Harry Potter:Diamond Heart.

'Would not much of a wizard be able to set an entire corridor alight without using his wand?' Harry demanded. Neville looked more guilty than anything and didn't reply. 'I don't think they could,' Harry answered his own question. 'You even rid the school of some terrible tapestries,' he grinned. 'If you'd got that one,' he jerked his thumb in the direction of the tap -dancing trolls, 'you'd have your own award for special services to the school!'

Neville smiled slightly despite himself.

'You're strong,' Harry insisted, 'you just need to stop listening to the people who try to tell you otherwise. If you expect and visualise your spells failing, they will.' 'I'm not like you, Harry,' Neville burst out. 'I can't just be strong. I can't stand up to You -Know-Who, or basilisks, or anything like you've done.'

'You're just like me, Neville,' Harry told him quietly. 'I never did any of those things by myself. Luck and the assistance of everyone else has kept me alive, nothing else, not until now. You have to want to be strong, and then you have to do whatever you need to get there.'

Harry certainly had. He'd killed to be free, to be strong in his own right, and he wasn't about to turn back, or look back.

'What if you can't do it?' Neville asked quietly.

'How would you know until you've tried as hard as you're sure you can?' Harry countered.

'I-I-' 'You don't,' Harry told him before he could spend too long thinking about it. 'There's nothing to be gained from giving up, Neville. You're stronger and braver than half of the Gryffindors I've seen, and to prove it you're going to call Voldemort by his real name.'

'I can't do that,' Neville shook his head, 'even Gran doesn't say his name.'

'You will,' Harry insisted. 'Repeat after me, Tom, Marvolo, Riddle.'

Neville looked flummoxed, but repeated the name, clearly enunciating every syllable. 'Tom Marvolo Riddle.'

'See,' Harry said triumphantly. 'You, Neville Longbottom, just said Voldemort's real, original name. One he hates, one he would probably try and kill you for saying if he knew. What happened when you said it, Neville?'

'Nothing,' the boy mumbled, still perplexed.

'And nothing will happen next time you say it, or if you say Voldemort,' Harry continued, 'go on.'

'Voldemort,' Neville repeated. He nearly stuttered, the first syllable warbled on his lips, but the rest of the name came smoothly and he never flinched.

'You're braver than your Gran,' Harry grinned.

'But-' he began.

'There are not buts, Neville,' Harry caught him before he overthought things and the point was wasted. 'You said the name, you were brave. If you can be brave when you thought you couldn't be, then you can be strong too.' 'But my magic always fails,' he said miserably, 'I know it will.'

'You knew that you couldn't say Voldemort a moment ago,' Harry disagreed. 'Forget what happened last time. Magic is about intent. If you want it to happen, if you focus, and understand what you're trying to achieve, then you'll make it happen.'

'I always want it to happen,' Neville argued.

'I'd bet you never believe it will, though.' Neville had nothing to say to that. 'So believe it, Nev,' Harry told him gently. 'If you can set fire to a corridor without a wand, you can do a few spells at school.'

'It's not the same,' Neville disagreed. 'I was so angry when I saw him. It was like he thought he was better than the rest of us, striding down the corridor, with nothing but disdain for everyone else. He judges everyone but himself.' Neville's face twisted in fury, it was a truly frightening expression on a face that Harry had never seen anything so violent on. 'He has no right to, not when his son was a monster.'

Barty Crouch Junior had come to quite a specific end. He disliked the madman's hypocritical father almost as much as Neville seemed to; it didn't help that Harry knew it had been Crouch who sent Sirius to Azkaban without a trial, or that his son had tried to kill Harry. The man's principles were wrong, and he had the arrogance to look down on others because of them. Nobody should deduct points from anyone for trying to save a girl's life. His rules were not as important as the life of Gabrielle, they were not even close. The mad apple had not fallen too far from the amoral tree, and Barty Crouch Junior was better off dead where the Death Eater couldn't ruin anymore lives. Harry would kill him himself, were he still alive. The magic rushed eagerly to do his bidding at the flicker of intent, and a faint, green light emanated from his right sleeve.

Harry suppressed the thought immediately. If even being willing to kill was enough to give off such a glow when he was touching his wand, then he'd have to be careful of his thoughts. The connection with his wand had grown much stronger since he first used it.

'His son is dead, isn't he?' Harry asked carefully.

'Not dead enough,' Neville hissed. 'Not after what he did.' Harry had enough tact not to ask, but Neville gave him a faintly apologetic look and began to explain. 'My parents were aurors in the war. A group of Voldemort's followers,' the name came out without the slightest tremor, 'tortured them with the Cruciatus Curse for hours. They don't even recognise me,' he finished with a bitter smile. 'I wanted to make them proud, I use my father's wand, but they'll never be proud of a stranger, why would they?'

Harry stared at him for a long moment. He would have never for a second guessed what lay in Neville's past. He had assumed he was an orphan for a far less tragic reason. A more manipulative, cunning part of himself noted that if he ever told Neville just who was responsible for the end of Barty Crouch Junior he would have a loyal follower for life, but he ignored it. He was not Tom Riddle. Harry was here to help his friend, not himself, though it was not going to be as easy as he'd thought.

'What can I do about that, Harry?' Neville demanded.

'Nothing,' Harry told him.

Neville flinched.

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