Neville's Secret.

Disclaimers: Not mine, nope! Thanks for reading.

My thanks go to Writermerrin and Polly_kay Parrott for their tireless work on this.

Chapter: 3… Neville’s Secret.

Rose Weasley was mad. She was mad with her mum, her Muggle world, their Muggle means of transportation, mad at her dad for leaving her alone in the world, mad at Grandpapa Arthur for his interest in a world that took his son away, and the rest of the family for understanding whatever it was they understood. She would never understand why they wouldn't avenge him. Uncle Harry had avenged his parents' deaths, even after all those years. She decided she would, too, even if it took her longer.

Maybe I should run away to join that group Dad and Uncle Harry talked about, the one that wanted a Muggle-free world for witches and wizards. No, it’s not the same as joining the Death Eaters. They’re in Azkaban; Dad and Uncle Harry made sure of that. They got rid of Voldemort together. Oh, Mum helped; so did many others, Uncle Neville, too.

She grimaced at the thought of Uncle Neville, no, Professor Longbottom. What does he think he's doing having all that tea with Mum? Are they in love? Has she forgotten Dad already? Al doesn't think so; he thinks they are just friends who've loads to catch up on. Oh! What would he know about love anyway; he’s just a boy, and eleven on top of that!

Her dad always said, “Rosie's got Mummy’s brain,” and she had barely understood what all the fuss was about love.

Rose’s eyes welled up at remembering her dad’s pride in her sharpness, her brilliance. She decided to make sure her dad wasn’t forgotten. She would find a way.

She had seen James picking on Albus earlier, so she thought of cheering him up,

“Al! Albus, come on up here, I have chocolate frogs!” she called out to her cousin from across the common room.

HHH

Hermione noticed how preoccupied Rose seemed. She had tried talking to her, but Rose matter-of-factly avoided everything she had said. She was worried about her daughter... Ron had been a wonderful father, and Rose had always been closer to him than to her mother.

She thought to ask Neville to look into it; maybe Rose would open up to her favorite uncle. Harry and Ginny were right: she needed to be more mindful of her children.

Neville seemed too busy. Maybe he had his hands full with Head duties, along with teaching, or maybe he was doing some sort of research that needed frequent tending. Hermione noticed how he sometimes looked at his watch and ran off. She could help. It was awfully quiet in that wing of the castle. She had practically nothing to do, and maybe she wasn’t in love with Herbology as Neville was, but her Healer training had included a unit on advanced Herbology.

There was a familiar knock on her office door.

“Hello, Hermione.”

“Hi, Neville, come on in. How have you been?”

“Good, good.” He pulled a chair across to her desk, and Hermione asked for tea from the kitchen. They had met often for an afternoon tea together.

“Could I ask you a favor, Neville?”

“Anything. That’s what friends are for.”

“Could you talk to Rosie and see what going on inside her brain? She is acting… well, differently. I’ve tried, but she won’t open up to me.”

“She's grieving, Hermione... We all do it differently, but I'll see what I can do. It’s hard not to fall apart after losing someone like Ron. I will keep an eye on her--she's a good kid.”

“I know. She’s her daddy’s girl, after all. Thank you, Neville. You are a great friend. I hate to impose on you; you always seem so busy. Is there a project you’re working on that needs to be tended on a timely basis? Maybe I could help. I've got plenty of free time, not much to do in here--maybe I could research for you.”

Neville suddenly stopped drinking his tea, looked at her oddly for a moment, then jumped to his feet, saying, “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the Shrieking Shack. I’ll let you in on a secret.”

“You’ve got a secret? Neville Longbottom has a secret... A secret that he keeps in the Shrieking Shack?”

“I do.”

“Honestly, Neville. I haven’t been there since… since Snape’s death.”

Neville halted abruptly, turned around, opened his mouth and closed it, opened it again and said, “Then it’s about time you do.”

When they reached the shack, she was shocked again as he took down pretty complicated wards.

“What are you hiding, Neville? What could possibly…”

She was rendered speechless by the sight before her. It looked nothing like it had in her memory. The shabby shack was clinically clean with a neat bed and a small table full of potions by it, and on top of said bed lay a gaunt, pale figure with a hooked nose.