The Lost Horcrux

Daddy Issues

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

***

Neville drummed his fingers on the hilt of Gryffindor's Sword in his belt, as he paced around the hilltop. He was impatient, restless. But not through fear. He'd been taking this sort of risk for ages, longer than Harry, even. For when Harry had been abroad being tooled up for war, it had been Neville who had borne the brunt of the risks on the infinitely more dangerous Home Front. Not that he resented Harry for any of it. It was quite the opposite, actually. He felt proud to be Harry's most trusted General ... and Harry was always appreciative of the risks and efforts he undertook. They were a tandem operation.

And it had given him the coolest skill set. Stealth, evasion, espionage ... it was one hell of a fucking life as far as adrenaline rushes went. And Neville had proven to be very good at it, which made him love it even more. His early life hadn't been flush with success and respect, so he relished his adroitness now. The fact that he got to stick two fingers up to the most dangerous dark sorcerer in the world just made him feel even more of a badass.

And he liked that.

But, still, that now familiar niggle pinched at the back of his thoughts. His mind could never fully be on field work now. Two-thirds of it were permanently planted miles away, at that beautiful spot in Wales, where his stunning wife and beautiful daughter were safely ensconced. Oh how he'd love to just live there with them, raise a family and see if he could ever master the local language!

It was a simple dream, but a million miles away right now.

So he paced, and fretted, and waited for the Portkey at his feet to turn blue. If it didn't, they had problems. But he had a few minutes before he had to consider the ramifications of that. And in those few minutes he could think about his daughter, so pure and happy and a bundle of joy. And how his heart would be ripped to pieces if Tom Riddle ever slashed at her throat ... as he'd so mercilessly done with the Queen of England.

The very idea made Neville throw up a bit in his mouth. He spat it out and took a series of deep breaths. Then he went back to pacing.

"Nev, son, you need to give it a break. I'm an old man ... I'm exhausted just watching this marathon you insist on walking!"

Neville stopped and laughed. "Sorry, Dad. I forgot you were a cretin!"

"Hey! I said 'old' ... that does not mean I am 'cretinous'."

"Is there a difference? I've never noticed."

"You know, you may be a full-grown adult with a wand these days, but that doesn't make you beyond a spanking from your old Dad!" said Frank, chuckling.

"That's child abuse, Father," said Neville in mock seriousness. "Do the CSA or Childline have a wizarding branch? I can pass your details on to them easily enough!"

Frank heaved with laughter. "Oh, Nev ... they'd take one look at you and decide I was being too lenient. But, by all means, make a rod for your own back if it makes you happy."

"Shut up, Dad," Neville smirked.

"But, seriously ... what's wrong?" asked Frank. "You seem troubled."

Neville stilled and blushed. "Just worried, you know? For Ennie and Ally ... you and Mum ... the whole lot of us, really. We are at open war, now, in case you hadn't noticed. When we were darting out of the shadows and giving those Death Eater pricks a little prick or two, it seemed daring, exciting. But now ... I don't know ... it seems a hundred times more real, more dangerous. I suppose it's just playing on my mind a little bit more."