The Choices We Make
June 12, 2004
Ron landed with expert precision on the gravel driveway and grinned proudly to himself. Not that either of them had given him the credit, but Ron had been the best at apparition out of the Golden Trio. His movements were more fluid than Harry’s and more confident than Hermione’s. His only downfall had been his landing, but he was quite pleased to say that he was now as steady as ever.
He dusted off the grey knit sweater he was wearing, and began down the gravel path towards the large stone house, much bigger than what Ron had been expecting. As he rounded the path, he caught sight of Neville, crouched down in a flower bed, the gaudy orange and green pattern of his sweater clashing magnificently with the lavender hues that surrounded him.
“Neville!” Neville stood up grinning.
“Ronald!” He dropped the small trowel he was holding and pulled the dirt stained gloves off his hands, letting them fall onto the ground. “I wasn’t expecting you, I’m sorry, I’m a bit of a mess.” Ron grinned. It was a bit of an understatement, to say the least. Dirt and grass had stained almost every inch of his clothing, and his skin was streaked brown from the soil. His hair, which normally fell in soft waves around his face, was damp with sweat and clung to his forehead and neck.
“I can certainly tell.” Ron said. “I’m sorry to interrupt, I probably should’ve sent an owl or something..” Neville ran his fingers through his hair, pushing sweaty tendrils off his head.
“S’alright, mate. I needed to take a break anyway. It was starting to get a little too hot for my liking.” With that, he pulled the gaudy sweater over his head, wiping his face with it as he did. Ron swallowed as he took in Neville’s white t-shirt clinging to his surprisingly fit body. He had always thought he’d be skinny underneath all those ill fitting clothes. Instead, Ron could make out the curvature of defined muscles, and for the briefest of moments he wondered what they felt like.
“Ronald?” Ron blinked, dragging his eyes from Neville’s spectacular pectorals to his face.
“Huh?” Neville grinned.
“I asked if you wanted to come inside for a drink.” Ron nodded.
“Yeah, yeah sure. Sorry, mate. A drink’d be great.” Neville cocked his head slightly, his lips slightly upturned in a small grin and Ron felt his cheeks flush.
“Great,” He said softly.
Neville’s house was exactly what Ron had expected. Potted plants covered nearly every surface, and what wasn’t taken up by plants was taken up by books. Unlike Hermione’s books, which had been meticulously kept in pristine condition, Neville’s were all stained and dog-eared, with evidence of heavy use on every page. Ron grinned. Hermione would have a fucking stroke if she could see it.
Neville led him down a large hallway that opened up into a beautiful sitting room. A large, plush couch sat against one wall, facing a set of large windows, and two small arm chairs sat on either side of a large fireplace. Again, potted plants took up every spare shelf and ledge in the room, and a beautiful jungle of tangled vines hung from a large rod stretching the length of the windows. Neville sat down on the couch, and after a moment’s hesitation, Ron settled in next to him.
“Sir! I-“ Ron turned as a small, skeletal house elf appeared in the room with a small Pop! The creature looked at Ron with large, bulbous eyes. “Sorry! Trix did not realize Sir had guests.” Neville smiled kindly.
“It’s alright, Trix. This is my friend Ronald. We were just going to have a drink.” Ron smiled.
“A butterbeer, please.” He said to Trix. Trix wrung her hands nervously, glancing between Ron and Neville. Ron frowned and turned to Neville. “Is it.. alright?” Neville shook his head slightly, not taking his eyes off the small elf, whose eyes were now filling with tears.
“Trix,” Neville said softly. “It’s alright. Tell him.” Ron turned back to the elf in confusion. Trix closed her bulging eyes and took two, deep, watery breaths.
“Trix can not get Mr. Ronald a drink.” She said, her knobbly legs shaking. “Trix is a free elf, not a servant. If Mr. Ronald is thirsty, the kitchen is the third door on the left.” She exhaled shakily and opened her eyes, surveying Ron nervously. Ron gaped at the tiny elf for a moment, and turned to look at Neville who was staring at her with pride.
“That was great, Trix!” Neville said. He nudged Ron’s foot with his own.
“Yeah!” Ron said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Yeah, that was brilliant. I’m sorry I just assumed.. haven’t come across too many free elves yet.” Trix smiled nervously.
“Trix hopes you’ll meet more.” Ron’s smile came genuinely.
“I hope so too, Trix.”
“Did you need something?” Neville asked the tiny elf.
“Trix was just coming to say her goodbyes, Sir. Trix is all done with the greenhouse today.” Neville smiled kindly.
“Alright, Trix. Thank you so much for your help. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” Trix nodded.
“See you in the morning Sir. Lovely to meet you, Mr. Ronald.” Ron waved as Trix apparated away.
“So!” Ron said, leaning back against the couch. “A free elf working for you, eh?” Neville rolled his eyes and flicked his wand lazily. Two bottles of butterbeer floated into the room, and Ron snatched one from the air, taking a large swig. “You care to explain?”
“Trix is a part of the Free Elf Integration Program.” He said. Ron snorted.
“Guess she thought of a better name than Spew.” He said shrewdly. Neville frowned at him.
“Who?”
“Hermione. I’m guessing this was her big idea.” Neville shook his head slowly, a small smile spreading.
“Draco’s, actually.” Ron rolled his eyes.
“Please. Hermione’s been working on elfish welfare since we were at Hogwarts. She stayed up all hours of the night knitting those ridiculous looking hats and trying to trick the elves into freeing themselves. Fucking Malfoy kept house elves enslaved in that house of his. Why would he be the driving force behind her passion project?” Neville shrugged.
“I don’t know what to tell you, mate. It wasn’t her idea, wasn’t her project. It was all Draco.” Ron clutched his bottle tighter, fury welling up inside him.
“Doesn’t matter if it was his idea.” He seethed. “S’not like he was doing it for the right reasons.”
“Does that matter?” Ron looked murderously at Neville.
“How could it not?” He snapped. “He’s just doing it to manipulate her, to trick her into thinking he’s something different than what he actually is.” Neville leaned back against the couch and took another sip.
“And what exactly is he?” He asked lightly. Ron flung the bottle across the room, smashing it against the stone fireplace.
“A fucking death eater!” He roared.
Neville didn’t respond.
Butterbeer dripped to the floor.
Ron felt his anger dissipate into shame, and his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He turned away from Neville, pulling his wand out and waving it shakily at the mess.
“Fuck, Neville, I’m.. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t, I don’t know what’s.. I’m sorry.”
“So you don’t think he’s changed then.” Ron flinched at Neville’s words.
“No.” He said softly. “No I don’t.”
“Why?” Ron tensed, anger bubbling back up until Neville’s fingers touched his shoulder lightly. “I’m trying to understand, Ronald.” Neville’s voice was gentle. “Just, explain it to me. Please.” His shoulders sagged under Neville’s touch.
“He chose to take the Dark Mark, Neville.” He said. “He chose it. We all had a choice, y’know? Me and Harry, Hermione, you, Luna, we all had a choice, and we all chose to stand against what was wrong. We chose to fight. He chose.. he chose Voldemort. He chose cruelty, and darkness, and.. genocide, over what was right. He chose that, and I just.. I don’t understand how everyone can forget that.”
“No one has forgotten it, Ronald.”
“Then why is everyone so quick to just welcome him in with open arms.” Neville sighed.
“If I confess something to you, do you promise not to judge me?” Ron turned back to Neville, eyes wide.
“Of course, mate.” Neville closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
“Right.” He looked at Ron. “When I.. when I was going to kill the snake.. I, Merlin this is hard.” Ron took Neville’s hand.
“S’alright.” Neville smiled nervously.
“I almost couldn’t do it.” He said weakly. “I.. I was standing in the shadows, sword in hand, and I could see it. I could.. I was so close. But it was like it was speaking to me. Telling me.. horrible things. That I was weak, pathetic. That I was a disgrace to my parents. You know.” Ron squeezed his hand gently. “But I.. well it wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before, right? And I knew I still had to try, even if I failed. But then it.. it changed. All of the sudden, talking about things I’d never even dreamed of, powers I could only imagine. Magic strong enough to fix my mum and dad, to bring them back. Power to make my family whole again. And that was.. that was when I almost couldn’t do it.” A tear slipped down Neville’s cheek as he closed his eyes, voice trembling. “I could see it,” He whispered. “My mum and dad, standing with me, talking to me, being able to live a life with them. It was in my reach, Ronald. All I had to do was drop the sword, that was it, and I’d be rewarded with the life I’d always dreamed of.”
“But you didn’t.” Neville shook his head.
“I didn’t.” He said. “I’d had years of my gran telling me exactly who was responsible for what had happened to my parents. She was cruel, but she taught me right from wrong. And that upbringing, those lessons that she instilled in me were the only reasons I was able to let go of those.. of that lie.” Neville looked at Ron. “It’s why I can forgive people like Malfoy. I spent thirty seconds in the presence of a fragment of Voldemort’s soul, and I was almost willing to throw away my entire life’s worth of morals, to sacrifice everyone that I loved. Malfoy, he.. Voldemort lived in his home, Ronald. Draco’s entire upbringing was centered on blood supremacy, on squashing muggles and muggleborns. And then, when he was fourteen, Voldemort came back and took up residency in his home. He tortured Malfoy’s family, his friends families, he murdered people in his home.” Neville sighed. “We all think we would do the right thing in every circumstance. But I know now, I would’ve been no better than him.”
“We were just bloody kids.” Ron said softly. Neville smiled sadly at him.
“We all did the best with what we had. Some of us were lucky, others..” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. “The choices we make in desperate times can’t define us, Ronald. I’d rather live in a world where death eaters are forgiven and reformed than live in a world where they cling to the ideals that plunged us into war in the first place.” Ron sighed and scratched his jaw.
“Fuck, mate. Were you always this smart and philosophical in school?” Neville laughed that same, loud, booming laughter.
“Probably could’ve been, if I’d been given half a chance.” He said. Ron raised an eyebrow.
“Your point’s already been made.”
“If I hadn’t been pegged as a halfwit as a child.”
“I get it.”
“Been treated as incapable-“
“I said I get it!” Ron laughed, and Neville grinned up at him, the two men falling into comfortable silence. Ron glanced at Neville, who was still staring at him with a lopsided grin. “What?”
“Just.. haven’t heard you laugh much, is all.” Ron shrugged his shoulders.
“Hasn’t been much to laugh about I guess. But I’m hoping,” He added hesitantly. “Maybe that’ll change now.” Neville reached across the couch, interlacing his fingers with Ron’s.
“I hope so.”