Chapter 4

Chapter 4

When a scared house-elf popped into the Gryffindor common room to tell Neville he was wanted in the Headmaster's office, his heart started hammering immediately, even though he was as clueless about Professor McGonagall's disappearance as everyone else seemed to be.

"Good luck, mate," said Seamus, though he couldn't quite conceal his relief that it was Neville, not he, who had been called. Ginny's eyes flashed dangerously, and it was all Neville could to do convince her not to try to come with him.

"I'll be fine," he said, hoping it was true. And it probably was. However verbally vicious Snape might be, he was not the Carrows ― physical punishment had never been his way. Even if he used Legilimency, it wouldn't matter, since Neville honestly didn't know anything. Nothing to hide, nothing to worry about.

Thus he comforted himself on the long (but not long enough) walk to the headmaster's office. When he arrived, the moving staircase opened to him at once, and he climbed slowly up.

"Ah, Longbottom." Snape's drawl contained all of his usual disdain as he sat behind his desk, watching Neville's approach through narrowed eyes. On his face was his familiar sneer.

Neville never would have thought he'd find that sneer comforting, but he did now. Since Snape had become Headmaster, the sneer had been mostly absent; instead, as he stalked the castle, his face was usually a mask of a forbidding, icy blankness, as if the children and teachers in his sight were no more than gnats to be batted away or squashed.

Today, at least, he looked as if he saw Neville as an actual fellow human ― a hated and annoying one, perhaps, but a human all the same. Neville hoped this was a good sign.

He reached the large desk and stood in front of it quietly, determined not to fidget or show fear. He expected Snape to try some sort of mindgame ― make him wait in silence, or offer some kind of taunt, but instead, the Headmaster got right to business.

"I need to know where Professor McGonagall is, and I am going to search your mind to find out."

Despite his plan to remain inscrutable, Neville must have showed his surprise at this directness, for Snape's face twisted in a sort of macabre version of smile. "What, you were expecting some sort of detailed interrogation? Torture, perhaps? Believe me, I have no interest in such cloak-and-dagger silliness. I need information, and you will provide it. Do not waste my time with any pitiful attempts at Occlumency; you are no match for me."

Almost at once, Neville could feel Snape inside his head, probing, searching. . .

He'd heard that Legilimency often manifested itself in the victim's mind as an image, and that's what happened now: he suddenly saw, in vivid detail, Snape's desk in the potions classroom. It was covered with some sort of writhing, slimy mass that Snape, his face pale and intense, was probing with long, skeletal fingers.

Soon memories began to flash in front of Neville's eyes ― Ginny saying passionately, "We've got to start the DA again, Nev! We can run it, you and me. . ." Gran talking about his father. . . his sad mother in St Mungo's, handing him a gum wrapper. . . the Gryffindor common room, and his own voice saying, "She's just on a mission or something and will be back as soon as she can. Take my word for it."

Soon the images and sounds all blended together and became a shrieking whirl that made him feel sick and then swept him off his feet, his mind felt flung and buffeted, and then. . .blackness.

When he came to himself, Neville was lying on the floor of the headmaster's office, and Snape was standing over him, frustration clear on his features.

"Get up, Longbottom," he snarled, and Neville found himself being Levitated to a small sofa that Snape had apparently just conjured.

"Now tell me," Snape said. "If, as seems to be the case, you really don't know where McGonagall is, why did you tell your housemates that she was on a mission?"

Neville pushed himself to sitting position, his arms shaking. He was too unnerved to do anything other than answer straightforwardly. "I just. . ." he said, and swallowed. Merlin, but his mouth was dry. "I just wanted to make them feel better, that's all. They're all so worried, and they're just kids."

Snape stared at him, his face impassive. After a moment, he said, "Stay there until you've pulled yourself together, Longbottom. And then get out of my sight."

He strode back to his desk and did not look up when, a few minutes later, Neville was able to stand and head for the door.

* * *

Once in the corridor, Neville hurried back towards the Gryffindor common room. He no longer felt sick, and he wasn't in pain, but . . . damn, that had been one seriously unsettling experience. He just wanted to get to a place where he could feel safe, however illusory he knew that safety to be.

Still, at least his meeting with Snape was over, and there would be no reason to repeat it. He was glad he didn't know anything that could help the DEs or maybe endanger Professor McGonagall, wherever she was.

Yet even as he had this thought, it felt wrong, somehow. Despite his desire to get back to the common room, Neville slowed his steps. There was something in his mind. . .like a bruise, or a. . .he didn't know how to describe it, a sort of soft place. . .there was something he should know, something he needed to remember. . .

He stopped and closed his eyes, concentrating. There is was again, a mushy spot in his memory, and when he nudged at it, he could almost see, almost hear, almost remember. . . .

What? Remember what? He almost groaned aloud in his frustration. This was infuriating, even scary. . . Dammit, he was almost there. . .

He waited, but the moment passed, and soon he felt like himself again. Oh, well, he thought as he started down the Gryffindor corridor. He'd just sleep on it, and in the morning, the memory would probably be there. That's what Gran always said would happen, when her own memory occasionally failed her. It was when you weren't actively trying to remember things that they came floating to the surface.

Once in the common room, Neville made a beeline for the boys' staircase and the lure of his bed, but before he could put his foot on the first step, Ginny hailed him.

"Neville! You're back. Are you okay? What did he do to you?"

"Um, I'm fine, but later, Gin, all right? I just want to get some sleep."

"You can't, you have to go see Madam Pomfrey right away!" a clear voice piped from the direction of the fire. It was Colin Creevey, who was just about the only person in Hogwarts these days who still seemed excited about life.

"He's right," said Ginny. "She came here in person to tell us."

"It's very important, she said!" Colin added. "Are you going to go, Neville? Do you want me to come with you? I can walk with you, if you want?"

"Thanks, Colin, but I'll go myself," Neville said. He wasn't sure why, but suddenly the need to see Madam Pomfrey felt urgent.

"See you later," he said, and headed wearily back into the corridor.

* * *

When he returned after an hour or so, the common room was empty, for which he was grateful. His memories were restored, the bruise in his mind was gone, and his head felt too full to handle even one more word from anyone.

He got into bed quickly and closed the curtains tight, needing to be as completely alone as possible.

Sleep was a long time in coming, though. The encounter with Snape kept returning to him, and he felt far shakier now then he had while it had been happening ― what a dangerous game he'd been playing, and he hadn't even known it.

But soon his thoughts turned to Professor McGonagall, who'd been alone in the Room of Requirement for the better part of two days now. His own painful moment in the corridor, groping fruitlessly after memories that were almost, but not quite, within his reach ― it had given him a better understanding of what she must be going through.

He'd promised to visit her. He'd go tomorrow, as soon as his last class was over. He'd get one of the house-elves to pack some food, and he'd offer to have dinner with the professor, if she wanted. He didn't want her to be lonely. Or scared.