Legillimens

"I would rather be defiled by house-elves!"

"Really, Severus, must you be so melodramatic?" She eyed him coldly and he returned the stare in kind.

"Minerva, do you honestly think that gormless half-wit is even semi-capable of learning such things? Merlin's teeth, he's practically a Squib!"

McGonagall drew herself up to her full height.

"Five years ago that…SQUIB saved Harry Potter's life and goodness only knows who else's down in the bowels of the Ministry. LONG before the likes of you showed up, I might add."

After a moment she softened, "Severus, there are many of us among the Order who think that Mr. Longbottom has a wealth of talent that is yet….undiscovered."

Snape looked unconvinced.

"You haven't even seen him in three years," she continued. "Just meet with him and see if you think there's any hope there."

She touched his shoulder imploringly, "Please, Severus, do it for me."

Snape sighed. How could he argue with that? Minerva was probably the sweetest (yet toughest) witch that he knew, and although he thought she was way off-track on this, he at least owed her an honest effort, regardless of how…distasteful the task at hand might be.

And this is how he found himself waiting in the Potions dungeons for his least favourite (well, maybe second least favourite) student to show up for Legilimency lessons.

When Neville finally arrived, Snape paused for a moment before greeting him. Three years had made a surprising difference in the youth. He was a full head taller, giving him a couple of inches on Snape, but most striking of all was how that height had stretched out his entire frame, making him much leaner as well. He still retained the chubby cheeks that were legendary amongst the Longbottoms (from both sides of the family) and he still walked in a self-conscious, hunched over manner (also a Longbottom legacy) but, all in all, he was a much different person.

"Mr. Longbottom, I see that punctuality is still not your strong suit?"

Neville gave a shy smile and walked over to Snape, his hand tentatively extended.

"Professor. Th...thank you for agreeing to see me."

Snape ignored the offered hand and instead crossed his arms over his chest.

"Trust me when I tell you, it is not due to sentimental nostalgia on my part."

Neville gulped. Three years of distance did nothing to quell his old fears of Professor Snape.

"Yes, sir…I mean…No, of course not, sir. I…I expect this is somewhat of an inconvenience for you. I just want you to know that I appreciate your…help."

"Yes, well we shall see, shan't we?" Snape motioned for Neville to sit and then sat across from him so that they faced each other, knees almost touching. "Tell me what you have managed to accomplish so far." He motioned to his head, with a small flourish, to indicate Legilimency.

"Well, it's mostly been sort of by accident so far."

"Shocking."

Snape did not look surprised.

After a moment, Neville continued.

"Well, some mates and I were out for a pint at the pub, and well…I had to, uh, relieve myself, so I uh, well, I went in to use the loo, and the fellow beside me started talking to me."

Snape's eyes glazed over with sheer boredom.

"Except," he continued, "that he wasn't actually talking to me. I mean, he wasn't moving his mouth. There was no one else in the room, just me and him, and I guess I could sort of… uh, read his mind, I suppose."

"And what exactly did you see? His laundry list? Him thinking about his wife. Or girlfriend. Or both?"

Neville shook his head. "No, Professor, that's the thing. He was thinking about killing someone."

The glazed look left Snape's eyes and he sat up a bit straighter.

"So I followed him out and I watched him all night, but nothing happened. When I asked my mates about him, they told me he was Bartholomew Henwin."

Snape's face flashed with recognition and intrigue.

"Yes, he was just recently released from Azkaban. Sentence overturned, from what I hear."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Neville. "When I heard about whom he'd killed…and why, it was precisely what I heard him 'talking' about in the men's room."

Snape thought a moment. "And you're sure you hadn't heard this, or read about it somewhere else?"

"Well," Neville went on carefully, "I don't think so. I mean, of course I heard
about the murder, but no details really. Just that it happened." He looked into Snape's dark eyes. "But this was like a daydream of them playing in my mind." He looked away from Snape to the cauldrons bubbling on the counter. "A terrible…real…dream."

"What exactly did you see, boy?"

Neville shifted in his chair, obviously uncomfortable.

"I don't think, uh, I don't think I can talk about it, sir."

Snape pursed his lips and Neville shrank under his gaze.

"Come now, Mr. Longbottom. If you want to receive my assistance on these matters, you're going to have to cooperate with me fully." Neville shifted again, but continued.

"Okay, uh, I mean," Neville sighed as he shifted and after collecting his thoughts, he continued. "He killed her, of course, but it wasn't just that. He was…just so mean about it. I mean, not that killing someone is ever nice or anything ….but it was almost like he…enjoyed it."

"Tell me what you saw, boy."

"Okay. They were in a room together, in a house, I think. Her house. And she was doing something. Cooking? And he was behind her, and sort of came up and grabbed her. And she screamed….and then laughed, 'cause I guess she knew him, and thought he was joking, except he wasn't. Then he pushed her up against the wall, and she was still sort of laughing, but I guess he was sort of hurting her, you know, where he was holding her arms, so she started getting a bit mad and saying, like, 'Okay that's enough, knock it off already,' and stuff... but he didn't, and I could see, I mean HE could see that she was starting to get scared. And he liked it. I mean….he REALLY liked it."

Neville nodded towards his own crotch to convey his message. Snape suppressed a snicker at the boy's sober earnestness and nodded for him to go on.

"Well, er, he wasn't there to…uh, rape her, although the thought did cross his mind. He was supposed to get some information from her, but the thing was… he KNEW she didn't have it. He…t..tortured her and tormented her, and the whole time he knew damn well that she couldn't tell him, because she didn't know!"

Neville shook and his lip trembled with the horrible truth of it.

"So," he continued, "after beating her, and terrorizing her, apparently just for the hell of it, he wrapped his hands around her neck…and strangled her….like a Muggle! And the thing of it is, he had his wand with him. He could have killed her with a hex, or a spell, but he did it with his hands because he LIKED the way it felt. He WANTED to see how it would feel to have her die under his touch." His own hands were curled in front of him and when he finished speaking, he dropped them self-consciously onto his lap.

Snape considered him for a moment, then asked, "And did he seem to notice that you were in his mind?"

"No! Not at all! I mean, I was sort of freaked out, you know? Because, I thought maybe he was talking to me at first and all, but he didn't even acknowledge that I was there." Snape looked perplexed.

"Very odd." He thought another moment, but then only added again, "yes, very odd indeed."

When he did not explain further, Neville gently prodded him.

"Sir?"

Snape looked up, torn from his own private thoughts.

"Sir? What is very odd?"

Snape sighed impatiently. He would obviously have to explain everything to Neville Longbottom.

"Well, traditionally, when Legilimency is performed, the 'recipient' of the mind reading is, well, more than aware of it happening. It is usually an invasive and unpleasant experience. It seems that you were somehow able to look into that man's mind without his knowledge." He paused for a moment. "Was he exceedingly drunk?"

Neville thought back to that night. "No, I don't think so. I mean, he wasn't staggering around or anything."

"Interesting," was all that Snape would say. They sat in silence for what seemed an eternity, then Snape said sharply, "Do me."

Neville jumped.

"You m..mean-"

Snape sighed impatiently, "Yes, Longbottom, perform Legilimency on me."

"But I don't-"

"Do it!"

Snape stood and Neville jumped up, knocking his chair with the backs of his knees and sending it skidding across the floor. He grinned and shrugged, embarrassed.

"Now," Snape said, "I'm not going to use my wand or any other means of defense. Just concentrate on reading my thoughts. Ready?"

Neville nodded enthusiastically. He raised his wand, pointed it at Snape and yelled.

"LEGILIMENS"

Snape ducked slightly, from the force of the spell, and it shot past him, over his left shoulder and exploded a cauldron behind him, its purple contents splashing across the counter and on to the floor.

"The purpose of a wand, Mr. Longbottom," Snape hissed, "is to direct and channel your power. You may as well be holding a fistful of Thidwick jelly, the way you focus…or don't."

Neville pointed his wand again at Snape's head but this time, slowly, carefully said, "Legilimens."

The Potions dungeon swam before him, then vanished. It was suddenly very dark and damp and when Neville's eyes adjusted he could see that he was in a dark cavity, standing waist deep in something wet. He ran a finger through the thick liquid and it swirled around his hand in delicate silver threads. Underneath the fluid, an assortment of shadowy rocks were scattered about, glistening in the near darkness. Neville reached down, grabbed a stone from the silky fluid and held it to his head. Slowly, it opened before him and he was jettisoned into Snape's bedroom chamber.

It was lush and plush with cushions framing the bed and rich curtains across the rough-hewn windows and draping the bed as a canopy. Neville was quite surprised. He hadn't spent a lot of time imagining Snape's bedroom but had just assumed that it would be more befitting a monk than an emperor.

Snape lay on the bed, the blankets twisted and disheveled around him. He rolled onto his stomach, paused a moment, then flipped over onto his back again. He closed his eyes for a second and then, with a loud sigh, threw off the covers and leapt nimbly from the bed. He grabbed a parchment and quill from his nightstand, frantically scribbled a few inches, then threw down the quill and crawled back into bed, pulling the covers up to his nose.

Then Neville was back in the murky water, and then dragged, seemingly backwards, into the Potions room, facing the real Snape. He sat up straight and smiled at the Potions professor, quite proud of himself. Snape regarded him a full minute before speaking.

"That was brilliant, Longbottom, you really do excel at the mundane."

Neville's smile evaporated.

"Any first-year could have accomplished such an impressively underwhelming feat. Kindly try again, and this time, find something that I actually give a whit about."

"B..but I can't…I don't know how, Professor."

Snape held his breath, apparently also trying to hold his temper. "Fine, I will do it to you, and *hopefully* you will gain some insight from the experience."

"Are…are you going to be looking for things I don't want YOU to see?"

Snape regarded the boy.

"Mr. Longbottom, I'm quite sure there is absolutely NOTHING that I would like to see in your thick, thick head."

Neville wasn't sure if he found this reassuring or not.

"Okay, sir. Go ahead, pick my brain."

Snape smiled in a decidedly unfriendly way.

"It will be somewhat preferable to picking your nose, although I rather doubt it will yield anything more…substantial."

Neville closed his eyes as Snape raised his wand to the boy and whispered, "Legilimens."

Snippets of memories spun through Neville's head, giving the distinct feeling of someone rifling through his mental drawers or perhaps flipping through a book of his mind, searching for a specific passage.

Being laughed at in school…

Receiving a tongue-lashing from Filch…

Falling asleep in History of Magic…

Visiting his parents at St. Mungo's…

Receiving a present from his Gran…

His Gran…his Gran….

It was his Gran's birthday, and the party had been 'right smart' (according to his dad). A great gathering of family in the garden with cake and balloons and his mum's famous lemonade, thick with sweet chunks of pineapple and strawberries, but tart enough to pucker even Dad's lips.

Cousin Monty had conjured up very clever bubbles in the shapes of jungle animals. When the iridescent elephants and lions and zebras would finally catch on a bit of tree branch or even Gran's big vulture-topped hat, they would pop with a roar or trumpet or whatever else it was that they were supposed to sound like. All the kids would run away, as if for their lives, squealing and giggling the whole time.

Neville spent much of the time perched on his mothers lap. He liked the other kids but was a bit timid and preferred to stay close to her, helping out where he could. This usually irked Gran a bit. She felt him to be a nervous, awkward boy, but today was a special day and her focus was on the guests, not Neville.

Eventually, the sun began to set and the temperature in the garden cooled off, so the remaining guests came inside for tea and the last of the cake. Neville took his piece with him under the table, amongst the many pairs of feet, and ate it there, playing with his wooden pull-a-dragon. He had named it Bracken, and she was a fierce and protective dragon. Only he could play with her without being burnt to a crisp (or so he pretended) and she would watch over him while he slept, protecting his bedroom from all manner of frightening creatures.

One by one, the pairs of feet disappeared and eventually he was alone under there. His mother had charmed the dishes to wash themselves while she and his father spoke quietly about relatives, and who was doing what now, and where so-and-so had moved. Neville put his head down on the soft rug, closed his eyes and fell promptly asleep.

It was some time later when a loud 'Pop!' followed closely by a second one woke Neville up. He had been dreaming about the bubbles, shimmering and trembling as they floated past him, up through the trees. He sat up suddenly, confused. This wasn't his bed, or his room. There were voices in the hall and some muffled yelling coming from his parents' room.

Oh, right. He was under the dining room table. He grabbed Bracken the dragon, and peeked out from under the tablecloth. There were sparks and flashes of light coming from the bedroom hallway. Stifled shouts of 'Expelliarmus' and other indecipherable curses met his ears, and Neville realized, as much as any two, almost three year old might, what was happening. His parents were fighting the bad guys. He clutched Bracken to his chest and backed up under the table so as not to be seen.

He knew his parents were Aurors, whatever that meant, and he knew they were the 'good' guys, but beyond that was a mystery. He wondered if he should go out there and help them, but his mother had told him on more than one occasion, that if he was ever lost, scared or in trouble, he should stay put and wait for a trusted adult to help him. Well, he wasn't lost, but he was certainly scared and possibly in trouble, so he sat tight, knees drawn up to his chest, holding Bracken in front of him like a talisman. It was simple. He would just wait until his parents made these people leave.

Then the world got very confusing.


The battle moved into the living room and with it came shouts and screaming, with fire balls and crashing dishes. Neville could mostly only see feet. There was much shuffling and running around as curses and hexes were sent and rebuked. Pictures were flung from the walls by misaimed spells and bits of broken china figures lay strewn about. Boy, mum was sure going to be angry about that. She had given Neville a Very Strong Talking To the one time that he had accidentally broken the arm off of a young porcelain lady who was holding up a mirror to admire herself.

His dad had done a pretty good 'Reparo' charm on her, but Neville felt he could still see where the arm had come off and been reattached. His dad even let him try some simple charms sometimes and, occasionally, they even worked! He could do a simple 'Lumos' with his dad's wand and was even allowed to hold it when they walked around the garden at night, shooing away the gnomes. His mum taught him to "clean" anything that he might spill in the kitchen, and he quite enjoyed 'washing' the windows as well.

There was a loud bang on the table above him, and Neville shrank back against the far side, near the chairs. There was quite a struggle going on above him, and Neville closed his eyes and covered his ears as best he could while still holding tight to Bracken. Another loud crash, this one right beside him, and Neville turned to look. It was his mom. She was lying on the floor, half under the table, eyes to the ceiling. She was shivering and shaking like a funny windup toy that Neville had, except it wasn't funny at all seeing his mum that way.

As her arms and legs flailed about, drumming an odd pattern on the floor, she turned her head slightly and looked at her son. Neville scrunched up his face and tried to not cry, but seeing his mum bouncing all over the place, clearly not in control of her own body, was Scary As All Heck. He wanted to go to her, to give her a hug, to make those horrible people go away. He made to get up and his mum caught his gaze; the look in her eyes made him sink back to the floor. She was still convulsing and flopping about, but her eyes stayed on him and she gave him a small wink. Neville reached out to touch her hand, but it was near impossible to catch. Suddenly, it flicked towards him and the palm opened revealing her wand. It rolled to the floor and her hand jerked back, bucking and bouncing as it had before.

Neville grabbed the wand and held it tightly in his small fist. He looked to his mum again and, with much effort, she smiled. A tear, tinged red with blood, slipped from one eye; he reached over her convulsing body and wiped it away. She grabbed at his hand, but missed, her madly shaking arm lacking control. Neville grasped her hand in his and squeezed. Hard. She squeezed back as best she could, then spoke to him. It was barely a whisper, more a mouthing of words, but he understood. It was something that both his parents had spoken about to him on many occasions. It was What He Was To Do in an emergency like this. "Do it," she mouthed. Neville nodded, tears now flowing freely down his face. Despite her mutinous body, her eyes stayed locked with his. "Do it," she repeated, urgency in her whispered voice. Neville couldn't stop his tears.

"I will, Mum." He whispered back, his vision doubled and tripled with tears.

He sat back from her and put her wand up in front of his face. She nodded her approval and Neville waved the wand up and down in front of him. Not taking his eyes from her, he whispered.

"Protego."

The charm set up a protective layer around the boy and helped to shield him from harm. Neville's mother watched as the spell took shape, making her son almost melt into the shadows around him, and then, with much effort, she rolled out from under the table and shakily crawled to face the intruders. There were more screams and eye-searing flashes of light. Neville clutched his dragon and his mother's wand and waited. The house fell silent around him, and still he sat beneath the table and waited.

At dawn, when there was no help forthcoming, he took his mother's wand and walked out to the garden, careful to give the bodies and the wreckage a wide berth. If he didn't look at them, then maybe it would still be okay. He found a patch of dirt that was just beginning to be warmed by the sun and sat down cross-legged to wait for his Gran.


The floor was cold and a bit damp. Neville dragged his face across the stone, trying to get his arms under him so he could get up. Someone grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him to a standing position. He staggered a bit, but managed to keep his footing. When he looked up and saw Snape standing in front of him, the memory of his parents came flooding back and he choked back some tears.

"Longbottom, don't dissolve into emotions on me. There is nothing I hate more than sniveling and blubbering." Snape said the words, but there was no bite behind them, and his hand remained on Neville's shoulder a beat longer than it might have otherwise.

Neville swiped at his eyes and tried to compose himself. Snape waited uncomfortably, apparently finding the far wall of the Potions room extremely interesting. When Neville had himself under control, he cleared his throat and stepped back, wand at the ready.

"I think we've done quite enough today, Mr. Longbottom. Perhaps we can try again tomorrow evening?"

Neville nodded, relieved. Snape busied himself, cleaning up the exploded cauldron with a flick of his wand. Neville gathered his things and headed to the door, but stopped short.

"Sir? Professor? I don't have many memories of my mum. Er…Do you think that perhaps we could…you could try that again?"

"Goodnight, Mr. Longbottom. I will see you tomorrow."

Neville smiled to himself.

"Goodnight, Sir."