Trust
Part 1 of 4 – The Spy
The young man at the age of twenty rubbed his hands along his exposed arms. The air was bitterly cold inside the small abandoned shack, but at least they were sheltered from the wind outside.
“How much longer do we have to wait?” he asked his friend as he breathed warm air over his stiffening hands.
“Not much longer,” Harry Potter replied. “You're sure you're ready for this, Neville?”
“Even if I weren't,” He began, cursing himself for not bringing his cloak, “I would still be doing it, so what does it matter?” Another shiver went down his spine, but it wasn't from the cold. To think, he, Neville Longbottom, the son of Frank and Alice Longbottom, would have a dark mark on his arm that night.
Harry said nothing. This remark was not one that his classmate would have made were they back at Hogwarts. The few years after their graduation had been long and hard, and Neville certainly showed it. The once round-faced, plump boy had slimmed down, his face bearing a sunken, hollowed look. Neville was, like many of his Gryffindor classmates, an active member of the Order of the Phoenix. It had been a long time since the Order's spy had murdered their leader, and the Order had gone long enough without a replacement for the traitor.
For the last two years a young Slytherin named Graham Pritchard has been preparing to join the ranks of the Death Eaters. At the same time, Neville had been learning all he could about the Slytherin. His family history, friends, career aspirations, pets, everything. Memorizing this would have been hard enough, but it wasn't enough. If you wanted to fool the Death Eaters, you had to keep the greatest Legimens in recent history out of your head.
Neville was jolted from his thoughts as the door opened, two young women coming through. One had bushy brown hair sticking out either side of her hood, the other's freckles were visible even in the thick darkness of the now crowded room.
“D'you have it?” Harry asked.
“Yes,” the brunette named Hermione Granger responded, handing a flask to Neville.
“Pritchard is in Mad-Eye's trunk,” The other, Ginny Weasley, said while lifting the hood off her head. “Don't worry about him showing up,” she finished as the flaming red hair that Neville loved came into view once more. He wondered when he would be able to see it again.
“Okay,” Harry said, “Their meeting spot is a few kilometers from here. You know exactly where to go?”
“Yes,” Neville said. Harry then shook his hand, and Hermione and Ginny came forward to embrace him before he left.
“Don't forget this,” Ginny said and pulled the Slytherin's cloak over his shoulders. She then pulled him into another embrace, this one tighter than the last. Neville thanked her sheepishly as he unscrewed the cap from the flask.
“What have I got myself into?” He asked himself, then lifted the flask of polyjuice potion to his lips.
As he neared his destination nearly an hour later, Neville knew what awaited him. He knew that if he did not focus he would be killed straight away. Neville stopped to rest against a tree, hesitating. The thought of having his mind probed, picked at, was absolutely horrifying, even without the secret he was desperately trying to keep hidden. With a heavy reluctance, Neville took in a shaky breath, then continued on.
There was no going back now.
***
“Bring him in,” said the hooded figure near the door. Neville stood and walked forward uneasily. This was it. On either side him stood the Malfoy father and son, Lucius and Draco, both covered in their masks. Behind him was his former professor, Severus Snape, and before him stalked the one he hated most of all, Bellatrix Lestrange.
Knowing what lay ahead, Neville emptied his mind of any thought, feeling, or emotion. This was a particularly difficult feat considering the woman standing before him as good as killed his parents.
“Kneel!” Snape spat, at which the Malfoys shoved him to the ground. Then he appeared, the air seemingly fleeing from the room in fear of being breathed into his lungs. His white skin, that snake-like nose and those red eyes that Neville remembered from years before.
“Look into my eyes...” his voice hissed icily. Neville, his heart filled with immeasurable terror, looked up and into them.
His eyes were more horrible than he remembered. Every move, no matter how slight or minute, was felt inside his head. Neville worked desperately to keep his mind clear. He forced his eyes to stay locked with those cold and merciless red orbs before him.
Then the Dark Lord stood back, eying Neville with a curious expression.
“Draco,” he breathed deleteriously, “where did you find this boy?” Neville knew what was coming. As discretely as possible, his hand enclosed tightly around his wand, which lay concealed in his sleeve.
“My lord,” Draco began, “He was a classmate of mine and he reminded me of me a bit—”
“Clearly,” the Dark Lord almost laughed. “His head is emptier than any other I have seen.” He walked around to face Neville once more and pointed his wand at his throat. “His mind wasn't even worth searching. It was a waste of my time.”
Neville struggled to keep his mind clear in his presence. The tip of his wand coming along his neck to his chin, then followed his jawline along his cheek in an almost playful manner.
But the wand was lifted away.
“But that doesn't mean I may not still use you...” He took Neville's left arm and slid back the sleeve, but was then in excruciating pain. He felt the white hot knife drawing into his arm, ripping through his skin, and then it all stopped.
“Welcome, young Pritchard.” The Dark Lord said as Neville looked down upon his arm.
Underneath the fresh coating of blood lay the mark he remembered from his childhood. The mark that cost him his parents.
Neville looked up from his bloody arm with the brown eyes that were not his. The Dark Lord was still towering over him, a look of satisfaction played across his face.
“Now, Pritchard,” he hissed, “what services or information will you be able to bring me?”
Neville faced his ultimate test at that very moment. He was weak from the marking, but had to keep his mind clear. Tempted though he was to spout the first bit of chicanery from his head, he had to come up with an acceptable answer, and quickly, or face the consequences of the omnipotent being before him.
“I-I have information,” Neville began. “Information about those working against you, my lord.” The Dark Lord's face grew cold as he drew unbearably close to Neville's face.
“The Ministry?” the Dark Lord breathed. Neville felt his cold breath run against his face and smelled a bloody stink on his breath.
“No,” Neville responded. “The Order of the Phoenix.” The Dark Lord considered him for a moment, his eyes darting inside Neville's mind once more. Neville allowed his passage to see what he knew. He knew about new members of the Order; about future plans and positions.
Neville couldn't help but fear for the worst. He kept his right hand enclosed upon his wand. With luck, he might be able to hit Bellatrix Lestrange before the Dark Lord hit him.
But the Dark Lord returned his gaze to the others. He made one last glance around the room, then at Neville. With a swift turn he marched to the entrance from which he came and left them all to ponder their new member.
“Everyone out!” Snape bellowed through the crowded room. Neville stood, cradling his left arm, still bleeding freely. However, just as he was the last to reach the only door, Snape held out an arm to stop him.
“Not you,” he said acidly and with that, slammed the door in his face soon followed by the sound of hundreds of locks latching shut.
Neville turned around to find that the dark ambiance from earlier had changed. The walls were now lined with candles, the room bare save for the crimson curtains on either side of the door behind him. Neville didn't know what to do. His eyes ran marathons around the room, but to no avail. Candelabras, stone wall, velvet curtain. Candelabras, stone wall, velvet curtain. Candelabras, stone —
But then there was smoke.
A thick stream of black smoke seeped inside from between the cracks of the door. The smoke collected in front of Neville as he stood before the door and began to trace out words.
Neither right nor wrong, the barrier will be.
The slightest touch will bring the key.
However, make haste in timing your act,
for soon your veins will be painted black.
Neville worked to memorize it quickly before it dissipated, but the smoke did not leave. It grew thicker and thicker, bringing itself all the more closer to a frightened and confused Neville. But then a bit of the smoke brushed against his bleeding arm and he was once more enveloped in pain. He watched in horror as the crimson became tainted and shaded to a deep violet.
Acting quickly, Neville ran to the other side of the room. The smoke was growing ever more, but at least he prolonged his time to think.
Neither right nor wrong... Neville thought with a grimace. The pain was excruciating. Neville's gaze searched blindly around the room for any kind of clue, but just as before, there was nothing but candelabras, stone wall and the velvet curtain.
Another jolt of pain went up his arm. Neville looked down to his arm once more. Any more and there'll be nothing left. Neville's eyes went wide with shock.
Neither right nor wrong, the barrier will be.
LEFT! he thought.
Neville took one look around the room and found what could be the only left in the room. With a deep breath, he ran forward through the smoke and ripped back the left side of the curtain. Seeing the wall behind it, he began running his hands wildly over the bricks until the brick closest to the door sank within the wall.
After his fingers disappeared into the wall to the second knuckle, the brick stopped. Feeling perplexed, Neville pulled his hand back to be surprised with it pushing back against his fingers. As he withdrew his hand, the brick extended from the wall by a few centimeters, before coming to rest. Neville grabbed it and ran to the other side of the room.
Once out of the smoke, he could see his arm bleeding again, this time in the form of a black, oily liquid dripping down his left arm and covering his hand.
Rubbing the blur from his eyes, Neville examined the brick to find a hole in the opposite end. Inside was a small and raggedy-looking bit of parchment, but before he could pull it out, he let out a harsh cough which left more black liquid in his palm. Then, with a shaky breath, Neville looked down at the parchment.
Those unafraid of their place of rest
worry not to complete this test
For those accepted are true and sure
of what is always the most pure
Your first clue is a negative that always exists,
but may also be a few traitors in our midst.
The second clue may be done with hope,
but is better seen with a muggle from a rope.
The final clue is easy to find
when conquest is kept in mind.
Great, thought Neville. Just hang on...
He reread the first clue, racking his brain. Positive and negative, Neville thought again, good and bad... pro and con! A traitor is a con man! Okay, done with hope... muggle from a rope... Neville coughed the black blood again and shook his head. His eyes were starting to blur and black out.
I'll come back to that... Easy to find with conquest in mind. Victory... Win... He couldn't feel his left arm anymore. Con... Win... Wait, it says “traitors,” so maybe it's 'cons'. His eyes began to tear up. Upon wiping the tears away he found his right hand coated black. Oh God, just hang on... Hang on! Hang! That's it, hang!
Cons... Hang... Win! Of course, what is always the most pure!
“CONSANGUINE!”
Trust by blackhairedweasley
Chapter Notes: The following chapter contains Prompts 1 - 4.