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Chapter 11: In the Midst

"Would you come sit down? You’re driving me crazy."

"No."

"No what?"

"No, I’m not driving you crazy. You already are crazy."

"I am?"

"Yes, of course you are. Only a crazy person would be friends with me."

"I think my brothers are rubbing off on you."

"Why would you think that? We’ve only been friends for two and a half years, shared a dormitory, had adventures together. Why would you ever think that they’d rub off on me?"

"Maybe because it’s true?" Meghan got out of her chair and walked over to Neville, planting herself in the middle of his pacing path, arms crossed. "Stop," she said firmly. "You’re just making it worse. I know you’re nervous about Thursday, but so am I. So are we all."

"Not like me. You... none of you have as much riding on this. If it doesn’t work, then it just doesn’t work. For me..."

Meghan nodded. "I know. I understand."

"Do you? Do you really? Have you ever been waiting to see what would happen to your parents, just having to wait and wait, and knowing that when you can do something, if you do anything wrong, you might never see them again?"

"Yes."

Neville stopped, taken aback. "Y-you have?"

"The night before Dadfoot’s trial. We knew we had Wormtail, but we weren’t sure if we could convince anyone else we did. We weren’t even sure they’d let us into the courtroom. And I had to stay behind to keep Mrs. Weasley busy while everyone else went ahead. It was only because Aunt Amy came that I was able to be there at all." She put a hand on Neville’s elbow and tugged him towards a chair. "It’s not quite the same, but I do understand a little bit."

Neville let himself be tugged. "It’s… it’s just… what if we do something wrong? What if we make them worse, or even kill them?" He shook his head, sitting down with a plop. "I don’t know what I’d do if we did."

"So stop worrying about it. We won’t kill them, we won’t make them worse. We will make them better, and then we’ll get to use this. Give me a hand with it?"

Neville looked sidewise at Meghan. "Has anyone ever told you you’re much too cheerful about things?"

"All the time. Will you please help me with this?"

"Persistent, too." Neville turned to the table. "What do you need help with?"

"We’ve got everything set up in the right order. Now we need to write about each one. Explain it, say who and when and where. You know that, I don’t."

"All right." Neville pulled a sheet of plastic towards him. "Let’s start at the beginning, then."

xXxXx

Hermione knew the signals which meant the boys had done as much homework as they could stand for the time being. Ron started to fidget, drumming his fingers on the table in complicated patterns. Draco whistled under his breath while he read. Harry doodled in his margins in between writing sentences for an essay, then stopped writing altogether in favor of the Quidditch scene taking shape under his quill.

"All right, that’s enough," she finally said in exasperation. All three boys looked up at her with identical expressions. It was very much like Padfoot looking at food.

I think it must be genetic. Something on the Y chromosome.

"You’re not going to get any more work done today. Go do something else for a while."

"Yessss," hissed Harry, catapulting out of his chair. Ron rolled up his parchment and stuffed it into his bag, grinning, as Draco capped their inkbottles with his wand and swept them and the quills into his own bag. Within thirty seconds, Hermione was alone in the common room.

"Full time job, that, isn’t it?" asked a voice from the girls’ stairs.

"Oh, hello, Ginny. What is?"

"Keeping track of the boys like that. Getting them to do their work, making sure they don’t slack." Ginny came down the rest of the stairs. "It looks like a lot of work for you. Why do you do it?"

Hermione sighed, closing her book. "I don’t know. They really should do it themselves, but we’ve just gotten into the habit of me helping them along."

"It looks more like you pushing them along from here. Would they even do their work if you didn’t tell them to?"

"Oh, they’d do it. It’s just that they’d do it the night before it’s due, it’d be sloppy and not very good, and they wouldn’t understand half of it. At least this way they’re learning something, even if I do have to beat it into them."

Ginny smiled. "Mum says the same thing about getting them to do their chores. I suppose that’s what girls are for, really. Beating sense into boys."

Hermione nodded. "And boys are for annoying the life out of girls."

"And we’re good at it, too," said Draco, thumping down the stairs in his snow gear. "We’re going out to build snowmen. Want to come?"

"I’ll go get Luna," said Ginny, hurrying back up the stairs.

Hermione hesitated a moment, looking at her full schoolbag, before the prospect of all that lovely snow won her over. "Let me get dressed."

"We’ll wait for you."

xXxXx

Remus stepped out of the fireplace in the kitchens, set down his two bags filled with packages, and turned back to the fire in time to catch Danger as she fell out of it. I think we need to get your balance checked.

My balance is fine. Or it would be if I hadn’t just been spinning like an insane top and inhaled a mouthful of ashes along the way. Danger coughed several times, took the glass of water a house-elf handed her, rinsed her mouth and spat into the bowl another house-elf held up. "Ugh," she said aloud. "Thank you."

The house-elves nodded and scurried away. Danger bent to pick up one of the bags. "So what’s on the agenda for the rest of today?"

"Getting these somewhere the cubs won’t find them, wrapping the ones we didn’t get wrapped at the stores, and getting ready for the Longbottoms. They’ll be here tomorrow morning."

"Right." Danger took a step toward the door out of the kitchens, then stopped. "Shouldn’t go out there right now, should I?"

"All these years it’s taken you to learn how to think strategically. Dobby!"

"Yes, sir?" The clothed house-elf appeared before Remus with a crack.

"Can you tell me where the children are, please?"

"Master Neville and Mistress Meghan is in the library, sir, and all the rest has gone out to play in the snow. Master Remus can take presents to his office safely, no one is watching."

"Thank you, Dobby." Remus picked up the remaining two bags. I’m not sure I want to know how he does that.

He’s a Hogwarts house-elf. The castle might have told him.

You think the castle is self-aware?

Possibly in some way. Magical people have been living and working here for over a thousand years. Albus told us there’s magic here that the Heirs can use. But there haven’t been any Heirs — at least not any that knew about themselves and used the magic — for a long time. What do you think all that magic would do, just sitting here?

Play solitaire?

Danger burst into laughter. Remus John Lupin, you are terrible.

You’re only figuring that out now?

xXxXx

Later that day, the flames in the kitchen fireplace turned green once more, and first Aletha, then Sirius stepped out of them, both carrying overnight bags in one hand and bags of presents in the other. Sirius set his bags down and shook his head, sending ashes flying everywhere. "Good to be back," he said.

The door to the kitchen opened, and Danger flew in, running straight to Aletha and hugging her hard, then repeating the process with Sirius, squealing as he lifted her off the ground and spun her around once. "Sirius! Put me down!"

"All right. You’re ugly, you’re stupid, and you can’t do magic to save your life."

Danger boxed his right ear, Aletha his left.

"Ow."

"You asked for it," said Aletha, picking up her bags. "What news, Danger?"

"Remus is upstairs in the Owlery, waiting for a delivery. The cubs are various places, you’ll see them at dinner if not before. You?"

"We saw Gerald off at the station yesterday. He’ll be back before the New Year to spend some time with Luna, but he’s just as happy she’s spending Christmas with us. He wants to try and get photographs of the Welsh Christmas Fairy Dance."

"Apparently, Welsh fairies have special dances for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and Boxing Day," said Sirius as they emerged into the entrance hall. "Gerald would like to observe them and see how they differ. And he’s never been able to get away at the holidays before this. So this was actually a bit of a boon for him."

"Molly and Arthur?"

"I think Molly’s got her hands full right now," said Aletha. "Charlie and Tonks are there."

"How is Tonks doing?"

"A little better, but still not good," said Sirius. "I think it’s going to take a while."

"I can’t imagine why," said Danger with an excess of sarcasm in her tone.

"And just to add to the Christmas cheer, Percy’s not speaking to Fred and George," said Aletha. "Something to do with a malfunctioning wand…"

"Oh, that." Danger snickered. "It was our last Combat Club practice. Obviously, you can hurt yourself with a misfired spell just as badly as you can hurt someone else, so we still count it as a wound or a kill if it’s your own color you get covered in. Fred and George rigged Percy’s wand to backfire, so Percy killed himself the first time he tried to shoot at someone else."

Sirius sighed. "I pray we never do really get into a war," he said. "That kind of thing isn’t funny when it’s your life on the line, not just a little pride and a few House points."

"They’re only fifteen," said Aletha. "A lot of people do stupid things when they’re fifteen. Case in point." She shoved her husband just a little harder than was necessary.

"Oy, I never did anything that stupid when I was fifteen."

"No, you waited until you were sixteen," said Danger, knocking in a pattern on a hallway door, which opened for her. "Here, this one’s yours. Three times on the upper left panel, twice on the lower right, once on the upper right."

"Lay off, Danger, it’s bad enough Snivel — Snape hasn’t forgiven me for that. I did apologize."

"And promptly started playing pranks on him every chance you got," said Aletha, setting her bags on the bed.

"It’s not like you tried to stop me."

"It’s not like you ever told me."

"What, I need to tell you now? Take out an advert in the Daily Prophet — I, Sirius Black, will now commence playing pranks?"

"Commence? When did you ever stop?"

"My point exactly."

"His point?" Danger looked at Aletha. "He has a point?"

"Well, not much of one," said Aletha, grinning wickedly. "And not often."

Sirius turned the approximate color of the Gryffindor crest hanging on the wall.

xXxXx

Neville drew a deep breath with some difficulty. His bed felt odd. There was a cushiony wall on one side of him, his pillow was much harder than it usually was, and something warm and heavy was lying against him and partly on him, which accounted for the weight on his chest.

He opened his eyes. He wasn’t in his bed — he was lying on a sofa in the Gryffindor common room, his head on the arm, his hand pressed against one side of it, and Meghan lying next to him, both of them still in their day robes.

A slight shock ran through him as he remembered. Today. Today’s the day it starts.

His parents were being transferred from St. Mungo’s to a special suite here at Hogwarts today. Tomorrow, if everything went all right — please, please let it go all right, he prayed to whoever might be listening — tomorrow, the Pride would have a chance to try healing them.

And I couldn’t sleep last night because I was so nervous about seeing them today, after they took that potion Mrs. Letha made. I guess I fell asleep here and no one wanted to move me.

I have to get up. I need to see them. I have to see if they’re all right.

Carefully, he slid over the back of the sofa, leaving Meghan alone on it, and climbed out through the portrait hole. A check of his watch told him it was just past nine-thirty.

I don’t really know what time they were supposed to come, but I know they’re coming so they get comfortable here before we... do whatever we’re doing tomorrow. So the Healers would probably want them here early.

He trotted down a flight of stairs, stepping carefully over the vanishing one, and tapped three times on the wall at the bottom. It vanished, allowing him entrance into a secret passage which would bring him practically to the door of the suite where his parents would be staying.

Although he knew from past experience that the Pack-parents could see through his illusions, he began his litany anyway. If they weren’t there, being unnoticeable would give him an opportunity to look around without being shooed away like an inconvenient bug. If they were there...

If they’re there, they won’t send me away. Or if they do, it won’t be just because I’m a little boy and I’m in the way.

That was one reason he liked the Blacks and the Lupins. They treated him like a person, an intelligent person. They did their best to explain things, and if there was something they couldn’t tell him, or the rest of the Pride, they said so straight out, and gave a decent reason for it, rather than "you’re too young" or "you’ll understand someday."

That’s part of the reason I was so happy to spend the summer at their house. Gran still treats me like a three-year-old a lot of the time. He made a face as he pushed aside the tapestry screening the exit to the passage. She talks about me like I’m not there, and when she does notice me, it’s always something like "Oh, isn’t that right, Neville dear?" Baby talk. But I’m not a baby anymore.

Someone coughed. Neville jumped and turned to his right. Mrs. Letha stood in the corridor outside the door of the suite he wanted, looking carefully over his head. "If I saw anyone here," she said quietly, "I’d tell them to come on in for a minute or two, but not to stay very long, and that it would probably be better if they stayed hidden for that time. The people in these rooms are very unsure of everything right now, and the fewer new things they have to deal with, the better."

Neville waited until her eyes flickered down and across him, then nodded. Mrs. Letha smiled slightly and pulled the door of the suite open. Neville ducked under her arm and slid inside the door.

The suite seemed to have at least three rooms, since Neville saw two separate doors leading from the room he was in. This first room that he had come into was fitted out like a living room, with a sofa and several armchairs.

One armchair and the sofa were occupied.

Neville felt the familiar twist in his insides that came whenever he looked at his parents. Guilt was part of it, and fear, but more and more it was anger that predominated. This should never have happened. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

But tomorrow, we get a chance to make it right again.

His mother lay on the sofa, asleep. Someone had combed her white hair and pulled it back from her face, and she was dressed in a simple robe with flowers printed on it. That alone made him feel a little better. He knew from pictures and stories that she had loved dressing up and making herself beautiful for dances and nights out with his father. It always hurt him to see her in the ugly hospital gowns.

She’ll love Meghan. They can talk about clothes all night.

His father was sitting in the armchair, staring at the opposite wall. He wore a robe in a muted yellow, and his hair was likewise combed neatly. Neville wanted to get closer, even to touch the man, but knew it was a bad idea.

Mrs. Letha said to stay hidden so I don’t frighten them. Someone touching him who he can’t see would frighten him a lot!

But even as he thought that, Neville noticed a tickle inside his nose. Uh-oh. He couldn’t remember if he’d done anything about sound or not — he didn’t think he had — and there wasn’t any time now, he was going to —

"Achoo!"

Frank jumped and fixated on the sound. Neville flinched. "Sorry," he whispered to Mrs. Letha.

"No, it’s all right," she said calmly. "Let’s see what happens." She turned her attention to his father. "Hello, Frank," she said, walking over to him. "Did that startle you? It certainly did me. Are you feeling all right?"

His father ignored her. He was looking toward Neville, as he so often did when Neville came to visit — but this time was different. Every time he’d seen his father before this, his father’s eyes had been fixed on some point beyond him, as though he were transparent and something on the wall behind him was fascinating. But not this time.

This time, his father was looking directly at him.

But — he can’t see me. He shouldn’t be able to. I’m hidden.

But I think he can...

His father’s hand was coming up from its place on the arm of the chair now — it was making a shape, index finger out, the rest of it curled up loosely —

He’s pointing at me. He does see me!

"Do you see something over there you want?" Mrs. Letha asked quietly.

Frank Longbottom lowered his hand to the chair and began to rock slowly back and forth, his face tight in concentration, his lips pressed together. As the rocking increased in speed, sound began to escape from him. Every forward rock brought another muffled explosion. "B — b — b—"

Neville held his breath.

"Boy!"

Mrs. Letha was still facing his father, but the set of her shoulders seemed to indicate that she was feeling quite good. "Yes, there’s a boy there. He’s your boy, Neville." Her hand rose behind her back and beckoned Neville closer. "He’s here to see you."

Neville walked slowly across the room. Every step seemed to take a year, but he didn’t care. His father wanted to see him. His father could see him, and was watching him intently, tracking his progress across the room, leaning forward a little in what looked like eagerness —

He stopped in front of the man. What do I say?

Mrs. Letha gave him a gentle nod, encouragement, he guessed. "Er, h-hi, Dad," he said, holding out his hand. "It’s... good to see you."

His father’s hand lifted again from where it had been resting, but bypassed Neville’s outstretched one, rising shakily higher and higher, until it landed firmly on Neville’s shoulder. A smile blossomed on his father’s face.

"Go on," said Mrs. Letha softly, motioning Neville’s hand higher. "You do it back."

Neville felt a smile begin on his own face to match his father’s as he put his hand carefully on the man’s shoulder. They stayed like that for several long moments before Frank pulled away, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

"He gets tired easily," said Mrs. Letha. "They both do. It’s a side effect of the potion. But you can see how well it’s worked so far, if I do say so myself."

Neville nodded. The smile hadn’t found its way off his face yet. In fact, from the way he was feeling, it might well be there permanently.

"You’d best head back to the Tower before someone wakes up and gets worried because you’re not there," Mrs. Letha said. "They’re settling in well here. We’ll have more news as the day goes on."

"Can I just... maybe... could I say hi to Mum? I won’t wake her, I promise."

"Go ahead."

Neville turned to his mother, still asleep on the sofa, and extended his hand until it almost touched her, then suddenly thought better of it. He raised his hand to his own cheek and stroked two fingers down it, then touched them softly to her cheek.

"I can tell you what that’s called tomorrow," he told her. "And what it means, and where I learned it, and everything. You’ll see. You’ll see, tomorrow."

To his delight, his mum smiled in her sleep. Neville felt his own smile widening and becoming shaky at the same time.

I can’t cry. Not now, not here. It won’t make tomorrow come any faster.

But he knew, deep down inside him, that today was going to be the longest day in the history of the world.

xXxXx

"I’m telling you, they responded to his presence," Aletha repeated, wishing, for more reasons than one, that Andromeda could be there.

This was her work first. She deserves to see how well it came out. But she would also be a friendly face here. Completely without meaning to, I’ve managed to alienate at least half the senior Healing staff at St. Mungo’s...

Well, not completely without meaning to. I couldn’t live with Sirius so long and not be good at deflating egos, and a few of these were overdue...

"That’s impossible," said the senior Healer in charge of the Longbottoms’ case flatly. "I personally worked on these cases for six months, and they responded in the same way to all stimuli of a certain kind — that is, they could not differentiate between people. It is hardly likely that one treatment could change that."

If it’s the right treatment, it can. And just how long ago were these six months of yours, I wonder? "Be that as it may, Healer Young, the patients did respond positively to their son’s presence. Frank actually spoke — he didn’t identify the boy by name, but he did notice that there was a boy in the room, and he reached out to make contact with him. And Alice smiled in her sleep when Neville spoke to her."

"We’ll pass over for the moment what you claim the patients did, Trainee..."

Is there any way you could make that "Trainee" sound more like "wet-behind-the-ears fumbler"?

"And focus just a little on how their son gained access to them, when I distinctly understood that all the students had gone home for the holidays."

"Not all the students, sir. Most of them have gone home, but Neville has special permission from his grandmother to stay here for the holidays, and several of his friends have decided to bear him company."

"I see. And why, exactly, would the boy want to stay here for the holidays instead of going home?"

"Because he had been informed by St. Mungo’s that his parents’ treatment had been altered, and because I felt he deserved to be nearby if the new treatments bore fruit. Not to mention that he’s probably the first person Frank and Alice would want to see if they did recover."

You’d probably have a litter of kittens if I told you the real reason he has to be here — that he’s going to be instrumental in the treatment, second only to my ten-year-old daughter…

Healer Albertus Young nodded, his expression still a little sour. "I see. Very well. Keep me informed, then, Trainee."

He swept out of the room. Aletha counted a slow twenty before falling onto her chair and succumbing to helpless laughter.

It’s better than having a screaming fit, which was the other option available to me at the moment.

xXxXx

"What are we actually going to do?" Neville asked Meghan that night, sitting by the fire with her. "I mean, when you heal them?"

Meghan shook her head. "I don’t know. I know what it was like when I healed Harry, but you know that too. It might be like that, but it might be different."

"But you think it will be like that, like going to another place?"

Meghan shrugged. "I really don’t know. But I guess it might." She reached over and laid her hand over his. "We’ll do it, Neville. We’ll get them back. I promise."

Neville smiled at her and turned his hand over to hold hers. "I believe you."

xXxXx

The next morning, they gathered, preparing.

The Longbottoms were still sleeping, natural sleep instead of magically induced, since Aletha didn’t want any other magic interfering with what Meghan would be trying to do. Experiments over the year Meghan had known about her power showed that she and the person she was healing both often fell into a trance-like state — the greater the injury, the deeper the trance.

So by the time we start making our music, the Longbottoms will be in trance, so we won’t wake them up. Harry looked around the room. Draco held his flute, and Ron and Hermione carried small hand drums. Luna and Ginny were beside the piano someone had conjured in the bedroom. Neville was leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on his parents, and Meghan was walking around the room, looking at the walls, the ceiling and floor, and the twin bed where the Longbottoms lay side by side.

Finally Meghan turned to Letha, the only adult currently in the room. The other Pack-parents had wished them well over breakfast before Moony escorted them up here. "We need eight chairs," she said quietly. "One here, where I am, and one on the other side of the bed in the same place. Then the other six in a half-circle around the bottom of the bed like this." She swept her hand in an arc.

"Hold on, then," said Letha, and began to flick her wand towards the places Meghan had indicated, conjuring chairs there. "Correct?"

Meghan nodded.

"Well, then, good luck to you." Letha shook hands with Ron and Neville, embraced Ginny and Luna briefly, and gave all four of the cubs full hugs. "I love you all."

She left the room, closing the door behind her. Harry swallowed, and felt his ears pop. This is it. This is where we show what we’ve got.

"Everybody come sit down," Meghan said quietly. "Harry, you’re over here with me. Ginny, next to him, then Ron, then Hermione and Draco, and Luna, you’re behind Neville."

The Pride took their indicated seats quietly. The feeling of pressure in the room was increasing, Harry noticed, swallowing again. It was as if a whole crowd of people were watching them, waiting for them to do something, for them to start something.

And thanks to Luna, I know what to do to get it started… He dug in his pocket and pulled out the parchment Luna had given him that morning. Hermione made a little sound and did the same.

"In the name of the Pride, I convene this gathering," Harry said, half-reading from the parchment. "Pride together."

"Pride forever," answered the group quietly in unison.

"Many things bind us together as a Pride. By our own words and our own wishes are we bound. By blood and friendship are we bound. By our own magic and others’ magic are we bound." That had surprised him a little the first time he’d read it. What magic bound the Pride other than their own? But he wasn’t about to mess this up just for his own curiosity. He could ask later.

"By all these and more are we bound," said Hermione, taking up the thread of the magic. "As alpha female of this Pride, I summon those bonds to appear, to show themselves to us, so that we may use them for this work that lies before us."

Almost before she was finished speaking, lines of colored light silently appeared, connecting and cross-connecting the members of the Pride. Harry looked down at himself. Seven golden lines disappeared into his chest, one extending to each member of his Pride. Almost everyone else was bound by gold, although there were a few exceptions. Ron and Ginny were connected by a red line, as were Draco and Meghan, though theirs was a lighter color than the Weasleys’, and Harry couldn’t be sure, but he seemed to see a faint, ghostly line of blue connecting Draco and Luna, and another running from Neville to Meghan…

Hermione hissed at him. Belatedly, Harry looked at his parchment and began to read again. "As alpha male of this Pride, I call on these bonds to become active, to send magic among us, so that those who need it may use it and those who do not may add to it."

He looked once around the room, meeting everyone’s eyes, beginning with Neville and ending with Meghan, who turned half around to do it. Then he nodded to Hermione. She took a deep breath and began to speak with him. "So we speak. So we intend."

"And so let it be done!" said the Pride in unison.

With an almost audible throb, the lines of light came to life. Harry jumped, and he wasn’t the only one. He could feel the power flowing through the lines, into him and out again, pushing and pulling at the other lines, the other people, pulsing in rhythm with something in himself…

It’s my heart. My heartbeat. It’s not the same as everyone else’s. But I think it needs to be.

He looked at Ginny, sitting next to him, and focused on her. To his surprise, he could feel the pulse of her power against his own, warm and soft, red and scented faintly of flowers. Their magics bumped together, partly resisting, partly meshing.

We need to mesh all the way. He reached out and touched her through the power, and she jumped and turned to face him. Together, he sent in a way that wasn’t exactly the thought-speech they’d shared through the pendants before, but was related. We need to be together.

Yes, she agreed. Together.

They began to synchronize their power. It was surprisingly easy — after a few fumbles, suddenly he gave a little and she gave a little, and their power pulsed together, two hearts beating as one. Thank you, he sent to her.

No, thank you. She smiled at him. I think Meghan is ready.

Harry turned to see Meghan watching him. Together? he asked her.

Yes. Their magic met and meshed with barely a hesitation. Meghan’s power was different from Ginny’s, Harry noticed. Pearl’s was a rich violet and smelled of salt water and clean wind, and felt soft and strong at the same time, like a friendly handshake. It carried with it Neville’s power, which took a moment longer to agree with Harry’s but finally settled in. Neville was gold and firmly solid and mint-smelling.

Draco caught Harry’s eye next. We’re ready, he said.

Harry stared into his brother’s eyes, and felt a sudden twinge of uncertainty — the gray pools around Draco’s pupils seemed to be moving, like storm clouds in the ceiling of the Great Hall the instant before a lightning strike…

Draco and Luna’s power met his, and it was a little like being struck by a mild form of lightning. Part of that was Luna’s power, Harry recognized dimly. It was a bright and vibrant white, and stung a little at first touch, leaving behind a crisp scent that wasn’t quite like smoke or quite like fresh air, but was a little like both. Draco’s, meshed with it in perfect harmony, held both the color and scent of fresh pine needles, the spicy, prickly green that Harry had always associated with Christmas, and felt like a branch of them, soft if you stroked them the right way, sharp if you didn’t.

Right time of year for it, then.

Dimly, he was aware of the other powers he now held making their peace with these newcomers. We’re almost all together. Just need Ron and Neenie now…

And then they were there. Ginny had melded with Ron while Harry was busy with the others, and now Ron and Hermione’s joined power filled the links between them and the others. Ron’s magic was the same color as his hair, smooth and warm, and had a spicy-sweet scent, like hot pumpkin juice. Hermione’s was a creamy white and soft as a kitten’s fur or the feathery end of a quill, but with the prickles of the kitten’s claws or the quill’s writing end, and she smelled of new parchment and a spice that Harry reminded himself to identify in the kitchen later.

What about me? he asked his Pridemates, and a moment later was bombarded with sense images. His magic was a fiery red, brighter than Ginny’s soft tones, a bit bluer (if red could be blue) than Ron’s more orange color. He smelled of spices as well, cloves and cinnamon and ginger, and with that he knew that Hermione’s scent was nutmeg, because it was the fourth in Danger’s spice cookies. The only way he could think to put the touch sense into words was "knobbly, but nice," because he seemed to have little bumps all over, but they didn’t hurt to touch.

The Pride spent a few moments settling into these new understandings, making sure they had them straight. Harry felt the knowledge of everyone else’s magic lodging itself deep in his brain, where it might someday be very useful…

Or not.

But that didn’t matter now. The links were open, power was flowing. It was time. A thought brought Hermione alert and ready.

As alpha male and female, we give you this power, Harry and Hermione said together, addressing Neville and Meghan. In the name of the Pride, do now what was decided, doing all for good and nothing for evil. So we speak, so we intend.

And so let it be done, chorused the rest of the Pride.

So you speak, and so speak we, said Neville and Meghan together. They clasped hands over the Longbottoms’ heads. So you intend, and so intend we. And so we shall now do!

Together, they lowered their free hands to the Longbottoms, Meghan laying her hand on Frank’s arm, Neville on Alice’s shoulder.

The Pride shuddered together as they felt magic being drawn from them, funneling through Neville and Meghan, and going… going away, as far as any of them could tell. It wasn’t recirculating, the way it had up till now, but simply draining away.

I think that means it’s working right…

As well, Neville’s and Meghan’s presences in the link were slowly becoming farther away than they had been. Not inaccessible, but harder to feel and find. The feel of eight hearts beating as one was threatening to fracture and slide away…

Oh, no, you don’t, said a voice, and Ron began to drum, reinforcing the heartbeat rhythm. The magic solidified again, settling back into place.

Ginny began to hum a Christmas carol. Other voices joined hers, adding harmony lines, keeping it quiet and gentle and paced around the rhythm Ron was keeping, and as they sang, more power flowed from them, reinforcing the circuit before it was pulled away by the Healing team.

This is right, Harry thought. This is how it’s supposed to work. I’m not sure how long we can keep it up…

As long as we need to, answered the Pride in many voices. As long as we must.

Harry smiled. Well, as long as they’re sure.

He joined the song, adding his voice to the harmony and his magic to the power pool.

xXxXx

They stood side by side, still holding hands, but the contrast between the places their feet touched could not have been greater. Meghan stood in the midst of a vast jungle, and Neville on the broad flat plain of a desert.

"There’s something wrong here," said Meghan aloud.

"Very wrong," Neville agreed. He shaded his eyes and squinted into the distance. "I think I see something over there."

"Shh." Meghan turned her head. "I hear something. Over that way." She pointed deeper into the jungle.

They looked at each other. Neither wanted to say it first. Finally Neville did. "We’ll have to split up."

"Is that safe?" Meghan asked doubtfully.

Neville shrugged. "I’ve never been here before. You have."

"I knew what I had to do last time. Now I don’t. Not really. I just wish there was some way we could keep track of each other."

"We need a rope or something," said Neville. "To hold us together. Something strong, and long, that won’t get in our way…" He stopped.

"What?"

"I think I know what we can use." He slid his pendants over his head and looked at them for a moment. One of his Hufflepuff gems flashed with bright yellow light, then faded. He wrapped a loop of the chain around Meghan’s waist and another around his own, and secured them both by pressing them together. "It should go through things you want it to, just like yours do," he said. "And it will get as long as we need it to, but keep us together."

Meghan smiled. "Then I’ll always have part of you with me."

"But that’s not fair, then. I don’t have anything of yours."

Meghan dug in her pocket and pulled out the first thing she found, her handkerchief. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "Now you do."

Neville tucked it into his sleeve. "My lady’s colors," he said.

"Stop it." Meghan pushed him. "I’ll tug on it when I’m coming back here."

"So will I. Good luck."

"You too."

They squeezed each other’s hands, then separated, Neville setting out across the desert, Meghan forging into the jungle.

xXxXx

It was hard going through the tangles of plants. Not only were they horribly overgrown, blocking anything that might ever have been a path, but something was wrong with them. They weren’t dying, but it was somehow related to that. As if…

They should be dying? That doesn’t make any sense. Things aren’t supposed to die.

But wait. Sometimes they are. "For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven." The beautiful, ancient words came to her in her Dadfoot’s voice, mellow and strong and sweet, reminding her of what she’d forgotten. "A time to live, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which was planted…"

And as she thought of that, she was there, where she wanted to be.

It was a tiny clearing in the center of the jungle, hardly big enough to lie down in, but someone was lying there now. A man with hair mostly gray and white, but she could tell it had once been brown, and a lined, worried face.

She bent down and shook him gently, and he opened his eyes. "Hello," he said, sounding a bit puzzled. "Who might you be?"

"My name is Meghan. Are you Mr. Longbottom?"

"Yes, that’s me. However did you come here?" Mr. Longbottom sat up, looking around. "I don’t see any paths. Heaven knows I’ve looked."

"I came that way," said Meghan, pointing behind her, and then turned and looked.

There was no sign of her passage. The wall of plants surrounding the clearing was unbroken. Only the fine gold chain vanishing through the tangled vines gave any indication that she had ever come that way.

"It must have grown up behind you," said Mr. Longbottom, sounding resigned. "It does that. If you knew the times I’ve tried to get out of here, to find some way through these plants… I love plants, I always have, but these are particularly difficult to love."

"Because they keep you here."

"Yes. And I’ve been here quite a long time, I know. I haven’t seen another human in all that time… not clearly, anyway. Sometimes I think I see forms out there, but by the time I get to them they’re always gone." He shook his head. "It’s very frustrating. I tend to sleep a lot, because if I’m asleep I can’t see things that look like old friends. Or like someone I love."

"Someone you love?"

"You have a mother and father, don’t you?"

"Yes."

"Do they love each other?"

"Very much."

Mr. Longbottom nodded. "I love my wife just that much," he said. "And in just that way. And I haven’t seen her in all the time I’ve been here. Sometimes I think I see a boy. A boy with her face, her smile. But by the time I get to him, he’s always gone."

He was turning in a slow circle, looking at the plants surrounding him. "I almost got to him yesterday," he said, his back to Meghan. "I saw him clearly, and I think this time he saw me as well. But I’d worn myself out so much getting to him that I fell asleep right in front of him, before I could say anything to him. Before I could ask him who he was."

Meghan licked her lips. She could smell magic here, feel and almost taste it, all around her, magic very like Neville’s own, like the solid strong gold she knew so well, but different somehow, changed, distorted…

Twisted, she finally decided. The magic had been twisted out of shape by something, and it was shaping what was around them here, this cage of plants. But how?

She reached with her own power, the blue-violet healing touch, and sucked in her breath at the pain around her. Pain, and despair, and longing, incredible longing —

For what?

Death, clamored a thousand million voices in her mind. End our pain! Let us die!

Wait, Meghan protested. I don’t even know what you are!

We are thoughts, the voices told her. Every thought that this man has ever had, every wish or desire or worry or fear, we are all trapped here, all of equal importance, and his magic, twisted by his pain, keeps us here and will not let us die. So we twist and twine and trap him — we do not want to do it, we are as trapped as he. Help us. Let some of us die, so that the rest can live.

Meghan pulled herself out of the communication with a shiver. She knew of the Healer’s Oaths, though she had not yet sworn them. Healers promised to "first, do no harm."

But would it be harm? They’re supposed to die, and they can’t. And they’re in pain, and unhappy. Would it be harm to let them die, the way they should?

I’m not making them die, she realized. They’d die naturally. It’s the twisted magic that’s keeping them alive. If I straighten it out, then everything will work the way it should. Then he’ll be healed.

It’s not wrong. It’s right.

"Excuse me?" she said quietly.

"Yes?" Mr. Longbottom turned to face her.

"I think I can help you get away from here. If you’ll let me."

"Let you? Child — Meghan — I’ve dreamed of being free of this place for years. If you can help me, please, do it."

"I have to touch you, then."

Mr. Longbottom held out his hand without hesitation. Meghan took a deep breath and took it in hers, closing her eyes.

Let what is wrong, be made right, she whispered in her mind, touching the golden strength that was Neville, and reaching into that and past it to the rush of color and scent and touch that was the magic of her Pride. Let death come to this place of life…

xXxXx

Neville felt as if he’d been walking for hours. His feet burned in their shoes, his eyes hurt from glare, and he was sure he was sunburned on every exposed piece of skin, and possibly a few that weren’t. It would be so easy to turn around now…

But I have work to do.

He lifted his shoulders and kept walking.

Finally, in the distance, he saw a small form. He headed toward it. As he drew closer, he saw that it was another person — a woman —

Mum!

But I can’t call her that. She won’t know me. She’d only remember me as a baby.

"Excuse me," he said politely as he drew close to her.

His mum jumped as if she’d been shot. "Who are you?" she demanded, staring at him with suspicion. "How did you get here?"

"My name’s Neville. I just came here."

"Neville?" his mum breathed, her eyes wide. "Neville?" She stared at him for a moment, open speculation in her face, then turned away. "No. I don’t believe you."

Neville frowned, confused. "What don’t you believe?"

"I don’t believe in you. You’re just another mirage. There are hundreds of them, thousands, always here, always taunting me. I’ve seen you before. You come often. You’re usually with someone, though. You’re alone this time."

"Usually Gran’s with me when I come to see you. But this is different. This time I came a different way."

"Obviously. You look different than you usually do. You look…" She turned to have another look at him. "Solid. As if you were real."

"I am real. Here, feel." Neville held out his hand.

Distrustfully, his mother reached out and touched him.

She jerked back with a gasp. "You — you are…"

Neville didn’t move. After a moment, she touched him again, letting her hand rest on his a little longer this time. Then a little longer, and then she was holding his hand, and then suddenly she embraced him and held on. He hugged her back, hard, holding her tightly. He had always wondered what it would be like to be hugged by his mother.

"I had a son named Neville," she said when she let him go. "He was just a baby, though. He’s dead now."

"Dead!"

"Yes, dead," she continued, mistaking his surprise for a wish to hear more. "Death Eaters killed him, after they finished with us. They hurt us, over and over, until it was too much. I ran from them, and I found this place. They can’t hurt me here, because they can’t reach me. Anything that tries to cross this desert dies."

"I didn’t."

"No, that’s true." She looked at him thoughtfully. "You didn’t. You’re here, alive. How did you do it?"

"I thought about you," said Neville truthfully. "You and… Mr. Longbottom."

She looked away. "You know who I am, then?"

"Yes’m."

"I haven’t seen Frank in so long… dear God, I’d give anything to see him again. Anything at all."

"Then come back with me," said Neville, seizing his opportunity. "Come back the way I came. He’s there. At least I think he is. We can try to find him at any rate. Come on, it’s this way…"

"No."

"What?"

"No. I’m not coming."

"Why not?"

She looked around at him. "This desert. It kills everything it touches. And I’m part of it now, after all this time. Or it’s part of me, I’m not sure which. I won’t risk Frank that way. I don’t want to find him just to lose him again."

"You’re wrong," said Neville in some desperation. "You’re wrong. You don’t kill everything. You didn’t kill me."

She shook her head. "No. I’m sorry, but I can’t believe this. Not after so long. If I could see something else, something else alive — something that stayed alive here, even though I was here — maybe then I could believe you."

"All right," said Neville, kneeling down. "I’ll make something alive, then. I’ll make something grow. I can do that."

"Really?" His mother looked interested, kneeling beside him. "You can make things grow?"

Neville nodded. "I only found out about it a little while ago," he said, cupping his hands over a place on the sand. "But I really can. I make plants grow better and stronger, and I know if things are wrong with them, and how to make them right. I think I can even get one to grow here."

I hope.

He closed his eyes and reached into the earth with his magic. If there was just one seed, one, somewhere in the earth under this desert…

He gasped. There was not one seed here, but hundreds, thousands, all just waiting, waiting for someone like him. Someone to wake them up and bring them to life…

But I don’t know if I can. I don’t really know how I made my magic work that one time. And Meghan was there, and she isn’t here now…

He looked at the handkerchief in his sleeve, and lifted a hand to touch the chain which held them together. No, she’s here. She’s with me. And together, we’re strong. Strong enough to make this work.

Let what is wrong here be made right, he willed, closing his eyes again and feeling Meghan’s blue-violet magic, and fainter behind it, the multi-colored magic of the Pride. Let life come to this place of death…

xXxXx

The two wishes, made by the two linked minds, coincided.

Into the midst of life came death, and into the midst of death came life.

xXxXx

Neville opened his eyes and looked around. He knelt on green moss in the middle of a forest. His mother still knelt beside him, but she was staring past him, and the look on her face suggested she was seeing something she’d loved dearly, and never thought she’d see again.

xXxXx

Meghan opened her eyes and looked around. She stood in a spacious clearing between fine healthy trees. Mr. Longbottom still stood in front of her, but he was looking past her, with all the love of twelve separated years, and all the hope he hadn’t had a moment before, in his eyes.

"Alice…"

"Frank! Oh, Frank!"

In an instant, they were in each other’s arms, both of them crying, crying and laughing at the same moment, and clinging to each other as if they’d never let go.

We did it. I think we really did it.

Meghan shivered, suddenly chilled. Part of it was reaction, she knew, and part of it was the tiredness that overcame her every time she did a major healing. She would probably fall down in a minute…

Strong, warm arms were around her, holding her up. "We did it," said Neville’s voice in her ear. "We really did it, didn’t we?"

"I think we did." Meghan turned to face him. "Together."

They held each other in their arms, each keeping the other upright, for a moment or two, Meghan’s head nestled against Neville’s chest, Neville’s cheek leaned against Meghan’s braids.

"We should get back," said Neville finally, regretfully. "Can you hear them?"

Meghan listened. "That way," she said, pointing towards the distant music. "It’s that way."

"Should we bring them?" Neville indicated his parents, who didn’t look likely to pay attention to anything but each other any time soon.

"I don’t think we have to," said Meghan, thinking it over. "I think this is just like a normal dream now, and when they wake up, they’ll be all right. Do you see?" Wordlessly, she invited Neville into her magic and showed him how she could tell that the minds around them were healed and made right. The people who owned those minds would awaken healthy and able to understand what happened around them.

"I do see," said Neville quietly. "I do see. Meghan — thank you." He hugged her again, tightly.

"You’re welcome." Meghan hugged him back.

Hand in hand, they followed the music homewards.

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