*****

The Past and Pending

Held to the past too aware of the pending
Chill as the dawn breaks and finds us up for sale.
Enter the fog another low road descending
Away from the cold lust, your house and summertime.

It was a small cottage, at least from the outside; its yellow paint cracked and faded. Neville let himself enjoy the morning sunshine for a moment longer before he stepped on to the narrow cobblestone path that was overgrown with thistle and wild carrot. The teapot he carried felt heavier than it should have as he shifted it to grasp the overly large doorknocker, and he nearly lost some of its contents through the spout. He rapped as lightly as possible, to avoid disturbing the hive of bees buzzing nearby.

After a few moments, the door opened to reveal a slight, pale-faced girl with bright, red hair. Neville thought she could not be more than sixteen, though her eyes were as shadowed and weary as his Gran’s. Neither of them spoke.

“Do you–can I help you with something?” the girl said, finally.

“Um. Sorry,” Neville said. “I’m looking for Willow Rosenberg?”

“I’m. Uh. She,” the girl said, haltingly.

“Oh! Hello! ” He took a deep breath and let it out, struggling to regain his composure. “Sorry.” He smiled. “I’m Neville Longbottom. I’ve been sent to ask you a few questions.”

She frowned slightly, eyebrows lifted in amusement. “Longbottom?” she said.

“Yes,” Neville continued. “May I come in?” He looked past her into the room, and was surprised to see that it was no larger than it looked from the outside, and very sparsely furnished.

Willow opened the door further, and gestured him in. “You’re from the… Ministry of Magic?” she asked. “I was told to expect someone. That’s. You?” As she spoke, Neville reconsidered her age, placing her perhaps near his own, which was still a great deal younger than he’d expected.

“Not exactly,” Neville said, “but the Ministry does know I’m here. My organization volunteered to make the trip.”

“Your organization?” she said. “You’re Secret Magic Intelligence or something?” She walked to a square, wooden, painted table on the far side of the room and gestured for Neville to take one of its two chairs.

“No, nothing like that.” Neville said, following her. “I’d just like to speak with you for a while. Will you have some tea?” He held up the teapot in his hand, and then set it down on the table, as he fished in the pockets of his robes for the teacups he’d brought. When he pulled them out, he noticed one had developed a large chip. “Sorry,” he said. “I have to bring them like this. I’m pants at Transfiguration.” He poured tea into the better of the two teacups and set it in front of Willow.

“Even an interrogation comes with tea,” she said, smiling as she sat down. She took a cautious sip of the tea, wincing a little at its heat. “You’re not going to tell me the name of your organization, are you?”

“No. I’m sorry. We’re not hostile, just cautious.” Neville sat across from her and poured his own tea. “You’ve met some of us already. Hermione Granger, I think, and Remus Lupin.”

“He’s the werewolf?” she asked.

Neville nodded.

“Giles. Uh. Mister. Giles brought him in, but he didn’t say why,” she said. “And she… she comes in to work with the other witches once a week. Learning their type of magic? I think–” She frowned. “She doesn’t like me.”

Neville smiled. “You may be wrong about that. She’s very serious about her work here, and when she’s working, she doesn’t always remember to be friendly.”

“She’s a very powerful witch. I can feel the–” Willow paused, “weight of her in the group. That’s not the right word, exactly.”

“You can feel her?” Neville asked.

Willow chuckled softly. “Is this the beginning of the interrogation?” she asked.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Neville said, smiling.

“I can feel… everything,” she said. “Everyone. Not in a. Creepy way. Just. Everything’s connected. Some stand out from the crowd.”

“Like Hermione,” Neville said.

“She’s not the only one,” Willow said. “She’s one I have a name for.”

“So until you have a name, these people–the ones who stand out–are just… feelings?” Neville said.

Willow smiled. “More than that, ” she said. “But if you’re asking if I magically know the name, address and sexual preference of every powerful witch in England, the answer is no.”

“Well,” Neville said, “that’s a relief then, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Her eyes brightened, looking alive for the first time since Neville had arrived. She grinned. “What secrets are you hiding, Neville Longbottom?”

Neville laughed. “Believe me, nothing interesting.”

“I’m sure they’re interesting to someone.” She was still grinning.

“You’re not what I expected,” Neville said, changing the subject.

“That’s. A relief,” she said. “I think.”

“What do you think I expected?” Neville said.

“I don’t know,” she said. “The Eye of Sauron?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s. Scary. Sorry.” She wrinkled her nose. “I forgot about the. Culture thing.”

“That’s all right,” Neville said.

“I am scary, though.” Her face was serious now. “I mean. You should be scared. They are.” She nodded her head past Neville, in the direction of the main house.

“They’re pretty isolated over here,” Neville said. “Cut themselves off from the rest of us a long time ago–for good reason from what I understand.” He gave her a small smile. “Believe me, you’re not the scariest we’ve seen.”

Willow raised her eyebrows. “That’s… good,” she said. “In a not good kind of way.” She took another sip of her tea. “So, why you? I mean. You don’t really seem like the stern, government type,” she said. “Well, except for the. Robes. How did you get this assignment?”

“I’ve seen enough to be trusted, but I’m not too important to risk,” Neville said.

“That was me being stupid,” she said, waving her hands vaguely. “I didn’t mean–”

“No, it’s all right,” Neville said, with a smile. “I’ve seen what ‘important’ gets you these days, and believe me, I wouldn’t want it.”

“I would,” Willow said. “I mean I did. You should have heard the things I–” She looked at her teacup. “I’ve tried to tell myself that I didn’t really mean the things I said and thought then, but I did. The darkness only grabs on to what’s already there.” She looked up at Neville. “Why am I saying these things?”

“It’s the potion,” Neville said. “In your tea. I’m sorry.”

“Oh!” she said, standing suddenly. “Oh.” She sat back down again. “I guess you people mean business, don’t you?”

“You could probably resist it if you wanted to,” Neville said. “You’re powerful enough.”

“Yes,” she said. “But there wouldn’t be any point, would there? I mean, that would just make me more dangerous as far as you’re concerned.”

“I’m sorry,” Neville said. “Please understand–”

“I understand,” she said, her voice even. “I’ve killed people. I’m not in a position to get high-and-mighty about anything.”

“It’s not usually administered without warning,” Neville said. “In this case, however, the Ministry feared you wouldn’t allow it.”

“Of course,” she said. “I mean, I can understand.”

“I’m-” Neville started.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” she said. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Miss Rosenberg–”

“Willow, please,” she said, closing her eyes. “I want–” She opened them again. “Please, just Willow.”

“Willow,” he said, quietly. “We’ve been at war my entire adult life. There are very few of us who haven’t killed someone. Most of us, more than one.”

“It’s different,” she said.

“Is it?” Neville paused and took a deep breath. “Last week, I killed a schoolmate,” he said. “Someone I had lessons with every day for six years. He was about to kill one of ours, so I killed him first. In the Ministry’s eyes, that makes me a hero, at least for now. To his mum–” he stopped, unable to continue the thought without losing control. “Well,” he said. “Evil is evil, and declaring war doesn’t change that. This is just the evil we choose to live with.”

Willow’s eyes were old again. “You’re definitely not from the Ministry of Magic,” she said. “At least–well, the women in the coven aren’t exactly fans.”

Neville nodded. “You’d do best to leave out the details,” he said. “I do have to make an official report.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m. It’s a permanent. Foot. Mouth. Thing.”

“Now it’s your turn to stop apologizing,” Neville said, smiling.

“I’m s–” She caught herself. “I just don’t understand why you’re being so respectful.”

“I know that where you come from, witches and wizards are feared people,” Neville said. “We–those of us from wizarding families–we’ve grown up with magic all our lives. In our society, great power, even terrible power, commands great respect.”

“That’s still just fear, though. Isn’t it?” she said. “I lost control of. Everything. I’m like a… demon. Or worse.”

“And you traveled all the way here to take that control back,” Neville said. “Isn’t that worth my respect?”

“I was brought here,” she said.

“From what I hear, you could have stopped it if you’d wanted,” he said. “Couldn’t you?”

“I. Thought about it. Just for a moment, but–” she said. “Wow, this potion is. Brutal. Isn’t it?”

“Usually.” Neville smiled apologetically. “It shouldn’t be for too much longer, I promise.”

“What do you need to know?” Her face was earnest.

Neville faced her, squarely. “The Ministry’s interest is to determine how much of a threat you might pose to us by being here in England,” he said. “It’s not quite as awful as it sounds. The war has weakened the Ministry’s defenses tremendously. Even your Mister Giles is a person of interest these days.” He snorted. “My organization is interested in making sure that those of you outside the official jurisdiction of the Ministry are treated fairly, and without prejudice.” Willow nodded and Neville continued, “Perhaps you can tell me something about the way you use magic? The other women here practice magic without a wand, like you do, but they haven’t ever generated the same kind of power, at least not individually. Can you tell me about that?”

“It’s hard to explain. In a way that will make sense. To. Uh. You,” she said, wincing apologetically.

“Is there something you’d be willing to demonstrate?” Neville said. “I understand your control is fragile, but something you’d feel comfortable with? Something small?”

“Maybe,” Willow said, “I could–” She frowned.

“Yes?” Neville asked.

Then Willow’s voice was inside Neville’s head. “Can you hear me?”

Neville startled. “I–”

“Don’t answer out loud. Just think.”

Neville thought hard, “Hello?”

“That’s it.” Willow smiled.

“How are you doing this?” He was trying to remain calm. “What’s the spell? Some kind of Legilimency?”

“It’s not a spell,” she said. “Not the way you’re thinking of it. I don’t think I can explain.”

“This is something you’ve used? In a…” Neville chose this thought carefully, “Battle situation?”

“Sure.” She shrugged. Though it has other uses.” Her eyes sparkled. “Tell me, Neville, who exactly should be interested in your secrets?”

The answer came before Neville could stop it.

“The werewolf?” she asked, her voice jarring against the stillness of the room.

Neville sighed, cursing the heat rising in his face.

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Been there, done that,” she said, and then her eyes went round. “I mean–no! Not that, obviously. Just. Werewolf.” Her voice was soft. “Does he know?”

Neville shook his head. “He–” Neville watched Willow closely as he continued, “lost someone, recently. And anyway, he thinks of me as a boy.”

“A boy?” Her forehead wrinkled. “The British are a very strange people.”

“It’s not so strange,” he said. “I was a nervous thirteen-year-old when we first met, and he was my teacher besides. Those impressions can be hard to let go of. I think it would take something pretty extraordinary.”

“You could disappear for a year or so and come back all ruggedly handsome and world-weary,” she said, eyes sparkling again.

Neville laughed. “I doubt ten years could accomplish all that.”

“Or you could turn to the dark side and go on a murderous rampage against your friends,” she said, not quite smiling. “I’m told that packs a wallop.”

“Not sure that’s the effect I’m going for,” Neville said. He continued cautiously, “Why did you?”

“Please don’t make me answer that,” she said, and then hastily continued, “It’s not that–” She seemed to be struggling with words. “I’m not sure it’s safe. If I start talking about that.”

Neville considered her for a moment. “You asked before why I got this assignment. I gave you half the answer. The other half–” he stopped, and then forced himself to continue, “When I was a baby, some people tortured my parents. They used a curse–one we categorize as ‘unforgivable,’ not that you’d know, the way they’re thrown about these days. It’s a curse that causes unbearable pain. My parents survived, but only in the most basic sense. It drove them out of their minds. I never really knew them because of that. They died a few years ago. Mum first, and my dad not long after.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“They are probably better off. I know that. And I’d grieved for them long before they died, ” Neville said. He took a deep breath before going on. “When I was fifteen, I had an opportunity to avenge them. I wasn’t strong enough then to do it, though I tried,” he said. “I wanted so much to hurt the people who took them from me. It was maddening that I couldn’t. So I worked after that, hard. I thought if I trained hard enough and fought hard enough–” He felt his chest getting tight. “It scared me after a while, feeling that way, so I pushed it back–as far back as I could. I never told anyone about it.” He paused, staring darkly at the table. “Then last year, someone else killed them. Communication was so spotty, I didn’t find out until a week later. And I was angry,” he said. “Angry that I didn’t get to do it myself. Isn’t that awful? I’d never felt like that before. I went a bit crazy, in a way I–” He shook his head. “If it wasn’t for my friend Harry, I don’t know what I might have done. I’m terrified just thinking about it. And I’m just a Herbologist with an incomplete NEWT in Defense. I don’t have the kind of power–” He stopped. Willow was crying softly. He pulled a handkerchief from his robes and handed to her. “So when this assignment came up, I volunteered,” he said.

“You already know,” she said. “Everything.”

Neville continued, quietly. “My organization doesn’t look kindly on revenge. Not officially, anyway. I thought you’d be best off with someone who understood. Someone who’d faced loss… ungracefully.”

“You sound like him. Your werewolf,” she said, with a small smile. “He’s been very kind.”

Neville smiled. “He faces everything gracefully.”

“And your friend?” she asked. “The other one?”

“He has his own issues,” Neville said, biting back a laugh.

“Vengeance issues?” she asked, grinning, “or in-love-with-a-werewolf issues?”

“Vengeance issues!” Neville said, quickly. “I hope just vengeance issues.” He chortled. “I think you’d be more his style, actually.”

Willow let out a choking sort of laugh. “I’m glad that you came here,” she said. “That you understand. But it’s–” her face was serious again. “I failed. Completely,” she said. “It’s not what she’d have wanted, not ever. I didn’t… honor her.”

Neville touched her hand. “Well, it’s not really for them is it? We can pretend it is, but we know better.”

She went on, her eyes focused on something very far away. “I still feel it. The grief–it’s so intense. Some days I can’t see anything else. And then the rage. They’ve taught me so much here, but it doesn’t go away,” she said. “She was the only–” Her eyes filled with tears again. “Everything good in me died with her, and all I was left with was–” She closed her eyes. “I just want to be me again. Me before.”

“Before what?” Neville said.

She looked at him, surprised. “I don’t know,” she said. “That’s the worst part, isn’t it? There’s nothing I can erase–nothing I hate–that doesn’t erase something I love.”

“We–my society, I mean,” Neville said. “We have a device that allows a wizard to turn back time. There aren’t many of them, and they are rarely used anymore. It’s dangerous, of course, but more than that–” He considered how to go on. “It’s useless, I think. Most of the time.” He scratched his head. “I’m not much for fate and all that. But I think most of us, given a second chance, would make the same choice as the first time around, whether we think we would or not.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better,” she asked, “or worse?”

Neville smiled. “Neither.” He stood up. “Well, I think I’ve finished here. Thank you for your patience, Miss Rosenberg.”

“It’s W-” she started. “You’re just doing the official thing now, aren’t you?” She stopped, looking anxious. “But. Am I. With. The danger?”

Neville brought the teapot and cups across the room to the small sink and began emptying them. “I’m a dunce at cleaning spells, too,” he said with a sigh. “If only more magic involved plants.”

“Neville–” she said.

“My report will say that I’ve determined you pose no threat to the Ministry or England, and that I recommend focusing our resources elsewhere,” Neville said, shaking water from one of the teacups. “That sounds wonderfully official, doesn’t it?”

“But you hardly–”

Neville turned to face her. “You chose to come here for the sake of others.” She gestured to interrupt him, but he continued, “and for your own sake, of course. I feel strongly that, given the chance, you’d make the same choice again, despite the pain and uncertainty you’ve faced.” He tucked the teacups into his pocket and headed to the door. “Our world is filled with powerful witches and wizards. They’re only a threat if they choose to be.” He smiled. “You’ve made your choice. I’ve made my decision.”

“Thank you,” she said, opening the door for him. A bee circled Neville’s head, and then disappeared swiftly into the bright outdoors. As Neville started forward, Willow caught his arm. “He’ll be interested,” she said, smiling. “Just. Wait for the right moment.”

Neville smiled and stepped into the sunshine.

*****

Note: Lyric quoted after the title is “The Past and Pending” by James Mercer of The Shins.

*****
In Your Pocket You Carry Devotion