Summary: A message, written in what appeared to be a large quantity of blood, was daubed across the wall. In dripping bright red letters Neville read “THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS IS NOW OPEN. FLEE, MUDBLOODS, OR DIE.”
In the first sequel to
Neville Longbottom and the Philosopher's Stone (prior reading recommended), Neville, the Boy-Who-Lived, enters his second year at Hogwarts, and confronts prejudice and discrimination in the wizarding world and an ancient threat to Hogwarts itself.
How will Neville face these challenges and what new secrets will be discovered? Welcome to Year 2...
Categories: Alternate Universe Characters: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 14
Completed: Yes
Word count: 45787
Read: 69382
Published: 08/23/07
Updated: 11/28/07
1. The Lonely Summer by Sonorus
2. A Muggle Home by Sonorus
3. The Weasleys versus the Malfoys by Sonorus
4. The Closed Barrier by Sonorus
5. Whispers in the Dark by Sonorus
6. The Petrified Cat by Sonorus
7. Dobby's Confession by Sonorus
8. Parseltongue by Sonorus
9. Christmas with the Slytherins by Sonorus
10. Tom Marvolo Riddle by Sonorus
11. Follow the Spiders by Sonorus
12. The Secret Entrance by Sonorus
13. The Phoenix and the Sword by Sonorus
14. The Elf's Master by Sonorus
The Lonely Summer by Sonorus
Author's Notes:
In which Neville is alone all summer until a house-elf arrives with a mysterious warning.
From his upstairs room in the old farmhouse on Preston Road, Neville Longbottom looked out of the window miserably at the pouring rain. Though he rarely went outside, Neville hated the rain. The damp and the gloom served only to depress him. It had been a largely wet summer and this experience had become quite common for him over the last month or so.
He turned away from the window and lay down on his bed. To his surprise he found that actually he was bored. It was a surprise to him not because he usually had a lot to do, he was never a very active person, but because boredom was not a feeling he generally experienced. He was quite used to being fairly dull and unenergetic, unlike most boys his age. Indeed, now he thought about it, this summer had been no different to the last one. He’d spent most of it helping Gran around the house, looking after Trevor and playing quietly alone in his room.
But this summer it seemed somehow different. Like something was missing. True his year preceding this summer had been a bit different from the last one. He had been accepted at Hogwarts, the world famous school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sorted into Gryffindor House, encountered a three-headed dog, a baby dragon and a centaur and confronted the murderer of his parents and prevented him returning to power. All in all, that was a remarkable and eventful year.
The thing was, for large parts he hadn’t enjoyed it one bit. He hated schoolwork, possessed next to no wizarding talent or ability, had endured a succession of injuries and mishaps, suffered at the hands of some of the more unpleasant of his schoolmates (not to mention some teachers), and been in a state of anxiety and terror for a great part of the year. He couldn’t possibly be missing that, or could he?
He lay there thinking about it for a while and came to the surprising conclusion that what he was missing was other people. Neville had lived most of his life in seclusion, insulated from the world by his concerned grandparents, on account of the pressures arising from his fame as the Boy-Who-Lived. Going to Hogwarts, surrounded by children of his own age, had been quite a shock to Neville. But he’d found a niche in Gryffindor, where most were amiable and gave him space. He’d even found a friend of sorts in the eager and earnest bookworm Hermione Granger.
At the end of the year they’d agreed to keep in touch over the summer, but Neville had received nothing from Hermione. He’d sent off one letter himself, but Elwin their owl had returned without a reply. He’d hoped for something on his twelfth birthday a few days ago, but nothing. Perhaps Hermione had forgotten about him or was having too much fun by herself. Still, Neville found he missed having someone to talk to, or even just to listen to, he was a poor talker.
As he lay on his bed feeling sorry for himself, suddenly he heard a curious “pop” sound, which seemed to have come from the direction of his wardrobe. He got up in surprise. The door of his wardrobe now started to shake violently then sprang open. A small figure sprawled out onto the floor. It picked itself up, dusted off the horribly dirty and tatty rag it was wearing, then looked straight up at Neville with wide, large eyes.
“Dobby most apologises for his entrance, sir,” it said. “He is not familiar with this place. It is not how he wished to meet the great Neville Longbottom.”
Neville was momentarily nonplussed at being called “great”, the last description he would use of himself. He looked down at the curious figure bobbing around his toes, its long ears flapping at the side of its head. “You’re a house-elf,” he said. “I’ve never met one before. We can’t afford one here.”
“Yes, sir. Dobby, sir,” said the house-elf with a weak kind of bow. He looked around the room worriedly. “Dobby has come to warn you, sir. You are in danger.”
“In danger from what?”
“I-I” Dobby stuttered, fell to his knees and bashed his head repeatedly against Neville’s bedpost. “Dobby can’t say,” he panted. “But you must not go to Hogwarts this year. Hogwarts is not safe. Not safe for anyone, sir.”
“Don’t keep calling me sir,” said Neville, a little embarrassed. “I’m not your master.”
“No,” said Dobby in a sad, disappointed tone. The mere thought however seemed to set him off again and he returned to headbutting the bedpost. Neville had to physically restrain him, which was a real struggle. Neville was confused. He didn’t know a lot about house-elves, only what Gran had told him. He knew they were employed as servants by the richer families, that they were fiercely loyal to those families and that they took little regard for themselves. He hadn’t heard they commonly liked to injure themselves and he certainly hadn’t heard about them appearing in wardrobes with dire warnings.
“Who is your family, then?” he asked. “I don’t know anyone with a house-elf.”
“Dobby cannot tell you, sir. Dobby must keep the secrets of his family. Dobby should not be here.”
“But you are here.” Neville was getting more and more bewildered by the minute. He was beginning to suspect this house-elf was completely off his rocker.
“Dobby had to warn you. Dobby had to stop you going to Hogwarts. Terrible things are planned. Dobby has admired your greatness for a long time, how you defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…”
“But I didn’t do anything, I was only one year old!”
“Ah, but you stopped him again just two months ago, Dobby hears. Dobby only wishes to protect you from those who would do you harm.” Neville tried to protest but it was hopeless. The house-elf was definitely barmy. Imagine thinking of him, Neville, as a hero! The idea was crazy. “So will you promise not to return to Hogwarts?” the house-elf continued.
“Of course not!” said Neville. “I’ve got to… well I’ve all my…” He trailed off. Why did he really want to go back, and how to explain it to a raving house-elf?
“But Neville Longbottom has no reason to go back to Hogwarts. Dobby knows he is alone there and no one writes to him.”
“Yes, but… hang on a moment, how do you know that no one writes to me?”
“Er… bad Dobby, bad Dobby,” said the house-elf and now picked up one of Neville’s shoes to hit himself with. Neville had to wrestle it off him. “Dobby must not lie, sir,” he continued. “Dobby thought if you didn’t get them, you might not want to go back.” He raised his hand and three letters appeared in it from nowhere.
“You stole my letters?” exclaimed Neville.
“Yes, from a Miss Her-me-own. Dobby thought it best, sir.”
“Give me those, please,” said Neville.
“Promise not to go to Hogwarts.”
Neville snapped in frustration. “OK, OK I promise,” he said. He didn’t mean it of course, but it seemed the only way to get the house-elf out of his hair. Dobby reluctantly handed over the letters.
“Dobby is truly sorry, sir. It is for the best.” Neville thrust the letters into his pocket. “Goodbye, sir and remember: Dobby will be watching.” With that the house-elf snapped his fingers and vanished with a loud “crack”. Neville breathed a sigh of relief.
Gran called up the stairs. “What’s all that noise, Neville?”
“Nothing Gran,” Neville said quickly. “Just, er, an owl delivering a letter for me.”
“A letter for you? Who’s writing to you?”
“A friend from school,” said Neville.
“Oh really?” said Gran and Neville heard her pounding up the stairs. Great, now she wants to stick her nose in, thought Neville. At least the house-elf’s gone. Gran entered the room and looked him up and down. “Who’s this friend, then? You never tell me anything about what you’ve been up to at school. Are they friendly? Are they good? I don’t want you getting mixed up in any sort of trouble.”
Neville had decided not to tell Gran about any of the events of the past year. It would only have worried her and made her act even more overly protective of him. “She’s called Hermione. She’s really clever, she helps me with me with my work. She’s a bit bossy but really nice.”
Gran seemed satisfied. “Well, you shouldn’t rely on someone else to do your work for you, but we all know you find it hard and at least you’re smart enough to find a good person to help you. What does she have to say for herself?”
Neville ripped open the last of the three letters he’d recovered from Dobby (he’d stuffed the other two in his pocket as Gran had come up) and began to read. Mostly it consisted of Hermione being worried about why Neville hadn’t replied to her previous letters, but there was a little bit more at the end…
“She’s inviting me to go visit her at the end of the summer,” said Neville excitedly. “She says it’s OK with her parents. Can I, Gran? Can I?”
“Hmm. Who are her parents? Do I know them?”
“No, they’re, er, Muggles,” said Neville. “They fix Muggles’ teeth, apparently.”
“Oh,” said Gran. “Well, I’m sure that’d be fine. You’d better send Elwin with a reply. They can receive owls, can they?”
“I think so,” said Neville. Thanks, Gran.” Gran nodded and left, and Neville went on to reading the other letters from Hermione and writing his reply.
Author's Notes:
In which Neville travels to stay with Hermione’s parents and learns a little of Muggle life.
Neville clumsily lugged his heavy trunk down the stairs from his bedroom, scraping the wall on the way down, and piled it alongside his remaining belongings. It was now mid-August and today Hermione’s parents were coming to pick him up and take him to stay with them. They had agreed Neville would stay a couple of weeks at their home in Hampshire, then they would take him to the Hogwarts Express on 1st September. So Neville had to pack up everything he needed for the year.
“Is that everything?” asked Gran from the kitchen.
“Yes, Gran.” Neville plodded into the kitchen, pulled up a chair and sat down.
“When are they getting here, do you know?”
“No. They were staying with someone in Manchester overnight, then coming straight up here this morning.”
“You know it would have been far easier for you to have made your own way down there,” said Gran. “You could have taken the Knight Bus. I don’t like the idea of these Muggle cars, they’ve always seemed terribly dangerous to me.”
“They wanted to come, Gran. They seemed to think it was important.”
“Probably want to avoid as much magic as possible around them. Muggles tend to, so I’ve heard.” She walked over to Neville and brushed down his mop of hair. “Now you behave yourself there,” she warned. “Remember they’re Muggles and they have different ways of doing things. Try not to embarrass yourself and remember particularly you can’t do any magic there, you won’t get away with it. Alright?”
“OK, Gran,” Neville mumbled. He poured himself a drink of water and settled down to wait. He felt nervous and uncomfortable, but quite excited, similar to how he had felt a year ago leaving for Hogwarts. He never reacted easily to new situations, he knew, and he’d never spent any long period of time away from both home and school.
Less than half an hour later there was a firm knock on the front door. Gran opened it with Neville hovering behind. He was momentarily surprised by the couple standing there, though he really shouldn’t have been. They looked so, well, Muggle-like. The man had close-cropped dark hair and was wearing a grey Muggle suit and his wife wore a plain-looking floral outfit. Behind them bobbed Hermione with an impatient grin on her face. “Hi Neville!” she said breezily.
Hermione’s father extended his hand which Gran took politely. “You must be Mrs Longbottom,” he said. “I’m John and this is my wife Helen. And this must be Neville,” he continued looking past Gran. “Hello, young lad.” Neville shifted nervously and didn’t reply, he never knew what he was expected to say.
After the introductions were over, Neville helped to load his things into the Grangers’ car, which was a shiny new BMW. He said his goodbyes to Gran and then settled down into the back seat of the car alongside Hermione. “Put your seatbelt on,” she said.
“What’s a seatbelt?” asked Neville.
“Oh, sorry,” said Hermione and showed him what to do. They set off. Neville found that car travel wasn’t too bad after all, but it was incredibly slow and dull. Having taken the Hogwarts Express a couple of times now, he should have been aware how long it took to cross the country, but still he found himself rather bored. He passed the time by staring out of the window for long periods or talking to Hermione. Being used to seeing her in Hogwarts robes he was surprised by how Muggle she looked as well. She was still the same Hermione however, chattering excitedly about the coming term as Neville sat and listened.
They stopped for lunch at a motorway service station just past Birmingham. Neville felt very self-conscious among all the Muggles bustling about and brushed his hair down to cover his scar. He seemed very out of place in his un-Muggle clothes. He stuck close to Hermione and kept very quiet. Mr and Mrs Granger asked him a few polite questions but Neville noticed they avoided talking about magic in public.
By the time they eventually got to Hermione’s house Neville was tired and uncomfortable and glad to be out of the car. The Grangers lived in a small, quiet town on the edge of the New Forest. They had a pleasant, modern house next door to the dentist’s surgery where they worked. Hermione had carefully explained to Neville what a dentist was and Neville found the idea fascinating, if a little barbaric.
The first impression Neville had of the house as he entered was of how white it was. Unlike the colourful, if faded, walls of his home, the rooms in this house were almost all painted or wallpapered in shades of white or cream. This made it seem both bright and empty to Neville. The house was far from empty, however. The walls were covered in framed pictures and photographs, mostly landscapes but several were of Hermione at various ages, usually smiling and clutching some award. Neville found it oddly disconcerting how the pictures were frozen in place and didn’t move or change as he would normally expect.
It was the kitchen that most surprised Neville, filled as it was with strange machines both large and small for all sorts of household needs. Neville did know that Muggles used machines for many things as they couldn’t do magic but he’d expected their machines to be more, well, mechanical rather than like ornaments or furniture. He had a fun half hour with Hermione learning about the various devices such as the “toaster”, the “freezer” and the “microwave” which even Hermione admitted she had no idea how it worked.
After dinner the four of them sat out in the garden with cold drinks and talked together. Neville found that now in private Hermione’s parents were quite comfortable in discussing the wizarding world. They seemed fascinated and very inquisitive about everything to do with wizard culture and history. Neville did his best to answer their questions but there was so much he didn’t know, such as when Hermione’s father asked whether Neville thought wizards and non-wizards could ever live side by side in the future.
“It just seems terrible to me,” he said, “that in this modern age we still have people hiding away in this country because they’re ‘different’ in some way, as though all the equality and tolerance we’ve learned over the last fifty years was for nothing. Surely now we can find some way of bringing wizards out of hiding. Think of the good you could do for the world.”
Neville didn’t know what to say. “I guess we’ve got comfortable living away from Muggles,” he said. Mr Granger seemed to react to that word.
“Daddy doesn’t like the word Muggle,” said Hermione. “He thinks it makes us seem different or abnormal in some way.”
“We’re just as normal, just as human as you are,” said Mr Granger. “I don’t like labels being attached to any group large or small, it only divides people. Think of the damage we’ve done to the word “witch” over the centuries. It’s not fair to our Hermione that the word that describes her is an insult to most people.”
“There are worse words than Muggle that some people would use about you or Hermione,” said Neville.
“Really? Like what?” said Mr Granger, but Neville wouldn’t say, he’d been brought up strictly by Gran that certain words were beyond the pale and shouldn’t be spoken.
“There are some wizards who really hate Muggles,” he said to explain. “Did Hermione ever tell you about this?” Reluctantly he raised up his fringe to expose the scar on his forehead. The Grangers nodded sympathetically. “There was a war,” he said. “These wizards, they called themselves Death Eaters.” The name was still uncomfortable to say. “They wanted to take over and get rid of everyone who wasn’t all wizard, anyone who wasn’t born to a wizard family, who wasn’t pure-blood as they called it.”
“Someone like Hermione,” said Mrs Granger. Neville nodded and everyone was silent for a moment. The conversation ended there and Neville was glad, because he found it was still painful to talk about it. Gran had taught him all about the war, except about what Neville’s parents had done then. Neither of them wanted to talk about that, it hurt too much. Though Neville had never really known his parents and so didn’t miss them as such, it remained uncomfortable to think about them.
The question again arose in Neville’s mind why You-Know-Who had wanted to kill him. He wasn’t a Muggle-born, indeed by the Death Eaters’ standards he was a pure-blood. So why had he been targeted? Was it revenge? He knew his parents had been involved in the war in some way, but why kill him as well? It was a question he couldn’t answer.
He slept uncomfortably that night in the Grangers’ spare bedroom in a bed he wasn’t used to, visions of a face with piercing red eyes dancing into his dreams, as they often had recently. The next morning he came down to breakfast and asked for three slices of toast even though he didn’t really like them, just to watch the toaster in action. Muggle inventions, he thought, weren’t all that different to magic, if all really magic was, was that it made the unexpected possible. Wizards should give Muggles far more credit than they do, after all despite all their limitations they’ve done remarkably well for themselves.
After Mr and Mrs Granger had gone to work next door, Neville and Hermione sat in her room and talked. It gave Neville the first opportunity to explain to Hermione why he hadn’t replied to any of her letters and the strange appearance and warning of the house-elf Dobby. Neville told the story of Dobby’s visit while Hermione listened politely until he had finished.
“I’ve don’t think I’ve heard or read about these house-elves before,” she then said. “Are they quite common? Do they all work as servants?”
“I don’t know,” replied Neville. “I’ve never heard of any who didn’t work as servants. It’s always seemed to be, well, the way they are. It’s their job in life, to work for wizards. Of course, only the richest wizards have them, mostly the big, old pure-blood families. I don’t know anyone who’s got one. Harry might, he’s quite rich it seems. Malfoy definitely will. Other than that I don’t know.”
“They must be really expensive to employ, then. How much do they get paid?”
“Oh, they don’t get paid. They like to work. Like I said, it’s kind of their reason for being.”
Hermione looked completely shocked and was temporarily speechless, which was a very uncommon occurrence. Neville wondered if he’d said something wrong. He was inclined to put his foot in it from time to time, but he couldn’t see what it was this time. Eventually Hermione said “You mean they’re slaves? That’s horrible. And they like it that way? Hasn’t anyone done anything about it? I mean, hasn’t anyone asked them if they like it? I bet they’re treated awfully, and it’s just nobody listens to them. If Daddy heard about this, he’d go nuts!”
Neville stared at her for a while in disbelief. What was she going on about? House-elves worked for wizards and were happy. Everyone knew that. That was the way it had always been. Surely there was nothing wrong with that? Or was there? He’d never even considered the possibility before. Did that make him bad? He didn’t think so, but he was very confused. He just shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.
“Does this mean you won’t be going back to Hogwarts?” asked Hermione.
“Of course not,” said Neville. “I only said that to get rid of him.”
“But what about the danger? What about his warning?”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s really anything. That house-elf was more than half barmy if you ask me. Kept headbutting things. Probably nothing more than his own crazy imagination.” Hermione’s face suggested she disapproved of this description, but she said nothing, and the conversation moved on to other things. They talked over the events of the previous year, but Neville was still reluctant to discuss his encounter with Voldemort. He’d done his best to forget it, but it wasn’t easy.
When Mr and Mrs Granger returned in the evening, they had an excellent evening meal which Neville ate eagerly. They then settled down to watch television, a Muggle invention that seemed to combine the wireless with moving photographs. Neville took a lot of convincing that it wasn’t in fact magical, but in fact after a while became rather tired. The news stories of Muggle life didn’t interest him particularly and after a while he left with Hermione and they went back to her room.
Later Neville felt thirsty and went downstairs to get himself a drink. As he passed the living room, he heard Mr and Mrs Granger talking. “He’s a very quiet boy, isn’t he, John?” said Mrs Granger. Neville listened more closely from behind the door.
“Well, remember this is all new to him, Helen,” replied her husband. “He’s bound to be a little nervous. This is like a foreign country to him. Besides, we should go easy on him. He’s had a difficult life, losing his parents so young. Imagine if that had happened to either of us.”
“It’s amazing there could be a war happening right under our noses and we never knew anything about it. They do hide themselves well, don’t they?”
“They do. It’s just so sad that they have to.”
“But why do they have to, John? I’ve never understood why they do it.”
“They’re afraid, Helen. So often it comes down to just that. There are so few of them and so many of us. We’ve treated them terribly in the past and they had to escape. They were lucky they had the ability to do so. Now it’s just become a habit, a way of life for them. But really, I think that fear is still there, even if now it’s buried deep, almost subconscious. You heard what Neville said, there are plenty out there who hate us. That’s a legacy of fear, it encourages hate groups. You see it all over the world among minorities. Remember Helen, a few abilities aside, they’re exactly the same as us. Never forget that, or we’ll lose touch with our Hermione. We know she’s special, but it’s nothing to do with the fact she’s magical. It’s because she’s brilliant.”
There was a pause for a while and Neville wondered if he should leave. Then Mrs Granger said “Well, it’s all too much for me to understand. But I do worry about Hermione all on her own at school, so far away. I’m glad she’s found a friend, and I think Neville’s alright. It makes me feel a little better.”
Neville felt a little better as well at the overheard compliment as he left to finally get his drink of water. He was also quite thoughtful as well. The truth was, like so many wizards, especially pure-blood ones, he’d never given Muggles much thought in his short life. But Mr Granger’s words had changed that for the moment. After all, he’d always known there were thousands and thousands of wizards in Britain, but he’d never stopped to consider there were millions and millions of Muggles, trying to get by themselves. Just the last two days had given him a new-found respect for Muggles. Maybe his own attitude could change too. He sat in bed thinking about it long into the night.
The Weasleys versus the Malfoys by Sonorus
Author's Notes:
In which Neville is privy to a bust-up in Flourish and Blotts and encounters Gilderoy Lockhart.
“Come on Neville, hurry up,” said Hermione. Neville plodded out of the door to the car. “Have you got your Hogwarts letter?” she asked. Neville patted his pocket in confirmation and clambered into the back seat next to Hermione. Today, barely a week since Neville arrived at the Grangers’, they were off to London for the annual visit to Diagon Alley, to collect their Hogwarts supplies for the coming year. Hermione wanted to go today in particular because apparently some famous author called Lockhart was doing a book signing. Neville had never heard of him, but Hermione inevitably had and was full of praise.
They had to go by car of course and Neville didn’t enjoy the journey. He sat uncomfortably in the back seat, fidgeting the whole time with boredom and saying nothing. He already missed the instant travel of the Floo Network. He wondered how Muggles didn’t go nuts sitting in cars for hours on end, especially when they got stuck in a traffic jam all the way into the metropolis.
Having eventually found a place to park, they made their way down onto Charing Cross Road. There, amongst the assorted bookshops and other stores, they located the dim, bland entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. They had to stand there for a minute, convincing Hermione’s parents that the door actually was there, then, checking the street to see that no one was looking, they slipped inside. “It took nearly ten minutes to get them through last year,” said Hermione.
The instant Neville entered, he felt back in the world of the familiar. The surroundings were recognisably wizardly, the people looked ordinary. He felt guilty almost at the relief. Then he realised everyone was looking at them.
At first he naturally thought everyone was staring at him, he was used to that reaction by now. But slowly he saw that it wasn’t him, it was the Grangers they were looking at. At once Neville was aware of how out of place they looked. They seemed quite aware of it themselves and walked hurriedly to the back alleyway through the silent pub.
Once there, they had to lift Hermione up to tap on the wall and open up the gateway to Diagon Alley. The Grangers held their heads up high as they walked down the wizarding street, ignoring any glances that they got. To be fair, Neville saw that most of the glances were purely benign and inquisitive, but he knew more than most it wasn’t nice to be gawked at.
Their first point of call was Gringotts so the Grangers could exchange their Muggle money. It was Neville’s first look at the goblins and he couldn’t say he liked what he saw. Although he had to admit they didn’t distinguish at all between wizards and Muggles, all they saw was the money.
Just as the goblin at their counter was counting out the requisite Galleons and Sickles, they were approached by a middle-aged gentleman with a kindly face. “Anything I can help you with?” he asked pleasantly.
“No, I think we’re just about done here,” said Mr Granger. Hermione tugged at his trousers. “Oh, though if you know where… where was it Hermione? Oh yes, where Flourish and Blotts is, I’d be most grateful.”
The man smiled. “I’m just on my way there myself, I can show you if you like.”
“Thank you. John Granger.”
“Arthur Weasley,” said the man, and shook Mr Granger’s hand vigorously.
Neville noticed that, though balding, the man had wisps of undeniably red hair. “Excuse me,” he said. “Are you Ron Weasley’s father?”
“Why, yes I am, son,” said Mr Weasley looking down. He did a momentary double take, which he did his best to conceal. “It is Neville, isn’t it?” he said. “Neville Longbottom, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Neville reluctantly took the proffered hand and received an equally vigorous shake. “Ron told us you were in his year. Is your Gran not about?”
“I’ve been staying with the Grangers,” Neville explained. “This is my friend Hermione.” Hermione received another handshake and eventually, introductions over, they all filed out of Gringotts. Mr Weasley called out in the direction of a Quidditch supplies shop, where a boy had his nose pressed up against the glass.
“Ron, get over here,” he cried. “Look who I’ve just bumped into.” Ron came over, a little disappointed at being dragged away from the shop. “It’s a couple of your school friends. We’re all going up to Flourish and Blotts. Come on, the rest of the family will already be there.” He set off up the street with Mr and Mrs Granger. “If you don’t mind me asking, you are Muggles aren’t you?” he could be heard saying. “Only I’ve always wondered: how do those things you call aeroplanes stay up?”
Ron did not look particularly overjoyed to see Neville and Hermione. “Hello Neville, hello Granger,” he said weakly.
“Weasley,” nodded Hermione, without much feeling.
“You two still aren’t speaking to each other?” said Neville, frustrated. “I thought we’d got over that at the end of last year, after all we went through.”
“Yeah, we’re speaking to each other,” said Hermione. “It’s just we’ve got nothing to say.” They walked along behind the adults in silence, Neville in between the other two. As they approached the bookshop, Ron noticed someone up ahead outside and ran on past them. Neville could see it was Harry Potter, Ron’s best friend and Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He had apparently been waiting outside for Ron. Neville quite liked Harry, even though they were very different. Despite their combined efforts in saving the Philosopher’s Stone at the end of last year, however, it appeared that Hermione had not entirely yet shaken off her grudge against the two of them.
“Look at them,” she said. “A permanent pair, those two. Never seem to let each other out of their sight.” Harry and Ron now disappeared inside the shop.
“Come on, Hermione,” said Neville. “Give them a break. They’re alright, you know. Remember all the help they gave us. They didn’t have to do it.”
“I suppose,” said Hermione grudgingly. They followed Mr Weasley and Hermione’s parents inside.
Flourish and Blotts was packed with people and Neville forced his way through the crowd following the Grangers. Mr Weasley was now enthusiastically introducing them to the rest of his extensive family. Neville had never seen so many redheads in one place. There was Mrs Weasley, with a pleasant smile but a weary glance at her husband. Percy, the self-important prefect Neville remembered from his second year, stood behind his mother. The twins, Fred and George, were there too, but they’d wandered off to a corner with Ron and Harry, whispering to each other. Neville noticed a dark-haired man hovering nearby, watching them.
A young girl at Mrs Weasley’s side, holding her hand, watched them go and made to follow them. Mrs Weasley held her back. “No, Ginny,” she said. “You stay here. I don’t want you running off and getting lost.” Ginny reluctantly obeyed.
Neville and Hermione finally got through the crowd and reached the Weasleys. When Arthur introduced him, Neville immediately heard everyone around him go quiet for an instant. He hated moments like this and didn’t look up. Mrs Weasley put a motherly hand on his shoulder. “Good to meet you, Neville,” she said. “Come on, let’s get a better view.” Neville nodded and glanced at Ginny, who grinned and looked away quickly but stayed clutching her mother’s hand.
They managed to get a little closer to the front of the shop and Neville peered through the crowd to see what all the fuss was about. Standing behind a desk piled high with books a man, wearing absurdly bright coloured robes and a smile that seemed to want to tear itself right off his face, was making a speech. Neville listened.
“… and then the great troll smashed down his club right on top of me,” the man was saying, “but I was too quick for him and leapt aside. As he overbalanced, one swift boot to his backside and the troll plummeted down the mountainside to his doom. I swept up the girl, jumped on my broom, returned her to her grateful parents and still made it to cut the ribbon at the Quidditch stadium opening on time.” There was a generous round of applause. Mrs Weasley and Hermione, who’d come to Neville’s side, seemed particularly impressed. “Thank you, thank you. The full story is found in chapter seven of my new autobiography.”
He held up one of the books, the cover of which read Magical Me “ by Gilderoy Lockhart. “On sale now for the bargain price of 2 Galleons, 3 Sickles, and a copy signed by my humble self is, believe me, priceless.” His smile once again widened to disconcerting proportions and he smoothed back his hair as he gazed on his adoring public. Suddenly his eyes fell on Neville for a moment and a strange, quizzical look appeared on his face. Neville instinctively disliked the look, though he didn’t know why, and ducked down out of sight. He heard Lockhart mutter a brief “hey”, but not follow it up as Neville wriggled back out of the crowd towards the entrance.
Lockhart did not dwell on the possibility that he might have spotted Neville Longbottom, and continued with his two favourite pastimes, talking about himself and signing books. Mrs Weasley and Hermione joined the queue. Neville pushed his way clear of the throng and looked around for the Grangers. But at that moment something struck him on the side of the head. It was a book. Looking up to see who through it, he was horrified to see Draco Malfoy standing on the staircase with an ugly grin of triumph on his face. “Try ducking faster, Longbottom, or can’t you get any lower?” he sneered.
Draco Malfoy had made Neville’s life a misery at every opportunity last year and Neville had never really understood why. Sure, he was a Slytherin and Neville a Gryffindor, but it had seemed more personal than that. Maybe he was just a soft target, Draco must know Neville would never fight back.
Draco came down the stairs and loomed over Neville. He was a good few inches taller. “Longbottom! What a stupid name,” he said. “I think I’ll call you Short-arse. Much better.” Neville bristled but said nothing.
“Draco, who are you talking to?” said a smooth, oily voice from behind Malfoy. Draco span round quickly as if he’d had a shock. Neville looked up. Standing in the doorway was a tall man who looked very much like Draco to Neville. They shared the same pale blond hair, the same cold look in their eyes and the same effortless air of self-importance. He looked down on Neville and for a moment his eyes flickered with surprise before the veneer of disinterest returned.
“Well, well. Neville Longbottom,” he said slickly. “Delighted to meet you. Lucius Malfoy at your service.” He offered his hand, Neville didn’t take it. His Gran had told him something about Draco’s father, he couldn’t remember what, but it hadn’t been complimentary. “No need to be shy, Neville,” continued Lucius, without a hint of offence. “I’m sure your grandmother has taught you most carefully about talking to strangers. I understand. Is she here?” Neville shook his head. “Hmm, pity. I would love to meet her.”
“He’s here with Granger,” said Draco. “I saw them from up there. Them and…”
“Thank you, Draco,” snapped Lucius. Draco fell silent. Lucius scanned the crowd. “Yes, Draco has told me about your friend and her family. And there she is now, I see.” Neville looked round. Hermione was indeed coming out of the crowd alongside Mrs Weasley, Ginny still clinging to her hand. They were piled down with books, Ginny carrying hers in a heavily laden cauldron. “Well isn’t this appropriate,” Lucius sneered. “She’s among Weasleys.”
Mrs Weasley bristled angrily when she saw Lucius Malfoy. “Neville, come away from him,” she said.
“Good morning, Molly,” Lucius smiled, approaching Mrs Weasley. “I trust you and your family are quite well. I see you have found some other … charges to take care of.” He gave a dismissive look down at Hermione, who looked very uncomfortable.
“Malfoy, what do you think you’re doing?” Arthur Weasley had now come over from where he had been talking to the Grangers, a look of contempt on his face. “Leave my family alone.”
“Just engaging in a bit of polite conversation, Arthur.” Malfoy looked over Mr Weasley’s shoulder. “Were those Muggles you were talking with, Arthur? Dear me, dear me, I don’t care what get up to at home, but must you embarrass us all in public?”
Arthur squared straight up to Lucius. “Listen to me, Malfoy,” he said calmly. “Out of respect for everyone here, I suggest we continue this conversation outside.”
Lucius smiled. “Why should we, Arthur? I am quite comfortable here. It is always so much of a pleasure talking to you.”
By now others were gathering round to see what was going on. Harry, Ron, Fred and George had come out from the back clutching their newly bought textbooks. Following them was the dark-haired man Neville had seen earlier. He had a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Lucius spotted him and grinned. “And speaking of disgraces to pure-blood wizardry,” he said, “here’s none other than Sirius Black. Morning, Sirius. Long time no see. Cissy would send her regards I’m sure.”
“Very funny, Malfoy,” snarled the man identified as Sirius Black, who looked extremely angry.
Lucius looked down at the children around him and shook his head. “So many Weasleys, so little worth. And I guess you must be Potter,” he said, looking at Harry. “It’s a shame you ended up among all this.”
“Sirius!” yelled Mr Weasley in warning, but it was too late. Black had lunged straight at Malfoy, arms outstretched as if to throttle him. They both crashed to the ground. Harry leapt in to help, Ron, Fred and George joined him. Draco waded in on the side of his father and suddenly before Neville’s eyes the situation descended into a free-for-all. Fists were flying left, right and centre. A huge crowd was now gathered to see what was going on but no-one tried to stop it. Even Ginny tried to get involved, but Mrs Weasley held her back.
Eventually Mrs Weasley herself managed to pull Sirius and her husband back and the brawl was over. Everyone collected up their books in sullen silence. Lucius got to his feet, brushed down his robes, gave Ginny a slow, condescending pat on the head and, trailed by Draco, stalked out of the shop.
Neville watched them go. “What was that all about?” he asked Hermione.
“I have no idea,” Hermione replied. Mr Weasley had now gone back over to the Grangers, apologising profusely for what had happened. The crowd had begun to disperse. Fred, George, Harry and Ron were already laughing amongst themselves, they seemed to think they had scored some kind of victory. Things were returning to normal.
As they were about to leave, Sirius Black approached Neville. “Sorry about all that,” he said, with a wicked grin on his face that suggested he wasn’t the least bit sorry. “A lot of history there. It’s an honour to meet you, Neville.”
“Er, thank you,” said Neville. He hated it when this happened. “If you don’t mind me asking, who are you?”
“I’m Harry’s godfather,” he replied. “Harry’s told me all about you. I’m glad you’re doing well. Goodbye, Neville. I’m sure I’ll see you again some time.” With that, he turned and together with Harry walked out of Flourish and Blotts and disappeared down the street.
The Closed Barrier by Sonorus
Author's Notes:
In which Neville and Hermione take alternative means of travel to Hogwarts.
“Goodbye, Neville. We enjoyed having you with us. See you again sometime.” Mrs Granger gave Neville a big hug and kissed him on the cheek.
“Thank you, Mr and Mrs Granger. I had a great time. Bye,” said Neville politely and wiped his cheek with his sleeve. He wheeled his trolley around to face the wall. As he did so he was reminded instantly of being here just one year ago, standing nervously between platforms 9 and 10 of King’s Cross Station, London. Had it really been a whole year ago? He remembered the mixture of fear and excitement he had felt at the prospect of travelling to Hogwarts for the first time. So much had happened since then, but it seemed like only yesterday. Now the adventure would begin all over again.
The remaining time he’d spent at the Grangers had passed in a blur too. He’d enjoyed every day of it, learning first-hand so many of the quirks and intricacies of everyday Muggle life. But all too soon it was over and September had arrived. Neville had taken his last car ride into London and now here they were.
“Neville? Neville come on, stop daydreaming, we’ve got to go!” Hermione was at his shoulder as always, keeping him focused, chivvying him on. “The train goes in only three minutes and we need to find seats.”
“Alright, alright,” said Neville, snapping out of his reminisces. “Shall we go together?” He recalled not liking the experience of passing through the magical barrier onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
“Fine.” They waved one last goodbye to Mr and Mrs Granger and charged their trolleys at the wall. Neville closed his eyes… and was suddenly hurled forward onto his suitcase. He had crashed straight into the wall. “Not again,” he thought and opened his eyes. He was surprised to see Hermione getting to her feet next to him. She helped him up.
“How come you didn’t get through?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Hermione said. “Why didn’t you get through?”
“Well, I just figured… you know… I’d messed it up.”
“No, something’s wrong.” Hermione pushed the wall a few times and hurled herself against it quite hard. “The barrier, it’s closed itself somehow.”
“But that other kid got through fine a couple of minutes ago as we came down.” Neville looked up at the station clock. One minute to eleven and the seconds were counting down. “We’re going to miss the train!”
The few Muggles who had stopped to see what was going on passed on by. Mr and Mrs Granger now came over. “What’s the matter?” Mrs Granger asked.
Hermione explained, but by the time she had, the clock had ticked round to eleven. “What are we going to do now?” panicked Neville. “We all have to be on the train, it’s the rules. We’re going to get in so much trouble.”
“Calm down,” said Hermione. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
“Does the train stop anywhere else? Is there another train you can take?” asked Mr Granger.
Hermione shook her head. “No, it only runs this once. We have to be there by tonight or we’ll miss our first lessons tomorrow morning. Can you drive us up, please?”
“We can’t drive you all the way to Scotland and back, dear, it’d take more than two days and we have to work. Besides I don’t even know where Hogwarts is.”
“Somewhere remote. Not that far from Inverness apparently, but come to think of it I doubt you could find it by road,” Hermione acknowledged. “We should really try and get in contact with Hogwarts somehow, but it would take an owl ages to get there and back.”
“Hold on a minute, did you say Inverness?” said Mrs Granger, looking up at an information board. “There’s a train to Inverness from here that leaves in about an hour. You could get that.”
“But what would we do once we got to Inverness?” asked Neville.
“If we sent a message on ahead, could someone pick you up from there?” asked Mr Granger.
“I don’t know,” said Hermione, “but I don’t know what else we’re going to do.” They sat down on a bench and Hermione wrote a quick note on a small piece of paper she tore from a notebook. “Could you take it down to the Leaky Cauldron, Dad?” she said, handing it over. “You remember where it is. If you hang around for a while, someone will let you in, and they’ll be able to post it on to Hogwarts for you. Hopefully it’ll get there before we do.”
“I guess there’s not much else we can do.” Mr Granger took the note and they went over to the ticket office, where they bought two tickets for Inverness. The train left on time and Mr and Mrs Granger made sure Hermione and Neville were aboard before leaving. “Bye,” they said. “Stick together and call us when you get there if there’s a problem. Good luck.” They waved them goodbye and left.
Neville and Hermione jammed their suitcases into a tiny luggage rack and found a couple of seats and sat down. Neville looked around him nervously. This was a Muggle train and he hated it instantly. Instead of the quiet, spacious compartments of the Hogwarts Express, here there were what seemed like hundreds of Muggles crammed into rows and rows of tiny seats. It was loud, busy and frightening. He sunk down in his seat by the window and tried to block out the world around him.
It occurred to him that he had never been more surrounded by Muggles in his life than he was now. Even over the last fortnight they’d spent most of the time in the Grangers’ home among the family. Now here was a great crowd of strangers all about him and he felt a little afraid. He remembered what Mr Granger had said about wizards being afraid of Muggles. He hadn’t believed it at the time, but here he realised some of the anxiety he felt was that any moment someone would stand up and point him out for what he was. He was used to being unique, being always noticed, but that was among people he knew, in surroundings where he felt comfortable. Here he simply didn’t know what to expect. He recognised there was still a great deal about Muggles he ought to know.
Hermione was much more relaxed in this environment. She bought them lunch from the buffet car with the last of her Muggle money, given to her by her parents. The food was awful but Neville didn’t dare complain and ate it in silence. Hermione then spent most of the seemingly endless journey reading. She offered Neville one of her many spare books to read but he declined and instead stared out of the window and unsuccessfully tried to go to sleep.
The miles passed and the cities and towns of England and Scotland rolled by: Nottingham, York, Durham, Newcastle, Edinburgh, Aberdeen. Rolling countryside and open fields, wild hills and steep mountains, picturesque villages and urban sprawls. The canvas of Britain laid out before him. But none of it interested or inspired Neville. He simply huddled in his seat and waited for the journey to be over. Concealed in his pocket his hand clutched a precious object of his that reminded him, ironically, of home and who he was: his Remembrall.
Eventually, the numbers aboard the train now considerably thinned, it pulled gently in to Inverness station. It was a little after eight-thirty in the evening. The last few passengers disembarked and Neville and Hermione carefully pulled their heavy trunks off the train. Surreptitiously, Neville looked inside the small sealed box with holes poked in the top strapped to the top of his trunk. Trevor his toad was still safely inside, seemingly asleep.
They loaded the trunks onto trolleys and wheeled them off the platform towards the station forecourt. The station was fairly quiet but there were still a few people milling about. “Do you suppose your message got through?” asked Neville. “Will anyone be here to meet us?”
“We’ll just have to see,” said Hermione. “This way, it looks like.” She led Neville out past the ticket booths and onto the forecourt.
There, standing in the middle in front of the doors, someone was waiting for them. Someone had indeed been sent from Hogwarts to meet them. Neville gasped in horror when he saw who it was. It was Snape.
There was something faintly ludicrous about the sight of Professor Snape standing, dressed in his customary long black robe and with his blank scowl etched on his face, in such a Muggle setting as this. Several Muggles around him gave him strange glances but he acted as if he saw none of it. He just stared directly at Hermione and Neville. Neville’s stomach tightened painfully.
They walked nervously up to Snape. “You’re late,” he snapped.
“Er, sorry, the train was a bit delayed, I think…” said Hermione.
“Quiet,” Snape growled. “Come with me. Walking quickly, he led them out of the station and round the corner to a quiet street. “Keep up,” he called. Neville and Hermione, having had to leave behind their trolleys, were clumsily and slowly dragging their trunks behind him. Snape barely looked back and kept walking.
As they rounded the corner into the street, Neville gave a gasp. There, standing on the side of the street was a giant black horse. Its flesh seemed hideous and translucent, revealing the bones beneath. Huge leathery wings sprouted from its back. Its long neck tapered to a sharp, ugly, pointed head in which sunken spectral eyes glowed brightly. “What is that?” he exclaimed.
Snape looked back at Neville in surprise, up at the horse, then back at the boy. “You can see it?” he asked in a mildly curious voice. “Hmm. I see by your puzzled expression, Granger, that you can’t. It’s a thestral. Only… certain wizards and no Muggles can see it. It’s pulling this.” He looked up and down the street to check it was empty, then pointed his wand behind the thestral. An ornate carriage appeared behind it. “Get in quick,” he said. They loaded their trunks aboard and climbed in.
As soon as they were inside, Snape raised his wand once more and the carriage, now again invisible, lurched forward and took to the air, being pulled up and out of the city. Snape sat across from the two children and glared. Now they were alone his face had turned almost instantly purple. “What the hell do you think you were doing?” he yelled. “Travelling alone with all your wizarding belongings on Muggle transport for so far? Do you know the trouble you could have caused? What were you thinking?”
“We didn’t know what to do,” stammered a surprised Hermione. “It was the only way we could get up here.”
Snape sighed in disbelief. “As much as your egos might not allow you to believe it, you are not the first students ever to miss the Hogwarts Express.”
“We didn’t exactly miss it, sir, you see…” began Neville.
“I’m not interested in your excuses, and I wasn’t finished. If you had been more sensible and less impulsive, you might have realised that we do have plans for such an eventuality. An appropriate adult could have been dispatched on the Knight Bus to pick you up from home. Instead you come up with your own hair-brained scheme, causing no end of trouble. I’m astonished at both of you. Especially you, Mr Longbottom. Miss Granger has at least the excuse of being Muggle-born and inexperienced in such matters. You should know better. But it would seem the scope of your ignorance is not limited to your woeful skills at potion-making.”
Neville gulped and looked at his shoes. “But sir…”
“Silence! You’re lucky the Headmaster took pity on you and sent me to collect you. If it had been up to me I would have left you there, and you could have turned around and gone home, expelled. I fear you may not get what you deserve from Professor McGonagall.” He arched his eyebrows and stared hard at Neville, who continued to examine his own feet. They sat there in silence, under Snape’s harsh glare, for the rest of the journey, which was another half an hour.
When they arrived at Hogwarts, Snape dismissed the carriage and the strange winged horse and told them to leave their trunks at the entrance. He then led them up the main staircase and along to McGonagall’s office. Neville barely had time to take in that he was back in the huge, wonderful, awe-inspiring surroundings of the castle before Snape, in a hurry, bundled them into the office. “Here they are,” he said in a surly voice.
To Neville’s surprise, not only McGonagall was there, but Headmaster Dumbledore as well. Snape seemed also a little surprised. “Thank you Severus, you may go,” said Dumbledore. Snape looked almost disappointed, but left without a word, only a quick glare at Hermione and Neville.
Neville shifted uncomfortably. “W-we’re sorry Professor, Headmaster,” he mumbled awkwardly.
McGonagall looked sympathetic but stern. “Are you two alright?” she asked. They nodded silently. “Good. I hope you both realise you have been very fortunate. The Hogwarts Express is not just some holiday excursion. It exists for the protection of all students and to safely deliver them to Hogwarts. I trust in future you will not seek to override this precaution by… improvising?” More nods. “I am glad to see we agree. To make sure you understand, I am assigning you one night of detention each. Think on it, both of you.”
Neville and Hermione looked disappointed but said nothing. They had the feeling they had got off lightly. “Now go up to Gryffindor Tower at once,” said McGonagall. “You will find your belongings already there.”
“If I may, Minerva,” interrupted Dumbledore. “I will accompany Mr Longbottom and Miss Granger up to the tower. It is on the way to my office.”
“By all means, Albus,” said McGonagall, a little surprised. Dumbledore led Neville and Hermione out of the office and back to the stairs. He laid a comforting hand on each of their shoulders.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I read your letter. I know it wasn’t your fault and that you did what was best. Really, you should not have received detention. But we have to make an example, to make sure the other students understand, for their protection. I will ensure your punishments are light.” He paused and coughed gently. “Tell me, what happened? Do you know why the barrier was closed?”
“No sir,” said Neville. “But I…” He hesitated.
“Yes, Neville, what is it?” Dumbledore looked down at the boy.
“Nothing.” He didn’t feel like having to make any long explanations tonight.
“Very well. Ah, here we are.” They stopped in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait. The door into the common room was already ajar. “Well, good night. I am glad you made it here safely. Your safety is very important to me.” He looked straight at Neville. “Very important. Make sure you thank Professor Snape for bringing you.”
Neville was reminded of a question that was bothering him. “Sir, why did you send Snape to pick us up? Why him?”
“I needed someone I could trust,” replied Dumbledore, “and I trust Professor Snape. Implicitly.” He nodded to them and walked off towards his office, whistling as he went.
Whispers in the Dark by Sonorus
Author's Notes:
In which classes begin, Draco insults Hermione and Neville starts hearing a strange voice.
The next morning at breakfast, on the first day of term, Neville and Hermione were a popular topic of conversation on the Gryffindor table. News of their unorthodox arrival at Hogwarts had spread rapidly around the castle, as news was prone to do. It had quickly been embellished with various rumours, ranging from the claim that they’d flown all the way from London on brooms to the suggestion that Snape had somehow engineered the whole thing to get them expelled. Fred and George Weasley, with some support from Harry and Ron, Neville noted sadly, were taking the opportunity to mercilessly tease Hermione for breaking her reputation and receiving her first detention. Though it was largely good-natured, Neville could tell Hermione was not enjoying it.
Neville himself was used to being talked about behind his back and ignored it all. He was just revelling in being back in the familiar and comforting surroundings of Hogwarts. There was something about this place that made it feel more like home than even Gran’s house. He didn’t really understand why.
He looked up and down the Gryffindor table. All the usual faces were there. He saw Dean and Seamus laughing and joking about something. There were Lavender and Parvati, giggling away. He could also see a few new ones. He recognised Ginny Weasley, fresh-faced and eager, sitting among her brothers. She caught sight of him looking in her direction and waved. He half waved back and she grinned, before turning to listen to whatever Harry was saying to Fred.
Suddenly there was a bright flash in front of his eyes and he blinked hard. When the spots disappeared, his eyes focused on a small, brown-haired boy who was excitably bobbing up and down on the spot as if he was desperate to go to the bathroom or something. In his hands he held an old-fashioned camera. “All right, Neville?” he asked breathlessly. “You are Neville Longbottom, right? I’m Colin Creevey, I got sorted into Gryffindor yesterday. I just wanted to say how great it is to meet you. I’ve heard all about you.”
“Uh, hi,” said Neville. Yet another fan, he thought.
“I hope you didn’t mind the photograph. I’m sending them home to my parents. They’re keen to learn all about Hogwarts.”
“Didn’t they come here, then?”
“No, they’re not wizards. No one in my family is, as far as we know, except maybe my little brother. This is all new to me. Isn’t it fantastic?”
“Yes it is, Colin.” He liked this kid, even if he was a bit over-enthusiastic. “You should meet Hermione, she’s Muggle-born as well. Hey, Hermione,” he said. Hermione turned round on the bench and instantly blinked herself as Colin took another photograph. “This is Colin Creevey. He’s a first year Gryffindor.”
“Oh, nice to meet you, Colin,” said Hermione, rubbing her eyes. Colin stood there for a while looking at Neville, as if waiting for something, then when nothing happened dashed off up the hall. Hermione tugged at Neville’s sleeve. “You’ll never guess who the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is,” she said.
“Huh?” replied Neville absentmindedly. He hadn’t been paying attention.
“Quirrell’s replacement. Look,” said Hermione, passing him a copy of the new timetable. Below the title of the first Defence lesson, scheduled for that afternoon, was written “Prof. G. Lockhart OM(3rd).”
“Lockhart? The author? That guy from the bookshop? What’s he doing teaching at Hogwarts? Does he know anything about Defence?”
“Does he know anything?” replied Hermione incredulously. “Honestly Neville, you really should read more. You’d enjoy it, I’m sure. Gilderoy Lockhart’s done more for wizardry in his lifetime than a hundred other people put together. It’s all in his books. He’s a legend.”
Neville remembered the overdressed wizard with the absurd smile and felt doubtful. Still, he would find out soon. The bell went for the first lesson and for once Neville was looking forward to it, as it was his favourite subject, Herbology. The Gryffindors joined the Hufflepuffs in making their way down to greenhouse 3 where Professor Sprout was waiting for them.
Neville was particularly pleased to learn that the first plant they would be studying that term was the Mandrake. Neville had read about these over the summer (Herbology textbooks were about the only textbooks he got around to reading) and knew a little about them. So, when Professor Sprout asked, Neville raised his hand. Hermione, whose hand was of course immediately up as well, looked slightly surprised, and Sprout chose Neville.
Neville, who almost never answered a question, suddenly realised everyone was staring at him. “Er, they have roots that look like little people and they scream terribly,” he stammered. “They’re used for cures or antidotes and such like.”
“Right, Neville. Well done,” beamed Sprout, and awarded Gryffindor eight points. She explained a few more points, including that the scream could be harmful, and fatal with full grown Mandrakes, and got them all to put on earmuffs. They spent much of the rest of the lesson repotting and tending the Mandrakes, which Neville found most fascinating and enjoyable, though Hermione didn’t. Ron and Harry down the far end were messing about and nearly let their earmuffs slip off. They were severely rebuked by Sprout.
Neville went to lunch in a good mood, and afterwards followed Hermione up to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. When he entered he immediately noticed the place had apparently been redecorated. In contrast to the dark, smelly atmosphere of the room under Quirrell’s tenure, now it was light, bright and airy, with the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows. The walls were lined with pictures, every single one of them featuring the beaming smile and impeccably tended features of Lockhart himself. The pictures seemed to be staring across the room at each other and ignoring the entering students.
Everyone found their seats and waited. They waited for a long time. Eventually, with a nonchalant air and without the slightest hint of concern, Lockhart breezed into the room, his bright cloak swishing behind him like the tail of some great tropical bird. In his right hand he clutched his wand, in the left he held a small cage, covered with a cloth. He put the cage down on the teacher’s desk. It rattled and rocked on the desk. Lockhart turned away and faced the class. He folded his arms ostentatiously across his chest.
“Good afternoon, Gryffindors,” he said brightly. “Welcome to your second year of Defence Against the Dark Arts with me, Gilderoy Lockhart. I am by nature an understated person, but I am sure you are not likely to encounter a better instructor than myself. You are indeed most fortunate students.” Neville shot a quizzical glance at Hermione, but she appeared to be unconcerned. “I have encountered, fought and defeated some of the vilest and dangerous creatures in our world and now I am here to pass the accumulated knowledge of these many challenges onto you. Open your desks.”
They did so and inside they each found several volumes of Lockhart’s own books, with bright garish covers and absurd titles. Neville turned them over in confusion, Hermione looked excited. “Excellent,” continued Lockhart. “Everything you will ever need is contained in these books. Learn them well and you need never fear the Dark Arts again. Except you don’t fear them at all, do you Neville?” Suddenly he had rounded on poor Neville, sitting next to Hermione at the front. “I had forgotten you already had a celebrity in this class. One nearly as famous as me, eh Neville?”
“Er, thank you, Professor,” said Neville quietly and uncomfortably, not knowing what else to say. He felt the eyes of everyone boring into the back of his head.
Lockhart leaned closely in to Neville and whispered in his ear. “You’re a quiet one, Neville, I can see that. Sensible. If you’ll take my advice, never pursue your fame. It will come to you in your own time.” He winked disconcertingly at Neville and turned back to the cage on the desk. He addressed the class. “To give you a taste of what you can expect from my class I have a surprise for you today.” He whipped the cloth off the cage to reveal a seething mass of small blue creatures packed inside and scrabbling to get out.
“Are those pixies?” asked Lavender curiously.
“Indeed they are, Miss Brown. Eager and fresh all the way from Cornwall. The first thing you have to know about pixies is that you should never take your eye off them for a moment. They may seem harmless, but they can catch you unawares if you’re not careful. I included a section on pixie tracking in Travels with Trolls. The key is always to look at…” The back of his robe swung against the cage and it clattered to the floor. The door sprung open and the pixies leapt out. Gleefully, many of them attached themselves to Lockhart’s back and head. The rest scampered among the desks and students, spreading utter chaos.
Neville ducked away from the advancing horde and put up a couple of Lockhart’s heavy books as protection. The Gryffindors scattered left and right, desperately trying to fight off the blue menaces. Hermione took out her wand, but the pixies were moving too fast for her to stop. “Professor, do something!” she pleaded.
Lockhart wasn’t listening. Several pixies had seized his robes by the collar and lifted him into the air. They dropped him onto one of the hooks hanging his pictures. The hook came away from the wall and Lockhart crashed to the floor, the painting coming down on top of his head. He staggered to his feet, took out his wand and looked around him. Neville waited to see how he would stop the pixies. Instead, with a quick furtive glance as if to see if anyone was watching, he kept his head down and fled from the room.
* * *
“He’s a complete joke,” said Harry, shaking his head and tending his bit finger. “Where did he get to? He just scarpered and left us to deal with the mess. Bloody coward.” It was between lessons and most of the Gryffindors were sitting out in the courtyard, having left behind them the chaos of the Defence classroom.
“Professor Lockhart’s a hero, he’s not a coward, Potter,” said Hermione defiantly, but a little unsure. “I’m sure he had a good reason for leaving, right Neville?” Neville didn’t answer. He’d seen the scared look on Lockhart’s face as he’d left and didn’t want to embarrass Hermione.
“Probably didn’t want to mess up his hair,” said Ron. Harry sniggered. Neville didn’t. He got up, stretched his arms and trod on his undone right shoelace. He lost his balance and went sprawling on the ground. To his surprise none of the Gryffindors laughed. But he heard several noises that sounded like ugly snorts coming from across the courtyard.
“Like the taste of dirt, do you, Short-arse?” said the unmistakeable sneering voice of Draco Malfoy. Neville raised his head an inch. There he was, flanked as always by Crabbe and Goyle and walking straight towards him. His hand was fingering the wand at his side, as if he couldn’t quite decide which curse to use. “Or maybe you’re more comfortable on all fours.”
Neville felt himself being pulled to his feet. It was Hermione who had come over to lift him up. She turned on Malfoy, anger in her eyes. “You leave him alone, Malfoy,” she snarled. “He’s ten times more than you’ll ever be.”
Malfoy rounded on Hermione and his voice became icy cold. He pulled out his wand and jabbed it under Hermione’s chin. “Mind your tongue,” he said slowly, “you dirty gutter-bred Mudblood.”
Almost without thinking, Neville whipped out his own wand. How dare he, he thought, how dare he? “Besciatomo!” he yelled. The tip of his wand spluttered and sparked, but nothing happened.
Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle laughed in Neville’s face. But unknown to him, behind him the Gryffindors to a man had drawn their own wands and they were most definitely not laughing. Ron of all people spoke first. “Close enough, Neville. But I think you’ll find it’s “Bestiavomo.” He almost jabbed his wand in the side of Malfoy’s face as he spoke the incantation. There was a flash and Draco fell to the ground. He looked up at Ron in amazement, tried to stagger to his feet and raise his wand, and doubled up as if he was choking. He pounded his stomach and belched. Something horrid, black and slimy flopped out of his mouth and onto the ground.
Harry leaned over Ron’s shoulder to see what it was. “Slugs,” he said. “Nice choice, Ron.”
“Thanks,” Ron replied. “It seemed to suit him.”
Malfoy retched as another slug fell out of his mouth. He turned to Crabbe and Goyle. “Get, retch, them,” he spluttered. But the two Slytherins were all too aware of the seven wands still pointing at their chests, and did as befitted their house. That is, they saved their own skins first, and ran. Malfoy hobbled off after them, glaring silently back at his attackers, a trail of slugs left in his wake.
“Uh, thanks, We-, I mean Ron,” said Neville to Ron. Ron merely nodded, and stowed away his wand.
Hermione looked visibly shaken. “What just happened? What did he say? What’s a Mudblood?”
“You mean you don’t know?” said Harry, but it was clear from Hermione’s face she didn’t. Harry looked sympathetic. “You’d best explain it to her, Neville,” he said. Everyone began to disperse and Neville took Hermione aside to explain.
Later that day at supper, a grimmer looking Hermione took her place at the Gryffindor table. As she passed the place where the Weasleys were sitting chatting away to each other, she stopped. “Thank you, Ron,” she said. “I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble.”
If Ron was surprised at receiving thanks from Hermione, he didn’t show it. “Hey, what’s another detention?” he smiled. “I’m used to them.” Hermione gave what looked like half a smile, and went on to sit down next to Neville.
* * *
Neville entered the deserted Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom that evening as the moon was just beginning to rise into the sky. The place was still an absolute mess, the devastation left by the marauding pixies covering the room. To his surprise Neville discovered that Professor Lockhart was still in the room, idly sitting at his desk, looking through piles of paper. He glanced up in surprise. “Neville, my boy, what can I do for you?” he said brightly, though Neville thought he looked far more down and uncomfortable than that morning.
“Er, Professor McGonagall said that if I cleaned up the mess in here this evening without magic that could count as my detention.”
“Excellent, excellent, I wondered why no-one had been round to clear up before. Don’t mind me, Neville, go ahead.” He returned to his reading while Neville set to work. He wondered why Lockhart hadn’t magically cleaned up the room himself, rather than just sitting there in the mess. McGonagall had expected him to have left a long time ago.
He noticed that Lockhart occasionally paused to peer over at him, and he found it quite unnerving after a while. He finally decided he’d have to make polite conversation to break the mood. “Doing some marking, sir?” he asked amiably.
Lockhart held up a few sheets, which Neville could now see were letters. “Fan mail,” he said, with a grin. “Always take the time to read it. Keeps ones finger on the pulse. I hope you do the same.”
“But I don’t get fan mail, sir,” said Neville, bemused.
“Really? It’s important to keep in touch with one’s public, Neville.” He put down the letters and leaned conspiratorially over the desk. “You know, Neville, fame has responsibilities. People look up to you, expect you to maintain a certain standard. It’s not easy to maintain that place at the top, believe me. I know you’re young, you’ve plenty of time ahead of you, but it never hurts to take a little friendly advice from one who’s been there before.” He gave Neville a little wink and went back to reading the fan mail.
Neville shook his head in disbelief. Harry was right, this Lockhart fellow was a right oddity. Having fans pestering him the whole time was the last thing Neville wanted, especially as he hadn’t done anything to deserve them. He was glad he didn’t have any, unless perhaps you counted that kid Colin, who’d turned up in some odd places today to just happen to run into Neville.
“I come.”
“Sorry sir, what did you say?” said Neville, absently.
Lockhart looked up surprised. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“But I thought… nothing,” Neville quickly added, looking around him at the dark, empty room. Maybe he had just imagined it.
“I come to hunt. I come to kill.”
Neville jumped. The voice sounded cold, hollow but sharp and, though it barely rose above more than a whisper, it seemed to echo against the stone walls of the castle, so Neville could not trace the source. Lockhart continued reading, apparently oblivious to what Neville had heard. Cautiously, his heart beating rapidly, Neville stuck his head out of the classroom door and looked up and down the dark corridor. It was empty.
“I am yours to command, master.”
Neville swallowed hard. Lockhart glanced up. “Ah, Neville, finished, have you? Superb. Bye. See you at the next lesson.” Neville merely nodded. In fact, he hadn’t quite finished, but he wasn’t going to hang around here any longer. He left the room at a brisk walk towards the staircase.
“I am ready. I will kill…”
Neville didn’t stop to listen to any more. He broke into a sprint, charged to the staircase and ran up six flights without stopping. Finally he paused outside the Fat Lady’s portrait, panting heavily and cursing his out-of-shape physique. Eventually, and with great relief, he recovered, spoke the password and entered. The common room was busy. He saw Harry sitting by the fireplace reading a Quidditch book, but there was no sign of Hermione. He went on up to his room and collapsed on his bed, still trembling. Though he could no longer hear it, the cold whisper continued to echo inside his head.
“Kill, kill, kill, kill…”
The Petrified Cat by Sonorus
Author's Notes:
In which Mrs Norris is Petrified and blood writing appears on a wall.
The first few weeks of the school year passed by quietly and uneventfully, and Neville did not hear the strange voice again. But he had not forgotten it and the thought still sent shivers down his spine. Several times he had woken up sweating with the voice ringing in his ears. He didn’t know what thought was worse, that he had imagined it, or that he hadn’t. Either way, he decided, he wasn’t going to tell anyone about it, not even Hermione.
Neville decided to distract himself with his other main worry, work. Having, he felt, barely scraped through his first year exams, admittedly with an impending confrontation over the Philosopher’s Stone looming over him, now it seemed his classes had risen to whole new level of difficulty. Even with Hermione’s help, he was happy just to get passing marks in his assignments for most classes. In Potions, with the odious Professor Snape, he just kept his head down, turned a deaf ear to the withering criticisms that came his way and tried not to set fire to or explode anything. Mostly, he was successful. Snape, however, seemed to regard him even more as an insult to wizarding intelligence and took every opportunity to make this point.
The sad thing was, though he didn’t know it, under different circumstances he might well have quite liked Potions. After all, it provided a natural compliment to his favourite subject, Herbology. But it would have taken a person of far stronger constitution than Neville to stand up to the constant belittling and bullying of Snape and not have it rub off on him. He now took it for granted that he would always fail the subject, that he had no potion-making skills. Like a great deal of Neville’s assessment of himself, he was wrong, but it was not hard to see why he held that view.
As with last year, Neville spent most of his time alone or with Hermione in the common room, or in his own dormitory. After hearing the voice, he was even less inclined to wander the corridors of Hogwarts as the nights closed in. He was finding the common room a more comfortable place than he did last year, most people by now knew him well enough and didn’t pester him and gave him space if he wanted to sit and be quiet.
The one notable exception to this rule was the young boy with the camera, Colin Creevey. Colin, who never seemed to stop taking photographs, would hover around Neville incessantly in the common room, apparently waiting for the moment when his idol would do or say something extraordinary. Nothing Neville could say would dampen his enthusiasm. Neville had to admire his dedication, and he quite liked the kid really, after all Colin was somewhat out of place himself as well and was coping admirably. But there was only so much hassle he could take. He got into the habit of redirecting Colin in the direction of Harry and Ron, who always enjoyed sharing tales of their exploits, or Fred and George, who would invariably make up something outlandish.
As autumn drew on and Halloween approached, Neville had almost forgotten about the strange voice. Two days before Halloween, at the end of a long day, he found himself half nodding off over supper. Hermione shook him awake. “For goodness sake, Neville, what’s the matter with you?”
“I blame Binns,” said Neville with a yawn. “Does he want his class to fall asleep or what?” He finished the last of his meal. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He got up from the table and almost ran straight into Ginny Weasley, who was coming the other way. She looked quite flustered.
“Oh, er, hello, Neville Longbottom,” she said in an odd kind of way and hurried on past him before he had a chance to reply.
“That was a funny thing to say,” said Hermione quietly to Neville. Neville didn’t reply. He looked back and saw that Ginny was talking to Ron and Harry. Ron looked embarrassed and keen to be somewhere else, Harry was polite. “She’s an odd girl, that one,” continued Hermione.
“Everyone’s odd round here,” observed Neville. “Especially around me.” He had to admit, though, that Ginny was quite strange. Though, by all accounts, she was a popular and outgoing girl, she almost never spoke to him. She seemed to spend a lot of time hanging around her brothers, particularly Fred and George, which, Neville thought, couldn’t be good for her. He made a mental note to ask Colin Creevey about her next time he had the opportunity. He did this in the way he always made mental notes, by taking out his Remembrall and staring into it for a moment. It didn’t always help, but it had become a habit of his.
Neville and Hermione left the Great Hall. “Are you coming to the library?” Hermione asked. “There’s an essay due next Friday I need to start work on.”
“Fine,” said Neville and they ascended the staircases and passed along to the library entrance. Inside, Hermione got out some books and started to work. Neville, across from her, pretended to work himself, but really spent most of the time staring out of the window, watching the last rays of sun disappear behind the mountains, and wondering what the festivities for Halloween would be like that year.
“Neville, Neville are you listening?” Neville snapped out of his reverie. Hermione had a familiar disapproving look on her face. “Obviously not. Your parchment’s still blank.” She pointed her quill at it. “If you’re not going to do any work you might as well go back to the common room, rather than just taking up space here.”
Neville had to admit she had a point, the chances of him actually doing any work were practically non-existent. He collected up his things and left quietly. Outside the corridors of the castle were now largely quiet and he made his way alone through the castle. He paused for a moment to admire a great tapestry of some ancient wizarding conflict on one of the walls. Then something happened which made him freeze solid and sent his heart pounding in fear. He heard a voice.
“Attack.”
He looked around desperately but there was no one there. He couldn’t tell where the voice had come from, but it sounded close. He stayed rooted to the spot, not knowing whether to stay still or run, and in which direction.
“I smell blood. I will kill. I will kill…”
That time it sounded like it had come from just up ahead of him, almost from within the wall. He turned to run in the opposite direction, then stopped. Something terrible was going to happen to someone, he knew it, but from where the voice came from it did not sound like it was going to be him. What if someone was hurt? How could face himself knowing he had abandoned them, when he could have fetched help? Slowly, reluctantly, but quicker and quicker after a while, he moved in the direction of the cold voice.
He descended a flight of stairs and turned a corner. His shoes splashed on the stone floor. Neville looked down and saw that water was covering the floor. It had evidently poured out of one of the bathrooms here and was flowing thickly down the corridor, which was otherwise empty. Neville thought he saw a glint of something up ahead and splashed forward.
There, in the middle of the corridor, suspended in the air seven feet above the wet floor and slowly revolving, a small hairy creature floated, utterly rigid and motionless. Neville stared up in amazement, for he recognised it immediately. It was Mrs Norris, the ever watchful cat of Mr Filch the caretaker. Her yellow eyes were now blank and unblinking.
Neville took out his wand instinctively, though he didn’t have the first idea of how to undo whatever curse had been placed on the animal. For a moment as it turned he saw something reflected in the cat’s eyes on the wall behind him. He spun round and gasped. A message, written in what appeared to be a large quantity of blood, was daubed across the wall. In dripping bright red letters Neville read “THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS IS NOW OPEN. FLEE, MUDBLOODS, OR DIE.”
Neville stood reading the words over and over again, shocked and uncomprehending. Suddenly he heard a noise behind him and turned, wand still in hand. Draco Malfoy, of all people, with Crabbe and Goyle behind him, was staring open mouthed at the scene as Neville had done. “Short-arse? What are you doing?” he exclaimed.
“What, no, I…” Neville stammered, but was unable to finish the sentence. More students were arriving and reading the words. Neville just stayed in place, still clutching his wand, not knowing what to do. He heard a clatter behind him and turned. Colin Creevey, mouth forming a perfect O, had dropped his camera and was not making any attempt to pick it up again. Neville recalled that he was Muggle-born. He could only imagine what he was thinking.
Fred and George joined the crowd and for once they weren’t laughing. Nobody knew what to make of the message. Neville heard a voice behind everyone. “What’s going on? Clear off, the lot of you. Make way.” Filch himself burst through the crowd and surveyed the scene. “Mrs Norris? MRS NORRIS!” he screamed, and leapt pathetically in the air, trying to claw down his inert cat from the point it was floating just above his reach. “Who did this?”
Neville waited for a dozen fingers to be pointed in his direction. To his surprise none were, but he still felt horribly exposed. Filch continued to scrabble weakly in Mrs Norris’ direction. No one else moved. Now teachers were arriving: Flitwick and Sprout, and Snape with his expressionless face. At length a deep voice spoke into the silence. “Would all students please return to their dormitories immediately.” Everyone turned to see Dumbledore now standing there, reading the message with a pained look in his face. “The heads of houses please stay.”
Reluctantly everyone began to file away, led by prefects. Neville turned to go, but Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Neville, stay a moment.” He looked up and pointed his wand at the cat. It fell to earth and was caught by Filch who examined it.
“She’s dead!” he wailed, and sure enough Mrs Norris was still not moving.
“Here,” said Dumbledore and gently took the cat himself, holding it up to examine it through his spectacles. “She lives, Mr Filch,” he said at last. “She has been Petrified, that is all.” He turned to Neville. “Neville, am I right in saying that you were the first to find Mrs Norris?” Neville nodded. “Did you see anyone else around, anyone at all?” Dumbledore looked genuinely worried, which was enough to frighten Neville considerably.
“No sir. Sir, if I may ask, can you cure Mrs Norris?”
“The one cure for Petrification is draught taken from fully matured Mandrakes. Unfortunately they take many months to mature. Professor Sprout, will you take care of the arrangements?” Sprout nodded. Dumbledore looked up at the blood writing once more and with a dismissive voice pointed his wand and said “Tergeo”. The blood vanished. “Thank you Neville, you may go. Staff, would you come with me.”
Neville made to leave, then stopped. “Sir,” he said, “the message, should we be worried? I mean, are Muggle-borns really in danger?”
“I’m afraid we must take the warning very seriously, Neville,” replied Dumbledore gravely.
Neville didn’t stop any longer. “Hermione,” he said, and ran off.
* * *
“Slow down, Neville, you’re going too fast. Relax,” said Hermione. They were sitting in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, while all around students were discussing the events of earlier that evening. Occasionally one or two would stop to throw an odd glance in Neville’s direction. Hermione as it had turned out had been perfectly safe and still in the library. Neville had dragged her away protesting and now, once he had fully got his breath back, finished telling Hermione what had happened.
“But what does it mean? I’ve never heard of a Chamber of Secrets.”
“Neither have I,” replied Neville. “But I’m sure Dumbledore did and it definitely worried him.”
Hermione glanced at her watch. “If only the library wasn’t closed, I could go right down there now and start researching it,” she said disappointedly.
“No!” exclaimed Neville, more forcefully than he’d intended. Hermione was taken aback. “I mean, it’s not safe for you out there. I told you what the message said. And I definitely heard…” He trailed off.
“Heard what, Neville?” But Neville wouldn’t say, he didn’t want to appear crazy. “Don’t be silly, Neville,” Hermione continued. “I’m not staying in here all day just because of some threatening message. I’m sure Dumbledore and McGonagall and Lockhart and the other teachers are more than capable of protecting the school and all of us. It’s probably just some brain-dead Slytherin trying to scare people. Nobody’s been hurt.”
“Not yet,” muttered Neville, but it was too quiet for Hermione to hear. Aloud he said “Malfoy was the first there, with Crabbe and Goyle. He looked quite pleased. You don’t think it could be him, after what he said the other day?”
“Maybe, but we’ve no proof,” replied Hermione. “If only we knew what the Chamber was…”
* * *
The next morning in History of Magic class, Neville dozed gently on his desk as usual. Binns hadn’t even arrived yet, but Neville was already getting ready for a long nap, it was impossible to stay awake in the class anyway. Suddenly, as Binns entered, passing silently through the blackboard to his desk, Hermione gave Neville a sharper than usual kick in the shin. “Wake up, Neville,” she said, none too quietly. “You’re going to want to be awake for this.”
Neville opened his eyes reluctantly. To his surprise, almost before Professor Binns had started speaking, Hermione’s hand shot in the air. When the astonished ghost finally called on her to speak, she said “Professor, could you please tell us what you know about the Chamber of Secrets?”
There was a hush around the room. With some reluctance, Binns agreed, and for once the Gryffindor class all sat and listened attentively as he recounted the fascinating and frightening tale…
Dobby's Confession by Sonorus
Author's Notes:
In which Neville is hurt, talks to Dobby, and the first student is Petrified.
“So do you think the legend’s true, Hermione?” asked Neville. “There really is a Chamber of Secrets and something terrible inside, set to kill Muggle-borns?” They had returned to the Gryffindor common room at the end of the day to discuss what they had learned.
“I don’t know. Even if there is, who’s to say this Heir of Slytherin even exists? Anyone could have written that message.” Hermione was being stubbornly logical, though Neville was already convinced. “Where is this monster, then?” she continued. “Nobody’s seen it, no one even knows what it looks like.”
“But I’ve heard it,” said Neville, and then immediately realised what he’d done. Hurriedly he looked round to see if anyone else had heard. Fortunately there was no one nearby.
“What?” exclaimed Hermione, a little too loudly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, I heard something,” admitted Neville reluctantly. He shifted uncomfortably and his voice fell to a whisper. “I’ve been hearing, well, a voice recently. But no one else seems to be able to hear it. I heard it just before I found the writing. It sounded evil and it wanted to kill.” He shivered slightly at the recollection. Hermione stared at him with expression that mixed pity and doubt. “Don’t give me that look, Hermione. This is why I didn’t tell you. I’m not crazy. I told you I heard it!”
“I don’t think you’re crazy, Neville,” she replied kindly. “But monsters don’t talk, not even wizarding ones, and not so only one person can hear.”
“So what do you think I heard?” demanded Neville, but Hermione did not reply. She leaned back in her chair, adopting her typical thinking pose. Eventually she looked up.
“Okay, supposing there really is a Chamber, and an Heir of Slytherin, who is it? Slytherin died a millennium ago.”
“Malfoy,” repeated Neville firmly.
“Neville, you can’t just accuse someone because you don’t like them.”
“Don’t like them? Hermione, come on, Malfoy’s a foul cruel bully, you know that. He’s a Slytherin through and through, so is all his family. At the very least he should have an idea who’s behind this, but frankly I’m sure it’s him.” Neville’s opinion of Malfoy, which had never got out of the gutter, was at an all time low after the ‘Mudblood’ incident. “Crabbe and Goyle would know,” he continued. “Let’s set Fred and George on them, find out what they know.”
“Neville, no!” snapped Hermione. “We don’t go around beating people up just to find out information. Do you want us to sink to their level? What’s got into you?”
“I don’t know, I just… there’s something out there, Hermione and I feel I ought to do something.”
“Neville, it’s not your responsibility.”
“I know, but I feel I have to help somehow. I can’t just let things happen.” Neville could put it into no clearer words than that, he didn’t even understand himself what he felt, but hearing that voice and reading those words on the wall had triggered something in him, a fear that something terrible was going to happen and he was the only one who could see it coming.
“All right,” said Hermione at last, “there may be something we can do. I’ve had an idea. But I’ll need to do some research first and it could very well be dangerous. Okay?”
Neville nodded, and did not enquire into Hermione’s plan. He wondered whether she’d just said it to stop him bothering her, but over the next few days she did seem to be up to something, spending yet more time in the library and talking to Lockhart about something after a lesson.
Neville himself felt thoroughly depressed over those days, though. He moped about the castle, largely on his own, dreading hearing the voice again and frustrated that there was nothing he could do. He was not able to enjoy the Halloween feast, nor the next Quidditch match in which Gryffindor trounced Slytherin thanks to yet more nifty Seeking by Harry Potter. While most of the house were down in the common room celebrating, he sat in his room, miserable and tired. He was annoyed that no one seemed as worried as he was, yet wished he could be as relaxed as them.
Early in the week after the Quidditch game, after a particularly terrible Potions lesson in which Snape had directly accused him of trying to deliberately set fire to his classroom after he had absent-mindedly added three too many salamander skins to his cauldron, Neville was sitting in Herbology, paying little attention to Professor Sprout. With his current glum expression on his face, he was staring into the next greenhouse at the rows and rows of exotic plants lined up there. He hardly noticed when everyone started to leave at the end of the lesson, and when he looked around, the greenhouse was half empty. Sprout was busying herself collecting up the books and parchments on her desk.
Neville gave one last glance back towards the other greenhouse. In the far corner he could just make out a row of large plant pots with purplish-green leaves sprouting from them: the Mandrakes being prepared to cure Mrs Norris and, Neville realised with dread, any other potential victim that might suffer a similar assault. An idea formed in his mind. Waiting till the last student but him had left, he approached Professor Sprout. “Professor?” he said politely.
Sprout looked up. “Yes, Neville, what can I do for you?” she said, and smiled. Sprout liked Neville, he had a genuine interest in Herbology and his enthusiasm more than made up for his lack of academic skill in her eyes.
“Well, I’ve been wondering, could I help you look after the Mandrakes while they’re growing? I could come every day before supper, or, you know, whenever you need help. You see, I’ve been looking for a way I can be useful and I think this is something I could do.”
Sprout smiled warmly. “Thank you, Neville, I’d be glad to have your help. Come by this evening and I’ll show you what you can do.” Neville nodded, and left feeling far happier than when he had arrived.
That evening, he reported to greenhouse 1, where Sprout explained the tasks Neville could do, mainly weeding and pest control. “We’re going to keep them indoors until the worst of winter is over, then move them into the outside beds,” she said. “That’ll be a crucial time for them. For now, you only need to come down two or three times a week. Thank you. I’ll be next door if you need my help.” She bustled off merrily.
Neville slipped on the pair of protective earmuffs Sprout had provided and set to work. This was one kind of work he enjoyed, it was real life, it was practical… it was useful. Whistling to himself tunelessly and grasping his trowel, he set about his work. He was fascinated by the curious baby-like appearance of the Mandrakes screaming inaudibly whenever he exposed one of their tiny mouths.
Suddenly there was a curious tug on his ear. He grabbed onto his earmuff and looked around. No one was there. He shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the Mandrakes. The tugging came again, this time at his earmuffs. As fast as he could, his hand shot up to his ear, but he was too late. The right earmuff pulled up off his ear. For a moment he heard a sharp cry, a ringing sound that seemed to burrow deep into his brain. The pain was excruciating, but in an instant all was black…
* * *
Neville came to groggily. His head felt like it had taken a pounding with a mallet and his eyes took time to focus. He found he was lying in bed, on a hard mattress. Gingerly he raised himself up and sat looking around. He recognised his surroundings immediately, he was in the hospital wing. This was the third time he had been in here. Slowly he tried to piece together what happened.
From the far end of the room, Madam Pomfrey the nurse saw him rise and hurried over. “So, you’re awake at last, Mr Longbottom,” she said. “We must stop meeting under these circumstances.” She smiled, poured a small measure of liquid into a cup and handed it to him. “Drink up, it’ll clear that headache of yours. You’ve been out for several hours now. It was fortunate Professor Sprout found you in time and those Mandrakes are still young. You should be more careful with your earmuffs in future.”
Neville didn’t have the strength to protest. He swallowed the medicine and handed the cup back to Madam Pomfrey. “What time is it?” he asked.
“Late,” she replied. “You’ll stay here and get some rest overnight, then you should be fine again tomorrow morning. Good night, Mr Longbottom.” She walked off towards her office. At the door she almost ran into someone trying to get in. “Is their something I can do for you?” she asked.
Colin Creevey poked his head around the door, trying to see past Madam Pomfrey to Neville. He clutched his ubiquitous camera, attempting to snap a photograph. “I heard what happened. Is Neville okay?” he asked.
“Mr Longbottom is resting and is not to be disturbed. Please leave him in peace.” She hurried Colin back out of the door and closed it behind her.
The hospital wing was now deserted, Neville seemed to be the only current patient. He lay back down, wondering how on earth the earmuff had come off. Had he done something wrong he couldn’t remember? Was it just his general clumsiness?
All of a sudden he felt something pulling at his mattress, down by his feet. He peered down to the end of the bed. Something small, barely half his height, was trying to climb up on to the bed beside him. It eventually succeeded, smoothed out the filthy rag it was wearing and looked at Neville with its huge round eyes. “Hello again, Neville Longbottom,” it said. “Dobby is most pleased to see you are well.”
Neville sat bolt upright in surprise. It was the house-elf who had surprised him in his room in the summer. Dobby just stood there, a slightly guilty, hangdog look on his face, his long ears drooping by its side. His fingers were bandaged. Neville too waited for the house-elf to say something. When he didn’t, Neville asked “Why are you here?”
“Neville Longbottom did not listen to Dobby’s warnings. Neville Longbottom broke his promise and came to Hogwarts. Now terrible things are afoot and Neville Longbottom is in great danger.”
“Terrible things? You mean you were trying to warn me about the Chamber of Secrets?” Dobby went to reply, but stopped and started biting his own arm. Neville pulled it free. “Stop that, Dobby. Can’t you tell me anything about who’s behind this? You know, don’t you?”
“Dobby can’t, Dobby can’t!” the house-elf wailed. He leapt off the bed and began ramming his head into the bedside table. Neville tried desperately to restrain him.
“Okay, okay, you can’t!” he said. “But why do you keep hurting yourself, Dobby?”
“Dobby must obey. Dobby must obey his masters,” the house-elf sobbed. He looked up at Neville with a look of pain and desperation that Neville found at once shocking and appalling. “It is the life of a house-elf, sir. Dobby must serve his family forever, whatever they wish. Dobby must keep their secrets. Dobby should not even be here. If Dobby does his masters wrong, then Dobby must be punished. They are not here, so Dobby punishes himself.”
Neville looked down at the elf with an utterly new perspective. When they had first met he had considered him crazy, half-deranged. Now all he could feel was pity for the poor creature in front of him. Hermione had described house-elves as slaves. This, he realised, was almost worse. They didn’t know they were slaves. They didn’t even understand the concept, and so unintentionally cooperated in their own servitude. He now realised the great risk Dobby was taking and how difficult it was for him. “Why, Dobby? Why put yourself through all this? Why warn me?” he asked.
“You are Neville Longbottom,” Dobby replied, as if that were answer enough. “You are the hero who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Dobby needed to protect you, even from yourself. Dobby had to make you leave.”
“Make me?” Neville looked at him. “Dobby, what happened today, did you do that?”
Dobby broke down and sobbed. “Dobby is sorry, sir. Most sorry. Dobby only meant to scare you, to make you leave. Dobby only wanted to help. Dobby punished himself, as was right.” He held up his bandaged hands.
Neville leaned over and said, more forcefully than he expected, “Never, never punish yourself on account of me. Do you understand, Dobby? Never.” The elf nodded meekly. By rights he should be angry, but he didn’t feel it. His feelings of pity had not diminished. “Dobby, you haven’t done anything else to stop me, have you?”
“D-Dobby stopped you getting the Hogwarts train,” the elf stammered. “Will Neville Longbottom punish Dobby himself?” Dobby held out his hands.
“No, I will not,” replied Neville. This only set the elf off sobbing tears of gratitude and mumbling praises of Neville. “You aren’t happy with your life, are you Dobby?” Neville said, unnecessarily. When Dobby simply looked up the answer in his eyes was so plain that Neville realised what a stupid question it was. “Then leave it behind, Dobby. No one can stop you.”
“Neville Longbottom doesn’t understand. No house-elf can leave their master. Not unless their master provides them with real clothes.” He indicated the horrid rag he wore. “This is all Dobby can wear until then.” The very thought of a time he could be free set him crying once more.
Without thinking Neville picked up one of his shoes which had been placed by his bed and tried to give it to Dobby. This only seemed to make things worse. “No, no,” Dobby wailed. “Dobby’s master must give him the clothes. Only his master can set him free. Dobby wishes…” But he could not finish the sentence because, Neville realised, he would have to hurt himself again.
“Listen Dobby,” Neville said, once Dobby had calmed down again. “Thank you for warning me, but I can’t leave. Other people are in danger, Muggle-borns in particular, it seems. My friend is Muggle-born and I’m not leaving her. I’m sorry, but don’t think I’m not grateful.” Dobby just gazed at Neville with astonishment and adulation in his wide eyes. “If you can tell me anything, anything without needing to be punished, please do.”
Dobby stood unsure for a moment, if desperate to speak. Then he just bowed his head, murmured “Dobby is sorry,” and with a ‘crack’, he vanished. Neville sighed sadly. He hoped he would meet the little house-elf again, but now he settled down to sleep still pondering a great number of questions.
Despite that, he slept soundly, and awoke late. Realising he was in danger of missing breakfast, he hurriedly dressed and prepared to leave. However, when he opened the door to find Madam Pomfrey, he discovered she wasn’t there. “Maybe she doesn’t come on duty till later,” he thought, and wondered if he was allowed to leave. He had just decided to wait a while longer when he heard a commotion on the staircase leading down to the wing.
Four people were coming down the stairs towards him, supporting something between them. Alongside Madam Pomfrey, Neville was astonished to see Professor Dumbledore himself, along with the tiny Professor Flitwick. Behind them, looking noticeably distressed, Neville recognised Percy Weasley, Ron’s brother and one of the Gryffindor prefects. “Move out of the way please, Mr Longbottom,” called Madam Pomfrey.
Neville stood aside to let everyone past and as they did so, he let out a choked gasp of shock. Between Pomfrey and Dumbledore, floating unsupported horizontally under the control of Flitwick’s wand, was the inert body of a girl. She looked about sixteen, Neville guessed. Her long hair fell in curls about her shoulders but did not dangle down towards the ground. Now Neville looked more closely, her whole body was frozen rigid, unmoving. Her eyes were staring forward unblinking and her mouth was half open. The whole face gave the impression of an instant moment of shock and terror.
Flitwick guided her onto a bed and released his spell. Percy crouched down beside her, his usual stern manner quite absent. Neville loitered by the door, desperate to know what had happened. “Where did you find her, Filius?” asked Dumbledore.
“In a bathroom up on the fifth floor,” answered Flitwick in his squeaky voice. “She’d evidently been there since last night. Mr Weasley was concerned and asked me to find her. She was just standing at a sink, staring forwards as you can see.” Percy looked up and nodded, but did not speak.
Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “It’s started,” he muttered to himself. “Filius, tell the others. We shall hold a full staff meeting tonight at seven. New measures will have to put into effect. Poppy, I shall leave Miss Clearwater in your hands. I know there is nothing you can do for her for now, but look after her. Mr Weasley may stay if he wishes.”
With a last sad look at the Petrified form of Penelope Clearwater, Dumbledore made to leave. He looked surprised to see Neville still standing there, looking with horror and frightened curiosity on the scene. “Come on, Neville,” he said. “Best if we all leave now.”
“Yes, Mr Longbottom, you may go,” said Madam Pomfrey, turning her eyes immediately back to her stricken charge. Dazed and shocked, Neville left the hospital wing, parted from Dumbledore and Flitwick and made his way down to the Great Hall. Two words of Dumbledore’s were stuck in his head like a broken record, two words that frightened him more than he expected: It’s started.
Author's Notes:
In which Hermione explains her plan and Neville encounters a snake for the first time.
Within a few hours the news had spread throughout Hogwarts like wildfire. The talk in every common room and every dormitory was of nothing other than the attack. The Heir of Slytherin had made good on his threat for the first time, and though Penelope Clearwater was not dead, only Petrified, this did nothing to reassure the rest of the Muggle-borns among the student body. Some of the more nervous ones were even talking of quitting the school, or not returning after the Christmas break.
No one seemed to know how or why Penelope or Mrs Norris had been Petrified, a most strange form of attack. A thousand rumours or ideas were being spread, each as improbable as the next, stoked by the fact that the teachers could not or would not provide any explanation. There was a more noticeable presence of the staff in the corridors in the evenings and at break times, only serving to increase the nervousness.
Neville noticed how easily suddenly it was to tell the Muggle-borns from everyone else. They were ones with the nervous looks, the uncertain expressions, and in some cases giving the impression of determination and defiance. All sorts of people. It had never even occurred to him before to consider the blood status of those around him, and now he did, he didn’t like it. Why should it matter? Without this threat, no one could tell who was who, not on appearance, not on skill, not on anything. After all, he knew for a fact the witch he most idolised, Hermione, was Muggle-born, while the wizard he most despised, Malfoy, was pure-blood.
Pure-blood. That was what he was. Though Gran had never had time for any ideas of blood purity, he’d always been brought up to be proud of his heritage. Now he was almost ashamed of it. He felt undeservedly favoured, because of the parents he never knew, while others were suffering and in fear, others far more worthy than he. He wished he was one of them, that he could take their place, that he could take the place of Hermione. That would be so much fairer, it seemed to him.
Hermione, in contrast to almost everyone else, said nothing about what had happened for the first couple of days, and didn’t seem to change her attitude or routine at all. Neville decided to wait and not press the issue until she was ready to talk. On the third evening, however, she pulled Neville aside after lessons and said “Meet me on the second floor by Lockhart’s office in twenty minutes,” before hurrying off up the staircase.
When Neville arrived where Hermione had said a little over twenty minutes later, he found her already there, carrying a laden cauldron and with a heavy-looking book under her arm. “There you are,” she said. “Come on, I’ve got the perfect place where we won’t be disturbed.” She led Neville along three corridors, then with a quick look around her to check no one was looking, she opened a door into a bathroom. Neville followed.
The bathroom was dim and shabby, it looked like no one had been in it for years. The wooden doors to the cubicles were rotten and in a couple of cases loose on their hinges. The sinks were all cracked or chipped and the floor was damp. Neville looked around and realised something. “Er, Hermione, isn’t this a girls’ bathroom?” he asked.
“Yes, it is!” cried a shrill voice, as if from nowhere. For a moment Neville thought he was hearing voices again, then he saw a translucent head poking out through the door of one of the cubicles. The head was that of a girl with a round, pimpled face and thick glasses. The rest of the girl was nowhere to be seen. “Go away, you shouldn’t be here!”
“You’re a ghost, aren’t you?” said Neville, in one of his usual fits of stating the blindingly obvious.
“Oh, very good,” said the ghost, and floated through the cubicle door to reveal the rest of herself. Neville could see she was wearing Hogwarts robes. “I suppose you think that’s funny, don’t you? Come to tease me? Oh yes, let’s all go down to the bathroom and laugh at the dead girl, it’s so much fun!” She spat these words out with such spite that Neville backed off a few paces. He’d never been comfortable around ghosts in general and tended to avoid them if possible, but they weren’t usually this unpleasant.
“He’s with me, Myrtle,” said Hermione quickly. “We’ve just got some work to do in here, we’ve not come to tease you, we promise. Have we, Neville?” Hermione gave Neville a stern look.
“No, no, not at all,” stammered Neville.
“Well why shouldn’t you?” Myrtle snapped. “Everyone else does. Everyone hates miserable, ugly, fat Myrtle, with her horrid hair and her spotty face and…” But the rest of her ramblings were drowned out by her loud, heavy sobs. Still bawling, she dived back through the cubicle door and Neville heard a splash.
“What was all that about?” he asked Hermione.
“They call her Moaning Myrtle,” Hermione replied. She’s always been here and she’s always like that. First thing you learn is to avoid this bathroom. That’s why we’re here, there’s no chance of us being disturbed.”
Neville glanced back to the cubicle. “She lives in a toilet?”
“She haunts a toilet,” Hermione corrected. “She doesn’t live anywhere any more.” She began unloading and setting up her cauldron. Neville looked at the strange things piling up by the cauldron, leeches, knotgrass and other stuff he didn’t recognise.
“So what are we doing here, then?” he asked. In answer Hermione opened the book she was carrying and showed Neville a page. “Polyjuice Potion,” he read. “Enables the taker to transform into the appearance of any other human being. Come again?”
“You make this,” said Hermione, just as if she was explaining something in class “put a bit of someone else in, like a hair, and it changes you to look exactly like them. You can pretend to be anyone you like.” She lit a gentle fire under the cauldron.
“What good’s that, then?”
“Don’t you see? We don’t need to beat up Slytherins to find out what Malfoy’s doing. We can be Slytherins and just ask him! It couldn’t be simpler!”
“So you agree Draco might be responsible, then?”
“Well, someone is, clearly and this is the best lead we’ve got. Do you want to do it?”
“What, now?”
“No, it takes a while to brew the potion. I’m afraid it won’t be ready until well into the Christmas break. And we’ve got another problem. We’ll need someone else to help us.” When Neville looked puzzled, Hermione continued “Well, I figured you could turn into Crabbe, but he’s never out of sight of Goyle, so we’ll need someone to take his place too, or we’ll never get away with it.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“I’m not turning into a boy!” said Hermione, shocked at the idea. “That’s just disgusting! No, I’ll turn into Parkinson or Bulstrode or someone. We’ll need another boy for Goyle.”
Neville thought for a moment. “How about Harry?”
“No,” said Hermione firmly. “He’d only make it into a joke and wouldn’t take it seriously. Besides, you involve him, you’d need to involve Weasley as well and the less people the better.”
“Fine then, what about Colin? Colin Creevey. He’s always buzzing around me, looks up to me for some reason. I’m sure he’d certainly do it if I asked him.”
Hermione looked doubtful but eventually said “All right, you can ask Colin. Now help me stir in these ingredients.”
* * *
A few days later, Neville still hadn’t got around to asking Colin. At that moment he was more worried about the letter he’d got that morning from Gran, complaining about the fact that Neville wasn’t coming home for Christmas. Fortunately she’d stopped short of insisting Neville come home, but she had a knack for making Neville feel guilty and it was made worse by the fact that he couldn’t tell her the real reason he was staying.
He was having supper in the Great Hall, sitting next to Hermione. He could swear that Ginny Weasley was staring at him down the table from where she sat by her brother Ron. Ron seemed lost in thought and didn’t notice. Neville looked up, but Ginny turned her head away. “Strange girl,” he thought.
As he left the Great Hall, he spotted Colin, taking several photographs of one of the statues in the Entrance Hall, and decided to take his chance. He approached the first-year. “Colin?” he asked.
Colin was momentarily dumbstruck at the fact of Neville Longbottom coming and talking to him, but wasted no time in snapping another photo of his idol. “All right, Neville?” he asked.
“Yeah, look, there’s something I need to ask you.” Walking with Colin up towards the Gryffindor common room, Neville carefully explained the Polyjuice plan to him and why they needed his help. “Will you do it?”
Colin beamed. “Of course. I was planning to stay here over the holidays anyway. Does this mean we get to see inside the Slytherin common room?” He was brimming over with excitement.
“Perhaps. It depends where Malfoy is at the time. And no, you can’t take your camera. Goyle doesn’t carry a camera, I doubt he even knows what one is.”
They climbed up the steep stairs. Colin leapt over one instinctively, reminding Neville to do the same. He hated the trick steps. “Still,” Colin continued, “it’ll be cool to look around. Thanks, Neville.”
They reached a landing and Neville paused for a moment to get his breath back, Colin had bounded up the stairs far faster than Neville usually did. There was something else he needed to ask Colin, what was it? He took out his Remembrall. The smoke inside was its usual red. The colour did seem to connect with something. Of course! Red hair, that was the connection. “One other thing, Colin,” he asked. “Do you know Ginny Weasley?”
“Ginny? Fairly well, I guess. She’s usually top of our class.”
“Does she strike you as being a bit… well, odd?”
“Odd? Not at all. She’s quite popular, really. Everyone seems to get on with her, she’s quite chatty, very friendly. I think we look up to her a bit because she’s got cooler older brothers she hangs out with a lot.”
Neville was puzzled. “It’s just, well, I haven’t talked to her that much, but whenever I see her she seems to be acting strangely. Is it just me?”
“Well, you are Neville Longbottom,” pointed out Colin. It was the answer Neville had been dreading. Could no one treat him normally, just because of this stupid scar on his forehead? How could he ever lead a normal life, if he could turn an ordinary girl into a nervous wreck just by who he was? He shook his head sadly as they reached the Fat Lady’s portrait and entered the common room. The room was quiet and fairly empty, it was still early in the evening. Neville looked around for Hermione, but she wasn’t there. Colin had stopped to read the noticeboard near the door. “Hey Neville, have a look at this,” he said, and pointed to a garish pink notice pinned to the centre of the board.
The script on the notice was ornate and pretentious. “Professor G. Lockhart, OM, extends an invitation to all brave and daring souls to participate in his DUELLING CLUB,” read Neville. “Next Thursday, 8pm, in the Great Hall.”
“Are you going to come?” asked Colin eagerly. “I definitely will if I can.”
“I don’t know,” said Neville unenthusiastically. “I don’t think so. It’s not really my thing.” He didn’t like fighting in general, plus it would only be an opportunity to further embarrass himself over his lack of skill. He had no intention of letting the whole school see his ineptitude at once. He said goodbye politely to Colin and went up to his room to check on Trevor.
* * *
By the next Thursday it seemed like everyone in the Gryffindor common room was talking about the Duelling Club and planning on going. Everyone that is, except Neville. Hermione, who was keen to attend herself, had tried unsuccessfully several times to persuade Neville to come, but he had stuck firm. When everybody trooped off to the Great Hall that evening, Neville said goodbye to Hermione and returned alone to his room.
He spent the evening watching Trevor, and trying to catch him whenever he hopped off somewhere. Usually the toad was quite happy hopping around the dormitory, but he could be desperately difficult to catch if he got under one of the beds or disappeared from view. Also Neville was worried he might get too close to Scabbers, Ron Weasley’s pet rat, who scuttled around his large cage by Ron’s bed. The rat was mostly harmless, but Neville was concerned that a stray paw could do some serious damage if Trevor got too near the cage.
To someone who didn’t know Neville, it might seem that he was lonely and bored. In fact, Neville quite liked the solitude and quiet, and he didn’t feel he was missing out on anything. By himself, he had no expectations to live up to, or hopes to disappoint, or excuses to be made. Life was so much simpler. Indeed it felt something of an intrusion when his roommates returned and insisted on telling him in long-winded detail everything they had learned that evening, and how Snape had embarrassed Lockhart, and how Malfoy had been a complete git as usual. All their comments were prefaced with “you should have been there, Neville,” but even as he went to sleep that night, Neville did not regret his choice.
The next day was like any other, with an onerous workload as usual. Hermione enthused to him about the new spells she had learned and he listened politely, but the rest of the time he got on with the business of making it through his lessons. After lunch he took a walk around the ground floor to clear his head. He was spotted by Colin, who hurried over to talk to him. Before he had a chance to say anything however, Neville turned a corner and found himself face to face with Draco Malfoy, who was lounging against the wall. “Morning, Short-arse,” Draco sneered, and stuck out a leg to trip Neville up. Neville dodged it and ignored Malfoy.
“Didn’t see you at the Duelling Club,” Draco continued. “Scared of getting hurt?” Neville continued to ignore him and walked on. In anger, Draco drew his wand. “Don’t you turn your back on me, Short-arse,” he yelled, his wand outstretched. Neville didn’t turn round and kept walking. Draco trembled with rage. “See what you missed, then,” he shouted. “Serpensortia!”
Every student in the courtyard turned to look as Draco shouted. Neville tensed instinctively, waiting for the pain in his back he expected from a curse, but it didn’t come. He turned. Slithering across the stone floor towards him, having sprouted from the end of Draco’s wand, was a huge snake. It hissed and bared enormous fangs. Neville backed away a couple of steps and Draco laughed. No one moved. The serpent reared itself up in front of Neville and readied to strike.
Neville froze, not knowing whether to run. He had never encountered a snake before. “Go away,” he whispered without thinking in the snake’s direction. To his astonishment, it stopped and looked up at him. “Go away,” he repeated louder, waving his arms as if to shoo off the creature. “Get away from me.” The snake turned around and slid off in the opposite direction, back towards Draco. Neville looked up at Malfoy who, a shocked expression etched on his face, turned and ran. The snake settled down in a corner.
It was only then that Neville realised how quiet the courtyard was. Looking around, he saw that all twenty or so faces were staring at him, with mingled looks of horror and fear. Neville saw Colin, worried and confused, and Harry and Ron together across the courtyard, with similar expressions to the rest. Nobody seemed willing to move. At last, after what seemed like an age, Harry broke ranks and walked over to Neville. He put a hand on Neville’s shoulder. “Neville, are you alright?” he said.
Neville nodded weakly. “What just happened?” he asked.
Harry’s brow furrowed. “Neville, you talked to the snake.”
“I know,” said Neville, confused.
“No, Neville. You talked to it.”
Neville looked up into Harry’s worried face and understood. The enormity of it hit him like a blow between the eyes. “P-Parseltongue? But… I didn’t mean to. I mean… but…” He trailed off. There was nothing to say. Neville knew about Parseltongue. It was almost a legend. The gift of communication with snakes, an ancient art passed down in the blood, nowadays seemingly lost forever. The proud distinguishing mark of Salazar Slytherin himself, who took the snake as his emblem, and the emblem of his House. The man who’s Heir had supposedly returned to continue his cause, the cause of blood purity.
The Heir would be a pure-blood, of course, descended through countless generations, bearing the blood of the Founder, bearing his mark. The eyes now staring at Neville all betrayed the same thought. Here was the Boy-Who-Lived, who as a baby had destroyed the greatest Dark wizard of his age. Could this be the Heir of Slytherin?
Neville swayed dizzily, unable to take it all in. “I’m not!” he cried weakly to the onlookers, but now they all hurried on, suddenly desperate to be somewhere else. Only Harry remained, and Ron and Colin who looked on as Harry led Neville away.
When Neville stepped into the Gryffindor common room that evening, there was a sudden hush, and all eyes turned towards him. News travelled fast at Hogwarts. Neville put his head down and made to walk through the crowd, but Harry ran up to him and asked him to stop. “Listen!” Harry called to the room. “Parseltongue’s just a trait, like a Metamorphmagus or a Seer. Neville’s no more the Heir of Slytherin than I am!” He waited for a response, but none came.
Neville looked around at the sea of faces all looking at him silently, with fear and uncertainty in their eyes. Here, amid a crowd of people, for the first time in his life he felt truly alone.
Christmas with the Slytherins by Sonorus
Author's Notes:
In which a second student is Petrified and Neville visits Dumbledore’s office. Later Neville and Colin transform into Crabbe and Goyle and interrogate Malfoy.
Neville sat alone in a corner of the library, hoping to avoid the looks and silent accusations of his fellow pupils. He knew eventually he would have to leave and return to Gryffindor Tower, but he hoped to delay the inevitable as long as possible, so that the castle would be quiet when he left.
It was now two days since the Parseltongue incident and they had been two of the longest days of Neville’s life. For a boy who had never much cared about others’ opinion of him, he was discovering just how painful it was to be universally shunned. Everywhere he went, people avoided him, or walked away. He would sometimes catch sight of them whispering about him in corners, and a couple of times he was sure he had seen someone talking to Hermione, warning her to stay away from him for her own safety.
Hermione had stuck by him, as had a few Gryffindors, notably Harry and Colin. Many of his fellow Gryffindors, however, remained unsure of him. Since he usually kept himself to himself, they only knew him by reputation and were now unsure what to make of him. His exploits at the end of the previous year now served only to heighten the mystery surrounding him. Neville longed for the end of term, which was now only days away, when there might be some respite for him.
He looked at his watch. The library was closing in five minutes; he would have to leave. Reluctantly, he packed up his things and walked out, keeping his head down to avoid seeing anyone looking at him. Outside, the corridor was deserted, and he hurried along, intending to get back to Gryffindor Tower as fast as possible.
“Kill.”
Neville stopped dead in his tracks. No, he thought. Not again. Please, not again. He stood, hoping, praying that he had imagined the voice.
“Blood. Attack. Kill.”
The voice was hurried, frenzied, moving at great speed and Neville could only catch fragments. He drew his wand and began to run. The voice was drawing him, he felt he had to follow, if only to learn the truth, to discover what was truly happening. But as he rounded a corner, barely noticing the huge cluster of spiders fleeing in the opposite direction, he found he was too late.
Floating suspended in mid-air, the translucent form of Nearly-Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost, was motionless and rigid, as if the spectral form had finally succumbed to death, and been hung from the ceiling like a piece of meat. Neville shuddered involuntarily. Beyond Nick, he saw the prostrate form of a young boy sprawled on the floor. He ran over. The boy was stiff and cold, just as Mrs Norris and Penelope Clearwater had been. The Heir of Slytherin had claimed another victim.
Neville did not recognise the boy. He looked about Neville’s age and there was a Hufflepuff badge on his robe. Neville wondered if he should move the body, or go for help. At that moment however, Percy Weasley came round the corner. The prefect stopped, astonished. He stared at the scene in front of him in shock. “Longbottom,” he stammered. “Longbottom, what have you done?” Percy drew his wand and pointed it directly at Neville, taking two steps towards him, and for a moment Neville flinched, fearing the curse coming his way. He remembered Percy’s reaction to the attack on Penelope.
But Percy did not attack. Neville heard footsteps and another student arrived on the scene. Percy, not lowering his wand, barked “Fetch McGonagall,” and the girl hurried off. Percy faced Neville silently, but Neville could see the outstretched hand that held his wand was trembling slightly, whether from fear or anger he did not know. Neville said nothing, but waited for what seemed like an age.
Eventually Professor McGonagall arrived. She assessed the scene calmly, but with a troubled look in her face. “Mr Weasley, Miss Winters, wait here for help to come. Mr Longbottom you had better come with me.” She beckoned Neville away and, with a last silent glance at a stern-looking Percy, he followed her on through the castle. They were climbing upwards through the floors and Neville wondered if they were going straight to Gryffindor Tower. They turned aside, however, on the seventh floor and walked along a long corridor to where stood the statue of an ugly-looking gargoyle.
“Wait here,” said McGonagall. “Sherbet lemon!” Neville started, confused for a moment, then the gargoyle sprang aside to reveal a rising stone staircase. McGonagall ascended while Neville waited at the bottom with trepidation, and wondering what on earth a sherbet lemon was.
At long last, McGonagall returned down the staircase. “The Headmaster will see you now,” she said curtly, indicating the staircase.
“The Headmaster?” Neville gulped.
“Yes Longbottom, and I doubt he will wish to be kept waiting.” Under McGonagall’s watchful gaze, Neville stepped onto the staircase and was borne upwards. He found himself in front of a heavy oak door which was half open. He pushed it wider and entered.
The room in which he found himself was wide and circular, and filled with strange and mysterious objects and instruments. Portraits filled the walls. Dominating the room, a huge desk was placed in its centre. Dumbledore himself was standing at the desk, though his back was to Neville and he was leaning over, examining something on the desk. Without turning round, he said, “Come in, Neville, come in. Would you wait a moment?”
Curious, Neville approached the desk to see what the Headmaster was doing. Dumbledore was looking carefully and what appeared to be a large golden dish or wide bowl on his desk. The bowl was filled with a mound of what seemed to be dust or ash and there was the head and neck of some feathered creature. Neville was just thinking that this was an altogether poor way of treating an animal when Dumbledore said, “Ah, good, he is most healthy. I don’t suppose you have ever seen a phoenix, Neville. Particularly not on its Burning Day.”
“A phoenix?” said Neville, surprised.
“Yes, Neville. They burn, and are reborn from the ashes, as I am sure you have heard. Fawkes has been off-colour for some time, and burned this morning. The miracle of death and life in perfect cycle.” Dumbledore smiled and stroked the crest on the tiny phoenix’s head. Fawkes let out a gentle, sweet cry and ruffled his feathers.
Dumbledore turned back to Neville and, peering over the top of his spectacles, looked at him closely with his piercing blue eyes. Neville had the oddest feeling that Dumbledore could see right through him and he dreaded what could happen next. Would he be accused of the attack? Could he be expelled, even arrested? At length, Dumbledore smiled and spoke. “Well, Neville, how are you feeling?”
The simple question totally flummoxed Neville, and he gained a sudden interest in the carpeting of the office. “I, uh, well, not… that is…” he stammered.
Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder. “Relax, Neville. I do not think you are responsible for the attacks.”
Neville looked up. “You don’t? But I thought… why did you want to see me?”
“To ask you that question, to begin with. I am aware things have not been easy for you the last couple of days, and tonight’s events will not help. I wanted to be sure you are all right.”
“Thank you,” said Neville, unsure what to say. He was surprised Dumbledore took such an interest in him.
“Secondly, Neville,” continued Dumbledore, “if there is anything you know, anything you wish to tell me, the present is as good a time as any.” The statement was made off-hand, lightly, yet Neville knew Dumbledore was asking him a serious question. He longed to answer, to unburden everything to the kindly Headmaster, but he knew he could not. He dared not speak of the mysterious voice, and he had no proof against Draco. There was nothing he could say. He shook his head silently. “Very well Neville, you may go,” said Dumbledore, with a gentle nod of his head. As Neville turned, he added. “Though it may seem so, you are not alone here, Neville. In all things, there is always help to be found if you seek it.” Neville left quietly.
* * *
Despite Dumbledore’s words, the days after them were no better than the two days before. Indeed, as rumour of Neville’s proximity to the second attack on a student spread, things got even worse. Suspicion turned into outright hostility amongst some Ravenclaws and particularly the Hufflepuffs, who all seemed to have taken the attack on one of their own personally. Most Slytherins appeared to treat the whole thing as a joke, but it was the reaction of the Gryffindors that most affected Neville. Whilst there was as yet no antagonism from them, the uncertainty Neville had detected before had hardened. He recognised sharp looks coming from Seamus and Ron at times, and there seemed to be something of a disagreement brewing between the normally very close Harry and Ron.
Neville was very grateful when at last the end of term came and the majority of Hogwarts’ students returned home. Harry and Ron stayed, and so did Fred and George, up to some mischief of their own, Neville suspected. Most however had gone and the Great Hall felt eerily quiet at mealtimes. Neville didn’t mind, though. He was revelling in opportunity for solitude once more.
Of course, he couldn’t completely relax. He was staying at Hogwarts because he had a job to do. Hermione had informed him that the Polyjuice potion was nearly ready, and they had decided on Christmas Day after the feast to make the attempt, when nearly everyone would be in their common rooms and the corridors would be quiet.
Hermione had planned everything with disturbing precision. Robes had been obtained in Crabbe and Goyle’s sizes. A plan had been developed to keep the two of them away during the hour in which the Polyjuice would last. Hermione had even already obtained a strand of hair from Millicent Bulstrode’s robes for her use. Though she wouldn’t admit it, Neville was sure she was thoroughly enjoying herself.
Christmas morning dawned bright and clear, in contrast to the cloud and snow which had dominated much of the month to that point. Neville spent most of the morning a bundle of nerves, but not too nervous to not enjoy his presents. Hermione had got him a book on Herbology, in return, after her dropping several hints, he had got her an Arithmancy book. Apparently she was already preparing for next year. Gran had sent him a new portable Wizard Wireless set, which he spent some time eagerly trying out. Hermione meanwhile put the last finishing touches of her plan into action.
It was at precisely 2:03pm that, as Crabbe and Goyle exited the Great Hall, making their way towards the dungeons, that they encountered Colin Creevey, who appeared from behind a statue and snapped a photograph of them with his heavy camera. Crabbe blinked at the bright flash. “Hey, what do you fink you’re doin’?” he snarled. He grabbed Colin by his collar and Colin trembled. A couple of objects fell from his robe to the floor. Colin instinctively reached down to pick them up, but Crabbe shoved him away and he fell to the floor.
“Hey Greg, look at dis,” he said, and picked up two small sausage rolls, like the ones they’d just had at the feast. “Finders keepers,” he sneered at Colin. “Beat it, kid.” Colin grabbed his camera and darted round a corner. Crabbe and Goyle smiled, took a sausage roll each and swallowed them whole. The smile on their faces held rigid for a moment, then they both swayed, staggered and collapsed to the floor.
Colin and Neville appeared around the corner. “Nice work, Colin,” said Neville.
“Well, it was Hermione’s sleeping draught that really did it,” Colin replied modestly.
“She finally found a use for that. Come on, let’s hide these two somewhere.” They dragged Crabbe and Goyle into a room out of sight and plucked a hair each from their heads. Then they hurried through the castle to Myrtle’s bathroom where they had agreed to meet Hermione.
When they got there, Hermione was waiting for them. She checked her watch. “Nine minutes past two. Excellent. Quick you two, get changed.” They went into cubicles and put on their oversized robes. When they came out, they found Hermione had laid out three cups of an ugly thick, brown liquid. “Hurry up,” she said. “Have you got the hairs?” They held them up to show her. “Well come on, add them to your potion.”
They did so, and the resulting mixture looked even more unappetising. Hermione produced her own hair to add, but as she was about to do so, Colin stopped her. “You’re not going to add that, are you?”
“Why not?” Hermione asked, confused.
“That’s a cat hair,” said Colin.
“What?” exclaimed Hermione, examining it closely. “Really? Are you sure?”
“Definitely,” replied Colin. “We’ve got a cat at home, it’s always leaving hair all over the place.”
Hermione threw down the hair. “Bulstrode has a cat,” she muttered to herself in disgust, angry with herself.
“What do we do now?” asked Neville, worried.
“There’s nothing for it,” replied Hermione. “We haven’t time. We’ve got till Crabbe and Goyle wake up and we won’t get another chance. You two will have to go on without me.”
“But we won’t know what to do,” protested Neville. “We’ll never manage it without your help.”
“Of course you will,” Hermione reassured him. “We’ve gone over it all enough times. Drink up.” Nervously, Neville and Colin picked up their cups and swallowed the contents. Neville retched and desperately fought the urge to throw up. He sank to the floor in pain and closed his eyes. He felt his body expanding, stretching, the contours of his face being pulled into an unfamiliar form. Dimly he could hear the low moans of Colin next to him.
At last the pain subsided and cautiously Neville opened his eyes. Goyle was lying on the floor of the bathroom next to him, groaning. Neville got to his feet. They felt strange and unfamiliar, as if his whole body was out of proportion. He stared into one of the cracked mirrors above the sinks. The face of Crabbe stared back at him, the expression on his face one he had never seen on the Slytherin, that of wide-eyed astonishment.
Colin got to his (or rather Goyle’s) feet next to him. “Cool!” he exclaimed in Goyle’s low voice, looking at his own reflection. “Hermione, you’ve got to take a picture of this. Neville and I together.” He grabbed Neville by the shoulder while Hermione reluctantly operated the camera.
“Happy now?” she said, after Colin had insisted on three separate shots. “Go on, get a move on. Come back here straight afterwards. I’ll wait for you.” Neville and Colin left hurriedly, making their way towards the dungeons, where the entrance to the Slytherin common room was located.
They had not been able to scout out the entrance to the common room earlier, as it would have looked too suspicious to be hanging around, so they were not precisely sure where the entrance was. The plan was to hang around the general area of the entrance and follow someone in, claiming to have forgotten the password, something they hoped was not too out of character for Crabbe and Goyle.
Luck was on their side this time, however, for as they rounded the corner they heard a voice behind them. “Hey, where do you think your going?” They turned to see Draco Malfoy down the passageway. They walked down to meet him, trying to look as unconcerned as possible.
“Nowhere,” muttered Neville. They fell in behind Draco as he walked on, coming to a blank wall.
“Pure-blood,” said Draco, with a smug, self-satisfied air. A section of wall swung back to reveal a doorway and together the three of them entered the Slytherin common room. The sight that Neville beheld was an impressive one. It seemed bigger than the Gryffindor common room, and more ornate if anything, though the ceiling was very low which gave an air of claustrophobia. The light was an eerie green, and looking through a small window, Neville saw only water, with an object or two floating by. Neville realised they must be under the lake
Unlike the Gryffindors, the Slytherins appeared to have made no effort to decorate their common room for Christmas and the general ambience was austere and stern. The room was largely empty, although there were a few students sitting around in little groups. Next to him, Neville realised that Colin was gawping at the room with a wide-eyed stare that was quite out of place on the face of Goyle. He gave him a sharp nudge and a pointed look, reminding him of why they were there.
Draco meanwhile had collapsed onto a couch and was staring up at the ceiling with a bored look on his face. He took an envelope from his pocket and opened it, pulling out a letter which he began to read. Neville and Colin sat down opposite him. “Say, Draco,” Neville began.
“Shut it, Crabbe,” snapped Draco. “Can’t you see I’m reading?” Frustrated, Neville and Colin sat there in silence until Draco had finished. When he did, he stuffed the letter back into his pocket and sat up. “Mostly Mother moaning I’ve not come home for Christmas,” he muttered.
“So Draco, what’ve you been up to?” asked Neville.
Draco stared at him in contempt. “I went up to the Owlery of course,” he said, tapping the pocket where he’d replaced the letter. “You can be right thick sometimes, Crabbe. Father sent me a new broom for Christmas. Says I should try out for the Quidditch team. I’d probably get on it too, they’ve been bloody useless this year. Look at him,” he pointed across the room to a large brute of a boy sitting half-asleep in an armchair. “Thicker than you, Goyle, and he’s the captain. They need a bit of class in the side.” He smiled to himself and leaned back in his chair.
Neville remembered the entry question he and Hermione had practised beforehand. “So, do you think Dumbledore’s any nearer to working out who the Heir of Slytherin is?”
Draco laughed. “Dumbledore? The old fool’s probably hiding in his office, trying to work out how long he can keep this thing quiet. The sooner he gives up and quits the better. Then we can get someone in who knows who the right sort of people are.”
“You really hate Dumbledore, don’t you?” said Neville, surprised. He had never heard anyone who had anything other than good things to say about the headmaster.
“He’s a bloody hero to Mudbloods and Gryffindors. Name one person in the whole school who you’d rather see the back of. Name one person us Slytherins would cheer more if they left. Name one.”
Neville didn’t reply, but Colin chirped up, “Neville Longbottom?” Neville smiled inwardly at Colin’s subtle praise of him, but Draco just laughed again.
“Longbottom? Short-arse? The Boy-Who-Hid? Why should I care about him? Waste of space. The idiot probably bored You-Know-Who to death.” He paused for a moment, but something seemed to be bothering him and he spoke again. “You know, he’s got no respect, that one. Doesn’t even have the decency to acknowledge me any more when I’m humiliating him. Time was I could get him running or grovelling on the floor. You remember last year. I think it’s about time we did something big, to put him in his place again. Any ideas?” Neville and Colin shook their heads. “Didn’t think so,” he continued. “Always me who has to come up with the plans. What you two would do without me, I shudder to think.”
Neville was momentarily stunned. He realised with surprise that he had actually manage to annoy Malfoy. Simply by the expedient of doing nothing, of ignoring him, he had apparently managed to rattle Draco. It wasn’t much, but he felt it was something to be at least a little proud of. Then he remembered why he was there. He looked across at Colin, who was fretting and pinching his skin, probably to see if it was changing. He spoke up. “Half the school thinks Longbottom’s the Heir of Slytherin,” he said to Draco.
Draco smirked. “Yeah, that’s an amusing one, isn’t it?” he said. “Can you think of someone less likely?”
“He is a pure-blood, though,” Neville replied.
“Oh, the Longbottoms lost whatever nobility they had long ago. They’re just a rag-tag bunch of ignorant, uncultured northerners. I heard he lives in a shack.”
“It’s n-,” began Neville, but stopped himself just in time. Draco appeared not to have noticed.
“No, he won’t be the Heir,” Draco continued. “He’s going down the path of being a Mudblood-lover, you can tell. Look at all the time he spends with that Granger.” He spat out Hermione’s name as if it were poisonous.
Neville was wondering if this reply meant definitely that Draco wasn’t the Heir or not, but Colin was way ahead of him. “So who do you think the Heir is?” he said.
Draco rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you a hundred times Goyle, I don’t know!” he replied, exasperated. “I’ll tell you what, though,” he added, “I think my father knows who it is. Oh, he wouldn’t tell me the name, but he says the last time this happened, that…”
Neville interrupted in surprise. “What, this has happened before?”
“Bloody hell, Crabbe, I told you last week. Don’t you ever listen? It was fifty years or so ago, way before my father’s time. Anyway, he says that a Mudblood was killed then, and the culprit was caught soon after and expelled. From what my father said, though, I gather he’s still around. I wish he’d get on with it, actually. Two Mudbloods and a cat Petrified is hardly much. Once the killings start, then they’ll start running.” An ugly grin stretched across Draco’s face. “Not before Granger gets it, I hope,” he added.
Neville was half out of his chair towards Draco before he could stop himself. Draco looked confused. “What’s up with you?” he asked.
Neville composed himself and stood up properly. “I, er, just remembered something I have to do,” he said. He had no intention of staying a moment longer here. “Come on, Goyle,” he added. Colin looked reluctant to leave, but Neville grabbed him by the forearm and with one last look around the common room, Colin followed Neville out. Draco watched them go with a quizzical look on his face, but said nothing.
Once outside the door, Colin exclaimed. “Wow, that was…”
“Sssh, wait until we’re back upstairs,” said Neville, looking around to check they were alone, which they were. They hurried back up through the castle. By the time they reached Myrtle’s bathroom they had begun to feel themselves changing. They ran into the bathroom and dashed past Hermione standing there into cubicles. When they emerged seconds later they were themselves again.
“That was so cool!” Colin finally exclaimed. “You should have seen their common room, Hermione, it was amazing! And Malfoy didn’t have a clue! I wish I’d had my camera.” He was buzzing with excitement.
Hermione looked across at Neville, who was not sharing Colin’s enthusiasm. He was thinking about everything Malfoy had said, about the Muggle-born who had died, and Malfoy’s enthusiasm for more deaths. It all made him sick. He looked up at Hermione. “Malfoy’s not the Heir,” he said. “But I don’t think that makes things any better.”
Things seemed to have become even more serious than Neville had feared. Someone’s going to die, he thought. Someone really is going to die, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.
Tom Marvolo Riddle by Sonorus
Author's Notes:
In which Neville finds a diary left on his bed and learns of events fifty years ago.
For the rest of the Christmas break, Neville, Hermione and Colin debated what they had learned and whether there was anything else they could do. Colin was all for repeating the Polyjuice plan and interrogating Lucius Malfoy, but Hermione and Neville refused to go through the whole thing again. They could not count on getting away with it again, even if they had some way of getting near the elder Malfoy. Besides, it would take far too long to produce more Polyjuice potion.
Neville felt neither Hermione nor Colin were taking the situation seriously enough. They didn’t seem to appreciate that their lives were really in danger. If he thought there was any chance of them agreeing, he would have tried to persuade them to leave. Hermione had too much faith in Dumbledore and the other teachers to protect them, and Colin was enjoying Hogwarts too much.
Neville had dreaded the beginning of term and the return of his schoolmates. When the time came around, he was pleasantly surprised that their antagonism against him had eased somewhat. They were still very suspicious of him, but most of them now kept their doubts to themselves, and Neville learned to cope with the silences around him.
Through the new term, as winter slowly began to break around Hogwarts, Neville retreated more into himself, and concentrated on trying to learn something from his classes, something he felt he’d neglected towards the end of last term. He spent a lot of time close to Hermione, ostensibly to keep on top of his homework, but really, though he didn’t admit it to himself, to keep a watch over her.
He also resumed work alongside Professor Sprout on taking care of the Mandrakes, something he kept quiet from most of the school. As the weather was beginning to get warmer, the Mandrakes were maturing rapidly, but Sprout predicted they would still not be ready until late May. Neville really enjoyed those evenings alone in the greenhouses, being useful, working on something he loved, away from the pressures of the world.
Returning to the common room one evening in late January, he found it fairly quiet. Hermione wasn’t there, nor were Harry or Ron. Dean and Seamus were sitting in a corner, but they ignored him, so Neville went straight up to the dormitory. He found it empty, and went over to his bed. He checked on Trevor in his box; he was fine. He turned to lie down on the bed.
There was a book on his bed. It was lying on the duvet, right in the middle. Clearly it had been placed there, but Neville didn’t recall leaving a book there. Having said that, this was the sort of thing he was inclined to forget, so he picked it up and examined it. It was an old, dog-eared book with a blank cover. Neville flicked through its pages. They all seemed to be empty. It seemed to be a notebook or diary, but unused.
Why had someone left him a book? Hermione? But surely she would have mentioned it to him? It could have been any Gryffindor really, the dormitory could not be locked. Perhaps it had been placed on his bed by mistake, perhaps it was meant for Harry, Ron, Dean or Seamus. He would have to wait until they got back to find out. He placed the book on his bedside table and settled down for a nap.
He soon found he couldn’t settle. He found himself tossing and turning, scratching at itches that weren’t there, and generally feeling uncomfortable. Something was nagging at him that he couldn’t place. He sat up and took out his Remembrall, but for once the smoke did not turn red, so it couldn’t be something he’d forgotten. He rechecked that Trevor was okay, he smoothed down his sheets, he tidied the mess around his bed, but nothing seemed to help. Eventually he gave up and sat back down, wondering what else he could do. Absently he picked up the mysterious book again and turned it over in his hands. He scratched his forehead and opened the book once more.
The pages were rough and crinkled, bearing signs of wear, which only made their blankness all the more strange. Neville examined the pages carefully, seeing if he could make out any marks on the paper, but he couldn’t find any. Maybe there was something wrong with the paper. He went over to the desk and grabbed a quill and ink. Hoping whosever book it was wouldn’t mind, he turned to the back page and wrote a small capital letter A in one corner.
A moment after he had done so, it vanished, fading into the paper. Neville blinked in surprise, but then an instant later in the centre of the page a capital letter B appeared. It was written in an ornate, old-fashioned script. Almost as soon as it appeared however, it faded again. Puzzled, Neville took his quill again and wrote a C on the page. It too vanished, but it was not replaced by a D, rather a whole sentence.
We could keep this up all night if you want.
Neville stared open-mouthed for a moment. He glanced around to check the room was still empty. With a trembling hand he wrote, “Hello?” into the book.
Hello replied the book.
“Can you understand what I’m writing?”
Why, yes of course I can. I have had an excellent education.
“Whose book is this?”
Mine. My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, you can call me Tom if you like. This is my diary. I kept it all through my years at Hogwarts, then left it behind when I departed into the world.
“So where are you now?”
The real me? I have no idea. I preserved the memory of myself in these pages at the age of sixteen, some fifty years ago. I do not know what became of me since then. Have you heard of me? Do you know?
“I’m sorry, I don’t. I’ve never heard of a Tom Riddle before. How did this diary come to be lying on my bed?”
I don’t know. Who are you? Where exactly am I?
Neville hesitated for a moment. He was fascinated by this strange magical object, he had never seen anything like it before. It didn’t seem dangerous, though, and this Tom Riddle seemed happy to talk to him. He inked his quill once more. “My name is Neville Longbottom. You’re in Gryffindor Tower.”
Gryffindor Tower, really? Never thought I’d find myself there. I was a Slytherin at Hogwarts. I hope you won’t hold that against me, Neville. I haven’t talked to anyone in a very long time. What’s it like at Hogwarts now?
Neville was about to reply when he heard footsteps on the staircase outside. “Someone’s coming,” he wrote hurriedly. “I’ll talk to you in a bit.” He closed the book and dropped it under his bed, just as Harry entered the room. Ron and one of the Weasley twins (Neville didn’t know which) were loitering at the door.
“Hi, Neville,” he said. “Just forgot something.” He went over to his bed, took something from a drawer and left quickly with the others. Neville, grateful to be left alone again, took out Riddle’s diary once more. They continued their strange conversation through the evening. Tom seemed a sympathetic listener to Neville, and bit by bit Neville found himself sharing his problems with Tom. It was easier talking to a diary than a person, Neville thought. Real people always brought their own problems and complications, Tom did not. Neville could be himself without the prospect of being judged.
From what little that Tom told Neville about himself, Neville gathered that he had been something of a high-flier and academic success at Hogwarts, but he didn’t seem conceited about it. They agreed Neville should keep the diary secret, in case it was stolen or confiscated; Riddle wasn’t sure if his creation of the diary had broken school rules or not. It was only when his roommates came up to bed that Neville put the diary away at last.
The next morning he woke up in a better mood than he had felt in weeks. He had a nagging feeling he might have dreamt the whole thing, but the diary was still there in his drawer. Reluctantly he left it behind as he went off for another school day. He wasn’t thinking about work however, but getting back to talk to Tom.
During the lunch break, a worrying thought occurred to him. How did he know if Tom had been telling the truth to him? Was he really as successful as he made out, or had he been subtly boasting? Neville had an idea and went up to the trophy room on the third floor, which he’d visited last year, to see what he could find. Sure enough, amongst the long list of Head Boys on the wall, there was the name of Tom Riddle, next to the date 1944-45. Neville felt relieved. Here at least was proof that Tom had existed, and that he had left a mark on Hogwarts School. Neville wondered what great things he had gone on to.
He was just turning to leave when something else caught his eye in one of the display cases. He could have sworn he saw the name ‘Riddle’. He walked over to the case to look more closely. Amongst the various cups and shields on display was one shield prominently displayed, gleaming gold. The legend across the top read: “Special Award for Services to the School.” Below was engraved the name “Tom M Riddle.” Obviously Riddle was more modest than Neville had given him credit. This was clearly a highly prestigious accolade.
That evening, when he had the dormitory to himself again, he opened Tom’s diary again. After a few minutes conversation, he asked the question he had been dying to ask: “Tom, I went to the trophy room today and I saw you’d won an award for services to the school. What was that about?”
Ah yes, my finest hour. It happened late in my fifth year. Tell me Neville, have you ever heard of something called the Chamber of Secrets?
Neville gasped. Quickly he wrote “Yes I do. What happened? It’s really important.”
It was opened in my fifth year. In fact, I can show you what occurred. Let me take you to June 13th 1943.
The book fell from Neville’s hands onto the table and sprang open to a particular page in the middle of the book. The page shimmered and faded, transforming into a sharp image, like a wizarding photograph. As Neville leaned closer to examine the image, it seemed to grow wider and wider, filling his vision, engulfing him. Before he knew what was happening he found himself standing on a stone floor, inside the picture itself.
He recognised his surroundings immediately, for he had been there a month before. He was in the Slytherin common room. It seemed to look much the same as in Neville’s time. Neville felt acutely self-conscious, a Gryffindor plainly standing in the Slytherin common room, as himself this time, but he needn’t have worried. Though the room was full of students, none seemed to have noticed him or paid any attention to his presence. He walked unobserved through the crowd. They all seemed to be waiting for something. This was truly astonishing. Was he really in the past?
The door to the common room opened and a portly, middle-aged wizard entered. He wore a short waistcoat that did nothing to cover his enormous belly. He scratched at his luxuriant blond moustache and the expression on his face was full of concern and worry. “Listen up, please,” he called hoarsely to the room. “There has been, um, a, um serious incident. For now I would ask you all to remain within Slytherin dungeon until otherwise instructed. During school hours, you will all be accompanied between lessons by myself or another teacher, to ensure your safety. I have to inform you however that things do not look good. I’m sorry I can’t say any more.”
The room burst into a hubbub of noise from dozens of different discussions. The teacher turned to leave, but one of the students hurried up to talk to him. This boy was tall and thin, with neat, dark hair and a confident bearing. Neville noted a prefect’s badge on his robe. “Excuse me, Professor Slughorn,” he said quietly. “Could I have a word in private?”
“Of course, Tom,” said Slughorn. “Let’s step outside for a moment.” They left the common room and Neville followed. So this was Tom Riddle. He too did not see Neville. Neville felt like he was standing on a theatre stage, while actors performed around him. Slughorn coughed, then spoke. “What is it, Tom?”
“Rumours are spreading through the House, sir. Is it true? Has a student been killed?”
“I really don’t think it’s my place to say, Tom.”
“Please sir, it’s important. I need to know.”
Slughorn hesitated and took a deep breath. “Very well, Tom. Yes, there has been a death. A Ravenclaw girl, so I am informed.”
Riddle hung his head in sorrow. “I was afraid so.” Slughorn looked at him, puzzled. “Do you know what will happen?”
“I honestly don’t know,” said Slughorn. “I don’t think Headmaster Dippet wants to close the school, but he may have no choice. Parents will want to ensure the safety of their children.”
“I don’t have any parents to be worried about me,” replied Riddle. “They’d send me back to the orphanage, you know.”
“I know,” said Slughorn kindly. “I’m sorry.”
Riddle seemed to debate something for a moment. “Who’s in charge of the investigation, sir?”
“Deputy Headmaster Dumbledore. Why?” asked Slughorn, more confused.
“I’m going to have to see him,” said Riddle. “There’s something I have to do.” Without a further word, he suddenly dashed off down the corridor.
“Stop,” yelled Slughorn. “Where do you think your going? It’s not safe out there!” But Riddle didn’t heed him and had already run on out of sight. The vision faded in front of Neville’s eyes, then almost immediately reformed. It seemed to be some time later. Riddle was walking now, through corridors of the castle. Seemingly he knew where he was going. Neville followed
They turned a corner. At the end of a corridor, a tall boy, much taller than Riddle, was standing at a door he had evidently just closed. He turned, and was evidently shocked to see Riddle advancing on him. Riddle had taken out his wand and had it pointed towards the boy. “Stand aside, Hagrid,” said Riddle firmly.
“Hagrid?” cried Neville, astonished, but there was no denying the identity of the boy, even as a teenager Hagrid was distinctive. Hagrid stood to bar the door, but Riddle continued to advance.
“Stand aside,” Riddle repeated. “It’s over, Hagrid. You have to know that. I have to stop you. I only regret I waited so long.”
“But, but he didn’t do it,” protested Hagrid. “He wouldn’t.”
“A girl is dead, Hagrid. The monster has to be destroyed. Now stand aside.”
“No!” cried Hagrid, still blocking the door, but Riddle pointed his wand and the door behind Hagrid exploded off its hinges. Hagrid was thrown to the ground. Behind the door was a small cupboard with a wooden box in its centre. The lid of the box sprang open and something leapt out. Neville backed away in horror. The creature scrabbled for purchase on the stone floor, all eight of its legs splayed. It was a spider, but no ordinary arachnid. This one was the size of a dog, with a thick, hairy body. It recovered its feet and scuttled off at immense speed, just as Riddle aimed a curse at where it had been.
It ran right at Neville who, though he should have known he could not be harmed, pushed himself tight against the wall and let it past. It shot off down the corridor and vanished out of sight before Riddle could aim another curse. Riddle turned back to Hagrid, who was slowly getting to his feet. “I hope for your sake it’s caught, Hagrid,” he said. “They’ll have you out of this school.” Suddenly the sight of Riddle and Hagrid shrank before Neville’s eyes, as if disappearing down a long tunnel. The world folded in on itself around Neville and he found himself once more in his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, back in the present.
Neville shook his head vigorously in an attempt to clear and focus his mind. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen, yet somehow he knew he had witnessed the truth and no fabricated, false memory. Hagrid? Hagrid was the Heir of Slytherin and responsible for the attacks? He had to admit he did not know Hagrid all that well, but from what little he had encountered of him, he seemed a pleasant, kind and gentle man, if a little odd at times. Had he really meant to attack those people or was it some colossal mistake? He knew Harry and Ron were quite good friends with Hagrid and he found it hard to believe Harry would make friends with anyone evil or cruel.
He picked up the quill again and asked Tom, “What became of Hagrid?”
His wand was snapped and he was expelled. I don’t think he understood what he had done, he kept protesting his innocence. Last I heard, he got a job as assistant gamekeeper. You don’t know what has happened to him, by any chance?
Neville hesitated, then wrote, “No.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell Tom the Chamber was open again, and that Hagrid was still on the grounds. After all, there was nothing Tom could do about it now.
They continued their written conversation for the rest of the evening and the next few days, but Neville steered clear of the subjects of the Chamber of Secrets and Hagrid. In a funny sort of way, though he didn’t realise it, he didn’t want to frighten Tom, or scare him away, as he was just about the only friend bar Hermione he had at the moment. Though Harry would look out for him when he could, mostly he was off with his own friends, cementing his reputation as a popular rogue.
Time passed and spirits grew higher in Hogwarts as spring approached and there were no further attacks. Some began to believe that the danger was passed and the Heir of Slytherin had mysteriously disappeared once more, but not Neville. He continued to be nervous and vigilant, waiting for the next strike. Only to Tom did he confide his troubled state of mind, but not why it was troubled.
Then one evening as February waned, he returned to the dorm after supper and opened the drawer in which he kept the diary. It was not there. The clothes under which he had hidden the diary and all been messed up and rearranged, as had much of his stuff in other drawers. The diary had been taken, seemingly by someone who knew what they were looking for. Tom Riddle had gone from Neville’s life as mysteriously as he had entered it, and Neville felt for the first time he had lost a friend.
Follow the Spiders by Sonorus
Author's Notes:
In which there is another attack, Hagrid is arrested and Neville makes a perilous journey into the Forbidden Forest.
Though it did little to lighten Neville’s mood, the remainder of the second term of his second year passed without further incident. The arrival of the Easter break proved to be little of a relief to him when he learned that he had to select at least two new subjects which would be added to his timetable next year. Barely coping as it was with the workload of seven subjects at present, the idea of having two more on top that terrified him. On top of that, the list he’d been given to choose from was full of the most incomprehensible topics. What on earth was Arithmancy, for Merlin’s sake? Ancient Runes: he didn’t even know there were modern runes, let alone ancient ones.
Eventually, he settled on choosing Divination, as he’d overheard someone in the common room saying it was a fairly easy subject, and it sounded fun. For the second choice, he considered Care of Magical Creatures as it might have gone well with Herbology. However, considering all that had happened this year, there was one subject that appealed to him more: Muggle Studies. He still felt woefully ignorant concerning Muggles, and he had a gut feeling that it was important he learn more.
He passed the Easter break quietly at home in Huddlesby, Gran taking the opportunity to fuss around him constantly, having been denied the opportunity over Christmas. When he got back to Hogwarts the first thing he did was to check if Hermione was doing the same subjects, but she seemed to have put in for everything. “I’ll give them a go and see which ones I like,” she said.
Activity at the school seemed to have returned to normal, and few were still concerned about further attacks. Colin Creevey would occasionally come by and discuss the situation with Neville and Hermione, to see if they had any further news or ideas to the culprit, but they had little to discuss. Neville felt Colin only really came by so he could hang around him.
Neville kept the information he had discovered about Hagrid secret from everyone, including Hermione. For one, he didn’t want anyone else finding out about the diary, as he still hoped to recover it. But more than that, he simply couldn’t bring himself to believe that Hagrid was responsible. The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed. It was far more likely there was some other explanation that he just wasn’t clever enough to see. So he kept silent, watched and waited.
A couple of weeks into the new term, worries over how he was going to pass his Potions end-of-year exam (never mind his Transfiguration one) had pushed themselves to the front of his mind. He had even forced himself to go to the library with Hermione on one or two occasions, though he felt any benefit he had gained was minimal.
On Saturday morning, therefore, when Hermione announced she was going to be spending most of the day in the library, Neville declined to join her. There was a Quidditch match on later, and he wanted to go. After Hermione left, he settled into a chair in the common room. Harry had already gone off to prepare for the match; Neville noticed Ron sitting in a corner by himself, dressed in Gryffindor red and gold, ready to join the crowd for the game.
Neville sat and waited until the common room was all but empty as everyone left, before getting up and leaving himself. On his way down the staircase, however, as he ambled along not paying much attention to anything going on around him, he was passed by someone. He saw a streak of red flash by him. Neville recognised Ginny Weasley, dressed in red like her brother had been. Ginny was something of a puzzle to Neville; he had hardly seen her around in a long time, except occasionally with Ron and Harry. “Hi, Ginny,” he said politely. Ginny stopped and turned.
“I am…”
Neville froze. “Did you just say something?” he asked.
Ginny looked puzzled. “No,” she replied. “Are you all right?”
Neville was not all right. He was sure that for a moment he had heard a voice. A voice he had not heard for a long while. A voice he had hoped he would never hear again. He looked around nervously and strained his ears to hear more, but everything around him was quiet. Had he imagined it? He couldn’t even pinpoint where it had come from, it had been so fast.
He realised Ginny was staring at him, obviously perplexed at his behaviour. “I could have sworn I heard something,” he said. “Are you sure you didn’t hear any sound at all?” Ginny shook her head. “Must have been nothing,” he concluded at last, and smiled. “Are you going to the match? I’m going that way too.”
He walked down to the pitch with Ginny. Although he did his best to try and chat to her, he got the impression that she was embarrassed to be with him, and he was worried that maybe she too suspected him of being the Heir. She said very little, and when they got down to the pitch she took the first opportunity to leave him and join her friends. She left him no closer to solving the puzzle of Ginny Weasley.
Neville had been expecting to meet up with Colin in the stands, but he couldn’t find him, so he took a seat by himself and waited for the game to begin. He sat waiting for what seemed like ages. He was sure the game should have begun by now. Then at last he saw someone striding to the middle of the pitch. It appeared to be Professor McGonagall. She raised her wand and suddenly her voice was amplified across the grounds. “Please listen carefully. This match has been cancelled,” there were loud groans from the stands, “due to, um, an unforeseen incident. I would like to ask you all to return to your Houses immediately. Prefects, please ensure that all students are accounted for and safely returned to the castle. Thank you. One additional thing,” and here her voice seemed to crack for a moment, “would Mr Neville Longbottom please meet me down here immediately.”
A hundred eyes turned to look at Neville and a sinking feeling hit him in his stomach. What had happened now? He didn’t want to wait to find out, to spend any time dreaming up possibilities, so he hurried straight down from the stands. He rushed past children leaving, many of whom stopped to see him pass. He avoided their gaze and rushed on to find McGonagall. When he reached her down by the pitch side he was out of breath and panting. McGonagall looked noticeably upset. “Follow me, Mr Longbottom,” she said.
She led Neville back up to the castle, past all the returning students and up the stairs to the hospital wing. She halted at the door. “I think you should go in first,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.” With trepidation, Neville pushed open the door and entered. Just to the right of the door as he entered he saw the Petrified forms of Penelope Clearwater and next to her the Hufflepuff boy, whose name he had learned was Justin.
To the left however were two new occupants of the ward. A cry of horror choked in Neville’s throat as he saw who they were. Frozen in place, lying on beds next to each other, were Hermione and Colin. The look on Colin’s face would almost have been amusing if it was not for the horror of the situation, his eyes and mouth were wide in an expression of wonder and amazement. The look on Hermione’s face was more one of shock. Her right hand was stretched out in front of her, clenched in a loose fist.
Neville turned back to McGonagall. “They’re not…?”
“No. They’ve been Petrified, same as the others. We found them at the corner of a corridor just outside the library. Mr Creevey was just behind Miss Granger, at her shoulder. She had that in her hand.” She pointed to a small hand mirror lying by the bed. “We don’t know why. Would you like to stay a while?” Neville nodded silently. McGonagall glanced up at a clock. “You can stay for up to forty-five minutes, then I must ask you to return directly to Gryffindor Tower for your own safety. Do you understand?” Neville nodded once more, and McGonagall quietly left.
As soon as she had passed out of the door, Neville collapsed onto the chair between the two beds and began to cry. He buried his head in his hands and wept unstoppably. It was his fault. It was all his fault. He should have spoken up with his information about Hagrid. He should not have ignored the voice he had heard earlier. He had failed. Everything he had done or had tried to do over the year had been worthless. Now he had lost his friends, and he felt he deserved it.
After some minutes, he did not know how long, the tears were just beginning to dry away when, to his surprise, Harry came into the hospital wing. Ron followed in behind him. Harry was still wearing his Quidditch robes. They walked over to Neville. “We’re not supposed to be out of the tower,” said Harry, “but we had to come and see how you were.”
“I’m all right,” lied Neville. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Harry and Ron pulled up chairs for themselves and they sat in silence for a while. Neville tried to pull himself together. Finally he spoke, weakly, to the unhearing Hermione and Colin. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have done more. I could have. I’m so sorry.” He fought the urge to cry again.
“Yeah, I’m sorry too,” said Harry, more in sympathy with Neville, than a need to apologise.
“I’m sorry,” said Ron as well. “I’m really sorry.” Suddenly, and with a last glance at Hermione, he got up and hurried from the room as if he couldn’t bear to stay any longer.
“Where’s he going?” asked Neville, puzzled.
“Search me,” said Harry. “He didn’t really want to come down here in the first place. I guess he doesn’t like hospitals.”
Neville finally felt strong enough to stand. “That’s okay, actually I think I need to talk to you about something. Can I trust you to keep a secret?”
“Of course.”
Neville poured out to Harry in one long stream everything that had happened the past year. The strange voice, the Polyjuice incident, even, and for the first time to anyone, the diary and what it had shown him. It felt a great relief to unburden himself of everything. He couldn’t face all this alone, and Harry was the only person left he could trust to turn to. He kept talking as they left Hermione and Colin behind and went on up to the common room. By the time they had reached the Fat Lady’s portrait, he was finished.
Harry had listened to all he had to say in respectful silence, but Neville could tell he was surprised and shocked, especially about Hagrid. But all he said as they entered the common room was, “Wow Neville, you’re far more adventurous than I gave you credit for.”
The common room was packed, but Neville and Harry found seats. A great number of Gryffindors crowded round them to offer their sympathy to Neville, there was no hint of suspicion or antagonism any more. A short while later, McGonagall entered. She gave a short announcement to the Gryffindors that Neville thought he had heard before. It was strikingly similar to that he had heard Professor Slughorn give to the Slytherins in the memory in Tom Riddle’s diary. It only served reinforce the feeling that history was repeating itself.
After McGonagall left, the students began filtering back to their rooms. Neville remained, as did Harry, who got up and began pacing the room in frustration. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing,” he muttered.
“There’s nothing you can do,” replied Neville. “Besides, we can’t leave the tower.” But Harry kept pacing. Suddenly though, he appeared to give up and dashed off up the stairs to the dormitory. Neville sat for a while longer, but he didn’t come down again. However, a couple of minutes after he had left, Neville was sure he saw the main door to the common room swing open then closed again, seemingly of its own accord.
A little while later, he went up to his room himself, but Harry wasn’t there. Ron, Seamus and Dean were, and they said Harry had come in, grabbed something from under his bed and gone out again. Confused, Neville undressed and settled down for a much-needed sleep.
“Ron, Neville, everybody, wake up!” Neville blearily opened his eyes. In his half-awake state, his first thought was he must be dreaming, for he could see a lantern floating in mid-air, providing the only light to the dormitory. However he wasn’t, for around him the others were waking and lighting lamps. Suddenly Harry appeared in the middle of the room, a cloak falling from his shoulders. Of course, Neville thought. He’d forgotten Harry owned an invisibility cloak.
“Do you know what time it is, Harry?” moaned Seamus from his bed. “Where have you been?”
Harry was visibly agitated and out of breath. “Dumbledore’s gone!” he exclaimed.
“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” asked Dean.
“He’s been suspended. I went down to Hagrid’s house to talk to him,” here he gave a sideways glance to Neville, “but Dumbledore was there, and Malfoy’s father and… and the Minister for Magic. They’d come to arrest Hagrid.”
“Arrest him?” said Seamus. “What for?”
Harry looked at Neville, who nodded. “They think he’s responsible for the attacks. They’ve taken him to Azkaban.” Everyone exclaimed loud protests at this news, but Harry waited for quiet before continuing. “Then Malfoy’s father said the governors were suspending Dumbledore for failing to stop the attacks. He’s been turfed out of the school. He’s left!” More exclamations of dismay. No one was satisfied until Harry had given a full account of events, and only when he had finished did everyone settle down to sleep again. Neville beckoned Harry over for a private word.
“Did Hagrid tell you anything?” he asked. “Did you find anything out?”
“No,” said Harry. “Everyone arrived before he could say anything. But he said a funny thing on the way out, it must have been for me.”
“What did he say?”
“Follow the spiders.”
“Follow the spiders? What on earth did he mean by that?”
“I don’t know,” said Harry with a shrug, and they both went off at last to bed.
* * *
The next day brought chaos, rumour and counter-rumour to Hogwarts. The students were all led out of Gryffindor Tower to the Great Hall in the morning by McGonagall. She announced during breakfast that she would be taking over the Headmaster’s duties, “in the temporary absence of Professor Dumbledore”. All of Hogwarts was on high alert for another attack and a strict watch was kept on all students to make sure they were never out of a staff member’s sight. The arrest of Hagrid, news of which was slowly filtering through the school, had done nothing to lessen the heightened security throughout the castle.
A couple of weeks passed without another attack, but still everybody was nervous. The Gryffindor common room was a moody place of an evening. Fred and George tried to keep everybody’s spirits up, but their brand of humour did not go down well with everyone. Harry, robbed of his usual opportunities to unwind, was a bundle of nervous energy, constantly muttering, “Follow the spiders, follow the spiders, what spiders?” and other similar things.
After lunch one day, Neville went out on to the grass outside the entrance to the castle. Students’ movements were still restricted, but they were allowed outside on to this small area of lawn during the lunch break, where a teacher would always be stationed to watch over them. Today it was Snape, leaning sour-faced against the wall by the great front doors.
Harry was there already, stretched out on the grass, enjoying the late-spring sun. Neville ambled over to him, but stopped when he was a few feet away. “Harry,” he said cautiously, “you’ve got a spider on your shoulder.” Indeed Harry had, and not a small one at that, but Harry opened his eyes without alarm and gently teased the spider off his left shoulder with his right hand.
“There you go,” he said, as the spider softly slid from the back of his hand onto the grass, where it immediately scuttled off, heading away from the castle. Harry turned to look at Neville for a moment, then got up and dashed off after the spider, following it as it raced along.
“POTTER!” exclaimed Snape from behind them, in furious tones. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? Stay where you are this instant!” But Harry ignored him and kept going, further away from the castle. Snape ran past Neville towards him, his cloak billowing behind him. “Potter, if you don’t want to spend the rest of the week in detention, I suggest you stand still now!”
Reluctantly Harry came to a halt. Neville saw him watch the spider disappear away, in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Snape grabbed Harry roughly by the arm and led him back up to where the other students were watching. “I will not stand for your wilful disregard for the rules, Potter,” Snape continued. “Fifteen points from Gryffindor.” He released Harry and returned to his post by the door.
Harry waited until he was out of earshot before sneering at his back and muttering, “Yeah right, Snivellus.” He turned to Neville. “Did you see where that spider was going? Plus there are more out there, I could see them from down there. They’re all going into the Forest.”
Harry was eager and excited; Neville could see where this was going. “No way,” he said. “You can’t go in there.”
“Why not? We can easily sneak out using my cloak.”
Neville did not appreciate the use of “we” in that sentence. “Do you remember what happened the last time we went in there?”
“Of course, but I don’t think Voldemort’s hiding out in the forest any more, Neville.”
Neville winced at the use of the name. “Still, I’m not going. It’s a crazy idea.”
“Come on, Neville. Don’t you want to find out who’s behind it all? Don’t you want to clear Hagrid’s name?” Harry continued pestering Neville for the rest of the day, in class and between classes. Once they were all back in Gryffindor Tower in the evening, Harry immediately began planning to leave. Neville found him in the dormitory, getting out his cloak. “Last chance,” he said. “Are you coming or not?”
“Why don’t you take Ron with you instead?” asked Neville.
“Ron’s got other things to do. Besides, he’s terrified of spiders.”
“I’m not exactly thrilled about them either,” replied Neville. “Especially if they’re the size of a dog and a possible killer.” He’d described the creature he’d seen in Riddle’s memory to Harry before, and he had no particular wish to meet it for real.
Harry pulled out his broomstick and strapped it to his back. “We’ll be perfectly safe under the cloak. Come on, Neville. It’s got to be you. You know it has.”
That was the thing, Neville realised. It always had to be him. That was the price of being Neville Longbottom. He had to go. Reluctantly, he nodded to Harry. He changed into outdoor clothing and together they slipped under the invisibility cloak and made their way down to the common room. They tiptoed past everyone there and snuck out into the castle.
Remembering with embarrassment the first time they had shared this cloak, Neville kept one eye on his feet to make sure he didn’t trip over or tread on the cloak. The broom on Harry’s back kept bumping into him. “Why did you bring that?” he whispered.
“Never know when it might come in handy,” replied Harry. They crept down the great staircase, across the Entrance Hall and out of the castle. Slowly they made their way down to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They held out their wands, lit up with Lumos spells, and cast around for any sight or sign of spiders.
They searched for some time without success, and Neville was regretting with every passing moment agreeing to come, when Harry called over to him. There, in front of Harry on the ground, a whole clutch of spiders were rushing by into the Forest. It was a creepy sight and Neville shuddered a little, but Harry didn’t hesitate and hurried off, running alongside the line of spiders. Neville ran to catch up with him. “Wait,” he said. “Shouldn’t we put the cloak on again?”
“Fine,” said Harry. “But make sure you keep up.” They disappeared under the cloak once more, leaving only their wands poking out to provide light. On they went, further and further into the forest as the evening darkened into night. Neville kept glancing around him, but all was quiet. The spiders around them became more and more numerous and they had to tread carefully around them.
Suddenly up ahead the trees seemed to part to reveal a wide, bowl-shaped clearing. The tiny spiders swarmed around it. Neville and Harry inched closer, their wands outstretched. Huge webs hung from trees about the clearing. When they reached the edge of the clearing, Harry and Neville saw a single, huge web spanning one side. A massive dark form occupied the top of the web. As the light from the wands hit it, it stirred, stretching out gigantic legs across the web.
It hadn’t occurred to Neville until now that in fifty years the spider would have grown. And indeed it had. The span of its legs must have been twenty feet, and its heavy grey body would have dwarfed all but the largest of non-magical creatures. Vast and monstrous it appeared, and Neville’s teeth chattered under the cloak and his wand hand trembled.
The creature moved slowly, its ancient limbs creaking across the web. “Who is it?” it called in an old, dry voice with an eerie hiss. Neville jumped to hear it speak. “Who disturbs my rest, my children?” Suddenly from out of the darkness, forms appeared, from the other side of the clearing or descending from the trees. More spiders, tens, dozens of them, in sizes ranging from that of cats, to that of horses. They clustered around the great spider, bristling, threatening.
Neville was frozen to the spot in fear. This wasn’t what he’d signed on for. Beside him, Harry was breathing hard, but seemed calm. The great spider spoke again. “Hagrid, is that you? My eyesight has faded, I cannot see you.”
To Neville’s astonishment, Harry suddenly threw the cloak off himself and stepped down into the clearing. Keeping his wand outstretched, he replied, “Hagrid’s in trouble. We’re friends of his. We need your help.”
Neville murmured, “Nox,” and stepped down next to Harry, still under the cloak. “What are you doing?” he whispered.
“What we came for,” whispered Harry back. Aloud, he spoke to the spider once more. “Who are you?”
“My name is Aragog, and this is my home. What do you want of me, friend of Hagrid?”
Harry continued, “At the school, they think Hagrid’s opened the Chamber of Secrets again.”
“He did not!” roared Aragog with sudden force. “Hagrid raised me from the egg. He is the only wizard who truly cares for his fellow creatures. He never opened the Chamber before, and he would not do so now.”
“So you are not the monster?” exclaimed Harry. “Hagrid was innocent all along.”
“Yes, he was. Hagrid acquired me from a traveller. He kept me always in a cupboard, so I wouldn’t be found and killed. When he was expelled, I came here. Since then, Hagrid has visited me often. He found me a mate, and I raised my family. For Hagrid’s sake, we have remained here, and have never sought out or harmed your kind.”
“But something is harming us,” said Harry. “There was a monster, there still is. If it wasn’t you that Petrified everyone, that killed that girl fifty years ago, who was it?”
Aragog shifted his great bulk across his web and spoke softly, almost as if to himself. “I hear many things. Many of our brothers and sisters have come to us recently, bearing tales. No, I did not kill that girl. She died in a bathroom on an upper floor, far from where I was kept. No, there is a creature, an ancient monster, feared by all our kind. It stalked the castle all those years ago, and it would seem it stalks it again now. It is evil, and I will speak no more of it.”
“Is there anything more you can tell us, anything at all?” pleaded Harry.
“I do not think so, Hagrid’s friend. It is late, and I am tired, and my children are hungry. It has been good to talk to someone again. Goodbye.” Aragog slid back up his web and curled up once more. Suddenly, as if released, the other giant spiders began to move forward, advancing on Harry and the invisible Neville.
Neville and Harry backed towards the edge of the clearing. “I thought they didn’t attack humans,” whispered Neville.
“Obviously not unless they walk all the way into their home,” replied Harry. “I think we’d better leave now, don’t you?” Neville lifted up the edge of the cloak and Harry dived underneath. For a moment, the spiders paused, confused, and Neville and Harry started to run. They ran as hard as they could, the cloak flapping around them, as best as they could determine in the direction they had come.
There was a rustling behind them and Neville looked back in horror. The spiders were following. Right behind them they were, dozens, and their numbers seemingly kept on multiplying. They covered the ground at incredible speed, and Neville knew they had not a hope of outrunning them. They were seconds away from being caught. “They can see us!” he cried. “They can see our feet! We’re done for.”
“Stop!” yelled Harry back. “Grab my broom, grab my broom!” They skidded to a halt against a huge oak tree and the cloak fell back covering them once more. The children of Aragog stopped running, unable to see their quarry, but whether they could hear the two boys, or otherwise sense them, they continued to enclose slowly on their position, seeking them out. They were almost surrounded.
Neville struggled desperately to detach Harry’s broomstick from his back. He tugged and pulled at straps, almost choking Harry at one point. Suddenly the broom came free in his hands and he staggered back, almost falling from the cloak. Harry seized the broom from his hands and swung it underneath him “Hold on!” he screamed. Neville grabbed hold of Harry’s shoulders for dear life. Harry kicked away from the ground, and the Nimbus Two Thousand burst away into the air, just as the spiders leapt on the place where they had been.
With his hands gripping tight to Harry’s shoulders, his eyes shut, and his legs flailing aimlessly in thin air beneath him, Neville felt them burst upwards through branches and foliage at incredible speed. They exploded out of the canopy of the Forest, and Harry smoothly brought the broom back to the horizontal, screeching and hollering with delight. “Sit down, Neville,” he added at last. “I don’t think my shoulders can take the weight much longer.
Gingerly, Neville felt for the cushioned surface of the broom, and sat. He shifted his grip to Harry’s torso and at last opened his eyes. They were floating gently above the trees in a dark, moonlit sky. The outline of Hogwarts castle glistened in the distance. The invisibility cloak, still draped about them, fluttered in the breeze. Deftly retaining control of the broom with one hand, Harry pulled off the cloak and wrapped it into a ball, which he stuffed under his arm. “Bet you don’t mind flying so much now, eh, Neville?” he laughed.
“Well it beats being eaten,” Neville had to admit. “But could we please get down?” Though his main objection to flying was that he couldn’t do it, he still had no great love for heights. Harry slowly flew the broom back over the forest and they landed in front of the doors of Hogwarts. Neville gratefully felt solid ground beneath his feet again. He looked back to the forest. “What sort of stupid advice was ‘follow the spiders’?” he exclaimed. “Hagrid nearly got us killed!”
“Hey, we’re still here,” said Harry, defending his friend. “And we know now that Hagrid’s innocent and Aragog isn’t the monster.”
“Which puts us back to square one,” Neville pointed out. “What now? Where do we go from here?”
The Secret Entrance by Sonorus
Author's Notes:
In which Neville learns the identity of the Monster of Slytherin and enters the Chamber of Secrets on a rescue mission.
Neville awoke sweating from yet another dream about giant spiders and reflected that he could now add arachnophobia to his list of problems. It was now four days since he and Harry had ventured into the Forbidden Forest, and returned with more questions than answers. It had taken Neville a day just to get over the initial shock, and though he had tried to forget the whole experience, it was proving difficult.
It wasn’t helped by the fact that the whole incident seemed not to have fazed Harry one bit. He was still his usual energetic, effervescent self. Neville had spotted him the day before giving a grand, detailed account of their “adventure” to Ron, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable as Harry described Aragog and his brood. Indeed, when Neville got down to breakfast, he saw Ron at the table still looking somewhat agitated and unsettled.
Harry, it seemed, was not one, when presented with a challenge, to give up on it lightly. He still held out hope of uncovering the identity of the Heir, and appeared to have decided that he and Neville were chief investigators into the mystery. His energy made Neville regret he had not brought him in on what he knew earlier, before Hermione and Colin were attacked.
Good news was brewing on that score, though. Neville had been down working with the Mandrakes again the day before, and Professor Sprout had told him they were now almost fully mature and they could begin brewing the restoring potion within hours. By tomorrow or the next day, Neville hoped, Hermione, Colin and the others would be back with them, and maybe finally they would get some answers. The Great Hall was buzzing with the news that morning, and many a prediction was being made on what the victims would reveal.
Neville had not been to visit Hermione since the day of the attack, though he had passed nearby the hospital wing on several occasions, moving between classes. Since everyone was being chaperoned between classrooms, it was impossible to get away. That afternoon however, as they were being led from a Transfiguration lesson to History of Magic by Professor McGonagall, they passed right by the entrance to the hospital wing, and Neville could not resist sticking his head round the door and taking a look.
McGonagall evidently didn’t notice him, as the History of Magic classroom was only a few doors down and everyone kept going. When Neville looked out into the corridor again, the Gryffindors were all filing into the classroom up ahead and only Harry had stayed behind next to him, curious as to what he was up to. It was only at this point, as the last of their classmates disappeared from view, that McGonagall looked up and noticed them.
“Potter, Longbottom!” she said crossly, hurrying back to them. “What do you think you’re doing? Do keep up.”
“Sorry, Professor,” mumbled Neville. “I just wanted to check up on, well…” He trailed off rather weakly.
The expression on McGonagall’s face changed instantly from one of irritation to one of compassion. “I understand, Mr Longbottom,” she said gently. She had a quick look around to check there was no one else present, then added quietly, “You may have five minutes to visit Miss Granger and Mr Creevey if you wish.”
The concept of McGonagall stretching the rules briefly stunned Neville into silence. “What about our lesson?” he said at last.
“I’m sure Professor Binns won’t notice, uh, mind you missing five minutes. Be sure to go directly to the classroom afterwards, mind.” Before McGonagall could change her mind, Neville and Harry quickly hurried inside.
Hermione and Colin had not moved of course, still lying on their beds in their fixed poses, the blank, unblinking expressions on their faces so difficult and uncomfortable to look at. Neville and Harry took chairs by Hermione’s bed. “Not long now, Hermione, not long now,” said Harry, trying to sound encouraging. “Just hold in there.” Neville didn’t say anything. They couldn’t hear, it was pointless. Besides, there was nothing he felt he could say to them that would make up for the fact that he failed to prevent the attack. He stared silently at the floor.
Hermione’s school bag was lying underneath the bed, apparently left there when she was brought in. Absently, Neville picked it up. It was heavier than usual, and the top of a large, old book was sticking out of the top of it, a book that didn’t look like any of their school textbooks. Curious, Neville pulled it out. It was entitled Magical Predators “ a Naturalist’s Guide by one Irving Stephens. Hermione had stuck a strip of parchment between two pages apparently as a bookmark. Neville flipped the book open to the marker.
The page in question was in the section on reptiles and was headed Basilisk. A pencil drawing of a huge serpent with piercing eyes and vicious fangs protruding from an open mouth dominated the centre of the page. About it were paragraphs of the typically dry text that Neville was used to from library books, and which he found unreadable. He was about to close the book when he noticed that the bookmark parchment was covered in scribbled notes. He instantly recognised Hermione’s handwriting. The notes appeared to consist of two lists.
Pros: Long lifespan. (Food source?) Kills by sight, no marks on victims. Rooster deaths. Snake “ Neville Parselmouth “ accounts for voice.
Cons: None killed, only Petrified. Perhaps no direct sight (was one death in prior attack, according to Malfoy). Reminder: research Petrifaction. How remaining unseen? Possibly using pipes “ Neville said voice came from walls. Spiders? No evidence.
Neville’s jaw dropped open. Hurriedly he scanned through the text for the reference to spiders. Near the bottom he found it: Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it. He looked up at Harry. “Harry, do you know anything about any roosters dying around the castle?”
Harry looked surprised at the question, but answered, “Yeah, Hagrid’s been going on about it for months, something keeps killing them. Didn’t you know?”
“No, I didn’t,” replied Neville. He never bothered to keep up with the general goings-on at Hogwarts, and he was regretting that now. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Merlin, I think she’s got it.” He handed over the book to Harry and showed him what Hermione had discovered.
As he read, Harry got more and more excited. “I think you’re right,” he said when he got to the bottom of the page. “It all fits. That’s why she had the mirror. She must have run into Colin outside the library, but they never got very far. She didn’t know about the spiders, but we do now. Well done Hermione!” He gave the Petrified form of Hermione a congratulatory pat on the shoulder.
“We’ve got to tell McGonagall and the others,” said Neville urgently.
Harry glanced at his watch. “It’ll have to be after classes. Our five minutes is up. Come on.” Neville slipped Magical Predators into his own bag and they left. Almost no one noticed them slipping quietly into the back of Binns’ classroom, not even Binns himself, droning away at his desk. Neville sat at the back while Harry slipped into the seat next to Ron. The lesson seemed to drag on for what seemed like days as Neville itched to get away.
Afterwards they all filed down to the Great Hall for supper. Neville hoped to find McGonagall there, but the only teachers on duty were Lockhart and Snape, and he had no intention of confiding in either of those. The other teachers were no doubt out patrolling the castle, as part of the security measures. Neville and Harry sat together and discussed what they had learned and what to do next.
It was only when they finished eating that Harry realised Ron was missing. He wasn’t sitting anywhere on the Gryffindor table. He and Harry had left Binns’ classroom together, Harry said, but then he’d fallen in to talk to Neville and nothing had been seen of him since. “He probably just went to the bathroom,” said Neville, but Harry looked worried.
“He knows we’re not supposed to wander off. I’m going to go look for him.”
“You’re not supposed to go wandering off either,” Neville reminded him.
“We’ll be fine. We know what we’re supposed to be looking out for, anyway. Come on.” Once again, Neville felt that Harry was roping him into something, but reluctantly agreed. They waited until Lockhart was distracted (which wasn’t too long), then slipped out of the Great Hall. Neither of them noticed the young girl who slipped out just after them.
They checked the nearest bathroom, and the route they had come down from History of Magic, but there was no sign of Ron. Neville suggested going up to Gryffindor Tower as he might have gone back there, but Harry said, “I’ve a quicker way.” They stepped into a disused classroom. Harry reached into his bag and took out what looked like a piece of parchment. “Er, Neville,” he said. “This may sound odd, but for, um, security reasons would you mind turning around and putting your fingers in your ears?” Puzzled, Neville did as he was told. He half heard a rustling sound and Harry muttering something.
When he turned back, he found Harry had folded out the parchment onto a table, however now it was covered with markings. Looking closer, over Harry’s shoulder, he could see that the markings were of corridors and rooms. Here and there, little dots moved about between the rooms, each with a name written in tiny lettering above them. “This is Hogwarts,” he said, astonished.
“Yeah,” Harry grinned. “It’s a map. Technically I’m not supposed to show you it, so forget you ever saw it, okay? It shows everyone in Hogwarts, wherever they are. Look, there’s Flitwick patrolling the fifth floor, and there’s Filch on the fourth. It’s been so useful, this map. You can have great fun with it.” Neville didn’t doubt. He wondered what Harry might have been up to with this map at times. “Anyway,” Harry continued. “Ron has to be here somewhere. All we’ve got to do is find him.”
They scanned the map for ages, but there was no sign of Ron anywhere. It was very difficult to locate anyone on the map though, if you didn’t know where to begin looking. “He’s probably just next door after all this,” laughed Harry, and located themselves on the map. “That’s strange,” he muttered. Suddenly he quickly folded the map up, stuffed it away and put a finger to his lips to silence Neville. He stepped quietly over to the open door, then stuck his head outside and shouted “Boo!” Neville heard a sudden yelp of surprise.
He followed Harry to the door and they stepped outside. Standing in the corridor was none other than Ginny Weasley, with a slightly sheepish look on her face. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were following me around, Ginny. What are you doing here?” demanded Harry.
“I could ask you the same thing,” replied Ginny defiantly. “I saw you sneaking out of the Great Hall. What are you up to?”
“We’re looking for Ron. You don’t know where he is, do you?” Ginny shook her head. “Fine. We’re going to keep looking, you should go back.”
“Why should I?” argued Ginny. “You never let me in on anything. I can help you stay and look as well.” She gave Harry an angry, determined look, a look that wouldn’t take no for an answer. Neville reflected on yet another piece in the puzzle of Ginny Weasley.
Reluctantly, Harry said, “Okay. But stick with us, right? Last thing we need is someone else wandering off and…”
Suddenly at that moment, a voice boomed through the corridors of Hogwarts. The distinctive clipped tones of Professor McGonagall were amplified throughout the castle, so that all heard them. “Your attention please. Would all students please return to their Houses immediately, without delay. All teachers please report directly to the staff room.” Neville, Harry and Ginny stared at each other. From below they heard the loud hubbub of rushing people. Harry set off at a run, but not in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. He was heading back down to the ground floor, where the staff room was. Neville and Ginny hurried after him.
They skidded to a halt in front of the staff room door, Harry a few yards ahead. The door was ajar and raised voices could be heard. They waited outside and listened. Neville recognised Snape’s gruff voice. “…or are you saying you’re not up to it, Gilderoy? Only you know where the entrance is, so you say.”
“Yes, yes,” Lockhart replied. “Of course I’ll go. Let me just go prepare, and I promise I will bring back the boy.” Suddenly he appeared at the door. He appeared not to notice the three children, but dashed past and up the stairs, in a terrible hurry.
Neville, Harry and Ginny leaned closer to listen as Flitwick spoke up, “Surely you know he isn’t capable of rescuing him, Minerva?”
“None of us is, Filius,” replied McGonagall sadly. “If Ron Weasley really has been taken into the Chamber of Secrets as the message said, then the reputation of Gilderoy Lockhart may be his only hope.”
McGonagall’s words seemed to hit Harry as if he had been physically punched. “Ron, no!” he gasped, and staggered backwards a couple of steps. As Neville went to put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him, he looked up at Neville with a fierce expression of determination on his face. “Lockhart,” he said. “Come on.” Before Neville had a chance to react or think about what was happening, Harry charged off again, back up the stairs, and Neville and Ginny followed.
Neville realised he was heading in the direction of Lockhart’s office. “We can help him, tell him what we know,” Harry called back to him as he raced along. Harry burst into Lockhart’s office at speed. “Professor!” he yelled, but then stopped dead, and Neville and Ginny nearly ran into the back of him.
An open trunk lay in the centre of Lockhart’s office. Lockhart himself had paused obviously in the middle of stuffing his most precious possessions (that is, his books and portraits) into the trunk. He looked up at Harry nervously. “Where do you think you’re going?” Harry snapped.
“Er, unavoidable call, must leave as fast as possible, no time,” stammered Lockhart.
“But you’re supposed to be rescuing Ron!” Harry’s voice was becoming angrier and angrier.
“Ah. Well, you see, the thing about that is, I’m not sure what I could really do, you see…”
“What are you, a coward?”
Lockhart seemed to bristle at that description. He drew himself up to his full height. “No I most certainly am not. But I am fully aware of the limits of my capabilities, and they certainly do not extend to taking on unknown lethal monsters, thank you very much.”
“You are a fraud. I knew it,” said Harry in disgust. “You can’t do anything. You’re a fraud and a liar.”
“Better than being a nobody. Anyway, I am quite skilled in my own field, and if it’s any consolation,” here Lockhart reached into his robes, “you won’t remember any of this.”
Harry’s wand was in his hand and pointed at Lockhart’s neck before Neville could blink. “I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” he said in a cold voice that made Lockhart step back a pace in fear. Neville had never seen Harry act like this. Reluctantly, Lockhart dropped his wand. “Good,” continued Harry, “You’re coming to help us rescue Ron, whether you like it or not. Now take us to the entrance to the Chamber.”
Lockhart just stared at him blankly. “You don’t even know that?” exclaimed Neville. “Now what do we do?”
Harry was slowly regaining his composure, though he kept his wand trained on Lockhart. “It’s okay, maybe we can figure this out. Let’s try to be like Hermione for a second, alright? Let’s think about what we know. The monster’s a basilisk,” Harry ignored Lockhart’s reaction, “it’s moving in the pipes, so it has to get into the plumbing somewhere. Hermione and Creevey were attacked outside the library. Clearwater was in a bathroom up by Ravenclaw Tower. Mrs Norris and Finch-Fletchley were attacked not far from here. Oh, and Aragog said that girl fifty years ago died in a bathroom on an upper floor.”
A realisation hit Neville completely out of the blue, a moment of inspiration of the sort he almost never received. “I know a dead girl in a bathroom,” he said.
* * *
The floor of Myrtle’s bathroom was sopping wet as Neville, Harry and Ginny entered, forcing Lockhart in in front of them. The ghost of the young girl with lank hair and glasses was floating aimlessly above a cubicle, humming to herself. She turned as they entered. “Hey, what are you all doing in here?” she shrieked. “Go away! Leave me alone!” She dived down into the cubicle.
“You’d better ask her, Neville, you know her,” urged Harry.
Cautiously, Neville approached the cubicle. “Er, Myrtle, it’s me, Neville, do you remember me?”
Myrtle stuck her head through the cubicle door. “Oh yes, the naughty boy making Polyjuice potion. What do you want?”
Neville wasn’t quite sure what the right way to phrase his question was. “Um, well, I was wondering, if perhaps, maybe, you wouldn’t mind telling us how you died?”
A gleeful grin spread across Myrtle’s translucent face. “No one’s ever asked me that before,” she said. “It was terrible. Scary. Are you sure you want to know?” She giggled mischievously. Neville nodded. “I was right here, in this very cubicle, crying. Stupid, mean Olive Hornby! Anyway, I heard someone come in. He started making this strange hissing noise, like a made-up language, but I knew it was a boy, and boys aren’t supposed to come in here. So I pushed open this door and stuck my head out like this,” her shoulders now emerged from the cubicle and she leaned to the left, facing the sinks, “to tell him to go away, and then I died.”
“Died of what?”
“I don’t know. All I saw were two bright yellow lights like eyes, and I was dead at once. But I wanted to stay, to make sure some people got what was coming to them. So I did, and here I am.”
Half keeping a watch on Lockhart, Harry dashed over to the sinks Myrtle had been looking at. He looked them over carefully. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Neville, take a look at this!” Neville dashed over. Harry was pointing to one of the taps. There, engraved in its side, was a tiny snake, the emblem of Slytherin itself. Neville tried the tap. It wouldn’t budge. “Parseltongue!” exclaimed Harry. “You heard Myrtle; that’s why the Heir can open it, of course. You’re the Parselmouth, Neville. Tell it to open!”
Neville hadn’t a clue if he could just produce Parseltongue on request, but he stared at the tiny engraved snake and tried to imagine it was real. “Open,” he whispered. “Open up.” To his astonishment the tap began to glow, first dimly, then brighter. It slowly rotated clockwise a full rotation and Neville heard a heavy clunk. Then suddenly the sink began to descend, vanishing into the stone floor. In the gap revealed in the wall was a huge, wide pipe, disappearing into darkness. The five occupants of the room stared at it, open mouthed. They had found the entrance.
“Right,” said Harry, firmly taking charge. “Professor, you go first. Neville and I will follow. Ginny, you wait here until we get back.”
“No!” Ginny’s voice was strident, it took Neville completely by surprise. She had hardly spoken since McGonagall’s announcement, and they hadn’t paid her much attention as they dashed about. “I’m coming too.”
Harry turned to her. “Look, Ginny, you’re only…”
“DON’T YOU DARE SAY I’M ONLY A GIRL!” yelled Ginny furiously. “Don’t you dare! You’re always ignoring me, you never let me in on anything you do, none of you! I can do just as much as anyone else! He’s my brother, and I’m coming.”
Harry looked chastened. “I was going to say, you’re only eleven,” he said weakly.
“So what? You’re only twelve. Neville was only eleven last year, and he fought You-Know-Who.”
“It wasn’t quite like that…” Neville began, but Ginny wasn’t listening. She dived past Harry and leapt down the pipe before anyone could stop her. “Ginny!” Harry yelled, but there was no reply. “Right,” he said, turning on Lockhart. “You go in after her, now.” He jabbed Lockhart with his wand and forced the terrified wizard forward and down the pipe. Without hesitating, he followed him in. Neville dived straight in after him, before he could change his mind.
The pipe was wet and Neville slid down at great speed. Suddenly the floor dropped away and he fell hard onto a sharp, brittle surface. He rolled over slightly and bumped into Harry, who was struggling to his feet. It was dark, dim and damp. Harry lit up his wand, revealing Ginny and Lockhart scrabbling about on the ground. They were in a wide cavern or tunnel, fading off into darkness, so the walls could barely be seen. Lockhart looked down at his robes in disgust and began brushing himself down. “I’m filthy!” he moaned. “These are my second-best robes, they’re ruined!” He took a comb from an inside pocket and tried to smooth out his hair.
Neville got to his feet and looked down to see what he’d landed on. He immediately wished he hadn’t. The ground was littered with bones and more unpleasant looking remains of small creatures. This was the detritus of the basilisk. Nervously he looked around, but there was no sign or sound of movement.
“Come on!” yelled Harry. “Hopefully we’ll miss it, but remember you can’t look at the basilisk. Avoid its eyes.”
“Great,” moaned Lockhart. “You expect me to take on a murderous monster without a wand, and I can’t even look at it. Just glad I know where I stand.” Everyone ignored him and rushed forward down the tunnel. He hesitated for a moment, then as the darkness closed in behind him, he hurried after them.
The tunnel became rough-hewn and rocky and they scrambled forward, half on their hands. Feeling for a handhold in the dim light, Neville touched something sticky and leathery. His hand recoiled in horror and he quickly lit his own wand to see what it was. The light fell on what looked like a giant silver mesh, winding its way over the rocks. It coiled and twisted like a great length of string, perhaps fifty feet in length. Ginny and Lockhart scrambled nearer for a closer look. Ginny reached out and ran her hand over the mesh. “It’s skin,” she said in wonder. “One giant snake skin.”
“Incredible,” said Lockhart. “Let me see.” He leaned over Ginny’s shoulder. All of a sudden, before anyone could react, his hand came down on Ginny’s right wrist and he prised her wand from her hand. He leapt to his feet, wildly pointing at each of them, as Ginny scrabbled backwards away from him, in Neville’s direction. “I think this little adventure has gone far enough, children,” he snarled, fear and malice in his eyes. He tilted his head to one side, as if considering something. “Yes, I think the death of your friend would be enough to drive you each out of your mind. Who knows, I may yet be commended for rescuing you from a worse fate. You first, dear,” he said, pointing the wand at Ginny. “This won’t hurt a bit. Ob-”
“Stupefy!” cried Harry. A red jet of light burst from his wand and struck Lockhart full in the chest. The spell flung Lockhart backwards against the hard stone wall of the tunnel and he went down. The tunnel shook slightly, as if from an earth tremor, then a ton of rocks collapsed down just in front of Neville. He flung himself to the ground, covering his head until the crashing ceased.
It was all dark again. Neville got to his feet and relit his wand. Ginny was there in front of him, brushing herself down but apparently unharmed. Behind a wall of rocks obscured his view. Of Harry and Lockhart there was no sign.
“Harry!” yelled Ginny, scrambling up the rocks. “Harry, are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” came Harry’s voice from behind the rocks. “That was bit spectacular, wasn’t it? Came right down in front of me.”
“Where on earth did you learn a spell like that?” Ginny was angry, but also curious.
“Fred and George.” Ginny rolled her eyes, she was not surprised. “Never used it for real before,” Harry continued. “I didn’t know it would do that.” There was a tone of what almost sounded like pride in Harry’s voice.
“What about Lockhart?”
There was a pause. “He’s out cold, but he seems all right,” came the response at last.
“Can you get through?” asked Neville.
“I don’t think so. Not without moving all these rocks and that could take ages. You’ll have to go on get Ron. And hurry, we’ve wasted too much time already. I’ll clear a way so we can get back. Go on!”
Neville turned and looked on down the passage. He remembered standing in a similar situation, one year ago. Somehow it had seemed easier to go on then than it did now. Then he thought of Ron, and he remembered Hermione and Colin, and all the mistakes he had made. No one else should have to suffer for his failures. It was time to set things right. He took a deep breath. “Are you still coming?” he asked Ginny. “You’ve lost your wand.”
“Of course I’m coming,” Ginny replied. “I’ll be right behind you, Neville. Lead the way.” They set off into the dark.
The Phoenix and the Sword by Sonorus
Author's Notes:
In which Neville encounters the Heir of Slytherin, and faces the basilisk.
The light from the tip of Neville’s wand cut dimly into the darkness as the space in front of he and Ginny widened and stretched far off into the distance. Here, deep beneath the earth, they had come to their destination. This was the Chamber of Secrets itself. They were standing at one end of a vast vault, like a perverse mockery of some giant underground cathedral. Huge pillars supported a roof which could not be seen, and great carved stone statues lined each side. Each one took the form of a snake, with open mouth and fangs bared, as if ready to strike.
There was light filtering down from some high shaft on the far end of the Chamber. It fell on a massive stone figure, a statue far dwarfing those of the snakes. It stood high and proud, surveying its domain with sharp, sunken eyes set into a wizened face garlanded with a long beard. Its body was squat and hunched, like a monkey’s. Though no likeness of Salazar Slytherin could still be found in the corridors of Hogwarts, Neville knew at once that here stood in stone the renegade Founder, presiding forever over the legacy he had created.
Neville and Ginny approached the statue cautiously, their footsteps echoing off the stone floor, cutting into the silence. Ginny gave a cry and pointed. There, lying sprawled at the foot of the statue, was Ron. He lay face down, the light falling on his unmistakeable shock of red hair. Neville and Ginny broke into a run, sprinting down the rest of the hall. Ginny got to Ron first. She knelt at his side and clutched his left arm. “Ron, Ron, are you alright?” she cried. There was no response. Neville reached them and Ginny looked up at him. “He’s cold,” she said, rubbing his arm. Her voice was cracked in pain.
Neville dropped his wand and reached down to turn Ron over. He took him by the shoulder, and his arm was indeed as cold as stone. With Ginny’s help he rolled Ron onto his back. Something slipped from under Ron’s right arm and fell to the floor, but Neville took no notice of it. Ron was unmoving and his eyes were closed. Neville put his hand on Ron’s chest to feel his heart. It was still beating. “He’s alive,” he said.
“For now.” It was not Ginny who had spoken but another voice, a male voice, confident, calm. A voice that Neville thought he recognised. He spun around. There, walking quietly towards them, was a tall, dark-haired boy of maybe sixteen, his head held proud, his face expressionless. Neville gasped.
“Who are you?” demanded Ginny at the newcomer.
A flicker of a grin appeared on the boy’s face at the question. “Neville knows, don’t you Neville?”
Neville could hardly believe the evidence of his eyes. “Tom Riddle,” he said. And Tom Riddle it was, standing there, and yet not there. At least that is how he seemed to Neville; the outline of his form was shrouded in haze that seemed to fade off into nothing, as if he had not fully emerged into the light. “But how? Where did you come from?”
“From there,” replied Riddle, pointing at the object that had slipped from Ron’s grasp. Neville turned to look at it, and did not notice Riddle reach down and pick up his wand from where he had dropped it. The object lying next to Ron was a book, a book that Neville recognised immediately, it was Tom Riddle’s diary, exactly as it was when last he had held it.
“Who’s Tom Riddle?” asked Ginny, confused. “What’s he got to do with an old book?”
Neville turned the book over in his hands, and looked up at Riddle. “Are you real?” he asked.
“More or less, soon to be more,” came the reply. “In answer to Miss Weasley’s questions, to relieve her ignorance, I attended this school some fifty years ago. I left behind… shall we say a memory, a preservation of my sixteen-year-old self in the pages of the diary Neville is now holding. That memory is the me you see before you.”
“How do you know my name?” asked Ginny.
“Oh, I know all about you, Ginny Weasley,” replied Riddle. “I know all about all three of you, especially poor little Ron there.” He sighed and shook his head a little. “Poor, poor Ronald Weasley. Least regarded, forgotten, marginalised. Always in the shadow of others. He just needed somebody to talk to, someone to be his equal. It was easy for me to provide that.”
“What do you mean?” said Neville. He looked down at the diary. “You mean Ron took the diary from me?”
“Oh don’t be a fool, Neville, think for once. Ron has had my diary all year. Night after night he would write in it, pouring out his thoughts, telling me his problems. All I had to do was listen. About how his parents had no time for him, the youngest son and not the daughter they had longed for.” Riddle glanced at Ginny. “About how he had nothing but hand-me-downs to call his own. About how his brothers teased and mocked him, and how he was always the least of his group of friends. And about how he lived in the shadow of his best friend, more popular and successful at everything than him, and of the Boy-Who-Lived himself, while he himself was no one.
“He wrote and I listened, and he laid himself bare before me, and I placed my soul into his. And so it was that he was open to my will, and whenever I wished I could take control of him, and he would do whatever I wanted, and not know he had done it.”
Riddle’s voice was colder now, and there was a fire dancing in his dark eyes. Neville scrambled to his feet and met Riddle’s eyes with his own. He knew the answer to his question even before he asked it. “And what did you make him do?”
“Why, to open the Chamber of Secrets, of course,” Riddle laughed.
Ginny shot to her feet as well. “You!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, me. Ron so kindly obliged me by opening the Chamber, by setting the basilisk loose against the Mudbloods, by killing the roosters so the basilisk could not be harmed. Each time his own self would fade away and I would take over. Did he ever suspect what he had done? Perhaps, but he never knew.”
Neville’s hand instinctively shot to his side, but Riddle laughed again. He held up Neville’s wand. “Looking for this?” he mocked. “I don’t think you’ll be needing it any more. It is a pity I am not yet strong enough to use it against you myself, but one must be patient. Now Ron Weasley is fully in my power, and as he fades, so I arise, no longer mere memory. However I can fill the time with the satisfaction of watching you die.”
Neville quivered. “Why do you want to kill me? I’m not Muggle-born.”
“Can you not guess? I have a personal interest in you. So much so that I persuaded Ron to leave the diary with you for a while, then retrieve it later. I had to see who you were, so I showed you how I framed that stupid lump of a half-breed. You believed it just as those fools did fifty years ago.”
“I never really believed Hagrid was guilty,” protested Neville.
“But you trusted me, and that was my aim. I learned all I needed to know about you, and I must say what I discovered disappointed me. An ordinary boy of mediocre talent. How did you do it? How did you as a baby defeat the greatest wizard of all time?”
Neville stared into the dark, inscrutable eyes of Riddle. “Who are you?”
Riddle smiled. “The answer is the name, Neville.” He raised Neville’s wand and began writing in the air. The wand traced letters of fire as he wrote: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. He gave the wand a final wave and the letters began to move. Slowly they rearranged themselves into a new configuration: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.
Neville took a step backwards. “V-Voldemort,” he stuttered. It was the first time he had spoken the name. Ginny let Ron’s arm fall from her hand and her mouth dropped open.
Riddle gloated over his enemies’ reaction. He drew himself up to his full height. “I am Lord Voldemort,” he said proudly. “I rid the world of the memory of my father and his name, and created a name befitting my status. I am the Heir of Slytherin, the last of his noble line, and I will finish what he began. I will rise again, and my new order shall be born, and none shall stand in my way.”
Ginny stepped forward and stood defiantly by Neville’s side. “They’ll stop you,” she said. “They stopped you before and they’ll do it again.”
Riddle laughed in scorn. “And who exactly will stop me? The Boy-Who-Lived?” He pointed at Neville derisorily. “I think not, not this time.”
“Dumbledore will,” Ginny replied furiously. “He’s better than you and he doesn’t fear you.”
“Dumbledore!” exclaimed Riddle, his eyes focussing on Ginny for the first time. “Dumbledore is gone, driven out of this castle without a fight. I would not put your faith in Albus Dumbledore, you silly girl.”
But Ginny did not step down or break away from Riddle’s gaze. Suddenly, from above, far down the Chamber, there came a sound. It was a beautiful, melodious sound of a sort Neville had never heard before, and it uplifted his heart just to hear it. The cry echoed through the Chamber, seemingly amplified off the walls, filling the space with its harmony. From out of the darkness emerged the source of the cry. In flame red and gold it sped through the air, circling high above the heads of those below. It was Fawkes the phoenix, fully grown, resplendent in bright feathers. In its claws it carried something which it dropped into the hands of Ginny.
Riddle was rendered momentarily speechless by this unexpected interruption, but as Ginny examined the object in her hands, his swagger returned and he laughed coldly. “The Sorting Hat!” he snorted. “Maybe Dumbledore’s decided you two don’t belong in Gryffindor any more. Perhaps we should test how brave you really are.” He turned to face the great statue of Slytherin. “Come,” he exclaimed, and Neville knew it was Parseltongue he spoke. “Come out and kill.”
And from the mouth of the statue a voice came in answer, the same cold hiss he had heard all year, that turned his blood cold and drove back the hope of the phoenix song. “I come, my master. I come to kill.” Neville saw the faint outline of something beginning to emerge from the mouth.
He turned his face away from the statue. “Don’t look at it!” he cried to Ginny. “Run!” But Ginny hesitated over the body of her brother, unwilling to leave his side. Neville dragged her away.
Riddle continued to laugh, enjoying his little game. “Where will you run, Longbottom? There’s nowhere you can go.” He turned to the basilisk. “Kill them.”
The great creature roared and hissed, and bore down on its helpless prey. Neville and Ginny ran back up the Chamber, Ginny still clutching the hat. They looked desperately for another passage, but Riddle was right, there was nowhere to run. Behind them the basilisk bared its fangs to strike.
A cry from out of the darkness, high above and behind them, the cry of hope once more. Neville saw another flash of red and gold out of the corner of his eye, and heard the basilisk roar in pain. Fawkes had struck, tearing at the basilisk’s eyes, blinding the gaze of death. The basilisk writhed, trying to shake off its assailant, but Fawkes clung on. Eventually the phoenix broke free, but there were only streams of red blood where the yellow eyes had been. Riddle gave a scream of anger.
Neville dived behind a snake statue, and peeked out at the basilisk. He instantly regretted doing so. The creature he now beheld for the first time was truly monstrous. It was perhaps fifty feet in length, its head the size of a man, and though the light of its eyes was extinguished, its tongue still flickered between huge razor-sharp fangs. He cowered behind the statue, hoping his breath was not too loud.
It was then he realised that Ginny had not moved, and was still standing in the centre of the Chamber, facing the basilisk. Though Neville was deaf to it, the song of the phoenix still rang in her ears, and she did not quail. Neville saw her hand dive into the Sorting Hat and draw something from it. It was a gleaming sword, ornate, sharp and long, and Ginny struggled to hold it up. Discarding the hat, she clutched the sword in both hands, bracing herself against the monster’s next onslaught.
Neville wanted to cry out, to tell Ginny to run. He wanted to move, to rush to her side and help her. But he froze. He found himself unable to move, unable to speak, as if the basilisk had regained its stare and Petrified him. Paralysed with fright, he could only watch as the basilisk blindly bore down on Ginny, who clumsily heaved and swung the sword, striking only air.
The monster slid forward, its other senses pinpointing its prey. It lashed downwards, missing Ginny by inches. Ginny staggered and gave an ineffective slash against its side, failing to penetrate its tough leathery skin. Neville watched in horror as the great head of the beast swung around, knocking Ginny to the ground. A front fang of the basilisk sliced across Ginny’s right arm and snapped off. The sword slipped from her hand and fell with a clang to the floor.
Ginny lay helpless on the floor, unable to regain her feet. The basilisk raised its head once more, for the final strike, which Neville knew would be fatal. The great sword lay on the floor in front of him, where it had fallen. Suddenly, in an instant, without any conscious thought, Neville was released. With a cry of “No!” that burst from him involuntarily, he sprang out of his hiding place. Seizing the sword in both hands, he skidded across to Ginny’s prone form and fell onto his back, holding the sword point upwards into the air. The basilisk, mid-way through its strike, plunged down with mouth agape, right onto the point of the sword. Neville clung on for dear life, reeling from the dying breath of the monster. It writhed and shook, succeeding only in driving the sword further into its flesh. Finally with a great crash, it fell dead, the sword still lodged in its skull.
Neville lay there by Ginny’s side, his hands, which had clung to the sword until the last moment, were shaking uncontrollably. His brain was only now beginning to process what he had done. His heart was pounding and he was shivering. He tried to get to his feet but they buckled underneath him. He looked at Ginny, who had raised herself to her knees, clutching her arm. “I knew you’d save me, Neville,” she said weakly. “I knew it.” But beneath her fingers was a deep gash and the blood oozing from it was stained black.
Neville picked up the snapped-off fang that lay next to them. Its tip was stained with the same black liquid. From down the Chamber, Riddle approached. He looked disdainfully at his fallen servant, before turning to Neville and Ginny. “Ah, what a shame,” he said in a mocking tone. “Don’t worry Weasley, basilisk venom is very quick. You can join your brother.”
Neville looked down at the fang, and then at Ginny. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I failed again.” Ginny did not reply, and Neville could not look into her face. There was a gentle patter behind them and Fawkes hopped to their side. His face looked sad, and Neville gently stroked his plume. “Thanks,” he said. Fawkes however took no notice, and leaned over Ginny’s injured arm. He began to cry. The tears dripped softly from his eyes and fell onto the arm. Ginny removed her left hand and gazed in astonishment. All once, the wound shrank and the skin seemed to knit together. In a matter of seconds there was not a mark to be seen.
Riddle snorted in anger. “Phoenix tears,” he muttered. “I should have known. No matter.” He turned and strode back towards the prostrate Ron. “Not long now and it will be all over. I will be whole again, and I will still have my revenge.” He stroked his long fingers with the tip of Neville’s wand. “I feel it coming. The power within me growing.”
In rage, Neville got to his feet and charged at Riddle. Instinctively Riddle turned, attempting to fire a curse at his attacker, but only sparks emerged from the wand, disorienting Neville, who slipped on the wet floor. “Not yet,” Riddle said to himself. “I have not the strength yet. Wait until the boy is dead.” He crouched down and examined Ron. Neville, getting up again, saw that Ron’s face looked far whiter than before. “Almost gone,” continued Riddle. “Watching death is a strange thing. The finality of it. The feeling of power you get as they end and you continue.” He prodded the diary still lying by Ron’s side. “Too long have I remained locked inside of you. All it took was one lonely fool, and I am free.”
Neville felt his grip tighten on the basilisk fang still clutched in his fingers, and a thought sprang unexpectedly and urgently into his mind, almost compelling him to act on it. He seized the diary from under Riddle’s hand. Before Riddle could react, he raised the fang and stabbed it hard through the cover of the book. There was a terrible scream, and his scar burned in pain on his forehead. He collapsed to the floor, but when he opened his eyes, Riddle was gone.
Neville heard a cough and a spluttering gasp of air from Ron. Ron sat bolt upright, breathing heavily and holding his head. Eventually he looked up. “Neville, Ginny!” he exclaimed. “What…I…?” Then he saw his surroundings, and the carcass of the huge dead serpent. “So it’s true,” he said quietly. “It was me.”
Ginny ran to Ron and hugged him. “It’s over, Ron,” she said. “Neville did it.” She looked up at Neville, who looked away, embarrassed at the undeserved praise. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
The Elf's Master by Sonorus
Author's Notes:
In which Dumbledore returns, and the villain behind the plot is revealed.
Minerva McGonagall collapsed into her chair in her office and took a deep breath. “All right, let me see if I have this correct,” she said finally, staring at the nervous looking three boys and a girl standing in front of the desk. “You somehow discovered the entrance to the Chamber, you abducted Professor Lockhart…” She indicated the collapsed unconscious form slumped against her wall.
“More like persuaded…” interjected Harry.
“Please do not interrupt, Mr Potter. Having decided to enter the Chamber, you proceeded to attack and render Professor Lockhart unconscious…”
“In self-defence,” Harry added again. “He was going to…”
“Thank you, Mr Potter,” said McGonagall sternly, raising a hand for quiet. “This then caused a rock fall, leaving Mr Longbottom and Miss Weasley to proceed into the Chamber itself, where you found Mr Weasley and who you claim to be a teenage incarnation of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” She turned the battered diary in front of her over in her hands and observed the deep puncture mark made by the basilisk fang. “This, uh, apparition then summoned a basilisk, which would have killed the both of you had Professor Dumbledore’s phoenix not come to your aid, bearing of all things the Sorting Hat.” She picked up the second of the three items deposited on her desk by the students, followed by the third, a long gleaming sword, stained with blood.
“From within the hat,” she continued, “Miss Weasley drew this sword, which then, between you, you somehow used to kill this basilisk. This done, Mr Longbottom stabbed this diary with a fang of the beast, which had the effect of destroying the apparition, and returning Mr Weasley to consciousness. Professor Dumbledore’s phoenix then kindly bore the four of you, plus the unfortunate Professor Lockhart, out of the Chamber, and now here you stand.” She took another long breath. “Do I have, as the saying goes, the long and the short of it?”
Neville, Harry, Ginny and Ron each nodded silently. None of them would take McGonagall’s eye. McGonagall in return subjected them to a pointed period of silence. “Well,” she said at last, “that is quite a tale. I hope you all understand not only how incredibly lucky you have been, but also how extremely stupid…”
But she was unable to finish her lecture, as she was interrupted by a considerable commotion from the corridor outside her door. Neville heard cries of “Where is he?” and “Is he all right?”, and then suddenly through the door burst Mrs Weasley, at top speed and out of breath. She leapt on Ron and almost smothered him in a massive hug. Behind her bustled in Mr Weasley and, to Neville’s astonishment, none other than the venerable figure of Professor Dumbledore himself.
McGonagall was evidently just as surprised to see Dumbledore as Neville. “Albus!” she exclaimed, getting to her feet.
“Good morning, Minerva,” said Dumbledore, a twinkle in his eye. “I see you have been keeping things nice and quiet in my absence.” He surveyed the scene calmly for a while, the three guilty-looking students, the fourth mobbed by his parents and getting more embarrassed by the minute, the collection of objects on McGonagall’s desk. Fawkes hopped down from where he had been perched on a bookcase, and Dumbledore gave him a gentle pat. Finally his eyes rested on the crumpled form of Lockhart in the corner. “Dear me,” he said with mock severity, “what have we here? I cannot have my teachers lying about in such a manner.” He took out his wand. “Rennervate!”
Lockhart sprang to his feet, looking wildly around him, totally confused. “What…? Where…?” he mumbled. He rubbed his eyes and tried desperately to smooth down his hair again. “Headmaster!” he cried, noticing Dumbledore at last. “These children must be arrested at once!” He waved an accusing finger at Neville, Harry and Ginny. “They are violent hooligans, guilty of abduction, and assault without provocation, and…and… and anything they’ve told you is a lie, a filthy and slanderous lie!”
Dumbledore tutted gently. “My word, I can see that a lot has happened here. Someone I think is going to have to explain things to me.”
McGonagall sighed again. “Very well,” she said wearily. “Once more from the top, Mr Longbottom, if you please.”
* * *
It took a great deal longer to tell the story the second time around, particularly on account of the constant interruptions from Lockhart offering his version of events, and the wails and cries from Mrs Weasley. By the time they had finished, she was alternately hugging Ginny as strongly as she had Ron, and berating her for her reckless behaviour.
Dumbledore had listened quietly to all that had been said, without once interrupting. He stroked his long beard thoughtfully. “Minerva,” he said at last, “perhaps it would be best if you accompany the Weasley family down to the hospital wing, to get young Ronald checked over. Mr Potter, I’m sure you’ll want to go with your friend.” Slowly McGonagall ushered everyone out of the office. Dumbledore went over to her desk, examining the objects there. “Gilderoy, Mr Longbottom, please stay a moment.”
Once the three of them were alone, Dumbledore sat down in McGonagall’s chair and looked up at Neville and Lockhart. “Well, Gilderoy, what am I to do with you?” he said pleasantly. “On the one hand it is patently clear that you have lied your way through this entire school year, were prepared to abandon an innocent boy to certain death, and attempted to attack and deprive one of one our students of their memory.” Lockhart made as if to protest, but one sharp stare from Dumbledore over his half-moon spectacles silenced him. “On the other hand, you have survived the year more or less intact, and Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers are becoming increasingly difficult to find.”
Lockhart briefly brightened at this last remark, but Dumbledore continued. “I really don’t have much choice, do I? Gilderoy, you’re sacked.” Lockhart’s face fell. “Your employment at Hogwarts is hereby terminated, effective the end of this school year. I advise you to go back and finish your packing. Oh, and Gilderoy,” he added, with a mischievous smile, “should I hear any, how shall I put it, misleading accounts of last night’s events emanating from your good self, be assured that the full story of your cowardice and deception here will find its way into the hands of the editors of the Daily Prophet. Please close the door on your way out.”
Lockhart stared angrily at Dumbledore for a moment but, finding no reply to give, he turned and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Dumbledore did not watch him go. He had picked up Tom Riddle’s diary from the desk in front of him and was looking at it closely, seemingly lost in thought. Neville waited nervously for him to finish, wondering what his fate would be.
At last, Dumbledore put down the book. “Well, Neville,” he said, “and what about you? I hope you are aware that no matter the circumstances, the actions of you and your friends have been very serious, very dangerous, and in several cases flagrantly against this school’s well-established rules. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Neville shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “It all seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” he said weakly.
Dumbledore smiled. “Usually a pretty damning thing to say, Neville, but I believe you.” He glanced down at the diary again. “Tell me Neville, what do you know of Tom Riddle? Not Lord Voldemort, but Tom Riddle as he was, when he attended Hogwarts.”
Neville was surprised at the question. “I-I know he opened the Chamber when he was here, and he framed Hagrid for it. They gave him an award.” Then he remembered something. “But surely you knew him too, sir, you were there at the time, I remember hearing.”
Dumbledore sighed sadly. “Yes, I did know him, Neville. I had the dubious honour of being the first wizard he ever met. I do not lie when I say that, academically, he was the best student I’ve known in all my time at this school. Everyone said he was destined for great things. If only they’d known.” He paused, thoughtful for a moment. “Indeed they did give him that award. I was suspicious, and argued Hagrid’s case, but the evidence was against him and Tom could always be persuasive when he wanted. In hindsight of course, it was obvious what had happened, even though there was never any proof, but the award remained. I think I left it there to remind me of how wrong we can be about someone. Or maybe I’m just getting old and forgot about it.”
Dumbledore smiled to himself. “Either way, it’s high time it was removed,” he continued. “The thing is, we will need something to put in its place. I think a Special Award for Services to the School for you would look good, don’t you?”
“Me?” Neville stammered. “But Ginny did more…”
“Relax Neville, your modesty is commendable. Miss Weasley will also receive the award, as will Mr Potter. You deserve it. You have rid this school of a great danger, and safeguarded the lives of everyone here, not to mention Ron Weasley. This school and I personally owe you a debt of thanks.”
Neville looked downcast. “I don’t deserve it,” he said. “I was frightened. I ran. If it wasn’t for Fawkes…”
“Don’t deserve it? Neville, you can’t believe that. The very fact that Fawkes came to you proves you must have shown me great loyalty, and only a true brave Gryffindor could have pulled this sword from the Sorting Hat.” He lifted the sword from the table to show it to Neville.
“But it was Ginny that did those things,” Neville replied. “I went and hid.”
Dumbledore paused for a moment, looking carefully at Neville. “Take a look at this sword,” he said at length, handing it over. “Just below the hilt.” Neville cautiously took the sword and did as Dumbledore suggested. A name was engraved there: Godric Gryffindor. “Yes, Neville,” nodded Dumbledore. “That was indeed Gryffindor’s own sword that you took up and used to kill Slytherin’s monster. At the final moment, the moment of decision, surely you know you made the right choice? Courage is not about being ignorant of fear, it is about doing the right thing in spite of it.”
Neville was about to reply, when for a second time that morning there was a commotion outside the office. The door flew open and in strode none other than Lucius Malfoy, his face like thunder. Behind him at his feet bobbed a small figure of whom he took no notice. Neville however was astonished to see who it was. It was Dobby.
Dobby looked more frightened and apprehensive than ever. At the sight of Neville he brightened slightly, but kept a worried eye on Malfoy. Neville realised that here was the master he had been so afraid of, the master that treated him so badly. He felt he should have guessed it would be Malfoy, really.
Malfoy glared at Dumbledore, but his voice was calm and composed when he spoke. “I am surprised to see you here, Dumbledore. I was under the impression you were still under suspension.”
“Ah yes, a funny thing that,” said Dumbledore. “It seems that, hearing that an abduction had taken place, the other governors were most enthusiastically insistent on recalling me. It is not for me to explain their wild changes of mood, but I suspect some very strange goings on there. For instance, more than one of them voiced a scurrilous and undoubtedly untrue claim that their families had been threatened to ensure my expulsion in the first place. I found it all most puzzling.”
Dumbledore’s voice was gentle and pleasant, but the undercurrent was obvious even to Neville. The colour of Malfoy’s face brightened to a quite fiery shade of crimson, but he restrained himself once more. “I hear that the crisis has been averted, however,” he said thickly, with a sideways glance at Neville. “Has the culprit been caught?”
“Sadly not, for it appears the culprit was none other than Lord Voldemort,” replied Dumbledore, picking up the diary. “He, or someone associated with his aims, apparently arranged for this old diary of his to fall into the hands of an unsuspecting young boy. It took control of the boy, precipitating the attacks.” He looked over the diary once more, then up at Malfoy again. “Curious, is it not Lucius, that such a treasured and powerful object of Voldemort’s should surface now, even while he himself remains in exile? Let us both hope that it does not happen again.”
Dobby was urgently hopping up and down behind Malfoy, as if desperate to speak, but said nothing. He looked at Neville with a pleading expression. Malfoy, seeking to leave as quickly as possible, gave a curt nod to Dumbledore and, seeing Dobby’s antics, gave him a sharp kick which propelled him towards the door. Dobby whimpered and hobbled along behind Malfoy as he exited, throwing a mournful glance back towards Neville as he did so.
As soon as they had gone, Neville turned back to Dumbledore. “Do you really think he was responsible, sir? It sounded like it.”
“Oh, it’s not for me to go around accusing respectable pillars of society like Lucius Malfoy, especially without any proof. Besides,” he mused, “I cannot think of what opportunity he could have had.”
Neville thought back to the first time he had met Lucius Malfoy, in a bookshop, months before, and the recollection came to him in a flash. “I can,” he said, and dashed out of the room before Dumbledore could reply. A few seconds later he dashed back in. “Can I take this?” he asked breathlessly, picking up the diary. Dumbledore merely smiled and Neville ran back out again.
It was early morning and the corridors were quiet as Neville raced along and down the stairs after Malfoy. He caught up with him just as he reached the Entrance Hall. “Dobby!” he called, tripping on the last step and sprawling on the floor. Malfoy turned, confused. Neville pulled himself up into a sitting position and tugged off his right shoe. He knocked a small pebble out from inside it and fiddled with the frayed laces.
Malfoy walked back to him, Dobby in tow, and leaned over him. “How do you know the name of my house-elf, boy?” he asked suspiciously. Dobby looked extremely worried.
Neville looked up, still fiddling with his shoelaces. “That’s an interesting story actually, sir. Do you remember the day we first met, in Diagon Alley? You got into a fight. I think you dropped something of yours. I’ve got it here actually. Would you mind holding this for a moment?” He passed his shoe to Malfoy, who took it, puzzled, and clambered to his feet. He reached inside his robes and pulled out the mangled diary, with the puncture hole through its centre. “Here it is,” he said. “You see, I remember Ron Weasley was in that fight, and everyone dropped their books. He must have picked it up by mistake. Or maybe it wasn’t by mistake?”
Malfoy glared contemptuously at Neville and laughed mirthlessly. “I know what you’re trying to say, Longbottom, and you don’t have a shred of proof. Better and cleverer wizards than you have tried to accuse me of worse things, and failed. But what has this got to do with my house-elf?”
“Well sir,” said Neville, praying that this would work, “I bet you’ve been wondering how we managed to defeat the Heir of Slytherin, how we found out what was going on. You see, Dobby here has been feeding us information all year. He’s been telling us everything.”
“NO!” squealed Dobby, shocked. “Don’t tell him, Neville Longbottom! I mean… it’s not like that, master, I promise. Dobby did punish himself!” He backed away from Malfoy, terrified.
“You miserable, nasty, treacherous little creature!” bellowed Malfoy, his rage exploding out of him. He hurled Neville’s shoe at Dobby. It struck the elf in the chest and he was knocked onto his back, his arms wrapped around it. After what seemed an age to Neville, Dobby cautiously got to his feet, his tiny hand still clutching the heel of the shoe, waiting for the next assault from Malfoy.
But before Malfoy could do anything, Neville spoke. “What do you have to say, Dobby?” Dobby just stared at him, nonplussed. “Do you have nothing to say to Mr Malfoy, Dobby? After all, he has just presented you with a shoe.”
Dobby’s huge eyes widened even further. He looked down at the shoe in his hand, then at Neville, then at Malfoy. Malfoy had stormed right up to him, and was about to deliver another hard kick. Suddenly Dobby’s arm shot out in front of him. There was a flash of light and Malfoy was thrown half-way across the Entrance Hall, collapsing against the main door. Dobby stared at his hand, as if it wasn’t attached to his body. He was breathing hard. “Dobby is… Dobby is free?” he stammered. “Free!” He threw his hands in the air, one still thrust inside Neville’s shoe.
Malfoy regained his feet, incoherent with anger. His wand sprang out in his right hand and he stepped forward towards Neville. But Dobby dashed between them, blocking Malfoy’s way, his hand outstretched again. “Dobby is free,” he stated firmly, “and he will not let you near Neville Longbottom.”
For a moment, Malfoy seemed inclined to ignore the warning, but Dobby was unmoving and he relented. “This isn’t over, Longbottom,” he snapped, and turned and walked out.
Dobby stayed still, watching Malfoy until he had gone. Only then did he sink to his knees, hugging the shoe to his chest. Neville walked over to him. “Are you all right?” he asked.
The question only caused Dobby to burst into floods of tears and cling to Neville’s leg. “This is the happiest day of Dobby’s life,” he sobbed. “Dobby is eternally in your debt.”
Neville crouched down and looked into Dobby’s eyes. “You’re not in anyone’s debt, Dobby,” he replied. “Go and live your life. Thank you.”
* * *
Neville spent the rest of the day in a much brighter mood, even though he was hobbling around uncomfortably on one shoe. He felt he had after all achieved one small victory. He was rather embarrassed by the rapturous welcome for him back in the Gryffindor common room, and went straight up to his room for a much-needed sleep, only emerging late on into the afternoon.
He had only been up for a few minutes, fielding questions from Fred and George, who mostly seemed to want to know anything embarrassing he could tell them about Ron and Ginny, when the door to the common room swung open. To Neville’s delight, bounding in through the doorway came Colin Creevey, closely followed by Hermione. The Gryffindors exploded into wild cheers, and Colin in particular lapped up the adulation, quickly finding a group of his classmates and gabbling away to them.
Hermione meanwhile quietly walked over to Neville and gave him a big and embarrassing hug. “Is everyone all right?” he managed to ask eventually.
“Everyone’s fine,” replied Hermione, beaming. “The Mandrake draught worked perfectly. Even Mrs Norris was on her feet straight away, running around. I heard what you all did. I can’t believe it!” The hug for Neville was immediately followed by one for Ginny, then Hermione turned to Harry, who was loitering close by, watching. “So, Potter,” she said. “I hear you can be useful for something after all.”
“My name’s Harry,” he replied with a grin, offering a hand. “Don’t you think it’s about time we stuck to that, Hermione?” Hermione ignored the hand and gave Harry another hug instead, embarrassing the poor boy even more than Neville. “There’s someone else you need to see,” he said once Hermione had let go. Over here.”
Standing alone in the corner of the room was Ron, a wretched look on his face. He wouldn’t meet Hermione’s eye when she came over, instead staring at the floor, his head down, his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “I never meant… I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Ron,” Hermione said kindly. “They told me what happened. It wasn’t your fault.” But Ron hurried away and dashed off upstairs to his room without a word.
“Leave him be,” advised Harry. “It’s going to take a while for him to get over this. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Everyone assembled in the Great Hall that evening for a celebratory feast marking the end of the crisis and the recovery of the Petrified students. Even Hagrid was there, having been released from Azkaban that very afternoon, cleared of all charges. Neville observed that he seemed a bit shaken and unsure of himself, but generally in good spirits. Harry was particularly delighted to see him.
Ron attended the feast, but stuck close to Harry the whole evening, keeping his head down and staying silent. There were loud cheers from the whole hall when Dumbledore stood up and made his speech, thanking everyone, but the loudest cheer was reserved for when he announced the cancellation of all exams. Only Hermione looked disappointed.
The last weeks of term passed in a blur for Neville, and it seemed like no time at all before he was packing up ready to leave on the Hogwarts Express. They all took carriages to Hogsmeade station, like the one in which he had arrived at Hogwarts with Snape all those months before. Again they were pulled by those strange spectral horses most could not see, and Neville decided not to mention that he could here. They did however serve to remind him of how different he was.
He shared a carriage with Harry and Ron. Ron’s mood had not improved much over the past fortnight and he looked particularly down today. When they reached the station, as Ron loaded his trunk onto the train, Neville took the opportunity to ask how Ron was doing.
“He’s not too bad,” Harry replied. “We’re going to have him over to visit us in the summer, see if we can’t cheer him up, make him feel a little better. I’ll bet by the time we get back here in September, he’ll be back to normal.”
“Good luck,” said Neville. “He still seems pretty upset to me.”
“Oh, he’s just more miserable today because he’s lost his rat. It must have got out of its cage last night, and there was no time to find it this morning. You didn’t see it, did you?”
“Sorry, no,” replied Neville. Instinctively, he checked Trevor was still securely in his own travelling box. “Tell him I’m sorry to hear that. Believe me, I know what it’s like to have pets running off.” He said his goodbyes to Harry and they boarded the train. He found the compartment where Hermione was sitting. “What a year,” he said, taking the seat opposite her. “I mean, I knew school would be tough, but this isn’t what I was thinking of.”
“Maybe next year will be quiet,” smiled Hermione.
“I doubt it. I don’t want to think about next year right now. Time for a rest.” He stretched out on the seat and fell into a doze as the Hogwarts Express gently pulled out of the station.
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