than… whatever this was.
And this was certainly something as he watched the blond see him and his apparent nervousness just… evaporated. He stood up straight and dropped his arms to the side to give him a smile. And even though that smile reached and filled his blue eyes with warmth like sunlight… somehow Harry still felt slightly nervous that there was more to this than he could see with his eyes.
"Can I talk to you for a second?" He asked, directly to his face.
Which, Harry hadn't ever really seen him do before so he was really taken off guard.
"Of course! I mean obviously, yeah…" He was curious and also kind of… unnerved when Neville walked over to Harry's own bed and sat on it without an invitation. Not that he needed one obviously but still. "What's up?" He wondered wildly, plopping down beside him. It was a familiar position—they'd talked loads, exactly like this a hundred times before.
What Harry was completely not prepared for, was that this wasn't a conversation they'd had a hundred times before—not by a long shot.
"Harry, you're… probably my best friend, you know that?" Neville came out of nowhere in announcing that, and Harry froze completely solid in surprise at the sudden tone shift. "I know I'm not your best friend, but that's okay. Draco is more decent than I ever gave him credit for; Seamus won't stop picking quidditch fights with him and he's very polite to everyone even if he's not strictly friendly. You're really important to me and I don't have an issue with him: I don't want you thinking any differently."
Harry could only gape at him soundlessly for a second.
"Where did that come from!? I mean, I'm glad… last year I know…" He trailed off, feeling a little clammy remembering how Neville had avoided Draco like the plague only last year. Only a couple months… weeks ago? To go from refusing to talk about him to suddenly acknowledging the blond Slytherin… made him very, very nervous. "Neville?" he pleaded for an explanation.
"Don't be worried." The golden blond only offered a kind smile. "I know you don't want to hear that people are worried about you, but will you accept that you have a lot of people who care about you? That you're my best friend and I'm lucky to have you. That everyone around you is very happy you're in their lives, just being yourself."
He didn't know how exactly… but there were suddenly tears streaming down his face.
What the hell…?
Neville just offered his hand, and it wasn't until then that Harry realized he'd very pointedly been sitting a foot away without touching him. But now he was offered, and Harry grabbed the offered appendage with both hands, leaning into his side sharply for the support because he couldn't do this… whatever this even was! The supposedly meek Gryffindor remained strong, sitting upright and letting him lean into him without a reaction but a gentle squeeze of his fingers.
"Neville." He demanded, but just got a pleasant smile. Absolutely no comment or judgement at all about his tears. "Why!? Why with—with all of that…?"
"I won't tell you what to do or ask you to tell me anything at all. You never have to tell me anything, but it won't change the fact you're my friend. Do you believe that?"
Oh god it hurts.
"Yes," Was all he could get out before the tears turned into a sob… it felt like there was a ten ton weight bearing down his neck that forced his head to bow, weakly putting it on Neville's shoulder. And it was the truth, remembering back to when they'd returned from break… how Neville hadn't pushed at all. He never pushed, he just cared… he was just there.
He couldn't handle it and he sobbed.
Something cracked inside his head and tears came flooding out… and he was completely helpless to stop them, like a river surge ripping him under and him weakly struggling to survive beneath the unstoppable torrent. The boy beside him shifted and slipped his hand away, only for arms to gently wrap around him, light as a feather. Harry responded in kind by grabbing his middle like a python and squeezing the ever-loving life out of him with all the strength he had. If the blond couldn't actually breathe like that, he didn't make a sound of protest or try to stop him.
He just cried.
He cried so hard he forgot to breath until a hand on the back of his shoulder blades pressed sharply to remind him to take in an ugly, sobbing breath of air every so often.
Neville just accepted it, he didn't push at all or say a word. The fact he'd somehow known how close Harry actually was to the edge… that he'd purposefully pushed him with kind words and then caught him just as kindly made Harry want to curl into a ball and die.
He didn't know why he felt like a piece of shit, but he really, really did right then. Everything about how awful this entire week—year? Life?—had been sunk deep into his flesh and weighed at him heavily. He felt like he was drowning, and now that it was in his own tears he felt pathetic and… and raw.
Eventually… eventually, using all his strength to hug the life out of his friend sapped him of his energy and he relaxed the hold to something more reasonable. He was a full mess right now as he finally managed to remember how to breathe through the rapidly cooling tears on his cheeks… mixed with hot ones still coming down freely though he forgot about trying to stop them temporarily.
"I… where d-did all that come from?" He asked wetly to the window behind Neville's shoulder as he got a gentle squeeze back.
Neville's silence had seemed… very purposeful. Very heavy, actually. As he finally spoke, Harry could feel him well up and consider his words very carefully as he found his answer and shared it gently.
"…someone better at potions than me told me what it had to have felt like, to have it explode on you like that." Harry frowned, not understanding where he was going with that at all. "Harry… you didn't make a sound. You didn't care. You weren't even angry."
…what could he say to that? It was true, wasn't it?
"You're certainly not weak Harry… I just wish you didn't have to be so strong."
He inhaled almost against his will… tears, somehow hotter than before slipping over his cheeks with a renewed vigor.
"I don't…"
What do I say?
"I know I can't understand, but I also know some bad things have happened to you, for that to have meant nothing. You don't have to tell me anything, you don't have to tell anyone anything, but I want you to know I know something happened. And that I care, without any details at all I still care."
Harry gripped him harder still, almost afraid to let go.
God what did he do to deserve Neville?
Probably nothing.
He didn't deserve Neville.
No one did.
"I-I really am okay— it didn't—well it hurt but it wasn't…" He wasn't sure why he couldn't get the words out, but Neville just waited for him to work through it with unending patience. "It was over so fast I didn't really…."
All the blond gave was a mild hum of response, accepting that.
But the potion was not why he was crying right now. Not at all.
Why am I crying then?
And he was sobbing again like a broken mess but no, it had nothing to do with the potion. The hands on his back running soothing circles now to remind him to breathe were unbearably kind, but no… they weren't comforting him about the potion either, somehow he knew that.
He realized far too late that he was shaking like a tuning fork, and Neville's arms around him were light and unrestrictive, not too hard—Harry was the one giving him a death grip.
"N-Neville?"
"I'm glad it didn't last long, if nothing else."
He was shaking so hard he couldn't even really see straight and if he let go an inch he knew he was going to completely unwind at the seams, shaken to pieces like a toy robot breaking apart under a toddler's careless thrashing—the arms around him the only thing holding him together right now.
It didn't really hurt, the potion. It was over so fast how could he care about something like that!?
… it didn't hurt… it didn't hurt… it didn't hurt…
He clenched his eyes tightly shut, not sure what his brain was doing to him now.
.
It had nothing on the cruciatus
.
Oh.
Is that what he'd been avoiding thinking about?
Why had he…?
As if he'd suddenly been electrocuted he flailed, jumping back and practically shoving Neville's arms off of him. He very ungracefully leaped back as if fire had appeared between the two of them and he needed to get away, standing in an instant but frozen with his feet rooted to the floor because couldn'tmove awayfrom him or he was certain he'd die but he also—he couldn't—he couldn't face Neville like this.
He actually felt like he was going to throw up. He felt absolutely sick.
Because somehow he'd completely forgotten… no, he'd shoved it away. It had been the fiftieth blow to his brain and his heart and his soul so he couldn't stomach it back when he'd first learned, and somehow he'd taken the knowledge and shoved it so far down he could pretend the world was fine for half a second. He could go to classes and brew potions, play quidditch, read books, and talk about nothing—he could go about his life because he'd taken all of it and shoved it away. Locked it up and swallowed it. He kept going and he left to what he couldn't fix for a plan for tomorrow, like a good little Slytherin—
A Slytherin that he wasn't.
His whole body felt cold. So, unbearably, horrifically cold.
His hands were shaking uselessly in front of him, like he wanted to do something with them but had no idea what, and the tips of his fingers were completely numb. It was so hard to breathe like this, and he wasn't even crying he was so fucking terrified.
He'd buried it under everything else over the summer, but that last part of his parent's will that he'd been ignoring for the sake of keeping Neville close to him… because if Neville knew he'd breached his trust like that he'd—and Harry couldn't lose him or—
He was horrified.
He was so horrified he couldn't even form words.
It filled him to the brim and made him want to give a blood curling scream because this was unbearable.
.
Alice and Frank Longbottom were tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange
.
Neville.
Neville?
Gentle and shy and despairingly kind Neville, who just… who just took it all and never said a word and he—his parents--!?
Harry hadn't wanted to think about it but he now knew exactly was curse had been used to torture Alice and Frank Longbottom, to remove their sanities from this earth and away from their child. He knew exactly what kind of spell had made Neville essentially an orphan like him, for all intents and purposes. He knew exactly what made him so gentle with someone who was seemingly out of the god damn mind right now. He remembered too vividly how he'd begged for nothingness instead of that hell on earth… he wondered in a daze if he wouldn't have gone insane eventually too, if Voldemort hadn't decided on killing him instead.
Oh yeah, death was way better than that.
Death was way better than that.
But Neville… Neville.
Neville who didn't even look offended or concerned that he'd been shoved off, who just peacefully lowered his hands to his lap from where they'd been tossed off (his touch had been so light—was he expecting that to happen!?) and how his words from earlier were now piercing into Harry's psyche with enough force that he wondered if he wasn't going to go insane from this instead.
Neville hadn't wanted anything to do with Draco… in hindsight it was obvious why.
But instead of rightfully keeping his distance or even seeking revenge if he could get it… he'd decided to accept Draco instead.
He's… decided to… to accept…?
Harry didn't understand. He couldn't. How could anyone understand this!?
How could you understand kindness?
He broke suddenly then, shoulders slumping and burying his face in his hands as he sobbed once more. How could someone like him understand how incomprehensibly brave this quiet Gryffindor was for being willing to forgive an enemy for the sake of a friend? For someone rotten to the core like him? He in no way deserved this.
How could he forgive someone who caused him pain just by existing, just to be able to stand by someone who he believed didn't even acknowledge him as that dear a friend back?
Harry was just… completely disgusted with himself.
NO ONE deserved Neville Longbottom. But least of all me.
"Harry?" his soft voice finally broke into the world that was slowly crumbling around him, and Harry flinched violently. He still had no idea how he could be so forgiving, so kind, and it fucking terrified him honestly because he didn't know what to do with it. But Neville didn't care if he was terrified, he just offered his hands very, very calmly. "What do you want me to do?"
Harry felt his heart squeeze in his chest as he forgot to breathe.
Then it just… all came spilling out.
Everything.
Every terrifying thing that haunted his nightmares: hooded figures in dark hallways and hot sheds, the sound of summer crickets muffled by wooden walls and windowless hallways that never end. Every single thing Quirrell had said and done, the terror and the scars on his hands, his cheek, his chest. Disgustingly guilt-tinged werewolves and betrayal, bloodlines and fear. Voices in the walls and small cupboards. Humiliation and pretty red hair. Colin and monsters and hands that crumbled to dust in your palm. Voldemort and muggles and trolls and snakes and lions and everything. Everything.
Neville just… sat there and took it.
His expression didn't falter, he didn't get angry or look worried. Harry was a complete fucking mess and he knew none of the words made much sense, but Neville was smart and probably the best listener there was, so he could probably fill in a lot of the gaps of the senseless, babbling story. He never so much as flinched, but his calm look only got more reassuring as Harry cried harder and the confessions got wilder and less coherent.
The reassurance that he wasn't going to react or say anything meant Harry just kept going, and it snowballed until it just didn't stop.
He talked until his throat hurt and he didn't even know what he'd said anymore; he was pretty sure he was actually repeating things now, but he couldn't stop any of it and it all just—it came spilling out and he—he couldn't—
"…the cruciatus?"
It was the first thing he'd said in all this time and Harry just… froze solid. He reeled all his panic tightly inside and stared with wide, agonized eyes into the blue ones looking up at him. Neville wasn't angry but… his posture had cooled a lot. His expression and his hands were still open and inviting even if Harry didn't dare grab onto him again, but there was a chill that had descended over him that even he couldn't stop as they got to the topic Harry couldn't face… but he also could not keep from him either.
He was so full of shame he wanted to sink to the floor and disappear.
"I know," he confessed in a rush, the words just tumbling out. He couldn't face him, shaking like a leaf as he put his face in hands again and bowed forward like he didn't know if he could keep standing through the horror of this confession. He was terrified… he didn't know why he was so terrified of Neville of all people but he was. Even then… he couldn't bear to pretend he didn't know now that he remembered everything that he'd been running from. "I know I—I read my parents will—I—your parents were in it and I—I didn't mean to but—but I—"
"My parents," the blond repeated… calm but heard his voice wavered painfully.
Harry felt like he'd been stabbed through the heart.
It was so real he clutched at his chest just to be sure there would be no blood. He wasn't sure if he was happy or disappointed he wasn't actually dying when there was none.
The last thing he'd wanted was to hurt him… he couldn't bear to hurt him… to hurt Neville of all the people in the world who didn't deserve to be hurt— he let out a sob, giving way to sound of wordless despair.
"I'm sorry," He sobbed, helpless.
I can't protect anyone, and I couldn't even do this.
Suddenly, there was an iron grip around his wrists that yanked hard enough to make him stumble, and he blinked awkwardly through tears until he let Neville sternly pull him back down to sit beside him on the bed again. He didn't let go of his wrists, in fact gripping them tight enough it almost hurt, forcing Harry to look him in the eye.
Finally he was more than just calm, and now there was compassion and fear and… and something he couldn't place as Harry fretted what he'd say.
"What happened to him?"
"What?" He breathed unsteadily, but Neville was steady as a rock. His grip tight and his eyes very, very intent.
"To Quirrell."
What happened to him? Harry thought hysterically.
Well… he couldn't fall any farther. He's already messed it up, and Neville had asked.
So he told him.
The god's honest truth this time came spilling out and horror filled his throat with bile as he actually put into words what he'd done. The crumbling hand, the Transfiguration… ah, but he clung to Transfiguration and even as the vivid images came back with an ugly reminder of how filthy he truly was to be able to resort to things like that, it didn't hurt when thinking about the magic… it was just magic after all, magic he loved… and Transfiguration was safe.
It was safe. He could handle talking about it… never mind what he'd done, it was all just Transfiguration.
The only reason he was able to say it all, is that Neville didn't waver an inch. He just took it in, calm as ever.
"He's dead?" was all he asked. Nothing in his tone gave away what he felt about it, so Harry felt numb as he answered honestly.
"Yeah." He admitted, weakly. At some point he'd dropped his head down again, unable to meet the blue eyes looking intently at him. He wasn't brave enough. "I-I can confirm everything McGonagall warned us about with Transfiguration… even simple principles are deadly. It wasn't that h-hard to be honest, I mean I… I w-was only a first year."
He was almost afraid of admitting that even to himself… to admit it out loud… much less to Neville…
Kind, forgiving, just Neville.
The only true Gryffindor Harry actually believed in. Someone with a soul of shiny gold and a moral compass that pointed true north… admitting he'd killed someone, every gruesome detail and how it'd been easy to do it even…
Hands around his wrists tightened and pulled him up to look up. He was a bit surprised how close Neville had gotten, inches away and blue eyes locked on his.
"Good."
Harry stared back at him.
…what?
His heart… ached.
He didn't know if he needed to be forgiven for what he'd done. It was self defense after all, at least that's what he told himself… and would've told others though no one had asked… and maybe he'd never admit but it still felt…
He silently dropped his head against Neville's shoulder in something like… relief?
Relief that the arms around him didn't hesitate, and were much, much stronger now than the light hold he had before.
He was just… being forgiven for something he didn't even know had been under his skin all this time, tears flowing more freely but… not as painfully anymore. He cried harder and… simply fell apart.
"I should've told you… I should've…."
The supposedly meekest Gryffindor didn't say anything else. He didn't answer him, but whatever Harry was apologizing for here, he sensed Neville certainly wasn't holding it against him. He wasn't asking for an apology or an explanation or a plan or anything.
He was just here.