The Lost Horcrux

Riddles in the Dark

Disclaimers: Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

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Neville was sharpening the Sword of Gryffindor when he felt the disturbance. He was running a notched rock along the edge of the blade when a ripple swelled through the air. His father, who had been deeply meditating nearby, flew alert in a flash. His wand was in his hand before Neville even noticed his eyelids snap open. He'd never admit it, but his father would have been a bit of a hero of his even if they hadn't been related.

He was just hard as nails.

In less than a heartbeat, both Longbottoms were on their feet and sprinting towards the door. Neville felt his pulse quicken at his neck. A disturbance at the ward edge always meant intruders, accidental ones, usually, but if they were unfortunate supporters of Riddle they would get such a pasting that even their mothers wouldn't be able to recognise them.

Neville hoped they were some of the bad guys. Harry had started an open war last week when he sliced Blaise Zabini's manhood off, and Neville was itching to get in on the action. The propaganda tool that was the Daily Prophet had covered the story extensively. Inaccurately, but extensively. An unnamed, faceless fresh enemy of the New World Order. One that just happened to use Harry Potter's famous scar-shape as a calling card. It was their brand identifier.

Surely, even the oft-moronic wizarding public couldn't be so dense to not see what was really going on.

But then again, maybe not. Neville sighed with the realisation. When he and Harry finally saved this world, a programme of modernisation was in dire need of order. But first things first. Scores were lined up to be settled. And Neville hoped this would be the first one of many.

He knew it would fall to him to deal with whatever issue had suddenly arisen. Harry had left abruptly that morning, leaving Neville in charge of the Estate. Neville couldn't begin to guess where he might have gone, as Harry rarely told him such trifling details. After all, he hadn't told him he was going off to de-bollock Zabini, or to rescue Hermione's maniac cat. Perhaps he was going for a massage with some Veela. He was immune to them after all. It would keep him pure for Hermione whilst being nice and relaxing at the same time. Neville drooled at the thought of a multi-Veela massage ...

Then he slapped himself. Enola would de-bollock him if she caught him thinking like that. She had never shown overt Seer ability, but Neville was cautiously convinced that his wife could read minds. Or, more specifically, read his. He was way too transparent, he knew that, but Occlumency was just far too hard. Harry was a Master at the old mental arts, but Neville, try as he might, just didn't have the patience for it.

He was more a fighter, and pretty pleased at his proficiency in the field. He secretly felt that, of all the wizards in the Secret Enclave, only Harry could out-duel him. This was nothing to be ashamed of, either. Harry could out-duel anyone. He had beaten the top four duellers in the world in one session not so long ago. At the same time. Harry had the irritating skill of being able to not be hit. He thought and moved so fast he might as well have been on a different plane of existence. Neville couldn't wait to see the work he'd make of Tom Riddle when the time was right ...

Just so long as he didn't make it quick.

But that was Harry's job. Neville had his own, and as he reached the boundary of the Estate he quickly quietened his mind into combat mode. He focused on Enola, his stunningly beautiful wife and his perfect little daughter ... he wouldn't die for them. What would be the point? He would kill for them. Ruthlessly and relentlessly. Just to enjoy one more day with them. Merlin pity the fool who dared threaten them.