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(Enchanting Melodies) Chapter 346: The Hero’s Bane
🕑 Added 2024-09-26 13:30:33 +0000 UTCChapter 346: The Hero’s Bane
28 March 1995, Hogwarts
The last few months of Neville Longbottom’s life had been pretty horrible. Ever since Voldemort came back, everything changed. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it before—he just never really accepted it. Ever since that fateful day in his first year when he learned that his parents’ murderer was still alive, he knew this day would eventually come. His mother’s protection had killed Quirrell, after all. But somehow, he always imagined Voldemort’s return would be a distant threat, something far off that didn’t feel real. Then came the third task of the European tournament, and everything went sideways.
Voldemort kidnapped him right in the middle of the competition, tearing him from the safety of the best protections the International Confederation of Wizards could offer. Using Neville’s own blood—his mother’s protection—Voldemort made his terrifying comeback. The pain and confusion of that moment flooded back to Neville; he barely managed to escape, poisoned and exhausted, his body screaming in protest. It was all thanks to Hermione, really. He would have died, if it wasn’t for her. She held back fucking Voldemort on her own to distract them. For some reason, the dark lord kept comparing her to Lily Evans. It took a couple of minutes to remember who that was, Harry Potter’s dead mother.
Was she really such a fearsome witch? He could somewhat understand why the Lestranges had to burn down an entire town to take her out if she was. It would explain a bit why Harry was such a freak of nature when it came to magic. He must have inherited it from her or something. The thought lingered in Neville’s mind, mixing with his admiration for Harry and his lingering feelings of inadequacy.
Anyway, when he regained consciousness, he was asked what happened and admitted that Voldemort was back. Even with Hermione backing him up, there was still some backlash from the British ministry, which lost a lot of face as one of its troublemakers interfered in one of the tasks. Fudge had started raving about how he was an attention-seeking liar, which would have hurt if Neville could even care about any of that.
To be completely honest, now that his mortal enemy was back, Neville knew that he was going to be hunted down for the rest of his days, everything else just felt smaller. He had joined the tournament hoping to bring some measure of honour back into his name. Even if he wasn’t a Longbottom anymore – not that anyone knew about him being disowned – he was still a wizard. Even without a thousand-year-old legacy behind him, he held traces of their magic within him. His blood did not change, only his crest did. He was the product of a family line of talented and powerful mages that spanned thousands of years. He had his potential; he had just lost his crest. And already, the knowledge he assimilated from his scar before it was sealed, was more than enough of a head start to mark his name in the annals of history and leave a new legacy behind him. The tournament was a good step at that, and he had even won his task.
But as his reputation was being tarnished once more, he stopped caring. Voldemort was back and public opinion meant nothing in front of pure brute strength. Not that the slander lasted for long. His grandmother didn’t even get to rip into Fudge properly because a few weeks later, Voldemort revealed himself in response to a large, coordinated attack against him.
Neville wasn’t sure of the specifics but hundreds of enhanced werewolves – which called themselves Lycans – attacked the homes of known Voldemort supporters from the first war and massacred them to the last man. Apparently, there was this bombing in a town called Little Hangleton that really messed the monster up. There were rumours that most of his inner circle were dead. Corban Yaxley, Crabbe Senior and Goyle Senior were found dead in their homes, with bite marks and deep scratches all over their bodies, Alecto Carrow was attacked and killed in Knockturn Alley in broad daylight. It didn’t help that the attacks were brazen; the Lycans did not even bother to hide as they killed wizards whose family lines were probably older than the English language. There was also Nott who hadn’t been seen since the attacks started, a few people thought that he’d been assassinated, but there hadn’t been any confirmation. Karkaroff, who Voldemort said had helped him come back, remained with the tournament, probably scared shitless to join his master, especially as his followers dropped like flies.
When Voldemort returned to Britain, he found almost no wizarding support. The few who remained loyal to him were systematically taken out in a way that eerily mirrored his own style of dealing with enemies. Eventually, he was baited into revealing himself in a dramatic attack where he fought the infamous Red Witch—who, to Neville’s surprise, he hadn’t even heard of. She teamed up with a dozen Lycans for an assault on some village called Little Hangleton. Very few of the Lycans survived as Voldemort himself was there, but the Witch fought him long enough that half a village ended up burning to the ground, the flames illuminating the night sky like a funeral pyre. At the end of the day, there was no way Voldemort could hide his return to build up his forces, and he found himself in a difficult position.
It was strange. There weren’t even any wizards in the fighting, though many got caught in the crossfire. Nobody wanted to pick a side, fearing torture and death from either the terrifying Dark Lord or being ripped apart by the endless waves of Lycans. The fear hung thick in the air, suffocating and unyielding, and that atmosphere was mirrored in Hogwarts.
In the end, Voldemort simply brokered an agreement with the Dementors to serve as his army. They quickly left Tartarus, Dumbledore’s prison, without question, since it wasn’t as steeped in suffering as Azkaban before it was destroyed, of course. The sheer desperation and agony that occurred within the fortress was sucked into the castle’s very stones, and it made it a very nice place for Dementors. Tartarus didn’t have any of this, and the dementors obviously hungered. They were put in place by Dumbledore but without the former headmaster, there was very little they could do to make them stay there.
Thankfully, Hogwarts was safe. Well, as safe as it could be. Apparently, McGonagall had activated some very powerful wards that were made in case the castle was attacked. It had taken around two weeks to power them fully, but it literally did not allow anyone to enter or leave the castle. Neville’s Grandmother had insisted that he come to the castle and not stay with the delegation, since that made him a lot safer, and he already performed a task, as it was required by the tournament rules. She bent the rules a bit to make it so that he could leave, and he remained in the castle ever since.
Anyway, Britain had gone to shit in the last few months, and even Harry Potter wouldn’t have been able to fix it, not that he was there. He disappeared somewhere in Durmstrang during the third task. It was widely believed that Voldemort killed him, but no one knew for sure. Greengrass looked inconsolable but didn’t say anything about what happened.
So, wasn’t it a fucking surprise to see him in Hogwarts of all places? During a fucking lockdown, even. That meant that he had been in the castle for months without saying anything, which was even weirder since he said that he was trapped somewhere. The fact that he didn’t even know the basics like Voldemort’s return did give some credence to the matter, but Harry tended to be very tricky. He was dozens of moves ahead of any opponent he faced. Neville stopped trying to understand him a very long time ago.
And so, as Neville explained to him what little he knew of the situation, he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell actually happened to Potter. What sort of magical accident could have ever taken someone like Harry Potter off-guard? He always seemed so invincible, untouchable, even when he was just a first year.
Harry stayed completely silent as Neville finished, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. Finally, he asked, “So, what are you going to do? Are you going to help me fight Voldemort?”
Harry hesitated for a moment, then said, “Tell me again about the Red Witch.”
Neville rolled his eyes. “Why are you so concerned about her? She’s obviously on our side. She’s literally fighting Voldemort.”
“Just humour me. What did she look like?”
“I don’t know! Other than her red hair, no one knows what she looks like. That could just be a charm to make her hair pop or something.”
Harry frowned, his brow furrowing in thought. “What about her motivations? Did she attack anyone other than Voldemort and his forces?”
“Oddly enough, yeah. There were a few ministry officials who died too, and a few Wizengamot members from across all sides. But she wasn’t there, it was just the Lycans, and no one really knows what they can do. I remember hearing that Dolores Umbridge, the minister’s own undersecretary was a casualty, which isn’t really that surprising considering how much she hurt werewolves with her proposed bills. The extra measures that business owners had to go through to legally hire a werewolf, as well as the expenses necessary, made it impossible for one to get a job anywhere. Fudge’s administration has been going to shit with every attack, not that anyone really cares about politics right now. People just want to be safe.”
Harry looked thoughtful. “So she’s using this chaos to clean house and remove her main opposition. I hoped I could have stopped her, at least.”
“Yeah, a lot of people have been caught in the crossfire between her forces and Voldemort’s. All the Ministry can do is try to contain it while hiding everything from Muggles. Fudge refuses to deploy the Aurors, insisting they protect wizarding settlements instead. It’s a total stalemate. Voldemort doesn’t have enough support to wage war beyond his own magical might, and the Red Witch obviously can’t beat him or else she would have already done it during the attack; he’s literally never been so vulnerable. Sending more forces always ends up with Voldemort killing them. She just targets anyone that even thinks about joining him.”
Neville noticed that Harry looked quickly at his scar. It was barely for a fraction of a second, but it made him flinch. His scar was proof that as long as he lived, as long as it existed, then Voldemort couldn’t die. It was a horrible prospect, one that he hoped would have been solved by the time Voldemort returned. But it hadn’t, and now he was faced with a choice.
Every day, Neville woke up and saw other students crying over dead family members. Every day, he watched the castle grow darker, hope fading away because of him. Sure, there was no guarantee that the war would end if he were dead, but it sure would make things simpler, it would make the end of the war even closer.
Deciding to change the subject, he spoke up, “Yeah, it’s been a rough few months. At least I killed Voldemort’s snake though. Well, Hermione did, but the look on his face was priceless. Apparently, the Unspeakables trained her a bit while she was being healed in the Department of Mysteries. You should have seen her. It was amazing.”
Harry immediately stiffened, “She killed his snake. Are you sure?”
“Yes? She dragged the thing into Fiendfyre. I don’t know anything that could survive that.”
“I suppose it was only right. Things have changed a lot. But enough of that. Tell me about Daphne. What happened to her?”
Well, that made a lot more sense. Greengrass and Potter were close, honestly, they were a bit closer than most of the students who were in a relationship.
There would have probably been a pool on when they’d get together, if everyone wasn’t scared shitless of Potter getting offended, “Greengrass? She’s not in the castle. She was inconsolable back in Durmstrang. No one could get through to her. She cried all the time, and her parents got permission from McGonagall to stay home. It was a whole thing since she hadn’t been in any task in the tournament. I think they agreed about her joining a task later or something, but I really don’t know. Her sister was visiting her when the war started, and the wards closed with them outside. I don’t think I heard news about them being attacked and I overheard Davis and Zabini talk about her sometimes. I think they’re in contact, but I’m not really sure since I don’t think either of them could really bypass Hogwarts’ wards. There were a few that bragged about it, but they’ve mostly been full of bullshit. I don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t been spying on the girl.”
“So, she should be at home?”
“As far as I know. I could be wrong. Like I said, we’re all locked here, and we don’t have any contact with the outside world. And it’s not like you’ll be able to see her either, not until the wards are lifted. I’m sorry, man. I really am.”
The other boy actually snorted at that, before saying, “Yeah, I’ll take my chances. Anyway, I’m off to see Daphne. I need to tell her that I’m alright. By the way, thanks for the help, Neville. Oh, and I’d appreciate it if people don’t know I’m back yet. I have a few things to take care of first.”
“Off to see Daphne? Things to take care of?” Neville responded, feeling incredulous at the thought, “Did you not hear a word I said? We’re all trapped here.”
“Take care of yourself, Neville. Voldemort will come for you. Be ready for him.”
Before Neville could process Harry’s words, dozens of ravens appeared out of nowhere, swirling around him like a dark storm. He reached out, desperate to stop him, but his hands went right through Harry, who vanished along with most of the ravens. Neville looked around, bewildered, but saw no trace of him, only the echo of his words hanging in the air.
Did he seriously know a way past the wards? How? This little act reminded Neville why he sometimes really hated Harry Potter.
But something about the encounter niggled at him slightly. Harry Potter knew about the Red Witch before she ever revealed herself. He knew her enough to be worried about her, to consider her a threat. No, he seemed to dislike her, more than anything. Had she been the one responsible for his disappearance, or were they working together?
He always considered Voldemort to be his greatest enemy. But what if the Red Witch was just as bad? He’d been sympathetic to werewolves before, especially how much they were ostracized. It reminded him of how people turned on him so easily, but what if they weren’t looking for justice? What if they weren’t fighting Voldemort to protect their reign of terror or for some kind of equality?
Shaking his head to clear it, Neville realized he couldn’t shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come. If he was right, then his country was being seized by two hostile forces, and people were dying, not for some grand purpose like saving magical Britain, but for conquest, pure and simple. For some reason, that was even worse than a fight between good and bad, between a monster and the people.
He sincerely hoped that he was wrong.
AN: I'll be completely honest. I wrote that while I was in a hurry. There's been a bit of a crisis at work and I had to squeeze in every opportunity to write it. You'll probably find the pacing to be a bit rushed. To be honest, I didn't want to focus too much on Neville and span this into multiple chapters. The next chapter will be the reunion with Daphne, so you won't have to wait for that for long. Anyway, about this chapter, please tell me what you think is wrong, so that I'll be able to fix it (either tonight or tomorrow depending on how work goes). As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
