![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lomonaaerenTitle: Blood Arts
Pairing: Harry/Neville
Content Notes: Angst, ignores the epilogue
Rating: PG-13
Neville banged with his whole arm against the door of Harry’s little house in Hogsmeade. He waited a second, and then, knowing that he hadn’t given Harry enough time to respond, he knocked again, because fuck if he cared about that right now.
Someone else down the street opened their door and leaned out to complain, but the merest sight of the glare Neville sent down the street made them shut it hastily.
Harry finally opened the door, yawning pointedly. “Yeah, Neville, what—”
Neville shoved his way into the house, and Harry staggered back against the door, closing it, as he turned to stare at him in shock. Neville planted his hands on his hips and glared at Harry. Harry’s jaw firmed after a second, and he straightened up, folding his arms and leaning back against the door as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Yeah, what?” Harry repeated, more aggressively.
Neville stared at him in silence. Harry’s hair was mussed, but that made sense if he’d been sleeping when Neville woke him. His hands were trembling a little, but maybe he’d thought he was being awakened by an attacker. He looked pale, but he often did since the battle, as they all worked as hard as they could on projects like rebuilding Hogwarts and hunting down the remaining Death Eaters.
Neville didn’t believe for a second that those were the real explanations, though.
He took a long stride towards Harry, who straightened up and blinked at him. Neville said simply, “I know it was you.”
“Know it was me, what? Who defeated Voldemort? Good guess,” Harry said, and rolled his eyes. “Since you were there and—”
He yelped as Neville surged towards him and drove him back into the door. Neville rested one hand above Harry’s head, and was satisfied to see his eyes widen. Good. Harry should finally be understanding that things were serious.
“A Healer from St. Mungo’s Flooed me this morning,” Neville said softly.
Harry’s eyes widened, but he stayed silent, even as Neville asked, “Do you know what she wanted to tell me?”
Harry shook his head mutely, but his eyes darted away from Neville’s, just in case Neville needed more proof that it had been him.
“She said my mum and dad were awake,” Neville said, and his voice broke. “As—as good as new. They don’t—remember what happened after that night seventeen years ago, but who could ask them to? They’re back, and they know me, and they know Gran, and they’re weak, but they’ll recover.”
Harry looked up at him hesitantly, lips quirked in a little smile. “That’s great news, Neville.”
Neville nodded, his eyes closing so that he could keep the tears inside. Then he said, “The Healers are calling it a miracle.”
“Well, then I suppose that’s what it is. There aren’t any cases of someone driven mad by the Cruciatus Curse recovering, are there?”
“No.” Neville opened his eyes and leaned closer. Harry was starting to look nervous again. Good. “But it’s strange, the Healer said. Last night, the medwitch on duty in the Janus Thickey Ward felt so tired she simply fell asleep on her chair, and there’s a trace of a strange smell on the air. Copper and salt, they said. Like blood.”
Harry crossed his arms. “Oh?”
“Blood that smelled like Blood Arts,” Neville said, watching him closely. “They brought in an old Healer who practiced in hospital when that magic was still allowed, and she said that must be what it is. But you know the really odd thing?”
“No.”
Neville showed his teeth. Fine, if that’s the way you want to play it. “Blood Arts is magic practiced by mixing blood with other kinds of secretions of the human body,” he said, not looking away from Harry. “It had to be tears, in this case, hence that smell of salt. But tears, while considered the most harmless thing you could use in the Blood Arts besides mother’s milk, wouldn’t have been powerful enough to reverse the damage, they said. So no one thinks it’s Blood Arts that woke my parents up.”
“Then it probably wasn’t.”
“But what I was thinking,” Neville said conversationally, “is that tears and Blood Arts might have been powerful enough if something else was added to them. Something like a legendary wand, for instance.”
Harry half-slumped. But his eyes were still defiant. “I put the Elder Wand back in Dumbledore’s tomb, you know that, Nev.”
“And that doesn’t prevent you from getting it out again.”
Harry gritted his teeth and stared off to the side for a second. Then he looked back at Neville and said, “Okay, fine. Yes, I healed your parents. Yes, I know it was reckless and I should have asked your permission, but I couldn’t stand to see the look on your face if you knew I was trying and then I failed. I won’t ever interfere with your parents again, I promise. I—”
Neville leaned a little closer. Harry shut up, frowning at him. “Do I look upset, Harry?”
“No,” Harry said slowly. “But you have to be, right? Because I healed your parents, but I didn’t know if it would work, and I used Blood Arts, which I know most people outside the Death Eaters don’t approve of.”
“How did you even know what Blood Arts were?”
“The Elder Wand told me.” Harry grimaced at the look Neville could feel slipping onto his face. “Yeah, I know, that sounds mental. But it really did. It was trying to convince me to keep it and use it, I think.”
“And did you?”
“No. I put it back in Dumbledore’s tomb. I did promise.”
Neville smiled. “And why did you decide that you should heal my parents in the first place?”
Harry avoided his eyes. Neville simply waited. He was good at that, now, after spending most of what should have been his seventh year waiting for news and waiting for the Carrows to pass by and waiting for Harry to return to the school. That last part hadn’t felt like the worst one at the time, but Neville was pretty sure that he would call it that now.
“Look,” Harry said, and stopped. Neville waited. Finally, Harry said in a rush, “I know that this is stupid, but I saw you cut off Nagini’s head, and you were, like, the epitome of a Gryffindor. And I wasn’t able to stop thinking about you, and I saw how patient you were with the younger kids after the battle, and I know you’re going to make a great Auror, much better than I would, and—look, I wanted to make you happy, all right?”
He was practically shouting the last words. Neville leaned a little away from him, and said quietly, “You did.”
“What?” Harry was panting, his eyes blazing, and seemed caught off-guard by what Neville was saying.
“You did make me happy.” Neville ran his hand down Harry’s shoulder, then reached up and gripped both his shoulders at once. “Even though I never would have asked it of you, and using Blood Arts was insanely dangerous and I never want you to do it again.” He shook Harry once, lightly.
“Okay?”
“But there are no words for what I felt when the Healer told me Mum and Dad were up and talking again,” Neville whispered. “When I walked into the room and Mum stared at me and asked if I was her son.” He breathed out. “But no more Blood Arts.”
“All right,” Harry said, still looking puzzled, but with his eyes fastened on Neville’s face as if he thought a clue would appear there for him.
Neville bent his head and kissed Harry, softly, a brush of lips that outlasted the gasp Harry made. Then he drew back and beamed at him.
“What—what was that for?” Harry asked, reaching up to touch his mouth. His hand trembled as he set it on Neville’s shoulder.
“You’re not the only one who’s been looking since the battle,” Neville said softly.
Pairing: Harry/Neville
Content Notes: Angst, ignores the epilogue
Rating: PG-13
Neville banged with his whole arm against the door of Harry’s little house in Hogsmeade. He waited a second, and then, knowing that he hadn’t given Harry enough time to respond, he knocked again, because fuck if he cared about that right now.
Someone else down the street opened their door and leaned out to complain, but the merest sight of the glare Neville sent down the street made them shut it hastily.
Harry finally opened the door, yawning pointedly. “Yeah, Neville, what—”
Neville shoved his way into the house, and Harry staggered back against the door, closing it, as he turned to stare at him in shock. Neville planted his hands on his hips and glared at Harry. Harry’s jaw firmed after a second, and he straightened up, folding his arms and leaning back against the door as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Yeah, what?” Harry repeated, more aggressively.
Neville stared at him in silence. Harry’s hair was mussed, but that made sense if he’d been sleeping when Neville woke him. His hands were trembling a little, but maybe he’d thought he was being awakened by an attacker. He looked pale, but he often did since the battle, as they all worked as hard as they could on projects like rebuilding Hogwarts and hunting down the remaining Death Eaters.
Neville didn’t believe for a second that those were the real explanations, though.
He took a long stride towards Harry, who straightened up and blinked at him. Neville said simply, “I know it was you.”
“Know it was me, what? Who defeated Voldemort? Good guess,” Harry said, and rolled his eyes. “Since you were there and—”
He yelped as Neville surged towards him and drove him back into the door. Neville rested one hand above Harry’s head, and was satisfied to see his eyes widen. Good. Harry should finally be understanding that things were serious.
“A Healer from St. Mungo’s Flooed me this morning,” Neville said softly.
Harry’s eyes widened, but he stayed silent, even as Neville asked, “Do you know what she wanted to tell me?”
Harry shook his head mutely, but his eyes darted away from Neville’s, just in case Neville needed more proof that it had been him.
“She said my mum and dad were awake,” Neville said, and his voice broke. “As—as good as new. They don’t—remember what happened after that night seventeen years ago, but who could ask them to? They’re back, and they know me, and they know Gran, and they’re weak, but they’ll recover.”
Harry looked up at him hesitantly, lips quirked in a little smile. “That’s great news, Neville.”
Neville nodded, his eyes closing so that he could keep the tears inside. Then he said, “The Healers are calling it a miracle.”
“Well, then I suppose that’s what it is. There aren’t any cases of someone driven mad by the Cruciatus Curse recovering, are there?”
“No.” Neville opened his eyes and leaned closer. Harry was starting to look nervous again. Good. “But it’s strange, the Healer said. Last night, the medwitch on duty in the Janus Thickey Ward felt so tired she simply fell asleep on her chair, and there’s a trace of a strange smell on the air. Copper and salt, they said. Like blood.”
Harry crossed his arms. “Oh?”
“Blood that smelled like Blood Arts,” Neville said, watching him closely. “They brought in an old Healer who practiced in hospital when that magic was still allowed, and she said that must be what it is. But you know the really odd thing?”
“No.”
Neville showed his teeth. Fine, if that’s the way you want to play it. “Blood Arts is magic practiced by mixing blood with other kinds of secretions of the human body,” he said, not looking away from Harry. “It had to be tears, in this case, hence that smell of salt. But tears, while considered the most harmless thing you could use in the Blood Arts besides mother’s milk, wouldn’t have been powerful enough to reverse the damage, they said. So no one thinks it’s Blood Arts that woke my parents up.”
“Then it probably wasn’t.”
“But what I was thinking,” Neville said conversationally, “is that tears and Blood Arts might have been powerful enough if something else was added to them. Something like a legendary wand, for instance.”
Harry half-slumped. But his eyes were still defiant. “I put the Elder Wand back in Dumbledore’s tomb, you know that, Nev.”
“And that doesn’t prevent you from getting it out again.”
Harry gritted his teeth and stared off to the side for a second. Then he looked back at Neville and said, “Okay, fine. Yes, I healed your parents. Yes, I know it was reckless and I should have asked your permission, but I couldn’t stand to see the look on your face if you knew I was trying and then I failed. I won’t ever interfere with your parents again, I promise. I—”
Neville leaned a little closer. Harry shut up, frowning at him. “Do I look upset, Harry?”
“No,” Harry said slowly. “But you have to be, right? Because I healed your parents, but I didn’t know if it would work, and I used Blood Arts, which I know most people outside the Death Eaters don’t approve of.”
“How did you even know what Blood Arts were?”
“The Elder Wand told me.” Harry grimaced at the look Neville could feel slipping onto his face. “Yeah, I know, that sounds mental. But it really did. It was trying to convince me to keep it and use it, I think.”
“And did you?”
“No. I put it back in Dumbledore’s tomb. I did promise.”
Neville smiled. “And why did you decide that you should heal my parents in the first place?”
Harry avoided his eyes. Neville simply waited. He was good at that, now, after spending most of what should have been his seventh year waiting for news and waiting for the Carrows to pass by and waiting for Harry to return to the school. That last part hadn’t felt like the worst one at the time, but Neville was pretty sure that he would call it that now.
“Look,” Harry said, and stopped. Neville waited. Finally, Harry said in a rush, “I know that this is stupid, but I saw you cut off Nagini’s head, and you were, like, the epitome of a Gryffindor. And I wasn’t able to stop thinking about you, and I saw how patient you were with the younger kids after the battle, and I know you’re going to make a great Auror, much better than I would, and—look, I wanted to make you happy, all right?”
He was practically shouting the last words. Neville leaned a little away from him, and said quietly, “You did.”
“What?” Harry was panting, his eyes blazing, and seemed caught off-guard by what Neville was saying.
“You did make me happy.” Neville ran his hand down Harry’s shoulder, then reached up and gripped both his shoulders at once. “Even though I never would have asked it of you, and using Blood Arts was insanely dangerous and I never want you to do it again.” He shook Harry once, lightly.
“Okay?”
“But there are no words for what I felt when the Healer told me Mum and Dad were up and talking again,” Neville whispered. “When I walked into the room and Mum stared at me and asked if I was her son.” He breathed out. “But no more Blood Arts.”
“All right,” Harry said, still looking puzzled, but with his eyes fastened on Neville’s face as if he thought a clue would appear there for him.
Neville bent his head and kissed Harry, softly, a brush of lips that outlasted the gasp Harry made. Then he drew back and beamed at him.
“What—what was that for?” Harry asked, reaching up to touch his mouth. His hand trembled as he set it on Neville’s shoulder.
“You’re not the only one who’s been looking since the battle,” Neville said softly.
