189 Chapter 189: Of Desperate Vultures

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17 February 1994, Hogwarts

Harry sat on the ground, his back against the sturdy trunk of the ancient tree, its gnarled roots sprawled around them like protective arms. The tome he held was thick and covered in aged leather, its pages yellowed with time and filled with intricate runes that seemed to dance under his gaze. Beside him, Daphne lay comfortably on her stomach, her book propped up on a small mound of grass. Her blonde hair spilt over her shoulders, occasionally catching the weak sunlight that managed to filter through the leafless branches above. They had decided to spend the afternoon there since they were done with their duels for the day and their friends obviously wanted some privacy.

The Black Lake stretched out before them, its surface a mix of melting ice and cold, dark water. It reflected the pale winter sky, broken only by the occasional ripple from a creature lurking beneath. The once icy shore was now a slushy mix of snow and mud, signalling the slow but sure arrival of spring. In the distance, the Hogwarts castle stood majestic and imposing, its many windows glinting in the light.

Winter was slowly being turned into spring and the castle was especially beautiful during that time. Nevertheless, the cold's presence was still felt, the air still crisp and chilly. Despite the cold, the runic matrix Harry had crafted created a bubble of warmth around them. The fresh scent of pine and damp earth mingled with the magic, creating an atmosphere of comfort and tranquillity.

Unfortunately, Harry's mind did not share this tranquillity. What was currently happening with Neville Longbottom was bothering him immensely. He didn't really like the Gryffindor boy, not really. He was clingy, still had an undercurrent of arrogance, and unearned pride. He was foolish, had a very narrow view of the world, and just didn't appreciate magic in the way Harry did. It wasn't anything personal, just a clash of two personalities.

But no one deserved what the boy was experiencing. No one deserved to have the whispers of Voldemort's Horcrux in the back of their head. Why did they have to unlock his crest? No, the Longbottom family wasn't to blame; most of it lay on Dumbledore's head. He should have told them about the true nature of the scar, or at least alluded to it so that they wouldn't jeopardize Neville's mental state and risk him being possessed by unlocking their family crest.

And considering the fact that Harry had come to a dead end when it came to his research in his multi-dimensional magic, he tried to be productive with his time by looking for a way to help Longbottom. For some reason, any academic work on multiple dimensions was only theoretical in nature or happened by studying standardized spells like Fiendfyre. Considering how dangerous those spells were and how little results they got from their research, Harry was very leery about casting them in a magically rich environment. He wasn't that desperate. Yet.

And so, he busied himself trying to find more research on magical circuits. He still couldn't find anything concrete on crests; every single one behaved differently, but Harry knew that crests attached themselves to a person's magical circuits, sort of like a control node, ready to be activated and used to cast spells inside. He thought about theoretically finding the connection with the Horcrux and cutting off the circuits connected to it, essentially cutting it off entirely from Neville's magic in any way.

Unfortunately, the risk of crippling Neville or magically neutering him would be too high. Harry didn't have access to the knowledge healers had regarding circuits, so they probably would know a lot more about how to treat Neville's condition. Still, the young Slytherin just couldn't help himself to see a solution by himself.

And it grated him that he didn't find any. Harry growled in frustration, and Daphne tried to comfort him by patting his shoulder, "You need to stop blaming yourself for what happened to Neville. You weren't involved at all."

"I know it's not my fault, but I should have seen it. I spent two hours a week with him for fuck's sake. The jump in ability, his unstable temper, they were all signs, and I should have realized what was happening. I should have been objective, but I felt too guilty about what happened last year and willfully closed my eyes to the truth and Warrington almost died for that…"

"Harry Potter! You are not responsible for Neville's actions. You made a mistake, maybe, but it's not your job to look after Neville. It should have been his family's or his head of house. Hell, it should have been Dumbledore coming forward. And look at what he's doing now. He's so caught up in his damage control that he didn't even care enough to make sure his 'successor' was alright. You are not responsible for his negligence…"

Harry gritted his teeth, "I know. But it's something logical, alright?"

The blonde wouldn't let it go, though, "You need to relax. You've been driving yourself spare this year. Hell, you weren't this stressed last year and there was a Basilisk roaming around in the school. You did the best you could. You told Neville to speak to his family, to see a healer, or even to go to Dumbledore. Let them handle the rest and focus on you…"

"I guess you have a point there. It's just… It's hard to stop caring once you start."

"I know. Merlin knows I worry all the time about Astoria. And you were the one who told me to not burn myself out. Now, it's your need to take a break… Come on, let's go back to the castle. We skipped lunch so we may as well go to the kitchens. Afterwards, we'll play a little chess, just the two of us."

Harry gave her an exasperated yet fond smile, "You're relentless, you know that, right?"

"And proud of it. I had to be to get my sister to do anything," she returned with a cheeky smile. Harry stood up and pulled her up. With a wave of his wand, he packed all their things into his expanded bag, and they strolled towards the castle.

"You know," Daphne started, "I was thinking about looking around the Room of Requirements to start my healing training, at least get a leg up before my OWLS."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "I thought you just said something about breaks."

She punched him in the shoulder, "Come on, just answer the damn question."

"Well, as far as I know, the beginner healing classes for NEWTS aren't that extensive. The spells aren't that difficult and are basic at best. I guess you could learn them, but the books should be publicly found in the library. If you're talking about real healing tomes, then you're out of luck. The Room of Requirements, as amazing as it is, is far more limited than it appears to be."

"How so," she answered with raised eyebrows.

"I guess I never really explained the limits of the room to you, have I? The room would be more aptly named the 'Room of Illusions' than anything else. Everything you see there is made with some kind of transfiguration, expansion charms, and illusions. The books that you can conjure inside are either doubled from the main school library, and that's only books without the added protections to prevent them from being doubled, or very rarely they're books physically left in the room, without any protections. For example, if it was in a bag, then it wouldn't really count. The chances of getting even a single healing tome, which is considered priceless and whose knowledge was enforced by a guild before Hogwarts was even made, would be immensely small."

The blonde huffed, "So, no healing tomes?"

Harry couldn't help but snort, "No healing tomes."

The rest of the conversation was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice speaking around them, "Excuse me, young man. Can I have a word?"

Turning towards the source of the voice, Harry's eyes fell upon a figure approaching with an air of undeniable authority, that reminded him a bit of Professor McGonagall. She was tall and straight-backed, her posture exuding the kind of stern dignity that demanded respect. Her face, framed by tight curls of silver-grey hair, was lined with age but sharp with intelligence. She was wearing some very expensive robes, and a cane that radiated magic to his Arcane Hearing. On her head sat a vulture-topped hat, a distinctive and somewhat eccentric choice that Harry heard many complaints about during his runes lesson. Of course, it didn't take long for Harry to identify her. This was Augusta Longbottom, Matriarch of house Longbottom, and Neville's grandmother.

Recognizing the seriousness in her demeanour, Harry turned to Daphne and said, "I'll meet you in the castle, okay?" Daphne nodded, casting a curious glance towards Augusta before heading towards the castle alone.

"Good evening, Madam Longbottom. Is there anything I can help you with?"

The Longbottom Matriarch gave Harry an appraising look, her sharp eyes seeming to analyze Harry, just as he did her. It was easy to deduce her personality. Stern, proud, yet constantly grieving. Her son's death must have hit her hard and she still mourned him. Her posture was rigid, but not unwelcoming. She obviously considered Harry an unknown but trusted him somewhat, probably because he told Neville to speak to her about his problem.

Finally, after a few seconds of silence, she nodded to herself, a small murmur escaping her lips, too quiet for Harry to catch. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly, hinting at a rare, unspoken approval, "I saw your performance in the tournament. Quite impressive, especially considering your age."

Harry simply shrugged, "Sometimes a few simple spells can do wonders. I will admit that my last duel made me feel much to be desired."

And he was right. His duel, this morning, was against Crabbe of all people. The boy somehow passed to the second round after defeating Goyle in the first round. Harry didn't even have to do anything but cast a normal stunner which knocked his yearmate unconscious.

The older woman had an intelligent glint in her eyes, "There's no need for false modesty. Most of the more competent people on the stands knew exactly what you were doing. I would advise against making a mockery of Dumbledore, but he didn't give you much of a choice in the matter."

"Yes, his interest in me is quite vexing, but it pales in comparison to his interest in your grandson… I would not want to be in his position."

She stiffened at the mention of Neville for some reason, "Neville did tell me that you were good friends during the holidays."

"I'll be completely honest here. Neville and I were antagonistic towards one another in the first two years of our schooling. It was mostly on his side since he expected me to act in a certain way and was disappointed that I didn't. He apologized at the start of the term, but we are now on friendly terms at most, not actual friends. He doesn't trust me with his secrets, and I don't trust him with my own. The truth is that Neville has been having a hard time in school, nothing serious, but I think he was just lonely."

The older woman pursed her lips, "Your parents, Frank and Alice were good friends in school. I suppose it was foolish of me to hope…"

"There's nothing wrong with hope, Madam Longbottom. Hope is a beautiful thing. The world would stop spinning, and life would have very little meaning without hope…"

"Stop trying to sound like an old man, young Potter. It doesn't suit you. But that's enough time for pleasantries. I don't care about what could have been. Hell, I don't even care about Dumbledore and his constant empty platitudes. For some ungodly reason, you seem to be the boy with the answers, so tell me, Potter, what is happening to Neville? What is happening to my grandson?"

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Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.