III

The first rays of the morning sun began to filter through the partially drawn shades of Hermione's bedchamber. Slowly opening her eyes to greet the day, the events of the previous evening came back to her in a rush. How in the bloody hell did I get back to my rooms? With no time for lazing around...no doubt Neville had some serious explaining to do...Hermione bolted upright, only to be met with a searing pain in her temporal region. Groaning aloud, she cradled her head in her hands to rub the length of her forehead and eased back onto the bed, completely oblivious to Neville, who was seated in her bedside chair.

"Good morning, Sweets," he said simply.

Hermione jumped slightly from not only the noise but also his unexpected presence. "Hmmph! What's good about it?" she grumped, her severe pain and discomfort evidenced by her tone.

"Here, chew on this," Neville encouraged softly, extending his hand to her. Sitting in his palm was a lump of flesh-coloured goo.

"If you don't mind my asking, what is this?" she questioned and accepted what she assumed was a remedy for her current predicament.

"It's my own special concoction of feverfew and anise-hyssop, blended into a gelatine-like substance and used to relieve pain in the head and tooth areas. Just last month, Professor Snape helped me find the proper balances in the formula, effectively creating an alternative to your standard headache treatment," he added with pride.

If Hermione found the collaboration between Neville and Professor Snape to be odd...she'd never known their previous liaisons to be remotely successful unless they involved a nasty cauldron explosion and a series of detentions...she made no mention of it. Desperate to silence the cerebral symphony of percussion and its continuing rendition of Kabeláč's Number One in D, Hermione popped the portion into her mouth and began to chew. Her eyes involuntarily slid closed as she hummed in a mixture of delight and relief, revelling in the cool mint flavour that tantalised her taste buds, setting them alight.

Neville grinned, pleased that his friend was on the road to a speedy recovery. "All right then?"

"Never better. Thank you, Neville," she said, opening her eyes as she turned to face him.

"Think nothing of it."

"So, last night ... I can only assume I collapsed in complete shock and humiliation, yes?" she asked.

"That about sums it up, yeah," he replied, amusement saturating his tone. "After I checked to make certain you weren't in any immediate physical danger, I brought you back to your rooms so that you might be more comfortable and wake in surroundings you recognised."

As he spoke, Hermione took in his frumpy exterior and deduced that he had spent the night in the bedside chair, keeping vigil over her as she slept.

"Merlin, Neville, have you slept at all?"

"I managed a quick kip. I wanted to be sure you were truly okay," he said, stifling a yawn.

"Please tell me you don't have classes today," she pled in a repentant voice.

"I don't, though I do have a meeting with Headmistress Vector this afternoon."

Hermione expressed her heartfelt gratitude once again. When he assured her it was nothing, and that she would have done the same for him if roles were reversed, Hermione wasted no time before broaching the indubitable hippogriff that loomed in the room. "Do you feel up for talking about it, or are you knackered past reason?"

"Actually, I'm ready to talk about it. It will be a relief to finally have someone to share it with."

"You haven't told anyone, not even Hannah?" she inquired, shock creeping into her voice.

"No one," Neville confirmed before continuing. "About six months after I started teaching, I decided to tackle the rather daunting task of reorganising greenhouse three. It was awful, let me tell you. Professor Sprout was a closet hoarder and kept damn near everything, bless her."

Belatedly, Hermione remembered her manners. She interrupted Neville long enough to pat the bed for him to join her, and then promptly summoned a kitchen-elf for tea service and a light breakfast for two. When the friends were suitably fed, caffeinated and comfortable, Neville resumed his tale.

"Late one afternoon, I stupidly attempted to disentangle a juvenile crop of Devil's Snare that was about to overrun the place. In a pinch, I walked out to this run-down work shed I had recently discovered behind the greenhouse, hoping to find a spade. See, I'd just broken mine. So, I used Alohomora on the lock and pushed open the door, which by the way almost fell off the bloody hinges it was so rotten. I'm surprised the unlocking spell alone didn't cause it to crumble into a pile of splinters."

"Odd that a work shed in such terrible shape would even have a lock," she added.

"Right! I thought the exact same thing."

"Then what happened?" she asked.

"Well, I stepped through the doorway; it was terribly dark in there, but I didn't dare use any more magic for fear I would set the place ablaze with me in it."

After the war, situations involving excitement and titillation were rare for her...not that she was complaining...and when they did indeed occur, they typically involved the antics of her mischievous children aided shamelessly by their roguish father. Now, she listened breathlessly as Neville spun his tale, her excitement building with each word he spoke. Her skin tingled from the rush of adrenaline, her palms clammy and slick with perspiration. When Neville paused to sip the remainder of his tea, Hermione motioned impatiently for him to get to the crux of the matter.

"So, I'm tinkering around in this death-trap when I notice a rather grotty, tattered cloth in the far corner. Naturally, I assumed it was protecting gardening equipment, so I whipped off the covering. Hermione, I was gobsmacked and totally unprepared for what I found: wizard portraits of the Carrows, Professor Snape and the Dark Lord," Neville finished in a near-whisper.

"Shite!" Hermione cried. "What did you do?"

"You mean after I convinced myself I wasn't completely mental and remembered to breathe? I snatched the professor's portrait away from that filth, slammed the damn door and practically flew back to my chambers. Thank Merlin the castle and grounds were virtually deserted, it being a Hogsmeade weekend."

"My word!" Hermione proclaimed as she stared at Neville in wonderment. "That poor man would have been in there for an eternity with those maniacs if you hadn't found him. It must have been pure torture."

"I can only imagine. He doesn't talk much about the time he spent locked in that shed with those tossers."

Hermione was finding it difficult to fathom a likely scenario. "Neville, how is it even possible that there were portraits of them painted? Who in their right mind would even consider taking such a commission?"

"That he did tell me. When Professor Snape was appointed Headmaster, the Carrows thought it would be a riot if they all had portraits done up, a testament to their legacy of death and destruction. They went crawling to their master with the idea. Apparently, Voldemort shared in their amusement and gave his blessing, even sitting for one himself."

"Un-bloody-believable!"

"Yeah, but it gets worse; Alecto used Imperio on some poor sod with a deft hand at the craft to do it and then killed him. Snape was just going to Obliviate the man and turn him loose, but Alecto and Amycus weren't having any of that," Neville hissed coldly, his body tensing with each awful word.

Hermione stroked Neville's hand to soothe his discomfort at recounting the grim scene and his own remembered experiences with the Carrows. "Professor Snape always did try to do the right thing, no matter what the situation."

Neville visibly relaxed under her ministrations and nodded in agreement. "That he did. I never understood it all as a kid, but growing up and looking at things with adult eyes changes one's perspective."

Hermione carefully broached her next line of thought. "What happened to the other portraits, Neville?"

A maniacal look of hate-filled glee bloomed across his face. "After I got the professor situated, I went back to greenhouse three. On my walk there, I devised the perfect plan to rid this world of the last of their taint. I gouged the portraits with secateurs and slathered them in undiluted bubotuber pus. When I got tired of listening to their screams of fear and fury, I spit in what was left of their painted faces, Transfigured the work shed into firewood and burned it in my hearth that very night."

"That was simply brilliant, Neville, and I'm sure Professor Snape was most grateful, whether he said so or not."

Neville beamed at his friend's praise. "He did, though not in so many words. You know how cryptic he is...recognition wrapped within invectives."

Hermione readily agreed. "How's life been, having the master of duplicity cloistered within your chambers all these years?"

"At first it was positively atrocious," he said in a put-upon manner. "He's always loathed the very mention of my name, so the idea of us co-existing together was not high on his list of ways to spend the remainder of his semi-sentient existence. Not to mention it put quite damper on things with Hannah for a while, if you know what I mean," he added with an exaggerated wink. "Now, we walk a fine line of dreadful tolerance."

Hermione clutched her mid-section and laughed loudly. "And when you have visitors?" she trilled.

"Normally he's rather well-behaved, so I don't have to resort to trickery to keep him hidden, though there have been times when I've had no recourse but to use Disillusionment and Silencing Charms. I didn't get the chance when you appeared out of nowhere last night."

"Sorry about just showing up like that." Hermione had the decency to look abashed. "I was just wandering, and the next thing I knew, I was standing in front of your door."

"'S okay," he mumbled, fatigue edging into his voice.

Little by little, Hermione watched as Neville's chin fell forward until it was, at last, pressed to his chest. He was fast asleep. Hermione took pity on her courageous friend and shifted him so he could lie down. Covering him with a soft duvet, Hermione drew the shades tighter so the morning sun would not disturb him. Quietly, she crept from her bedchamber to allow Neville some much-needed rest before his appointment with the headmistress later in the day.