When we returned from Christmas break, Ginny, Hermione, Harry and Ron had come to the silent agreement that they would not talk of what they saw at St. Mungo's.
In return, I didn't ask Harry about what he was doing when he was missing at exactly 6:30pm every couple of days. People said that it was for Remedial Potions, but Snape would never let someone take Remedial Potions.
It was probably a Chosen One thing.
I also didn't ask about where they all, save for Hermione, went a couple weeks before Christmas break began.
Seeing as it was all the Weasleys plus Harry, it was probably a Weasley thing.
Besides, I had other things to worry about. Like my roommates.
I had Mandy come running into the dorm dramatically, bearing news that she believed to be very important. But this time, Padma ran in with her, so now it had to be.
"What happened?"
Mandy threw the latest copy of the Daily Prophet on my bed — it was very, very important.
"You've gotta be kidding!" I lifted the paper, staring at the 10 faces that looked right back at me, each wearing their own malicious grin.
Mass Breakout from Azkaban; Ministry Fears Back is "Rallying Point" for Old Death Eaters.
I stared pensively at the paper, my eyes stopping at the photo of Bellatrix Lestrange. She was named as Sirius' cousin in the article, and I could certainly see the family resemblance — long black hair, naturally good-looking (which was unfair), a natural crazed look in her eye.
Convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.
"Neville..."
I discarded the paper on my bed and ran out to find him. Perhaps I didn't read the Prophet, thought it was rubbish. Perhaps his grandmother had unsubscribed to them because she thought that it was rubbish. But he would see it somehow, over the shoulder of his friend or hearing whispers as he passed by.
When I found him, he was sitting on a windowsill in the corridor, hunched over the paper like a man looking at his taxes, his brows drawn together.
"Neville?"
He looked up. "Oh, Y/N." But rather than giving me a grieving, worried look, he gave me a pitying one as he stood. "I'm really sorry."
"What...? Why?"
His brow quirked. "You haven't read the paper?"
"No, I— Well, not all of it. I just saw the front page and... came to find you."
"I was about to find you." I saw the paper in his hand, seeing that he wasn't turned to the front page, but rather the tenth. He handed it to me and my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach so fast I felt the wind of it in my lungs.
Tragic Demise of Ministry of Magic Worker
St. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker Broderick Bode, 49, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a potted plant. Healers called to the scene were unable to revive Mr. Bode, who had been injured in a workplace accident some weeks prior to his death.
I didn't want to read on, but my gaze dragged down the page, as if the page would suddenly say JUST KIDDING, and say that the true victim was Fudge, and the world could celebrate. It never did that.
Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of Mr. Bode's ward at the time of the incident, has been suspended on full pay and was unable for comment yesterday, but a spokeswizard for the hospital said in a statement, "St. Mungo's deeply regrets the death of Mr. Bode, whose health was improving steadily prior to this tragic incident."
We have strict guidelines on the decorations permitted on our wards, but it appears that Healer Strout, busy over the Christmas period, overlooked the dangers of the plant on Mr. Bode's bedside table. As his speech and mobility improved, Healer Strout encouraged Mr. Bode to look after the plant himself, unaware that it was not an innocent Flitterbloom, but a cutting of the Devil's Snare, which, when touched by the convalescent Mr. Bode, throttled him instantly.
"St. Mungo's is as yet unable to account for the presence of the plant on the ward and asks any witch or wizard with information to come forward."
I lowered the paper quietly and handed it back to Neville. It was so short. Too short.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
My mind strayed for a while, to the days when I was too young to be left at home, and instead brought to the Ministry, secretly of course, not that Fudge could do anything about it.
•••
"Uncle Broderick!" I pointed my stubby finger at the gloomy-looking man and he looked down at me, his mournful expression fading away and turning into a bright grin. "Oh, there's Trouble!"
"Quit humouring my daughter, Bode," my dad said as he looked through paperwork.
"Please, if you're going to bring a kid here, at least let her be a kid, Griffin." Broderick lifted me. "Come on, why don't we play catch with the prophecies?"
"Bode!"
"I'm kidding! For the most part."
"I'm warning you."
"You'd never fire me, Y/N loves me too much."
I giggled, my hands placing themselves on either side of Broderick's face. I was a toddler, so I couldn't have understood why he looked so mournful all the time.
"You're lucky to have a kid, Griffin. Some people aren't that lucky."
My father paused and sighed. "Just make sure it's the prophecies that are boring."
Broderick had lost his wife and baby in childbirth. He always seemed sullen after that, not until his boss started bringing his kid to work.
I didn't know until I was around ten and I found a photo of my dad, Broderick and some other Unspeakables, along with Broderick's wife, pregnant. I asked who his child was, and my dad had told me that it didn't make it.
•••
I cleared my throat, partially wondering how I remembered such an early memory. I hadn't heard from Broderick in years, not since I was five, I was sure. "Yeah, I'm fine."
My eyes lingered on the newspaper. Somehow, I desired the word Solve??? written in red ink, a sharp quill tearing through the paper because nothing other than the article mattered. My dad had stopped sending those things at that point, seeing that they were becoming too dangerous for someone as young as me.
But I saw it anyway. I desired to solve it.
My mind was already recalling the important parts of it.
Strangled by a potted plant...
Devil's snare...
Health improving steadily...
I shook my head, shaking off the desire.
"Y/N?"
"I'm fine," I repeated, more firmly this time. "Sorry. It's just... Merlin, the universe is not on my side, is it?"
Neville let out a breath and held out his arms, taking me into them as I let out breaths that were shallow, trying to bring in more air than my chest could handle, aching.
"It'll get better," he promised, like the world had ever bowed to his will.
I buried my face in his shoulder, my arms trapped between our chests so I felt my heart beating through my skin, and his, a rhythmic thump that rattled his rib cage.
His breaths were steady, at least compared to mine.
"I'm sorry," I said, not sure what I was apologizing for.
"Don't be." He pulled back. "Want to go to walk with me?"
I nodded and followed him down the hall.
"Have any plans for Valentine's Day?" he asked, a horrid version of small talk that I only accepted because it was Neville.
"Just... studying. I'm sure you have a lovely date, though."
He stared at me incredulously, as if waiting for me to grin and say "Just kidding!" which I didn't do.
"No... Of course not."
I blinked. "Really?"
"Really... people don't usually want to go out with me, you know?"
I scanned his figure, from his blonde locks to his mid covered shoes. Perhaps a few years ago, he wasn't quite the "ideal" guy, but he's always been kind and honest, and now he's grown tall, learned how to fix his hair, and even gotten a bit of muscle. No one wanted to go out with him?
"That's... strange," I said honestly.
"Not really..."
"Yes, really. You're totally date-material."
His ears turned pink as we passed our Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, which was thankfully empty, no Umbridge in sight. She'd probably be furious to see the two of us within a metre of each other.
"So, you're just studying?" Neville asked.
"Yeah. O.W.L.s are this year, you know?"
"Well, yes, but... I don't know, it's really early, isn't it?"
"No?"
"Nothing else you want to do?"
"What's that mean?"
Neville blinked a few times before dropping the topic. I wasn't sure what he wanted me to say.
•••
The next Hogsmeade weekend fell on Valentine's Day. Michael went off with Ginny, Lisa went off with Dean, and Padma and Sue hid away, saying, "Sorry, I'm allergic to couples" (Sue's words, not mine).
I sighed, suddenly realizing that I might have a similar allergy as couples walked past me with their happy little grins.
"Hey Y/N."
My eyes lit up when I turned to the source of the voice, seeing Neville with two cups of coffee.
"Ooh, are you trying to romance me?" He laughed as he handed me one and I sipped it, immediately melting. "No, it seems that you're proposing."
"Please, I'd do much better than that."
We stared at each other, then turned away, red-faced and embarrassed.
"Anyways, where'd you get this?"
"This frilly little coffee place down the street — Harry and Cho were there."
I hummed into the cup. "How's that going?"
"Not great, actually. They were yelling at each other by the time I left."
Before long, I spotted an angry-looking and Cho-less Harry storm into the Three Broomsticks.
Cho came after, spotting me and walking over. "I can't stand him."
"Uh huh..."
"He said he needed to meet with Hermione half-way through!"
"And you said?"
"...Well, I mentioned that Roger asked me... but that's not the point! He started it!"
"What else did you say?"
"I—" She sighed. "You were right."
"There're the words I was looking for."
Neville shot me a disapproving look and I cleared my throat. "I mean... I get that Harry asking to meet Hermione wasn't that great, but you shooting back talking about Roger and Cedric isn't right either, and I'm sure you know."
She nodded slowly and hung her head.