A Potter Secret

Hope

Neville, battle-scared and weary, perches atop a fallen statue in the chill morning air. Reaching into his pocket, he removes his wand, holds it to the light and watches the tip drop like the head of a drowsy child. Broken. He tosses it away.

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Neville kicks through the rubble. One could reconstruct the history of Hogwarts from the detritus before him, spell books, trophies, potion boxes. But Neville's expression remains stoic, unsentimental. He's seen too much in the last hours. Close on the peak of a hat Neville crouches down, studies it. Reaching out, he wiggles it free, slaps it against his thigh to chase the dust. The Sorting Hat. He ponders it, regarding its ragged surface, singed and torn, then pops it on his head, a beaten jester. Again, his face remains blank. He squints, peering vaguely into the distance. As he gaze falls on the bridge, he stops. An odd procession approaches.

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Hagrid lurches forward awkwardly, clutching a body in his arms, ropes extending in three directions from his neck as a trio of Death Eaters, one in front, two behind, jerk him along like a tethered beast. From Hagrid, Neville's gaze drifts to Bellatrix and Narcissa and then to Voldemort himself, dark, fierce, before settling on the most unnerving sight, a giant wending snake.

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"Who's that?" Ginny asks. Neville turns, seeing that Ginny has come out onto the broken steps and is staring at the procession. "Hagrid's carrying?" Neville just stares, mute. Her eyes shift then, to him, and he sees they are glistening faintly. Her voice, when she speaks, nearly gets lost in the morning breeze. "Neville, who is that?" Ginny asks.

Before he can answer, others begin to spill out of the castle. Luna and Seamus. Cho. Arthur Weasley. Ron, Harry, and Hermione emerge and, seeing the procession know. Hermione draws a sharp breath and something about it, the unadulterated sense of loss contained within it, causes those around her to look and know as well. "What's going on here, Neville?" Arthur inquires.

Neville starts to speak but falters and then, simply because he can't bear to look at Ginny's face and the faces of the others looking to him for something, anything, he turns his gaze to the Hat dangling in his hand. And as he does, something glints within.

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Voldemort and the others, moving with them, as they draw near. Voldemort surveys the ruins of the castle and the beaten posture of the throng assembled upon its steps. He smiles faintly, with cruel satisfaction. "Behold, Nagini. Our work is done," Voldemort smiles.

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Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Harry and the others stand silently as the procession comes to a halt before them. All eyes drift to Hagrid and what lays in his arms. "No NO!" Ginny cries. Ginny's primal cry echoes over the grounds as she rushes towards Voldemort, but Arthur steps between and wraps his daughter in his arms, letting her struggle briefly before pulling her tighter, closer, safer.

"SILENCE!" Voldemort demands. Voldemort points his wand to the sky with a crack. "Stupid girl. You cry for that?" Voldemort gestures to the body lying still in Hagrid's arms. "Tell me. These last few hours, as you collected the dead and tended your wounded, was she by your side?" Voldemort surveys the throng, who stand mute. He nods, as if their silence were answer enough. "While your hands ran dark with the blood of mothers and sons, fathers and daughters, brothers and sisters, his were clasped in prayer, but it was a prayer for one and one only. While you battled courageously, until you could no longer will yourself to stand, she had long since fallen to her knees. While you cursed me until your voices grew ragged, she begged me for mercy in a voice as meek as a child's." Voldemort's eyes narrow. "So do not cry for that. She's not worthy of your tears. And do not despair of her betrayal. You were never in her heart. Not for one single solitary beat."

"Liar!" Ron shouts.

Voldemort flicks his wand and Ron drops to his knees, grimacing in pain. Voldemort gestures to him. "Did you not hear me! Isabella Potter is dead! From this day forward, you put your faith in me or suffer the consequences. ISABELLA POTTER IS DEAD!" Nagini hisses madly as Voldemort, looking a touch mad himself, rakes his eyes over the students and staff. "Now is the time to declare yourself."

There is a nervous murmur among the crowd. "Draco," Lucius calls. Draco looks up, sees his father summon him forth with a short nod. He hesitates. Lucius smiles thinly. "Draco, don't be stupid-"

"Come, Draco," Narcissa pleads. Her tone is quiet, but absolute. Draco looks into her eyes, then ducks his head and steps forward, avoiding the baleful glances directed his way as he crosses the gulf between factions. Ron mutters poisonously as he passes.

"Harry saved your life," Ron reminds. Draco falters briefly, stung, then joins his mother. She hands him a wand. He stares at it bleakly.

"Well done, Draco. Who will be next? Hm? Come now, don't be shy," Voldemort calls.

We travel over faces, weary but resolved, eyes burning with defiance, then land on Neville, chin on chest, gaze to the ground. As the sorting hat rocks gently in his hand, something glints within again, and a quivering parabola of reflected light dances above his brow. He steps forward. Stunned, the others watch Neville, blackened with soot, sorting hat in hand, limp to a halt in front of Voldemort, who regards him with amusement. "Well, I must say, I'd hoped for better. Is this truly the best Hogwarts has to offer?" Voldemort asks. The Death Eaters laugh. Bellatrix grins in cruel amusement. "Who might you be, young man?"

"Neville Longbottom," Neville replies.

"Well, welcome, Neville. I'm sure we can find a place for you in our ranks," Voldemort says.

"Someone has to do the washing," Bellatrix jokes. The Death Eaters roar.

"Now, now, Bellatrix. Let's not underestimate our young friend. By stepping forward, he lives to see another day," Voldemort says. Voldemort's eyes shift, regard those standing before him. The implication of his statement is not lost on them.

"I'd like to say something," Neville calls.

Voldemort's brow furrows vaguely. He studies Neville. Isabella's eyelids separate ever-so-slightly. He studies his face when the curious reflection quivers once again. Harry watches it dance briefly across Neville's cheek before vanishing. Harry's gaze shifts to the Sorting Hat in Neville's hand, then shifts again, to Nagini. "Very well, Neville. I'm sure we'd all be fascinated to hear what you have to say," Voldemort calls back.

Neville turns to the others, their weary faces regarding him with confusion, suspicion. "It doesn't matter that Izzy is gone," Neville replies.

A troubled murmur ripples through the crowd. "Stand down, Neville!" Seamus shouts. Seamus tries to push forward but Ron grips his arm, holds him back, though not happily.

"People die every day. Friends. Family. Yes, we lost Izzy tonight. But she's still with us, here," Neville reminds, tapping his heart. "And so is Fred and Remus and Tonks and all of them. They didn't die in vain." He turns to Bellatrix. "But you will." To the Death Eaters, he adds, "And you and you and you will." And finally to Voldemort, he says, "And so will you. Because you're wrong. Isabella's heart did beat for us. All of us." Neville takes a step forward, looks Voldemort in the eye and spits. Then he reaches into the Sorting Hat. "This isn't over."

Scarlet glints in Voldemort's eyes and he smiles, raising the Elder Wand when Neville, in keen anticipation, reaches into the Sorting Hat and pulls forth The Sword of Gryffindor. As Voldemort's wand fires, Neville parries and the curse rebounds, taking out the quartet of death eaters flanking Bellatrix, only she is quick enough to deflect the curse.

Harry surges forward, fighting to defend the group as they race to the great hall. Hagrid surges forward and behind the shields, Isabella still in his arms.

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