Neville Longbottom (nevforthewin) wrote in plagued_logs, @ 2016-01-19 08:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | 1999 january, dennis creevey, lucian bole, neville longbottom |
WHO: Neville, Bole, Dennis hopefully still alive idk
WHAT: Literally no idea
WHEN: Almost immediately after Bole's message (Monday night)
WHERE: The path to the forest
RATING: B for Bole
STATUS: COMPLETE
Neville would be lying if he said he wasn't frightened. He was terrified, but he was terrified for Dennis, not for himself. He'd learned a while ago that being afraid for yourself only led to more fear. Bole was hardly the first Death Eater to threaten him, not even in the last six months, but Bole had significantly more leverage. He'd checked, of course. Dennis wasn't in the Hogshead. A revealing charm led to his cloak abandoned in a pile of snow in the street outside. He was gone, and Neville knew - hoped - he wouldn't just go wandering off on his own. It wasn't an idle threat. Would Bole know if he told someone? How would he know? He could go to the Aurors, or at least, Harry or Ron or someone, to get some help. But he couldn't be sure. Bole could be watching him somehow; it wasn't impossible. He said nothing to anyone, only took his wand and his warmest cloak and slipped out. He tried not to think about Luna. What she would do if he got himself killed. What his Gran would do, without him. He couldn't think about that. He'd taken responsibility for Dennis, and he kept failing to protect him. The fact that he could hardly keep an eye on the boy twenty four hours a day didn't seem important. He'd failed again, and the only way to fix it was to play along with whatever Bole's game was. He did hold one, small hope as he came down the path to the forest and saw the flicker of magical flames showing the way, blue and wavering against the white of the snow. Dean was supposed to be able to read through all the private entries. Maybe he would see, in time, and get help, hopefully in such a way that wouldn't rouse suspicion, and while Bole was distracted... while Neville was distracting him... He put his hand on his wand as he reached the edge of the trees. He'd been terrified of these woods, once, which hadn't been helped by his first visit. But he knew better now. He knew the name of every tree, every bush and plant. A forest was just plants, really. The creatures who lived there might be best avoided, but he knew more about them too, enough that the mystery of the place itself was no longer a deterrent. But Bole was another matter. Taking a deep breath, he took his first step past the tree line. The little fires showed the way clearly - surely someone else would see? He glanced over his shoulder towards the dark form of the castle in the distance, shadowed against the moonlit sky. Someone was bound to see, surely. There was no point wondering. It felt like he was walking into a deathtrap, and he probably was, but he'd survived so far, right? He'd survived Snape, and the Carrows, even when they wanted to kill him. He'd survived Voldemort and the sorting hat, and that ruddy great snake, hadn't he? What was one maniac killer to all that stuff? His heart started to pound loudly in his ears as the trees thickened, blocking out the moonlight and leaving only the flames to light the way, flickering like fairy dancers. Then suddenly, he thought he heard a noise, and he stopped, dead, knuckles white on the hilt of his wand as he looked around for some sign of movement. |