“Harry? W-w-was it him? I thought it was him, but then he can’t be, he wouldn’t be caught dead in my father’s company.” Celeste’s eyes fluttered up in confusion at his ironic snort. She, of course, couldn’t know the ironic accuracy of her wording: Harry was being caught dead, or rather pretending to be dead in her father’s company and was lucky to do so if Neville was correctly interpreting what he’d overheard the night that fudge had crashed the Hogwarts celebration looking for Harry.

He knew that it wasn’t safe, or his job, to give her the truth, but somehow – Neville felt it was impermissible for her to think so harshly about her father when he was doing so much for Harry.

“As a matter of fact, he is. I’m Neville Longbottom… a mate of Harry’s and of late a Professor at Hogwarts. But, look, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Why? The war’s over isn’t it?”

“For everyone else, yeah, but Harry’s never been that lucky. There’s someone in the Ministry, or rather a couple of someones, who have it out for him, and were willing to kill everyone Harry cared about just to get to him. They even planned to blame it on some unnamed death eaters making a revenge attack. Your Da’ helped him get away and pull the cloak over the Ministry’s eyes, so they wouldn’t know that they still needed to look for him.”

Her expression flared with alarm as she grabbed his hand.

“You can’t trust him. He’s a death eater, everyone in his family is. Pureblood, inbred bigots who only know how to hate. They hate muggles and half-bloods… and everything that Harry Potter stands for. He’s not safe here.” She warned in a harsh, urgent whisper.

Neville couldn’t keep from staring at her in shock, wondering how she could even think that about her own Da’. Even if he’d kept it a secret from her so that she couldn’t accidentally jeopardize his war efforts, she should have known her own father better than that. Remembering the way her father had watched her as they waited for her to come back to consciousness, Neville suddenly realized that there was a very real possibility that she knew nothing about her father. The former potions professor had been watching her with intensely puzzled concern as though he really wasn’t even how much he should be worried.

“Look. You’re wrong about your D- your father. No!” He interrupted quickly when she began to protest. “At most, you’ve probably seen your father a couple of times out of the year – maybe not even a month or more, but for the last thirteen years, I’ve seen him the rest of the year. During that time, I’ve some how managed to be witness a number of his best and worst traits…his best and worst moments. When he seemed to have betrayed the light by killing Dumbledore – he was forced into seclusion, persecuted, hated, and nearly killed so that he could protect the secret that Dumbledore was still alive preparing for the final battle, he was dragged into Voldemort’s dungeon’s and tortured for days but didn’t give up that secret or Harry’s location. I was there. I saw how much he suffered when he could have avoided their suspicion and protected himself by revealing either. If he had been inclined to betray Harry, that’s when he would have done it.”

Watching her eyes widen in surprise, he waited for his first argument to sink in, knowing somehow that it wouldn’t be quite enough. He almost hesitated to continue, but he knew that his reluctant mentor would probably never divulge the most telling detail that undermined her opinion. With that in mind he continued, “Of the many things that I have learned about your father, I think the three most important have been that he is an intensely proud, difficult, and angry man; he never defends himself (even when he was overly justified in his actions); and he never shares more information than is absolutely necessary to the situation. Because of those traits, I’m almost positive that he won’t tell you this, but I think you need to know.  Among the many mistaken things that you have said about him one of the easiest to correct is your belief that he is a pureblood – he’s not, and he’s not a hypocrite either. He’s not an easy, or always likeable man, but he’s not what you’ve said either. If you give him a chance, you’ll see that for yourself.”

Watching her eyes, Neville waited for her to digest both statements, and sighed when he caught the flare of rebellious certainty light her eyes. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected her to be swayed this easily. Didn’t those fathomless obsidian eyes prove that she was Snape’s child. What on earth made him think that she would be any less stubborn or Slytherin than her father?

“Look, you don’t have to believe me or agree with it; just be aware of the possibility that you might be mistaken, so you don’t pull another stunt like this and hurt someone else. Harry won’t be able to save you or them next time.”

“What? Why? Is he … ill?” Her voice cracked with anxiety as she realized why Harry might be ill, but the sympathy that he’d had for her earlier evaporated as he thought about the person laying in the next room.

“No, he’s not ill…” Neville’s voice dropped to a tight, half-swallowed whisper, “At the moment, he’s trying to survive the effects of dragon’s blood poisoning. He’s descending into more pain than I can even imagine, and he’s got a very small chance of coming out of it. I can-t talk about him – not now, not with you. I’ll get your mum, but I – I need to be with Harry.”

Escaping her side, Neville turned and stumbled to a halt in astonishment and distress. Professor Snape and his wife were standing in the doorway staring at him with mixed looks of alarm, resentment, and anger.

“Outside!”

Nodding, Neville stopped just inside the door to comment, “I’ll be with Harry,” then passed between them as they barely parted to give him room.