Neville Longbottom awoke slowly from a deep slumber on a bright summer morning. Reluctantly, he roused himself from his bed and slowly got dressed. Reaching under his bed and pulling out a left shoe, he put it on then spent the next five minutes looking for the right one of the pair. It was only after searching his entire room and going through his Hogwarts trunk that he remembered that he had lost that particular other shoe at the end of last school term. Well, not lost exactly, more given away, and it meant far more to its recipient now than it ever did to Neville. He wondered where Dobby was now.

He got out his other (now only remaining) pair of shoes and put them on, throwing the odd shoe into a corner. He’d had a devil of a time explaining to Gran, when he’d arrived back in Huddlesby that summer, how he’d managed to lose a shoe at Hogwarts. It was particularly tough on account of the fact he couldn’t tell her the truth. Neville had got up to some pretty remarkable, not to say terrifying, things in his two years at Hogwarts, things that he knew would probably frighten Gran into stopping him from ever going back to the school again. Neville couldn’t allow that to happen.

He hated lying to Gran, and he was always petrified that she would find him out. Whilst Neville didn’t exactly live in fear of her, he knew how strict she was about the slightest step out of line. Every minute of Neville’s time at home during the holidays was strictly monitored, and he was never allowed to go further than the front garden. Neville felt it was only with reluctance that she released him to Hogwarts for nine months of the year, and he didn’t want to give her any excuse to change her mind.

Neville of course could not keep from Gran everything that had happened in the past year. It was common knowledge in the wizarding world that Hogwarts had been subjected to a series of attacks on students over the year, which had threatened to close the school. It was also known that the attacks had been ended and the creature responsible destroyed. Most of the credit had been given to Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who had returned to Hogwarts at the key moment. Very few knew the actual truth.

Very few knew that the creature was in fact a basilisk, that that had been discovered by Neville’s friend Hermione. That the basilisk had been controlled by a memory of the sixteen-year-old Lord Voldemort, contained in a diary. And that Neville had been one of three students who had entered the basilisk’s lair and killed it, rescuing their friend Ron and destroying the diary.

With all that to hide from Gran, the fact that he had indirectly given his shoe away to a house-elf rather paled into comparison as a secret, but telling that would only lead to further more difficult questions, so he had kept quiet. He trusted that his usual forgetfulness would provide sufficient excuse, and it seemed to have done so.

He left his room and trudged down the stairs to the kitchen. Gran was sitting in her armchair in the living room and called out as he passed the door. “Oh, you’re up at last. Your breakfast’s on the stove. Don’t blame me if it’s burnt.” She returned to reading her book. Neville went on into the kitchen and helped himself to the porridge. In fact it was fine, Gran never let it burn, in spite of her regular complaints about Neville’s late rising.

Neville sat at the kitchen table and ate his breakfast quietly. His eyes turned to the row of birthday cards on the window sill, from his thirteenth birthday a little under a week ago. Aside for the one from Gran, there was one from Hermione, and another signed by both Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, who Neville remembered was staying with Harry over the summer. The last one made him feel guilty about not getting Harry a card. He knew Harry’s birthday was about the same time as his, though he wasn’t sure exactly what day it was.

He pondered the fact that he was now a teenager. He wasn’t really sure what that meant. He didn’t really feel any different, and he certainly didn’t look any different, he was still the chubby short-for-his-age kid he’d been a year ago. Teenagers in his mind were a lot older and definitely a lot taller than he was, and spent their time worrying about quite different things. He couldn’t see himself as one of them.

There was a tap on the window: it was an owl delivering the morning post. Neville opened the window and the owl hopped in. A couple of letters and a copy of the Daily Prophet were attached to its leg. Neville freed them carefully. “Gran, where did you put the money for the owl?” he called towards the living room.

“On the counter where I always leave it, Neville,” came the weary reply. Neville located the change and dropped it into the owl’s pouch. The owl flew off as soon as he had done so. Leaving the newspaper on the kitchen table, Neville carried the letters in to Gran. One appeared to be from Great Uncle Algie, he and Great Aunt Enid had gone on holiday to Ireland, Neville knew. The other one, to his delight, was his Hogwarts letter.

Gran put Algie’s letter to one side and opened the Hogwarts letter. She muttered disapprovingly at the long list of books, undoubtedly thinking of the price. “Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles?” she enquired. “You’re taking Muggle Studies?”

“Yeah,” replied Neville. “It seemed, well, a good thing to know about.”

“Hmm. I’d have preferred you to have taken something more practical. Don’t go thinking you can mess about in it, though. Same goes for Divination.”

“Yes, Gran.”

Gran turned over the letter to reveal a small slip underneath. “What’s this? Oh, it’s your Hogsmeade permission slip.” She leaned over and picked up her quill off the coffee table. “Now, you’re not going to embarrass either of us while you’re there, right Neville?” Neville nodded mutely. “Stick to the centre of the village, don’t go in any of the more disreputable places and don’t go off on your own, all right?” She handed over the signed slip. “Don’t go losing that, put it somewhere safe.”

Neville pocketed the slip whilst Gran ripped open Algie’s letter. Leaving her to read it, he returned to the kitchen to finish his breakfast. He polished off the last of his porridge, idly unfolding the Daily Prophet to glance at the front page. A large picture of a morose, sombre faced young wizard filled much of the front page. The headline above the picture read AZKABAN BREAKOUT: WEREWOLF ESCAPES. Neville set to reading the article.

Dangerous werewolf Remus Lupin has escaped from Azkaban prison, the Ministry of Magic announced yesterday evening. Lupin, 33, shown here at the time of his arrest twelve years ago, apparently made his escape three days ago. Ministry officials remain baffled as to how Lupin eluded the Azkaban guards; indeed this marks the first successful escape from the prison, raising questions about security at the island fortress.

Lupin was one of the most notorious of Azkaban’s inmates, a devoted follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who was sentenced to life imprisonment for mass murder shortly after his downfall. It was widely suspected that he was responsible for a great many more crimes that were never proven. The scourge of the werewolf has long blighted the wizarding community, and You-Know-Who was certainly not above using these vicious creatures for his own ends. Though strong measures have been put in place in recent times to protect our children from this menace, this event only serves to remind us that more needs to be done.

The Ministry has stated that Lupin should be considered extremely dangerous and should not be approached under any circumstances. Any sightings should be reported to the Ministry at once. The public are urged to be on their guard, particularly around times of the full moon. Whilst Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge has publicly insisted Lupin will be swiftly recaptured, sources close to Auror head Rufus Scrimgeour have told us he expects the manhunt to be a long and difficult one.

Neville stopped reading at that moment and flipped the newspaper over to check on the Quidditch scores. He didn’t want to read any more, it would only depress him. The subject of the war which had claimed his parents’ lives was not one he liked to dwell on, from what little he had learned it seemed only a time of misery and suffering, not a time to be remembered. It was painful enough having to deal with the horrors in his own past, let alone those of people he had no connection to.

The back page revealed that the Appleby Arrows had narrowly lost the day before to the Harpies, which only depressed Neville further. Leafing through the inside pages, he discovered a large number of articles were devoted to the subject of werewolves, with commentators taking a range of strident viewpoints on the subject. He didn’t read any of them. He didn’t really know anything about werewolves, they hadn’t covered them in Defence Against the Dark Arts yet.

Gran came into the kitchen, bearing Algie’s letter. “Clear away your breakfast things, Neville,” she chided. Neville did as he was told. “Algie and Enid send their love. They’ve been in Cork, apparently. That the Prophet?” She put down the letter and took up the newspaper, refolding it to reveal the front page. She took one glance at the picture and the headline and her face went white as a sheet. She dropped the newspaper as if it were tainted and steadied herself on a chair.

“Gran, are you all right? What is it?” asked Neville. He’d never seen Gran react in such a way. She looked genuinely frightened, really scared of something. Now she was staring at Neville, a look of fear and confusion on her face that Neville had never seen before. After a few seconds, though, she regained her normal composure.

“I’m fine,” she said firmly. “Neville, I want you to go to your room right now.”

“But Gran…”

“Now, Neville. I mean it. Don’t argue with me.” Reluctantly Neville trudged away up the stairs and back to his room. Below he could now hear Gran frantically rushing about doing something that Neville couldn’t make out. He sat on his bed shaking his head. He couldn’t understand what had just happened. What was it about that report that had affected Gran so much? She’d never mentioned a particular fear or dislike of werewolves before.

He got out some homework and tried to make a start on it, but he was distracted by the sound of Gran from below and his thought on the newspaper report. Maybe it wasn’t werewolves in general that concerned Gran, he thought. Maybe it was this particular one. But if that was the case, what did Gran know about him? Who was Remus Lupin?

“Neville, Neville, where do you think you’re going?”

Neville stopped by the back door. “Just out into the back garden, Gran,” he replied.

“No, no, stay there.” Gran came rushing in from the kitchen. “You can’t go outside, it’s getting late. Besides, it’s too cold out.”

“Gran, it’s the middle of summer,” Neville pointed out.

“Don’t argue with me, Neville. Haven’t you got homework to be doing?”

“Not really,” said Neville, but it was a weak and not entirely accurate reply, and Gran knew it. He’d put off doing a lot of the work he’d been left with over the summer, and it was beginning to pile up. There had been a lot more this year than the last one, which he suspected was due to the professors making up for the lack of exams at the end of last year. Reluctantly, he went back up to his room.

It was now three weeks since that report had appeared in the newspaper about the escaped convict, with a week to go until term began again, and Gran’s nervousness had not let up. Neville seemed to have become virtually a prisoner in his own home, with Gran now refusing to let him even set foot outside the door. The moment Neville even broached the subject, Gran would instantly shut the conversation down. Neville had also noticed her urgently looking out for the post owl every morning, and poring instantly over every letter. She had also confiscated every issue of the Daily Prophet as it had arrived. Neville was no closer to finding out what was going on.

He tried to put the conundrum out of his mind and concentrate on the current essay he was working on. Unfortunately his parchment was currently blank except for the title: Identify and describe the best safety procedures to employ in classroom potion-making, which he was sure Snape had deliberately set to get at him personally. He stared out of the window wistfully. It was early evening and the sun had not yet set. Neville wished he was outside in the fresh air, not cooped up in his room.

He set to work on the essay, employing his usual enthusiasm for Potions assignments (that is, none at all), and so by the time it was fully dark outside he had only managed to write about ten lines. Still, he decided he had earned a break and would go downstairs to get himself a drink, and maybe one of Gran’s small cakes from the cupboard.

Gran was sitting reading in the living room as he passed on into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water at the sink, looking out of the wide kitchen window onto the back garden of the house as he did so. They called it a back garden, though it resembled more something of a small, untended field. It was largely overgrown, Gran was not a particularly adept gardener, and flanked by high hedges. At the back it gave way to the open fields beyond, which had probably belonged to the house at one point, if indeed it was originally a farmhouse. Neville had enjoyed mucking about in the grass and exploring the hedgerows when he was younger.

The hedge on the southern side, closer to the kitchen window, was lower than the other and curved around towards the east, following the bend in Preston Road as it passed the house and exited Huddlesby, on its winding way towards Yorkshire. From behind it the occasional noise of a car could be heard driving along the road. Neville thought he saw something moving in the hedge and leaned over the sink for a closer look.

It was difficult to make out much in the darkness, but there definitely appeared to be some movement. Suddenly Neville caught sight of a pair of glinting eyes. Straining to look closer he could make out a muzzle below the eyes, as of a great dog. Its head was turning this way and that and its body was trying to struggle through the hedge. Neville leaned further out over the sink, and knocked over his glass of water.

“Neville? Neville, what are you up to? Get down from there.” Gran had come into the kitchen at the sound of Neville’s drink being knocked over. “Get away from the window.”

“But look,” Neville protested, pointing out of the window. Gran leaned over next to him. For a moment she froze, and a sharp intake of breath told Neville she had seen what he had. Then, all of a sudden, the animal looked up. Its eyes met Neville’s for a brief second, then vanished. There was nothing more to be seen.

“Get back,” yelled Gran suddenly, in a voice Neville had never heard her use before. She physically dragged Neville away from the window, pulling him back into the middle of the kitchen. She looked at Neville, fear and worry in her eyes. “Neville,” she said, “we’re leaving. Get your school things together, we’re leaving this house right now.”

“What?” Neville exclaimed.

“Neville, don’t argue.” She was almost pleading. “Just do it, and hurry.” She chased Neville upstairs. He rushed into his room and began stuffing things into his trunk. In the next room, he could hear Gran hurriedly throwing things into a suitcase. She finished before he did and ran into his room, helping him fasten up the trunk while he coaxed Trevor into his travelling box. Before Neville knew what was happening, they were out on the front porch, packed, cloaked and ready to leave. He barely had time to catch his breath.

“Where are we going?” he asked. Gran ignored him. She had her wand out, eyes darting to shadows on either side of her as she led Neville down the path to the front gate. Silently she raised her wand and pointed out onto Preston Road, though there was nothing there. There was a brief, eerie silence and Neville huddled close to Gran, wondering what would happen. Then, out of the darkness to their right, there came a sound. It was a low rumble, rising to a screech of brakes and tyres. Neville stared as hurtling through the village came a remarkable sight.

Throwing itself along the road with scant regard for the Highway Code came a huge bus. Triple-decker and shockingly purple, it hurtled round the last bend and slammed to a halt right in front of Neville and Gran. A pimply-faced youth in a purple uniform stuck his head out of the back entrance of the bus and stood scruffily to attention when he saw Gran and Neville. “Welcome to the…” he began.

“Never mind that, boy, get these cases loaded,” snapped Gran, pushing her way past the youth and into the bus. Neville followed her as the young man struggled with his trunk. The interior of the bus was lined with beds and light flickered from candles fixed in holders on the walls. Neville leapt on one of the beds while Gran paid the conductor.

This was the Knight Bus, of course. Neville had heard all about it, though he had never travelled on it before, there had been no need. He wondered why there was now. When Gran came over and sat down on the bed next to him, he asked, “Where are we going?”

“We can’t stay at Algie and Enid’s,” replied Gran, “they’re still away. We’re going to put up in the Leaky Cauldron tonight, until we can find somewhere more permanent for the rest of the week. Better you’re in a populated area.”

“Why didn’t we take the Floo?”

“This is much safer,” said Gran. “Never know what can happen with the Floo sometimes.” As the Knight Bus hurtled off into the dark, however, Neville rather doubted Gran’s opinion of ‘safer’. He held on desperately to the bedpost as the bus was flung this way and that at incredible speed. He lay back on the bed and tried not to think of his dinner, bubbling around inside his stomach. It wasn’t easy, as the bus lurched to a halt to pick up its latest passenger before speeding off again.

Neville lay there moaning for the entirety of the journey. The conductor, Stan, tried to cheer him up by telling him the bus hadn’t crashed in almost three weeks. He seemed quite proud of the fact. Needless to say, it did not improve Neville’s mood. When they finally careered to a halt in Charing Cross Road, Neville gingerly clambered off the bed, staggered out of the bus, and was promptly sick all over the pavement.

Gran, helping unload their belongings, shook her head in exasperation and got out her wand to clear up. She took Neville’s arm and led him through the door into the Leaky Cauldron. The Muggles on the street outside passed by, oblivious that anything out of the ordinary had just happened. Neville felt groggy and miserable, and didn’t notice the reaction his entrance got from the busy tavern. He steadied himself against the bar, whilst Gran harangued the landlord, negotiating two adjoining rooms for the night.

Eventually, he followed Gran and the landlord up the wooden staircase to the first floor, where they were shown into rooms 14 and 15. Neville collapsed onto the bed in room 15, trying to keep the room from spinning. Not bothering to unpack anything, he drifted into a gentle nap.

He was awoken maybe an hour later by a loud knock on the door. He got up and rushed to the door, only to realise the knock had come from the door next to his, that of Gran’s room. Curious, he listened at his door as Gran opened hers. “Yes?” Neville heard her bark. “Oh it’s… it’s… sorry, I know we’ve met, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Diggle, ma’am,” came the reply. “I happened to be here already and Dumbledore asked me to check in on you informally. I must say, your suddenly upping sticks like that has certainly put the Ministry into quite a flap. They were going to send someone down here themselves to investigate, but Dumbledore persuaded them that wasn’t necessary. Are you all right?”

“As well as can be expected,” replied Gran. “Neville’s a bit shaken, and he suspects something’s going on, how couldn’t he?” Her voice dropped a tone. “I saw him. Right there in our garden. Neville saw him too. Can you blame me for leaving? He’s out to finish what he started. That’s why he’s broken out, isn’t it? He’s out to kill Neville!”

Neville backed away from the door in horror. This man, this murderer, this Death Eater, was coming to kill him, no doubt to avenge his master’s fall. He felt the throb of his scar on his forehead, and sat on the bed in a daze. No matter where he went, or what he did, the legacy of his scar followed him. Now a past he had never known had caught up with him once more.

That night he slept fitfully, and dreamed of wolves and a bright moon. He dreamt he was running through fields, surrounded on all sides by strange creatures silhouetted in the moonlight. Dark figures came up out of the night and bore down on him. He stumbled and fell to the ground. Staring up at the sky, he heard a loud wolf howl, and then a shadowed face leaned over him as the cry of the wolf petered into deathly silence.

* * *

In the morning Neville woke uncomfortably in an unfamiliar bed. Slowly the memory of who he was and why he was here came back to him. He groaned miserably as Gran banged on the door to urge him out of bed. Slowly, he got up and went downstairs to where they served breakfast. Gran and Neville ate their breakfast alone and in silence. Each seemed to have much to ponder. Neville was thinking about what he had heard last night, and whether he should say anything to Gran. But first he decided to ask the more pressing question that was bothering him, “So where are we going now, then?”

“I’ve decided it’s best if we stay here for the duration,” Gran replied. “We’ll keep the rooms we have, and I can take you straight to the Hogwarts Express on the first. That way we can easily do your Diagon Alley shopping safely while we’re here.” She looked down at Neville’s glum appearance. “Don’t look so miserable, Neville,” she added. “We’re doing this for your own good.”

“Why?” Neville demanded. “Why is it for my own good? I wish you’d at least tell me something of what’s going on.”

Gran paused, and assumed her typical stern expression. “No, Neville. You’re too young to understand and I don’t want you worrying yourself. You’ll be off to Hogwarts in a week and this will all be over. Now come on, we’ll start on the shopping before the crowds arrive.”

She doesn’t trust me, Neville thought as they left for the gateway into Diagon Alley. She still thinks I’m a little kid, still innocent about the wide world. If only she knew. Now, he reflected, they were both keeping secrets from each other. There was a wall of silence that had grown between them without either of them realising. For all his troubles with Gran, she had been one person Neville could rely on. Now he found himself wishing that this week would pass as quickly as possible.

In fact it did not pass as quick as Neville hoped, but pass it did all the same. Neville spent most of the time stuck in room 15 of the Leaky Cauldron, finishing his schoolwork for the term ahead. At times though, and under close supervision, he was allowed to wander down through Diagon Alley and visit the shops. It was a warm, welcoming and friendly place; here the troubles of the outside world could almost be forgotten. They had spent most of the first day purchasing Neville’s textbooks and supplies, thereafter Neville would browse through the shops, or sit in one of the cafés, or visit his favourite location: Florian Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour.

Occasionally he would overhear snatches of conversation where people were talking about Remus Lupin’s escape. It seemed a popular subject of discussion, but Neville learnt no more than he already knew. Aside from the fact that he was a werewolf, nobody seemed to know that much about him. The opinions expressed about him ranged from anger at the Ministry for allowing the escape, to hysterical fear their children would be bitten in their sleep. No one appeared to have any knowledge of the man himself.

In the early afternoon of the thirty-first of August, the day before Neville would embark on the Hogwarts Express for another term at Hogwarts, Neville and Gran were sitting outside a café finishing off their lunch. Down the street, Neville saw a boy with red hair emerge from one of the shops. He looked around nonchalantly, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. Neville stood up and waved. “Hey, Ron!” he called out.

Gran grabbed his arm, pushing him back down into his seat. “What do you think you’re doing, sit down,” she snapped, but Ron had seen Neville and ambled over.

“Hi there, Neville,” he said brightly. Neville observed that he seemed a lot happier than when he had last seen him. That had been at the end of last school year, when he had only just started recovering from his part in the terrible events of the year. Neville could only imagine what it was like to have been possessed by the spirit of the sixteen-year-old Voldemort, to have to cope with the guilt of being the one inadvertently responsible for the attacks, not to mention what he had suffered in the Chamber. He had been visibly shaken and depressed, but now he appeared a lot brighter.

“Ron, this is my Gran,” introduced Neville. “Gran, this is Ron Weasley. He’s in my class at school.”

“A Weasley, eh?” said Gran with a smile. “I should have guessed. A fine family, the Weasleys. You must be one of Arthur’s boys. I knew his father quite well, a long time ago. Sit down, lad. Tell me, how is Neville doing at school? I hardly get anything out of him.”

“Neville’s great,” replied Ron enthusiastically. “I owe him a lot.” Neville looked embarrassed and worried, and tried to give Ron pointed glances not to elaborate.

“Really?” said Gran, surprised. “You do astonish me.”

“Ron’s exaggerating,” said Neville hurriedly, and decided to quickly change the subject. “Say Ron, how was your summer at Harry’s?”

“Fantastic,” said Ron. “He lives in this great house in south London. It’s on this Muggle street called Bromley Way and it looks just like a tiny terrace house from the outside, but inside it’s huge with massive rooms. There’s even this big garden out the back where Harry can practise Quidditch. We had some great fun out there.”

“Sorry, who’s Harry?” asked Gran politely.

“Harry Potter,” said Ron. “My best friend.”

“Potter… not James Potter’s son?” said Gran, surprised. “Well of course, he was born the same time as Neville, I remember it.” She shook her head sadly. “Dear me, all those years ago, and it only seems like yesterday. I’ve never thought about what happened to the boy. How is the poor lad?”

“Harry? Harry’s brilliant. We have loads of fun together. Sirius is always saying he’s just like his father.”

“Sirius?” said Neville. The name sounded familiar.

“Sirius Black, his guardian,” answered Ron. “You’ve met him, right? You remember, last year just over there at Flourish and Blotts, when… when the Malfoys were there, you know?”

Neville did remember. He remembered that was the day that Lucius Malfoy had planted a certain diary on poor Ron. There had been a fight, started by a tall man with dark hair, Neville could picture him now. “His guardian?” he said. “I thought he was his godfather. What about his parents?”

Ron and Gran exchanged long, uncomfortable glances. Clearly he had touched a nerve. “Harry never told you?” Ron said awkwardly. “I don’t… I don’t think I should say anything, it’s up to Harry really.” The question seemed to have pained Ron somewhat, and Gran too, Neville was surprised to notice.

“The war?” he asked. Neither Ron nor Gran replied, but there expressions seemed to tell Neville all he needed to know. It had never occurred to him that Harry had suffered from the war just as he had. Harry was such an infectiously joyful, content boy. He would never have guessed there was any tragedy in his life. “So he lives with his godfather,” he continued, in an effort to get off the topic. “What’s he like?”

“Sirius? He was his dad’s best mate, apparently. Think Harry, only crazier and with more energy. He really dotes on Harry, thinks the world of him. They’re around somewhere,” Ron looked up and down the street for any sign of them, “Sirius was just taking Harry Quidditch shopping. Oh look, there they are. Harry, over here!” Ron waved furiously.

It was indeed Harry, striding down the street towards them, his arms full of books and supplies, his glasses slightly skew-whiff on his nose, his hair a mess as usual. Behind him followed Sirius Black, just as Neville recognized him from a year ago. He was well dressed and had a proud bearing, but an impish grin on his face. His eyes were fixed on Harry, and he kept close behind him.

“Hi Neville!” said Harry cheerily. “I hope Ron hasn’t been boring you for too long. Looking forward to the new year?”

Neville nodded, and introduced his Gran. She got up to shake Sirius’ hand, saying, “We’ve met once before, haven’t we?”

Sirius smiled. “Yes, Mrs Longbottom, how could I forget? It was at Frank and Alice’s funeral. You overheard my surname as being Black and assumed I must be some interloper or troublemaker. I took several hits from your handbag before Dumbledore convinced you otherwise.” Gran looked chagrined at the memory, but Sirius laughed it off.

Ron nudged Harry. “I haven’t told him the big news yet. Can I tell him?”

Harry looked up at Sirius. “Yeah, of course you can,” Sirius answered. “I know it shouldn’t be officially announced until tomorrow, but there’s no harm in telling people now.”

Ron grinned, and addressed Neville in a mock formal manner. “Neville, I would like to present Professor Black, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

Neville said goodbye to Gran and passed through the barrier onto Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. It was the first time he had been out of her sight for weeks and she was loath to let him go. She made him insist he write to her on a regular basis and only finally released him when Harry arrived with Sirius, no, Neville thought, Professor Black. He accompanied them onto the platform.

Though only students were required to take the Hogwarts Express to school, Black had elected to travel up with Harry himself, rather than make his own way there. Harry did not seem to be too much embarrassed by this; evidently he got on really well with his guardian. Now that Neville had had a proper opportunity to meet Black for the first time, he had to agree with Ron’s assessment of the man. Black was Harry writ large, a joker and a charmer, enthusiastic and prone to fits of energy. He perhaps lacked Harry’s talent for easy-going natural friendliness, but otherwise it was not hard to see why they were so close.

They quickly found the Weasleys on the platform, they were after all so many, all unmistakeably topped with flaming red hair. All that is except Percy, whose neatly trimmed hair was a lurid shade of green with purple spots. Behind him Fred and George were grinning manically, until Mrs Weasley noticed them and wearily undid the twins’ prank with a wave of her wand. Percy gave the twins a silent look of disdain and stalked off alone towards the train with as much dignity as he could muster.

“They’ve been pulling pranks on him all summer, ever since he got made Head Boy apparently,” Ron informed Harry and Neville. “I think it’s their way of congratulating him.” Ron had returned home the previous evening to collect together his things for Hogwarts, and was now taking the opportunity to fill Harry in on all the latest Weasley gossip. Ron and Harry went off chatting together, sharing a joke with Fred and George. Professor Black was talking to Mr Weasley. Neville turned and suddenly found himself face to face with Ron’s sister Ginny.

“Hello Neville!” said Ginny brightly. “Did you have a good summer?”

“Uh, yes thanks,” Neville replied, startled by her sudden appearance. “You?”

“Oh, good. Fred and George made endless fun of me over what happened last year. I think it was a good thing Ron wasn’t around to be on the receiving end of it. I hope my second year ends up quieter than yours.”

“Yeah.” Neville could sympathise with that remark. Ginny Weasley’s first year at Hogwarts had been remarkable by anyone’s standards, ending as it did with her taking on a basilisk virtually single-handed. Though Neville had struck the final blow, personally he thought all the credit belonged to Ginny and her courage and determination to save her brother. Afterwards though, Ginny seemed to take the opposite view.

Neville noticed that Ginny seemed a lot more comfortable around him now than she had been. He guessed that facing a basilisk together was likely to do that, not that he had any prior experience to draw upon. However, he found that at this moment he had no idea of anything to say to Ginny himself, so there was an embarrassed silence before Ginny moved off to talk to Harry and her brothers.

Neville stood there alone for a moment, until a loud cry of “Neville!” rang out behind him. Turning, he was confronted by another surprising sight. What appeared to be a large ball of ginger fur on legs, surmounted by a garland of bushy brown hair, was walking towards him. When it reached him, the ball of fur was lowered to reveal the face of Hermione Granger, beaming broadly. “Great to see you again.”

“What on earth is that?” asked Neville. In answer, Hermione rotated the ball of fur round in her hands to reveal a flat, squashed-looking face with long whiskers. A thick brush of a tail tickled Hermione under her chin.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” said Hermione, stroking the cat’s back. “I call him Crookshanks, because he’s got these little bandy legs. He’s ever so intelligent too. Daddy bought him for me in Diagon Alley.” Neville regarded the cat carefully and the cat seemed to stare back at him intently with its beady eyes. He gave it a gentle stroke, before turning away and sneezing heavily. “Oh dear, I hope you aren’t allergic,” said Hermione sympathetically.

There was no time to discover if that was true, as everybody was piling onto the train. Black seemed keen to find a particular compartment. He hurried Harry along the corridor towards the back of the train. Ron followed, along with Neville and Hermione, who was keen to meet the new teacher. Eventually Black ducked into a large compartment near the rear of the train and the four children joined him.

“Important place, this compartment,” he said wistfully, taking a seat just inside the door on the right hand side. “This is the very spot I first met your dad, Harry, on our first trip to Hogwarts. I was sitting here, James sat opposite from me.” He indicated Harry to sit in his father’s old place; the rest took up seats nearer the window. “Just seeing you sit there brings it all back. Your mother was here too to begin with I remember. Little Lily, she was so small back then. She left quickly, James must have scared her off. No, that was it, Snivellus came in…”

“Snivellus?” Neville asked. “I’ve heard that name before. Where was it?” Black was now looking rather uncomfortable and tight-lipped, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t.

“He means Snape,” Harry helpfully added with a grin.

“Professor Snape?” exclaimed Hermione. “You were at school with Professor Snape?”

Black sighed deeply. One person he definitely did not want to be reminded of at this point was Severus Snape. He was not looking forward to coming face to face with him again, though he comforted himself with the thought that Snape was probably relishing the reunion even less. “Yes, I was in the same year as Snape,” he answered, “and since he’s your teacher as well, I think I’ll avoid saying any more.” That was unusually diplomatic of him, he thought. It was going to be a strange year.

“Don’t worry,” piped up Harry. “I’ll fill you in later.” Black rolled his eyes and looked across at Harry. For a moment it felt as if he was with James again, back on the way to school like all those years ago. Only one thing was missing, or rather two…

Neville saw Black relax back in his seat and drift off into reminiscences. While he lay there with his eyes closed, the kids chatted amongst themselves, about their summers and the term ahead. Neville noticed that Hermione was much more comfortable in talking to Harry and Ron, she now seemed to have got over the last of her remaining antagonism towards the pair. Ron however was reticent in talking to Hermione, and rather subdued. Neville suspected it was still lingering (and entirely unwarranted) guilt over Hermione being Petrified in the previous year. Since Neville considered himself more to blame for the events than Ron, who was not responsible for his actions, he hoped Ron would get over it soon.

After a while, a gentle snoring sound began to emanate from Black, and Neville took the opportunity of his sleeping to ask Harry about him. “Has he always been a teacher, then?”

“Sirius?” replied Harry. “No! It came as a surprise to me, too. He’s never really had a steady job, he’s worked at this and that, whatever takes his fancy at a particular moment. He worked in one if the Diagon Alley shops for a while, then he quit that and wrote a column for the Daily Prophet for a bit, then he gave that up and worked for the Post Office. Nothing lasted, he always got bored of it or found something new. He’s a bit like that. Still, we’ve never been short of money. We’ve a fair bit of money come down from our families.”

“But why teaching all of a sudden?” asked Ron. “Especially the Defence job. You know what they all say about that.”

“What do they say?” said Hermione.

“That it’s cursed.”

“Oh come on, Ron,” interrupted Harry. “You don’t believe that, surely.”

“Well you tell me why no one ever lasts more than one year in the job. And it’s not just the last couple of years. It’s been going on since at least my brother Bill’s time, so he says.”

“Coincidence. It’s a tough job. Hey, maybe Sirius will get bored after a year and quit. Would that satisfy the ‘curse’?” Harry laughed to himself.

“More to the point,” interjected Hermione, “is he going to be a good teacher? I don’t want to have to get the whole year from books.”

“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” answered Harry. “But he definitely knows his stuff, that’s for sure. He fought in the war alongside my dad. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I know he faced a lot and came through. He’s really put in a lot of effort in the last few weeks preparing.”

“Won’t it be a bit weird having him around?”

“So long as he doesn’t give me detentions, I’ll cope,” Harry grinned. He seemed to find the whole idea great fun. Neville was a little surprised. After all, the idea of his guardian becoming his teacher would fill him with utter dread. Just another reason for him to envy Harry, he supposed. He and Black really seemed to get on well together.

The train passed on, into the Scottish Highlands. Outside, the weather was taking a turn for the worse and the sky was turning grey. Light was beginning to fade as well and dusk was rapidly approaching. Neville guessed they were not far now from Hogsmeade station. Black was still snoring gently and Harry was showing an enthusiastic Ron and a largely disinterested Hermione his current Chocolate Frog card collection. Neville stared out of the window as mist swept across the view and rain began to fall.

Suddenly there was an almighty lurch and the train slammed to a halt. Black half tumbled out of his seat and woke with a start. “What was that?” he exclaimed blearily, getting to his feet.

“We’ve stopped,” answered Neville, stating the obvious.

Black stared out of the window, concerned, but the mist was too thick to see anything. “This train never stops,” he muttered. He moved to the door of the compartment and opened it, peering up and down the corridor. “Wait here,” he said. “I’m going to go and investigate.” He stepped out of the compartment and headed off in the direction of the front of the train.

Neville, Hermione, Harry and Ron sat in silence, waiting for Black to return. The darkness outside seemed to deepen rapidly and the mist encroached ever closer. Ron shuddered and rubbed his hands together. “Does anyone else feel cold?” he asked.

“Now you mention it, yeah,” replied Harry, and Neville nodded. The temperature certainly seemed to have dropped a few degrees. Neville began to shiver. There was something oppressive about the sudden cold, it seemed to penetrate deep into Neville, freezing him from the inside. It made him feel numb and uncertain, and his heart beat harder against his chest. Looking at the others, he could see they were feeling the same way too.

All of a sudden something shot past the window. It was for no more than a moment and if Neville hadn’t been looking in that direction, he wouldn’t have seen it. It was nothing more than a flash of black, a deeper shadow against the grey background. “Did you see that?” he called out, but no one had. Was it his imagination, or had it got even colder as it had passed by?

There was a creaking sound from down the corridor of the train and the half-open sliding door of the compartment rattled back and forth. Everyone stiffened in their seats. They knew something was happening, but none dared to move or look outside the compartment. Neville could feel danger approaching as surely as if he could see it.

Another dark shadow passed in front of the window. This time it moved slowly, hovering outside in the gloom. It was human-sized, shrouded in black, its edges fading into the mist. Then yet another appeared, and another, and each time one did so it was like a pang in Neville’s heart. “What are they?” Hermione breathed, almost inaudibly, but nobody answered.

The door rattled again and everybody’s heads snapped round to look. A hand was placed on the door, forcing it open, but it was no human hand. It was not truly skeletal, but not wholly flesh; it was decayed, putrefying. The door slammed back, revealing a huge, cloaked creature like the ones outside. Its cloak was black, hiding all features, but the darkness in which they were hidden was if anything blacker, an emptiness, a total absence of light.

Neville felt his bones freeze, and the darkness seemed to envelop him, and all he could see was night. All warmth and joy was lost. Then out of the night he heard a voice. “Never, never!” it screamed, a woman’s voice, terrified yet defiant. “I would die before I let you touch him!”

“Very well,” replied a cold voice, and there was a flash of green against the black. Neville’s heart became a knot, and almost stopped.

Then, from far away, very far away, he heard another voice yelling, “Harry! Harry! Expecto Patronum!” For a moment there was light, and then Neville collapsed and knew no more.

* * *

Neville swam painfully back into consciousness. He was vaguely aware of a lot of to-ing and fro-ing around him. A large arm was propping him up in a standing position. He blinked hard and tried to focus his eyes. Gradually things became clear.

He was standing on Hogsmeade station. Most of the students ahead of him were filing towards the coaches. The large arm belonged to none other than Hagrid, towering behind him. “’Ere, you’re awake,” he said as Neville began to move and gingerly tried to put weight on his feet. “Take it easy, Neville lad. You’ve ’ad a nasty turn. Hey, Sirius!” he called out down the platform. Black was walking towards them. “Neville’s awake. Think you can take ’im now? I’ve got to go man the boats.” Black crouched down and put an arm around Neville’s back to support. “Thanks. See you at the feast.” Hagrid lumbered off.

Black carefully helped Neville along the platform and onto one of the coaches. Inside Neville found Harry. He looked terrible, his face was white and although he was awake, he was breathing heavily. That must be how I look, Neville thought, and he was not wrong.

Black got in as well and they set off. “How are you?” he asked Neville.

“Miserable,” Neville answered. “I feel all weak and drained.” He found talking was uncomfortable too.

“That can happen.” Black tapped the pockets of his robes in frustration. “I should have got you something both to eat, I’m sorry. I’ll grab something when we get to the castle, and we’ll go straight up to the hospital wing.” He rubbed Harry’s shoulder in encouragement.

“What were those things?” asked Neville faintly.

“Dementors,” replied Black. There was anger and disgust in his voice at the name. “Have you heard of them?” Neville shook his head. “Evil creatures. They feast on emotions, all happiness, all joy. They drain them from their victims, leaving them weak and with only fear and despair left inside, if they stay too close for too long. To allow them amongst children…” Black was incensed.

“Where did they come from?”

“The Ministry uses them to guard Azkaban, to keep the prisoners in line. Barbaric, but it works, so they say. They’re here searching for Remus Lupin. You’ve heard about him?” Neville nodded. “What crazy reason they’ve got for thinking he’s on the Hogwarts Express, I don’t know.”

“How are Hermione and Ron?”

“Fine, fine. A little shaken, but that’s understandable. Only you two were really affected. You both passed out. Actually, you took a lot longer to come around than Harry. I was getting worried.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Neville, but he wasn’t. He was thinking about the voices he had heard before he blacked out. He thought he knew what they were. But how was that even possible? He looked across at Harry, who hadn’t spoken and was lost in his own thoughts. Why had only they suffered so badly?

Eventually they got to Hogwarts and were taken up to the hospital wing. Professor Black had to leave them there, he had to be in the Great Hall for the start of the Welcoming Feast. They were left in the capable hands of Madam Pomfrey, who checked them over carefully, offering her own stringent views about Dementors and feeding them a bar of chocolate each. Neville was slowly beginning to feel better and felt himself warming up again at last.

Harry was keen to leave and get down to the feast, but Madam Pomfrey held them until she was convinced they had recovered. At last she let them go, and they hurried down to the Great Hall. Slipping in as quietly as they could, they snuck over to the Gryffindor table and sat down, while the last of the new intake were being sorted.

Neville took a seat next to Hermione and assured her he was okay, as the Sorting came to a close and McGonagall took away the Hat. Neville looked up at the teachers’ table. He saw Hagrid, taking up three spaces by himself, and Black at the near end, chatting to a woman he believed was the Muggle Studies teacher. At the opposite end of the table, as far from Black as was possible, sat Snape. His eyes were focussed on Black with an undisguised look of utter disgust and contempt.

Dumbledore got up from his central chair to address the hall. “Welcome back to Hogwarts, everyone,” he said. “I must for once beg your indulgence and make few important announcements before we begin the feast.” There was a murmur around the hall from the older students. Dumbledore never usually did this. “First, some happy announcements. We have new staff joining us this year.” He first introduced Hagrid, who was apparently taking over as Care of Magical Creatures professor. There was much cheering, especially from the Gryffindor table. Neville half regretted deciding not to take the course.

Secondly, Sirius Black was introduced as the new incumbent of the Defence Against the Dark Arts post. He was given polite applause, and stood to acknowledge it with a bow. Neville noticed that the Slytherins in general had not participated in the applause and Snape’s usually pallid face had briefly taken on a most colourful shade of purple.

“Now for more serious matters,” Dumbledore continued after the applause had died down. “It is my duty to inform you that this term and for the foreseeable future, Dementors will be stationed around Hogwarts castle. They are here for your protection, against a certain individual who may pose a danger to this school. They will not enter school grounds, but I advise you all not to stray, for Dementors are dangerous creatures, and not to be trusted. They cannot be reasoned with, they cannot be attacked. For your own safety, be on your guard.”

There was tone in Dumbledore’s voice that Neville had not heard before. It was concern, almost worry. As he sat back down, for a moment his eyes alighted on Neville sitting at the Gryffindor table, and Neville realised all too well how deadly serious his warning was.

After the initial shock of the manner of his arrival at Hogwarts had faded, Neville felt comfortable being back in the warm and familiar surroundings of his dormitory room in Gryffindor Tower. It was wonderful to see all the old faces again: Dean and Seamus, eager to hear about the encounter with the Dementor, Fred and George, planning their next series of pranks, Colin Creevey, seemingly unfazed by last year’s ordeal and still carrying around his camera. It was almost enough to make him forget about escaped werewolves with murderous intent.

Almost. Neville decided to take the opportunity that first evening in the common room to tell Hermione, Harry and Ron about Remus Lupin and his possible connection to Neville. They were each shocked. All of them had read about the escape, Harry remembered that Sirius had taken a close interest in the report, but none knew anything about Lupin. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, mate,” said Ron. “There’s no chance of him getting into Hogwarts with Dementors all around the place.”

“He got out of Azkaban with Dementors all around that place,” pointed out Hermione.

“Thanks, Hermione,” replied Ron sarcastically, “I’m sure that’s just the encouragement Neville needs.” Hermione just glared at Ron and picked up Crookshanks from where he had been roaming on the floor around her chair. She stroked him gently. The cat purred and settled down on Hermione’s lap, staring at Ron. “I don’t like the look of that cat,” sulked Ron. Crookshanks made a slight sound. “See, he hissed at me.”

Harry laughed and Hermione smiled with satisfaction. For some reason, Ron had taken an instant dislike to Hermione’s new pet and Hermione was taking every chance to tease him about it. Neville suspected that Ron’s attitude really had something to do with the fact that he had lost his own pet, his rat Scabbers, at the end of the previous school year, and his parents had not bought him a new one. He had done another search of the tower when they arrived, but found nothing. There was little hope of discovering the animal now.

The first day of term dawned brightly, and for once Neville was looking forward to a school day. The reason for that was that his new timetable for the term revealed that he had the first lessons of both of his new subjects that day: Divination in the morning and then Muggle Studies last thing in the afternoon. He would have to wait a couple of days for his first lesson with Professor Black, with (unfortunately) a Potions lesson with Snape straight afterwards.

Neville met up with Hermione at breakfast and they made their way up to the Divination classroom together. It was located at the very top of the North Tower, up a long spiral staircase. Neville was sick of aching long walks through the castle, especially as he was very unfit. At least Potions is only just down in the dungeon, he thought. By the time they entered the classroom, he was exhausted and his feet were killing him.

Divination was evidently a popular subject and nearly all the Gryffindors were taking it. Neville and Hermione took their seats in a busy and cluttered classroom, filled with random ornaments and strange decorations. There was no sign of the teacher, nor, Neville noticed, Harry and Ron, who he knew were taking the class. They waited for a couple of minutes in silence.

Suddenly Harry burst into the room, followed by Ron. They were both out of breath, having evidently run all the way up the staircase. “See Ron,” said Harry between gulps of air, “we’re not late, Trelawney isn’t even here yet.”

“Actually I have been here all along,” said an airy, oddly off-kilter voice. “You see, I knew you would be late and there was no point in starting the lesson until then.” From behind a tapestry hanging on the far side of the room emerged a quite odd-looking woman. She wore gaudy, ornamented clothing and the beads strung around her neck jangled as she walked. But her most notable feature was her huge, thick spectacles which made her eyes appear massively enlarged. Harry and Ron scrambled into seats as she surveyed the class silently for some time.

At length she spoke. “Divination is a noble and ancient skill,” she said. “The art of predicting the future is a difficult and complex one. Very few possess minds open to unlocking its secrets. Some of you may possess the Inner Eye as I myself do, and some will not. But do not be discouraged. I, Professor Trelawney, will be your guide on your journey into the unknown. I have already foreseen that we shall learn many great things together.”

The atmosphere in the classroom was heavy and Neville found his mind wandering as Trelawney droned on. She introduced to them their first subject, reading tea leaves, and they all got out cups and saucers while Trelawney milled around between them, occasionally stopping to make some random prediction. Half the class were listening to her intently, including Hermione, a sceptical frown on her face. The other half were just as bored as Neville. Harry and Ron in particular seemed to be spending the whole lesson talking amongst themselves and messing about.

Perhaps Trelawney had noticed that, but the pair were certainly in for a surprise when she approached them to examine their cups. She stared into Ron’s with a look of abject horror, and promptly declared that Ron was in grave and terrible danger and unlikely to survive much longer. Ron looked horrified and Harry was astonished, but Hermione tutted and shook her head in disbelief.

Neville hardly noticed the time rush by and before he knew it, the lesson was over. Reflecting on the lesson, he realised he hadn’t learned anything. This wasn’t an entirely new experience, but this time he couldn’t recall being taught anything either. He turned to Hermione to ask what she had made of the lesson, but she had disappeared.

He found her again outside the Transfiguration classroom, though, waiting for the rest of the Gryffindors to arrive. Neville didn’t have time to ask her anything, for McGonagall hurried them all to their desks and launched into the start of the lesson. Ron sidled in last and sat at the back of the class with Harry, looking miserable. When McGonagall came to walk around the class to examine the students’ practical assignments she noticed Ron’s mood and the fact he seemed to have done nothing.

Harry explained what had happened in Divination. “Ah,” McGonagall replied. “The delightful and ever so predictable Professor Trelawney. So you are this year’s designated victim, Mr Weasley? I should tell you that every year, without fail, she predicts the death of one student in her class. Fortunately for this school’s reputation, her success rate to date has been precisely zero. I understand this may have upset you, Mr Weasley, but I assure you that you are in no imminent danger whatsoever. Unless you fail to hand in your Transfiguration homework on time.” She smiled thinly and continued the lesson.

Over lunch, Neville and Hermione discussed Divination and Trelawney. “Really, she’s just a complete fraud,” said Hermione. “I mean, I knew Divination was a highly non-rigorous discipline, but she just makes it seem like a complete joke. I hope she’ll settle down and start teaching us proper stuff, rather than making silly, vague predictions all the time. I bet she only picked on Ron because of what happened last year. What did you think of it?”

“I didn’t get anything out of it,” replied Neville, “but then I was a bit drowsy the whole lesson.”

“Honestly Neville, you should learn to concentrate more in class, even if you don’t like the subject. It’s important.” She got up from the table. “Come on, we’ll be late for Muggle Studies.”

“I thought you had Care of Magical Creatures this afternoon,” said Neville.

“No, no, I mean that’s not until later. Come on.” They left the Great Hall for the first floor, where the Muggle Studies classroom was situated. They found it just beyond the History of Magic classroom, in a quiet corner of the castle. Entering the room, Neville was surprised to discover it was quite different from any other classroom he had encountered in the castle.

It was painted white and had much more clean, futuristic look that reminded Neville of Hermione’s home, which he had visited over a year ago. In many ways this was a product of his pure-blood upbringing, since to a Muggle, or a Muggle-born like Hermione, it would appear modern, in contrast to the old-fashioned look of the rest of the castle. The desks and chairs were also contemporary. The walls were covered in various maps, drawings and articles, and on tables up against the walls were all manner of Muggle objects and appliances.

This was the domain of Charity Burbage, the Hogwarts Muggle Studies professor, and it had been decorated and furnished deliberately by her to resemble a typical Muggle classroom, in order to foster the right atmosphere, as she saw it. Burbage was a half-blood who maintained a Muggle house in Stratford-upon-Avon as well as her Hogwarts lodgings, and was very proud of her status as a member of both communities. She had given up a promising early career in the Ministry’s Muggle Liaison Office to take up the post at Hogwarts three years earlier, believing the education of wizarding children in acceptance of the Muggle world was her true calling.

She stood at the front of the room in front of the blackboard as Neville entered, ready to welcome her students. Neville guessed that she was in her late thirties, she looked a little older than Snape or Black. She was short, light brown haired and had a plump face with a wide smile. Rather than the traditional robes, she wore Muggle clothing, adapted only by the addition of a small loop of fabric on the left side of her skirt, into which was placed her wand. “Welcome, welcome!” she said brightly. “Do come in, find yourselves a seat.”

The students slowly assembled and Burbage took a roll call. Neville was saddened to see that the class was rather poorly attended. The lack of enthusiasm meant that all the houses were grouped together into one class. Looking around, Neville disappointedly noticed that he and Hermione were the only Gryffindors. More than half the class were Hufflepuffs, with a few Ravenclaws as well. There were no Slytherins.

When Burbage got to “Longbottom, Neville,” in the call, inevitably a significant number of heads turned to look at him, but Burbage merely smiled gently and nodded when Neville acknowledged his presence. Finishing the list, she put down the parchment and took out her wand, giving the blackboard a tap, on which a breakdown of the course for the term appeared. Hermione began feverishly copying it down.

“Muggle Studies,” began Burbage, “in spite of its reputation, is one of the most challenging and rewarding subjects you will encounter at Hogwarts. All of you attend this school because you have innate capabilities, magical abilities that enable you to participate in the other subjects this school offers. Here those abilities will be of no use to you. Indeed some of you may be what are commonly and erroneously known as pure-bloods, and so may consider yourselves at a disadvantage when it comes to knowledge of the Muggle world. Let me reassure you that that is not necessarily the case. Much of what I will teach you here is also taught in Muggle schools up and down the country. Remember a Muggle has no more innate knowledge of how, say, electricity works, than a wizard does of how to perform a Summoning Charm. It has to be learnt.”

She paused, and sat down on the edge of her desk, to address her students more informally. “If there’s one thing I want you to take from this class, it’s not an OWL. It’s an appreciation not just of Muggles but of human life itself. The humanity that binds us together is far stronger than any force, magical or otherwise, that could divide us. I hope our explorations will be exciting and enjoyable.”

Burbage announced that this term they would be looking into Muggle civil society and government, and got the class to arrange themselves in a big circle. Her teaching style was very focussed on group interaction and student participation. She would set up discussions on a particular subject and encourage those from Muggle backgrounds to share their experience with the others, and vice versa. Neville found her an extremely helpful and engaging teacher, and the lesson was the most enjoyable he’d had, outside Herbology, in all his time at Hogwarts.

At the end of the lesson, Burbage set them a reading assignment on Muggle emergency services. Neville was already looking forward to the next lesson. “What did you think, Hermione?”

“It was all right,” said Hermione, noncommittal. “It could be a bit more challenging really.” She glanced at her watch. “Look Neville, I’ve got to go. See you for supper, okay?” And she dashed out of the classroom without a word. Neville didn’t see her for the rest of the afternoon.

She was there at supper however, where the talk was all of some incident that had happened in Hagrid’s first Care of Magical Creatures lesson with the third-years. As Neville was one of the few Gryffindors in his year not taking the subject, he had to listen in as Ron recounted what had happened to Fred and George. Apparently Draco Malfoy had had an altercation with something called a hippogriff (or, as Ron put it, “Buckbeak took one look at the git and gave him the good sharp kick he deserved”). Malfoy was now in the hospital wing with a broken arm and possibly worse injuries, or at least Ron hoped so.

“Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person,” was Fred’s assessment, and Neville was inclined to agree. In his own personal list of people the planet could most do without, the Malfoy family was extremely highly placed. Nonetheless, Harry seemed worried that Hagrid would get into trouble over the incident. He was evidently enjoying having one of his good friends as a teacher and chided Neville for not taking the class.

“I didn’t know Hagrid would be the teacher when I picked subjects,” Neville pointed out. “Besides, I quite liked Muggle Studies.”

Harry grinned. “It must be good for you to say you liked it,” he said good-naturedly and Neville didn’t mind the (admittedly perceptive) comment.

“I’m not sure Hermione did,” he replied.

“I didn’t say that,” interrupted Hermione. “It’s just I come at it from a different level of experience. I’m sure I’ll get more into it as time goes on.”

“Hey, speaking of time,” said Harry, “how on earth did you get to both lessons? I thought the time of Care of Magical Creatures overlapped with Muggle Studies.”

“Of course it doesn’t, Harry,” retorted Hermione, with a theatrical shake of her head that suggested the question was ridiculous. “No one can be in two places at once.”

* * *

The familiar routine of school life quickly re-imposed itself on Neville; the tedium of History of Magic, the drudge of Transfiguration, the ray of sunshine that was Herbology. By Wednesday the memory of the Dementor incident was beginning to fade. There had been no sign or indication of their presence about the castle and for most of the students inside it was as if they had never come. Only a faint mist observable about the edge of the grounds served to remind those in the know that they were still there.

Neville entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with a certain degree of anticipation. With Harry constantly going on about his godfather and how great he was, the first lesson with Professor Black promised to be quite an event. He took his usual seat next to Hermione and waited, but there was no sign of Black. After five minutes, the class was beginning to get restless. Neville looked round at Harry, who just shrugged.

At that moment the door of the classroom burst open and a heavy wooden chest wheeled in, pushed by Black. “Excuse me, excuse me,” he muttered, forcing the chest between the rows of desks, scattering students left and right. “I guess we’ll need a bit more space here.” Eventually he got the chest to the front of the room, where he levitated it onto his desk. The desk sagged a little under the weight and the chest rattled strangely.

Black glanced up at the wall clock. “Oh, is that the time,” he said idly. “Never mind.” He turned to face his class. “Good morning, kids. As you probably know by now, I’m your new Defence teacher, Sirius Black. Please call me Sirius, I’d prefer it. The Slytherins yesterday insisted on calling me Black the whole time, just to annoy me, I think. But here among the Gryffindors I know I’m with friends.”

He sat on the corner of his desk and put an arm on the top of the chest to quell the disconcerting bangs and rattles coming from inside. “I don’t believe in hanging about. I intend for these lessons to be fun, challenging, exciting and above all,” he thumped the top of the chest, which shuddered, “practical. I know Professor Dumbledore insisted on me giving you a reading list, but trust me, you can’t face down a Dark creature by reading a book.” Black ignored Hermione’s doubtful look. “This classroom will not be for those who like to play it safe, and avoid all risks. After all, what’s life without a challenge?”

He got everyone to put their books away and clear a space in front of his desk. “The third year syllabus,” he began, “covers a variety of Dark creatures, but this is one of the most unpleasant.” He tapped his wand on the top of the chest. “In here is a boggart. Can anyone tell me anything about boggarts?”

Hermione’s hand shot up instantly. “A boggart is a shape-shifter, sir. It tries to frighten people away by assuming the form of their worst fear.”

“Excellent, Hermione. Indeed, boggarts can be particularly nasty to encounter, if unprepared. To face one’s fear takes a strong resolve in any person. Let’s have a demonstration. Harry, would you come forward, please?”

Harry walked up to the front of the class. Black gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. Neville was sure he heard someone mutter something about “favouritism” behind him. “So Harry,” said Black, “what’s your worst fear? What do you think frightens you most of all?”

“I’m not really afraid of anything,” replied Harry. “You know that, Sirius.”

Black smiled. “Think, Harry. There must be something.”

Harry pondered for a brief moment. “Those Dementors on the train were quite scary,” he said at last. There were mutterings of agreement from the class and Neville felt cold for a moment again.

“Hmm,” said Black, “I don’t know what happens when a boggart becomes a Dementor. Let’s find out anyway. Now Harry, when the boggart emerges, I want you to point your wand directly at it and forcefully deliver the spell Riddikulus.”

“Riddikulus,” repeated Harry, nodding.

“At the same time, try to think of something funny, something really amusing to do something really amusing to do to the Dementor. Laughter is the opposite of fear and will suppress the boggart’s effect. Ready?”

“Ready,” replied Harry, his wand outstretched.

Black tapped the lock on the chest with his wand and stood back. The lock sprang open and the lid of the chest flew back. From out of the chest slowly arose a Dementor, just like the one they had encountered on the train. The temperature of the room dropped. The Dementor loomed over Harry, who staggered backwards, unable to deliver the spell. Darkness began to fall in front of Neville’s eyes and from far away he could hear voices again, one defiant, one cold and hard.

Seeing the chaotic effect the boggart was having on the class, Black leapt in front of Harry. Immediately the boggart began to change. It shrunk and fell to the floor. Recovering, Neville looked down on the strange form. It settled into the shape of a boy, lying inert and prone on the floor, not moving, not breathing. Neville was astonished. It looked just like Harry.

Black quickly aimed his wand. “Riddikulus!” Instantly the figure transformed. It lost all its appearance of Harry and became a gaudy, brightly coloured doll, like a puppet or a ventriloquist’s dummy. It sprang up and Black made it dance around in a silly fashion. Everybody laughed, and the moment was broken.

After that, the lesson settled down to something approaching order, although keeping control was not Black’s strongest point. He got each of the class to come up in turn and try their hand against the boggart, allowing Harry to sit out the exercise. Everything was going well until it came to Neville’s turn. He hadn’t really thought about what his worst fear was; he was only hoping the Dementor wouldn’t return.

The boggart began to transform, shifting into the form of a tall man. Slowly features emerged, a bald head, long fingers, a flattened face. The whole class recoiled in horror. Standing there facing Neville was the undeniable form of Lord Voldemort.

It was definitely Voldemort, Neville knew that. The face seemed a composite of the two incarnations of the man he had encountered: the young, handsome Tom Riddle and the deformed face attached to the back of Quirrell’s head. But the unmistakeable feature was the eyes. They burned a deep red, piercing Neville with the intensity of the gaze. Voldemort produced a wand, aiming to strike. It was all Neville could do to raise his own, but he could manage no more.

Again Black had to step in, and again the boggart took the form of the dead boy. Casting the Riddikulus spell once more, he returned the creature to the chest and refastened the lock. Neville was left shaken and dazed. “Right, I think that’s enough of that,” Black announced. “Could you all move your desks back into position please.” Once that was done he congratulated the class and awarded house points for facing the boggart, five to each person, “and ten to Neville, and fifteen to Harry, for what extra I put them through.” It was only then that he noticed that the lesson had run over by five minutes and he dismissed the class.

Everyone left the classroom in a hurry, for Potions was the next lesson and they were all aware of Snape’s strictness for punctuality. Neville listened to his classmates’ assessment of the lesson as they hurried along and down to the dungeons. “Well, Defence lessons are certainly not going to be dull this year,” said Dean. “He causes nearly as much chaos in a classroom as Lockhart, though I’ll say he does actually know his stuff.”

Hermione gave her opinion. “I’m sorry Harry, but he strikes me as rather irresponsible. He ran that lesson in a completely reckless manner. Look how poor Neville suffered. Besides, practise is all well and good, but you can’t get away without learning the theory.”

“I’ll tell you what, though,” interrupted Seamus. “I don’t think Harry’s got anything to worry about this year. If ever there was an obvious teacher’s pet, we’ve just seen it. I’d bet any figure you like that Harry get straight O’s in all his assignments for Black this year.”

Harry responded with a weak “Hey,” but Seamus’ opinion seemed to be shared by a great number of the Gryffindors. Even Neville had to admit he had a point. Perhaps it was only to be expected that Black would favour Harry to some degree, but Neville remembered the boggart and realised there was far more to it than that.

The Gryffindors all rushed into Potions together. Snape was standing at his desk, his arms folded, his black eyes focussed intently on the students. He said nothing until some time after they had found their seats, leaving an uncomfortably long pause during which everyone squirmed and waited for the Head of Slytherin to strike. At long last he spoke. “Would someone care to furnish me with an explanation for this universal outbreak of lateness?”

Hermione raised her hand. “Please sir, Professor Black’s lesson overran and he had to keep us for an extra five minutes.”

Snape rolled his eyes and gripped the edge of his desk in frustration. “Well then, Professor Black will not mind my taking twenty points from Gryffindor for his lack of timekeeping skill.” He pronounced the word “Professor” as if it was a disgusting swearword. His eyes fell on Harry sitting at the back of the class. “You will no doubt soon become aware of the limitations of Black’s abilities,” he continued, “and I am only sorry to see the depths to which teaching standards have fallen at this school. At least you have all managed to get here alive and apparently unscathed, so I guess I should be grateful for small mercies. Open your books to page forty-seven.”

Neville glanced back at Harry, who just grinned and shrugged his shoulders. Between Trelawney, Burbage, Black and Snape, this was going to be an interesting year, Neville reflected.

It was a cold morning in late October when Hogwarts awoke to chaos. The main corridors leading up from the Slytherin common room to the ground floor had all been blocked by an unbearable stench. At one point along each corridor a haze hung in the air that gave off such a hideous odour that no Slytherin was prepared to pass through it. Even obscure back routes had been cut off. With the Slytherins all trapped in the dungeons and no one able to reach them, the usual routine of the castle collapsed into uproar.

They had all missed breakfast and classes were beginning without them when eventually Snape, who had been shut down there himself, was able to produce a potion to dispel the noxious vapours. The Slytherins all stormed out of the dungeons and spent the rest of the day in foul moods, not helped by the obvious amusement the other three houses had gained from the situation.

It was virtually all the Gryffindor table would talk about over supper that evening. Neville was sitting next to Hermione, along with Dean, Seamus and Ginny nearby discussing who might have been responsible for the prank. Speculation naturally fell on Fred and George as the most likely suspects, although they had not claimed responsibility for it to anyone yet. The twins’ prank pulling schemes and knowledge of the castle were legendary. Neville looked down the table to where they were sitting with Harry and Ron. They were laughing and joking, but that was as always and they didn’t seem to be acting in any way out of the ordinary.

The only other person, at least in Gryffindor, that anyone could suggest with the nerve to pull off such a stunt was Harry. That was Seamus’ idea, but it was considered unlikely by everyone else, except Ginny who didn’t offer an opinion. Although, Neville thought, Harry did have quite an animosity towards Slytherin, and he thought of the map of Hogwarts Harry had shown him at the end of the previous year. He would certainly know all the ins and outs of the school.

The discussion however eventually drifted away from the subject and on to the upcoming Hogsmeade visit taking place that Saturday. The reminder caused Neville to temporarily panic as he couldn’t remember whether Gran had signed his permission slip and if so, where he’d put it. He at last recalled that it was signed, and stuffed in the pocket of one of his trousers. He’d put it there on the day he and Gran had found out about Remus Lupin. If his Hogwarts letter had arrived a day later, Neville considered, his paranoid Gran might not have agreed to let him go to Hogsmeade. He only hoped Gran hadn’t written directly to the school, rescinding her permission.

“It’s the only all-wizarding village in Britain,” Hermione was saying. “I’m looking forward to visiting the Three Broomsticks, and the Shrieking Shack is supposedly the most haunted building in the country.”

“So long as I get to visit Zonko’s and Honeydukes, I’ll be happy,” said Seamus.

After supper the Gryffindors mostly all headed back towards the common room. But when they got to the foot of the main staircase, they found McGonagall there ahead of them. She had a very severe look on her face. “Ronald Weasley?” she said. There was a murmur through the group. “Ronald Weasley, would you come with me please?” Looking very trepid, Ron emerged from the crowd and slumped off after McGonagall, in the direction of her office. “The rest of you can go,” she called to the remaining students, still hanging about in shock. Slowly they filed off up the stairs. As Neville went to go however, he saw Harry hesitate, then run off after Ron and McGonagall.

Up in the common room, Neville waited for Ron and Harry to return. The talk in the room was mainly of astonishment that Ron might have been responsible. No one thought he had it in him. Indeed a great many people were suggesting McGonagall was talking to Ron about something completely different. Neville doubted that, though. He had seen the guilty look on Ron’s face.

Others in the know were talking about Ron’s ordeal of the previous year: his possession by Tom Riddle. The less charitable were suggesting that maybe he had gone off the rails after his experience and had got a taste for causing trouble. Kinder souls supposed that this was his way of getting back at Slytherin. Neville, who thought he was beginning to know and understand Ron Weasley, could only listen to these ideas and smile at their absurdity.

At long last the portrait entrance to the common room swung open and Ron entered, closely followed by Harry. Ron looked glum and depressed and went straight on up to the dormitory. Harry let him go and, seeing Neville, settled into a chair next to him. “So what happened?” Neville asked.

“Ron got caught,” replied Harry. “Someone saw him lurking around the dungeons yesterday evening, so they just put two and two together. I couldn’t let him take the fall alone, so I confessed it was both of us who did it together.”

“But did you really do it?”

Harry leaned closer. “You can’t tell anyone, but actually it was the four of us: Fred, George, Ron and me. It was a prank that kind of got out of hand. We never expected to be so successful.” Harry grinned. “Still, it was great fun, and I’d do it again. We used this putty-like substance based on a Dungbomb that Fred came up with. Smear it on a wall and it slowly releases an unbelievable stink. We set it up last night.”

“I never knew you were involved in Fred and George’s pranks,” said Neville, surprised.

“Ah,” said Harry, tapping the side of his nose. “We’ve got up to a few. It’s just that we don’t usually get caught.”

“So what punishment did you get?”

“Detention for the rest of the week and banned from going on Saturday’s Hogsmeade trip. But actually I’ve got a plan for that one.” He smiled to himself.

“Won’t your godfather be angry when he finds out?”

“Sirius? Nah. He’ll have enjoyed it as much as we did, I’ll bet. He’ll probably give me a pat on the back for embarrassing the Slytherins. Did you know all his family were Slytherins and he rebelled and went into Gryffindor? He’s quite proud of it. I told you he was great. So long as he knows where I am, he’ll let me get away with almost anything.”

Harry leaned back in his chair and for a moment Neville saw just how like Sirius Black Harry really was. Not physically, there was very little similarity between the two other than their mops of dark hair, but in their manner. They shared the same laid-back style and devil-may-care attitude. Neville wondered just how much of his personality Harry had inherited and how much he had picked up from Black.

* * *

Saturday morning came, and it was bright and dry, if a little chilly. The students of Hogwarts, all wrapped up warm, gathered on the lawn outside the main entrance to the castle, ready to make their way to Hogsmeade. Permission slips had been checked and numbers counted. Neville had said goodbye to Harry and Ron in the dormitory. Surprisingly, they hadn’t looked too down about missing out on the trip.

Neville walked alongside Hermione as they headed off along the path to the front gates of Hogwarts, a little way beyond which lay the first houses of Hogsmeade. “Honestly, I thought those two had grown up a bit by now,” Hermione was saying.

“Who?” replied Neville, who hadn’t been paying attention.

“Harry and Ron, of course. You remember what they were like in our first year, constantly causing trouble and acting all crazy. I’d thought after last year they’d matured a bit. Now I’m not so sure.”

Neville smiled inwardly. Hermione was exaggerating a little, he knew. He remembered how she couldn’t stand Ron and Harry in their first year, and how the feeling was largely mutual. Now, after all they had been through, they were good friends, if not as close as Harry and Ron were with each other. Her comments were now more the irritation of an embarrassed friend than the venom of an antagonist. A lot had happened in two years.

As they approached the gates of Hogwarts, Neville began to feel even colder, and his head felt strangely dizzy. His legs seemed like lead and it became harder to walk. Slowly his dulled brain became aware of what he was feeling. It was the sensation he felt when close to a Dementor. Worried, he looked around, but there was no sign of cloaked figures. The Dementors guarding the gate had in fact been ordered aside to allow the students to pass, but anywhere that Dementors linger for a length of time retains the atmosphere of their presence. It took a great effort by Neville, aided by Hermione, just to pass through the mist-enshrouded gates and on to the clean air beyond.

Once they entered Hogsmeade however, Neville felt better almost immediately. The village was a delight, filled with quaint thatched cottages and bright, inviting shops. Neville and Hermione walked up and down the High Street together, dropping into each of the shops in turn. Honeydukes Sweetshop proved a particular favourite of Neville’s, their excellent chocolate perking up his spirits, though doing little for his ample waistline, as Hermione thought it necessary to point out.

Eventually they squeezed into a packed Three Broomsticks for lunch. The place seemed to have been almost overrun with Hogwarts students, but the atmosphere was warm and friendly. They sat in a quiet corner together and chatted about all they had seen and how great it would be to live in a place like Hogsmeade. When they left the pub and returned out into the fresh air, Hermione told Neville she wanted to pop back to Scrivenshaft’s for a few supplies. “I won’t be long,” she assured him. “Why don’t I meet you down by the Shrieking Shack? We haven’t been there yet. See you soon.” She hurried off.

Neville slowly wandered further down the High Street, peering in shop windows. Then, as he was passing a tea shop called Madam Puddifoot’s, he saw two people emerge. To his surprise, they were Professor Black and Professor Burbage. They were talking and laughing together. Black then planted a gentle kiss on Burbage’s cheek and she walked off, smiling broadly.

Embarrassed, Neville tried to look the other way, but Black spotted him and called, “Hello, Neville!” He too, Neville saw, had a big grin on his face as he walked over. “How are you? Fine day, isn’t it?”

“Er, yes sir,” stammered Neville.

“Sirius, Neville, call me Sirius. No matter how many times I tell you kids, it’s always ‘sir’ or ‘Professor Black’. I can’t cope with it. It’s not… well, it’s not me.”

“Sorry, er, Sirius,” replied Neville.

“That’s better.” He put an arm on Neville’s shoulder. “Look Neville, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention to Harry about seeing Ch-…Professor Burbage and I together. For now, I just like to keep this discreet. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Thanks. Are you on your way somewhere specific?”

“The Shrieking Shack,” answered Neville. “I’m meeting Hermione there.”

Black raised an eyebrow. “Still a popular place to visit, is it? Never understood the attraction myself. It’s just a boarded-up old building, after all. Yeah, they say it’s haunted, but Hogwarts isn’t exactly short of ghosts itself, is it? I reckon the attraction is only because nobody can get into the place. Well, see you in class, Neville.” He smiled and sauntered off, whistling to himself.

Neville turned and followed the well-trodden path to the edge of village where lay the Shrieking Shack. As Black had described it, it was indeed a battered old building. All the windows were smashed and crudely boarded-up with wooden planks. The whole place looked half on the verge of collapse, although being a wizarding building it was unlikely to do that. Neville wondered what kept anyone from entering.

Hermione wasn’t there yet, so Neville sat down on a rock to wait. He listened nervously for any sounds coming from the building, but it was completely silent. Neville had never been completely comfortable around ghosts, though over two years at Hogwarts had naturally gone a long way to easing that discomfort. He was hoping he wasn’t going to encounter any now.

Suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder and he turned around, expecting to see Hermione. But there was no one there. He got to his feet, looking around for anyone, but he was alone. Then there was a tap on his other shoulder. He stared wildly in every direction, but still no one. Frightened, he half imagined he could now hear the sound of laughter, and he backed away down the path, getting ready to run if anything should appear.

The laughter grew, and Neville realised it wasn’t imaginary. All of a sudden in front of him, Harry and Ron appeared out of nowhere. They were giggling furiously. A cloak fell from their shoulders to the ground. Harry picked it up and carefully folded it away.

“Bloody hell, guys,” said Neville, not usually given to swearing. “You nearly scared me half to death. What are you doing here? That’s your invisibility cloak, isn’t it Harry?” He sat down on the grass and took in deep gulps of air.

“Yeah,” Harry grinned. “I told you we’d make it to Hogsmeade anyway. Sorry about the trick, Neville, we couldn’t resist.”

Neville’s brow furrowed. “You haven’t been following me all day, have you?”

“No, we only just got here,” answered Ron.

“But how? And how did you get past the Dementors? I thought invisibility cloaks didn’t stop them.”

“We didn’t go past the Dementors, we went under them,” said Harry. “Remember that map I showed you at the end of last year, when we were looking for Ron? It shows more than just the castle. It’s got several secret passageways marked on it which lead directly to Hogsmeade. We’ve just come down one.”

“We figured we could tell you, since you know about the map already and it would have been boring if it had just been us going round under the cloak all day,” added Ron, “but you can’t tell anyone else. It’s a big secret, all right?”

“But you’ll get into massive trouble if they catch you,” worried Neville. “I’ve just seen your godfather, Harry. Who knows who else might be around?”

“Don’t worry,” said Harry. “Provided we stay off the High Street and use the cloak where necessary, we’ll be fine. We can just sneak back through the secret passage later and as far as anyone knows, we’ve been in the castle all day.”

Neville was doubtful, but there was nothing he could do about it. “Hermione’s turning up here in a minute. She’ll go nuts if she sees you. Are you going to tell her?” he asked.

Harry and Ron looked at each other. “Probably best if we don’t,” Ron said eventually.

Harry nodded. “I agree. I guess we’ll have to leave you, Neville.” He turned to Ron. “Let’s go see if we can find the others. Bye, Neville. See you later. Though you may not see us.” With that, he took out the cloak again, slipped it around himself and Ron, and they vanished.

When Hermione arrived five minutes later, Neville told her nothing of his encounter with Harry and Ron. After a short while wandering around the Shrieking Shack, and finding it rather boring in the end, they walked back into the village.

* * *

At the end of a long and enjoyable day, everyone at last returned to Hogwarts. Stepping through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room once more, Neville found Harry and Ron standing there. Though Neville hadn’t seen them since their meeting by the Shrieking Shack, they had evidently managed to successfully return to the castle and evade detection. Neville had expected them to look happy and cocky at their success, but their faces were worried and stern.

Harry walked up to Neville and handed him a copy of the day’s Evening Prophet, pointing to the front page. “Lupin’s been sighted near here,” he said gravely. “They think he’s coming to Hogwarts.”

In the days following the first sighting of Remus Lupin not far from Hogsmeade, several other alleged sightings were reported in the Daily Prophet. Many were wildly contradictory, giving descriptions which coincided only minimally with Lupin’s known appearance. Still, they were evidently quite enough to deeply perturb both Dumbledore and the Ministry. The already tight security around Hogwarts had been reinforced, and Neville and others had observed a number of grey-suited Ministry officials coming and going from the castle, apparently for meetings with the Headmaster.

Neville himself had begun to get a feeling he was being watched. Not by anybody with malicious intent, but just that Dumbledore was ensuring an eye was kept on all his doings, presumably for his own safety. The more he thought about it, the more Neville wished someone would tell him the truth about Lupin, whatever it was. Despite being someone to whom ignorance was a familiar feeling, he hated being kept in the dark.

On the Thursday following the Hogsmeade visit, Professor Black entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom his customary five minutes late. However his typical wide smile and relaxed manner were notably absent. He walked stiffly to the front of the class, and his brow was followed. “Books away, please,” he said. “Today’s lesson is going to somewhat different.”

Whilst the Gryffindors put away their textbooks, Black turned to the board and magically wrote a single word: Werewolves. He addressed the class. “In light of, um, recent events, Professor Dumbledore has asked me to bring forward your instruction on the subject of the werewolf. He thinks it best that you should all at least be aware of how to recognise one and some basic defensive steps you can take. I have to say I am not happy with this change to our schedule, but I have agreed to the Headmaster’s wishes.”

Black took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “The werewolf is almost unique amongst Dark creatures in that it lives inside a human being instead of having a form of its own. The first thing you must know about a human infected with the condition is that, other than at the full moon, they are an entirely normal person. No doubt in your lives you have heard or read many claims against those with lycanthropy, but these are no more valid than the prejudices against Muggle-borns. They are people, good or bad, and should be treated as such. Who can tell me how a person becomes a werewolf? Yes, Hermione?”

Hermione’s hand of course had been up before anyone else could react. “The only known way is to be bitten by another werewolf, sir. Even then, the werewolf must be fully transformed at the time of the new moon. If the bite is enough to draw blood, then the infection is transferred. There is no known cure, sir.”

Black smiled. “Hermione, one of these days you’re going to learn to call me Sirius,” he chided gently. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil burst into giggles. Black had become quite popular with the girls in the class, who enjoyed calling him Sirius, but Hermione had never got the hang of it. Her inbuilt deference to teachers always kicked in. “Excellent reply, though. The textbook answer. In fact,” he tapped the book on his desk and grinned, “almost exactly the textbook answer. Yes, there is no cure. The sufferer is afflicted for the rest of their life, and must live with the unwarranted guilt of whatever horrors the wolf may inflict when it takes control.”

Black went on to teach the class about how the appearance of a werewolf differed from that of a normal wolf. He also described in some graphic detail the painful process of transformation at the full moon. He explained the steps most sufferers took to ensure they did not cause harm to themselves or others each month. Neville found it all fascinating and a little disturbing. He thought of Lupin, the cause of this lesson. Black was at pains to point out that the wolf did not make the person different for the rest of the month. It had been easy for Neville to pigeon-hole Lupin as a monster. But if he had chosen to do all those terrible things for human reasons, well didn’t that make him all the worse? A Dark creature was one thing, a callous murderer an altogether more frightening prospect to Neville.

At the end of the lesson it was generally agreed that it was one of Black’s best, in spite of his misgivings about it. Whilst often in lessons before his mind had wandered, or he had let activities get wildly out of hand, here he seemed to have a genuine passion and understanding for the subject. He seemed to take it far more seriously than anything else he had taught to date. For the first time in a long while, Neville found he had genuinely enjoyed a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. He was hoping to talk to Hermione about it afterwards, but she had disappeared.

* * *

Saturday was the first Quidditch day of the season and, though the weather was terrible, Neville made his way down to the pitch to watch Harry in action. He sat huddled in the stands with Ron and Ginny; Hermione had said she wasn’t feeling well and had stayed in Gryffindor Tower. The patched and not altogether waterproof raincoat he was wearing meant he was in danger of being completely soaked through by the downpour, but Ginny let him share her umbrella.

The match, against Hufflepuff, was a long and entertaining one, despite the conditions. It was particularly noticeable for a prolonged epic tussle between Harry and the Hufflepuff Seeker, a tall boy older than Harry. Side to side, they pursued the Snitch all over the field of play and high into the cloudy sky. The score had reached 130-110 in Hufflepuff’s favour when suddenly Harry broke free of his adversary and shot forward, skirting the edge of the pitch. He dodged two attempted Bludger strikes and pounced on the Snitch, narrowly avoiding colliding with the stand in which Dumbledore and several other teachers (including Black) were sitting.

The Gryffindor half of the crowd went wild, and no one cheered louder than Ron and Ginny Weasley. Harry was carried from the field in triumph on the shoulders of Fred and George. Neville had enjoyed the game thoroughly, though he was happy to get down under the cover of the stands and out of the rain. There they waited for Harry to emerge from the changing rooms.

When he did at last, his hair was still sopping wet, but he was grinning broadly. Ron clapped him on the back and Ginny offered a “well done”. Neville was about to share his congratulations when Black came round the corner. Seeing Harry, he ran up to him and gave him a massive hug. He was beaming with pride.

“Brilliant, Harry. Brilliant. I never realised how good you were. Honestly, I can say James could never have done that and he was the best. I promise never to miss another of your matches again.”

“Thanks Sirius,” smiled Harry, obviously proud of the compliment. “Say, a few of us having a little celebration down at Hagrid’s this afternoon. Do you want to join us?”

Sirius sighed. “Sorry I can’t, Harry. I’ve got work to do.”

“Since when did you put work before having a good time?” joked Harry.

“Since I became a Hogwarts teacher,” Sirius observed. “For the first time I have responsibilities outside you, you know.”

“You want to watch that, Sirius. You’re in danger of becoming a grown-up.” Sirius laughed, ruffled Harry’s damp hair, and left in the direction of the castle. Not for the first time, Neville felt envious of Harry’s relationship with his guardian. Harry turned to Ron, Ginny and him. “You guys will come, right? Hagrid’s making rock cakes but I promise there will be edible food too.”

“Me too?” asked Neville, surprised.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I invite you?” answered Harry. Neville couldn’t think of an answer to that, he was just used to never being invited to anything.

Later, in Hagrid’s hut, it proved a tight squeeze to get everyone in. Apart from Hagrid, Harry, Neville, Ron and Ginny, Fred and George were also there, and one of the Chasers from the team (Neville didn’t catch her name). Hagrid, taking up the bulk of the space of course, was delighted to see Neville, and Neville released he hadn’t spoken to the genial half-giant in a long time. Hagrid chided Neville for not taking his Care of Magical Creatures class and Neville asked him how he was finding being a teacher.

“Well enough, ’cept for this Buckbeak business,” Hagrid replied. Harry explained that Lucius Malfoy had apparently got irate over Draco’s injury by the hippogriff and had demanded an inquiry. Neville, who knew better than most what sort of a man Lucius Malfoy was, consoled Hagrid.

“They can’t sack you,” Harry assured Hagrid. “Dumbledore would never allow it.”

Hagrid nodded. “Aye, Dumbledore’s always been good to me.”

Everyone sat and ate and talked for what seemed like hours. Eventually only Neville, Ron and Harry were left with Hagrid, the rest had had to return to the castle. Inevitably the topic of conversation drifted onto Remus Lupin, about whom Hagrid was noticeably silent, muttering only that those were “dark times.” When they turned to the subject of the Dementors however, he was more strongly forthcoming. Neville had forgotten Hagrid had been temporarily imprisoned in Azkaban not a few months before.

“As evil as they come, Dementors,” Hagrid stated flatly, a dark look in his eye. “They make the world a cold and dark place and all you want to do is crawl into a hole and never come out again. And in the dark, you hear things,” he stumbled, as if struggling to find the words to describe the sensation. “Terrible things.” He paused for a moment and there was a pained expression on his face. “It takes a strong person to stomach it. Most don’t.”

He sat blankly staring out of the window and everyone sat in silence for a moment. Suddenly his eyes snapped back into focus. “Blimey,” he exclaimed, “it’s dark outside already. I’ve kept you here far too long. Especially you, Neville. You’d best all be hurrying back to the castle at once.”

They all grabbed their coats and, saying quick goodbyes to Hagrid, rushed outside. The rain had finally relented and the last rays of sunlight were just fading behind the hills to the west. Hands thrust deep in their pockets to keep out the cold, they made their way back up towards Hogwarts.

The way before them seemed well lit and Ron looked up, puzzled. He grabbed Harry’s arm and pointed. Neville’s eyes turned skywards. The moon shone brightly high in the night sky. To his shock and horror, it was full.

“Come on,” said Harry. “Let’s not hang around. Just in case, you know.” They broke into a gentle run, but even so Neville struggled to keep up. They passed close by the Whomping Willow, the great tree planted in the grounds that attacked anyone who came near. Suddenly Neville froze. Harry and Ron hadn’t noticed he’d stopped and ran on a little further.

Neville was staring at the base of the willow. There, lurking in the shadows cast by the full moon, a large creature padded around the tree’s foot. Little could be made out of it in the dim light, but Neville was sure it was the same animal he had seen from the kitchen window in Huddlesby. The wolf had indeed come to Hogwarts.

The creature’s eyes were focussed on Neville, but it had not moved, perhaps hoping it had not been seen. Terrified, Neville hesitated, not knowing whether to run or stay still. Harry and Ron stopped, seeing Neville was not with him. “What is it, Neville?” Harry called back, but Neville did not reply. He stayed staring back at the beast, as if trying to fathom something out, though he knew not what.

Suddenly Ron gave a cry and pointed. “Neville, look!” Neville’s eye’s snapped away to the direction Ron indicated. Gliding past Hagrid’s hut, crossing the grounds at frightening speed, came three Dementors. They were bearing straight down on the Whomping Willow and where Neville stood. Perhaps they sensed their prey close by, Neville didn’t know.

He looked back at the willow, but there was no longer anything there. Released at last, he began to run, towards where Harry and Ron stood. Scrambling forward, he stumbled and fell to the ground. Rolling onto his back, he looked up. A Dementor loomed over him. He half fancied he heard a wolf howl in the distance, just like his dream back at the Leaky Cauldron before term. Then the world faded from in front of his eyes.

And out of the darkness, the voices came. The woman’s, trembling but strong: Never, never! I would die before I let you touch him! And the man’s, cold and hard: Very well. And then there was green, and then there was black.

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly and reluctantly to Neville. Dimly, he could feel that he was lying on a soft bed. His eyes still saw nothing but black, but from far away he could make out faint sounds. He strained to listen, and gradually they formed themselves into voices. An argument seemed to be in progress, its participants unaware they were being overheard.

“And how is it that Longbottom came to be alone outside on a full-moon night?” asked a dry, sneering voice. Snape, Neville thought, through the cloud that was still enveloping his brain. What’s he doing here? Where am I? “I thought you were supposed to be watching him today, Black. But then, you never really did give much thought to other people’s safety, did you?” Snape’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Neville heard Black bristle in reply. “May I remind you, Snape, that my godson was out there too. I had thought they were safe at Hagrid’s and I was working.” Snape snorted, evidently doubting Black ever worked. “What I want to know,” continued Black, ignoring Snape, “is what the Dementors were doing on the grounds. I thought they had been ordered not to leave the perimeter.”

“I do not know,” answered the soft voice of Dumbledore. “I am making forceful enquiries. I do not like it any more than you do, Sirius. My guess is they felt something, but that thought only worries me more. I guess we will have to wait for young Neville to wake for any further answers, if he indeed knows any more than Mr Potter or Mr Weasley.”

“But why would they attack Longbottom? What cause would they have?” asked Snape.

“It may be nothing more than he was the closest person,” said Dumbledore. “After all, Harry and Ronald were chased as well. But something tells me there is more too it than that. Dementors are drawn to strong, deep-seated emotion. Of all people that it should be Neville…” His voice trailed off for a moment. “In any case, it was a good thing you were close by, Severus.”

“Yes, good for some,” replied Snape. “Perhaps it would have been just reward for Black’s laxity if I had brought Potter back soulless.”

“Now see here, Snape,” snapped Black. “I know you and I have our differences, but I will not have you taking them out on Harry. I know how you treat him. What is he ever done to you?”

“He is as reckless and irresponsible as his father and godfather, and just as dangerous. Perhaps you would like him to end up as an attempted murderer too?”

“Oh, grow up, Snivellus,” growled Black.

“Peace, gentlemen,” interjected Dumbledore’s calm voice. Neville, whose senses had now returned to him, carefully half opened an eye. He saw he was in the hospital wing. Dumbledore, Black and Snape were standing in the doorway several feet away from them. Black and Snape were eyeballing each other fiercely and Dumbledore was standing between them, his palms raised in an attempt to cool the situation. The right hands of both adversaries were poised over their wands.

The staring match continued for some time, before eventually Snape relented and broke eye contact. “I trust I have made my point, Headmaster,” he said to Dumbledore, and stalked out. Dumbledore gave Sirius a long, careful look over the top of his spectacles, before nodding gently to him and leaving himself. Sirius settled himself into a chair by the door, drumming his fingers on his thigh in frustration and pent-up anger.

Neville decided it was probably best not to alert him to the fact he had overheard the conversation and lay still for a few more minutes with his eyes closed once more. He thought about all he had heard, especially Snape’s jibe of “attempted murderer”. What did he mean by that?

Eventually he pretended to wake and made a show of stretching his arms and rubbing his eyes. Black got up and walked over to him. “Welcome back, Neville,” he said kindly.

“Professor? What-what happened?” asked Neville, feigning ignorance. “There were Dementors, and I ran, but I tripped and fell…”

“Relax, Neville, you’re safe. From what we can gather, three Dementors entered the grounds and attacked you, Harry and Ron. You passed out, as did Harry, briefly. Fortunately Ron’s cries brought help and the Dementors were driven off.” Neville noted that Black did not mention from whom the help had come. “Harry and Ron are both fine, as are you I hope. You have had quite a bad turn. Dementors affect you most powerfully it seems. You and Harry, but you most of all.”

“Is he all right?”

“Yes, yes, he’s been up and about for a while. He bounces back quickly, does Harry. I’ve had a talk with him, then they left me to wait for you to wake up. How are you feeling?”

“Really tired, and my head aches like crazy. It… it feels like falling into a hole, only there’s no bottom and you keep falling. Why me? Why do they affect me like that?”

“Dementors feed on the emotions and memories of their victims, Neville. They strip away all love and joy and leave the sufferer with only their worst feelings and experiences.” Black took a deep breath and leaned closer to Neville. “Tell me Neville, and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to because it may be very personal, but when the Dementors are near, do you hear or experience anything, as if from a memory?”

Neville nodded slowly. “I hear voices. I think it’s my mum and… and You-Know-Who. He kills her. But I was only a baby at the time. How can I remember?”

“Memory is a strange thing, Neville,” replied Black. “The trauma of your past has affected you more strongly than you even realise, and it is into that the Dementors have tapped.”

“So is that why Harry is affected? Is it his parents too?”

Black looked grave, painful memories stirring behind his eyes. “That is personal to Harry too, Neville. But I think you understand the idea. Harry is naturally worried about the whole thing. I’ve agreed to teach him how to defend himself against Dementors.”

“Is that possible?”

“Yes, although it is extremely difficult and advanced magic for someone of your age. Would you like me to teach you as well?”

“It would hardly be worth it. I wouldn’t have any chance of learning anything. I never do,” moaned Neville.

“Come on, where’s your spirit, Neville?” said Black encouragingly. “At least try, that’s always been my motto. If you don’t try things, how do you know if you’re good at them? Harry jumped at the chance.”

“I’m not Harry,” Neville pointed out. He thought for a few seconds. “All right, I’ll try,” he said at last.

“Good,” said Black, smiling. “We shouldn’t start straight away; you need some time to get over this first. I was going to start with Harry over Christmas, so how about in the New Year, okay? You won’t regret it.” He patted Neville on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you to get some rest. See you in class on Monday, Neville.” With that he got up and left the room, whistling quietly to himself, and Neville was left to reflect that there was lot more to Sirius Black than first met the eye.

The month of December arrived cold and snowy. The snow lay thick in blankets across the grounds of Hogwarts, obscuring all features. Only the Whomping Willow lay bare, as it would shake off any snow that fell onto it. On a Friday a week before the end of term, Neville was sitting in the Gryffindor common room, staring out of a window at the sea of white, and feeling thoroughly miserable.

The reason for his misery was that he had just been informed by McGonagall that he would not be able to go on the second Hogsmeade trip of the year, taking place tomorrow. McGonagall had offered the reason that Neville would have to pass the Dementors to visit the village and after the recent incident it would neither be safe nor wise to let him do so. Neville was extremely doubtful of this reason. He suspected it had far more to do with Remus Lupin and the need to keep a tight watch on Neville’s movements than with Dementors. Although he had never told anyone what he had seen by the Whomping Willow that fateful night, Lupin was never out of the wizarding news and everyone was still worried. Neville wondered if his Gran had anything to do with this.

He sat at the window, feeling sorry for himself and wondering what he was going to do the next day, when there was a loud commotion outside the portrait hole. Clambering through the hole burst four figures: Fred, George, Ron and Harry. Fred was in the lead and clutching an open parchment. “Over there, over there!” he pointed, towards a corner near where Ginny was sitting reading. The other three dived forward, scrambling under tables and behind chairs.

Something small shot out from under an armchair and Ron pounced on it. “Scabbers!” he cried, holding it up. “Found you at last!” The familiar form of his scrawny pet rat with the thin curly tail struggled between his fingers. Ron grasped it tightly whilst Harry, Fred and George gathered round, congratulating him (and themselves) on the capture.

Neville got up and came over for a closer look. He noticed Fred hide the parchment behind his back. “How on earth did you find him?” he asked.

“Just luck, I guess,” answered Fred with a smile.

Behind him came a gentle snigger, from the place where Ginny sat, still reading her book. “Oh come on,” she said, not looking up. “It’s obvious. They used the map.”

The three Weasley boys and Harry span around, staring down at Ginny in astonishment. “How do you know about the map?” demanded George. “Not that there is a map or anything,” he added, unhelpfully. Fred gave him a dig with his elbow.

Ginny finally put down her book and looked up. “Did you really believe I hadn’t found out? The Burrow’s not that big a place, you know, and you’re not nearly as good at keeping secrets as you think you are. I know all about the map, and about your little club. All those meetings up in Ron’s room, or in a corner of this common room while you’re at Hogwarts. Of course I knew.”

“You haven’t told anyone, have you?” asked Fred, aghast.

“No, I haven’t. I don’t care what you get up to. Play your little games if you want.” She returned to reading her book, but Neville got the impression she really did care, only she wasn’t prepared to show it.

“Bloody little sisters,” muttered Fred, though without any malice. “Who else knows, I wonder?”

“Well if it’s the same map Harry showed me last year, I know about that,” volunteered Neville.

The Weasley twins rounded on him instantly. “In Merlin’s name,” exclaimed Fred, looking at Harry, “what is the point of a secret society if everyone knows about it?”

“What society?” asked Neville, thoroughly confused.

“He doesn’t know about that,” said Harry. “I only showed him the map. And it was an emergency. Ron was missing, he’d been taken into the Chamber, and I needed Neville’s help…”

“Look,” said Neville, interrupting, “Someone is going to have to explain things to me, because, as usual, I have no idea what’s going on. But I think you might be able to help me out with something.”

Fred and George looked at each other, engaging in the sort of silent debate that only twins can do. Finally Fred spoke. “Okay, we’ll tell you. I mean, you’re the Boy-Who-Lived. If we can’t trust you, who can we trust? First let’s go somewhere private where we won’t be overheard.” He gave a sideways glance at Ginny and the five of them trooped off towards the dormitories.

The third-year dormitory was empty, or at least empty of people, the place was somewhat of a mess. Ron finally returned Scabbers to his long-empty cage. The rat scrabbled at the bars, seemingly angry at being cooped up once more. Neville took the opportunity to check on Trevor whilst Fred cleared the table and unfolded the parchment onto it.

Everyone gathered around the blank parchment. “Watch this,” grinned Fred and tapped the parchment with his wand, intoning, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Suddenly the parchment seemed to spring to life. Ink flowed across its surface, forming words and intricate pictures. The map of Hogwarts that Neville had seen before, with its little dots labelled with every inhabitant of the castle, emerged into being. But now Neville could read the title of the map emblazoned across the front: Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, purveyors of aids to magical mischief-makers, are proud to present the Marauders Map.

Neville looked up at Fred. “Did you guys make this?”

Fred smiled. “Yeah, we wish. No, we nicked it out of Filch’s office in our first year, from one of his cabinets where he keeps confiscated items. It’s been a godsend, let me tell you. It’s taught us more about Hogwarts than we could have learned in a lifetime. We showed it to Ron and Harry just before their first year. That’s when we formed our society.”

“Society?”

“Our society dedicated to the pursuit of mischief in all its forms. The Marauders. Well, the Second Marauders we guess, assuming these guys were the first ones.”

“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs? But who were they?”

“We have no idea. We wish we did, though. They have given us more than they could have possibly realised, I’m sure. The four of us have committed ourselves to the example we believe they would have wanted us to follow. Every prank we have pulled, like that stunt the other week, every practical joke we have staged, every magical object we have made has been dedicated to them. We even took their names, in order of age. So I’m Moony, George is Wormtail, Ron is Padfoot and Harry is Prongs.”

“Yeah, just because he was born ten minutes before me, I get to be Wormtail,” moaned George. “I mean, what sort of name is that?”

“Better than Prongs,” countered Harry. “Makes me sound like a fork.” The four of them burst into easy laughter. “Seriously though,” continued Harry, “this map is brilliant. As far as we can tell, the only place not marked on it is the Chamber of Secrets, and that’s not surprising. And you can keep tabs on everyone, providing you just focus in the right place. See here,” he pointed to where the dungeons were marked, “there’s Snape at his desk in his office. He never seems to move from there except for classes. Still, who really expected Snivellus to have a life?”

“Is this how you found Scabbers, then?” asked Neville.

“Yeah. We’ve been looking on the map for him for ages, but unless you know exactly where to look it’s almost impossible. We just got lucky today.” Harry indicated their dormitory on the map. There, next to the jumbled names of Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Fred Weasley and George Weasley, was a dot with the legend Scabbers above it.

“Hang on,” said Neville, “Trevor isn’t on here. If Scabbers is, Trevor should be too.”

“Now you mention it, that is weird,” replied Harry. “I don’t recall seeing anyone else’s pets on here either. Just Scabbers. I wonder why?”

“Maybe it’s just because Scabbers is mine and we own the map,” suggested Ron.

“Who knows?” shrugged Fred. “The important thing is that we got him back. Now, Neville, we’ve let you into our secret. So you must promise not to tell anyone. It would just spoil our fun to have everybody know. This is just between us for now.”

“Okay, I promise,” said Neville.

“You solemnly swear?” said George.

“I solemnly swear,” repeated Neville with a smile.

“Okay, that’s good enough for us,” added Fred. “Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs hereby recognise Neville Longbottom as an official associate to the Marauders.” The four boys put out their right hands and clasped them together. Neville added his own hand on top of them. “So, now that’s out of the way,” Fred continued after they had released hands, “how can the Marauders help their associate, then?”

Neville took a deep breath. It was so unlike him to break the rules, but he couldn’t bear to miss out. “I need to get into Hogsmeade tomorrow.”

* * *

Neville scrambled blindly along the natural passage, biting his tongue hard as he managed to trip over and stub his toe on the hard ground. Getting up, he trod on the invisibility cloak that Harry had leant him and it slipped from his shoulders. This meant he then banged his elbow on the roof as he tried to put it back on. Why am I doing this? he thought. This was a stupid idea from start to finish.

The Marauders had shown him the same secret passage Harry and Ron had used on the day of the previous Hogsmeade trip, and had helped him inside. They were now making their way calmly to Hogsmeade with the rest of the students, and had promised to meet up with Neville outside Zonko’s Joke Shop at eleven o’clock. If Neville could actually get there in one piece, that was.

As he crawled along, he reflected on the oddness, and yet surprising familiarity of his position. He sometimes considered himself to be leading two lives. On the one hand, which he nicknamed the “Hermione side” as it seemed to mostly involve her, he was Neville Longbottom, the quiet dumb kid who liked plants, and who sat in the corner doing nothing and not bothering anyone. Yet on the other side, the “Marauder side” as he now called it, he was Neville Longbottom the Boy-Who-Lived, constantly becoming embroiled in dangerous and adventurous situations and facing challenges far greater than he could come to terms with. The two sat uneasily side by side. Neville had always felt that the first one was who he truly was, yet he had to admit that his present situation was entirely drawn from the latter.

Why was he doing this? Neville had no better answer than that Hogsmeade had a remarkable lure. For any curious person, and Neville in spite of his limited intellectual capacity was a very curious boy, the opportunity to explore the wonders and surprises of the village was one not to be missed. Also, although Hogwarts was very much beloved, a change of scenery from the same walls and corridors day after day was always welcome.

None of these explanations really satisfied Neville, though. He kept feeling there must be more to it. Was he changing as a person? If so, he wasn’t sure he liked what he was becoming.

He banged his head on something wooden above him and looked up. It was the trapdoor leading out of the passage. Checking he had the cloak completely around him, he cautiously pushed open the trapdoor an inch and peered out. The coast was clear. Throwing back the rest of the trapdoor, he clambered out into the cellar of Honeydukes Sweetshop.

The cellar seemed hardly ever used. Piles of empty boxes and crates lay strewn everywhere and there was a thick layer of dust across the floor. Neville picked his way carefully over and up the stairs and sneaked into the sweet shop itself. His first instinct was to throw off the cloak at once and indulge in the sights and smells of the shop, but the place was packed with Hogwarts students. Several of them Neville recognised, including Dean and Seamus. He felt suddenly and horribly exposed, as if at any moment they would all suddenly spot him and want to know why he was in Hogsmeade when he shouldn’t be.

Harry’s invisibility cloak was impenetrable, though, and nobody saw him. It didn’t make him feel any better though. He crouched in a corner to avoid anyone bumping into him and had to fight back a strong urge to dive back into the cellar and return to Hogwarts. If it didn’t mean letting the Marauders down he might have done it. Instead he took a deep breath and plunged for the door, reluctantly abandoning the chocolates and sugary treats and emerging into the cold air.

He trudged down Hogsmeade High Street with the cloak still about him, keeping close in to the shops to avoid leaving footprints in the thick snow. Eventually he reached Zonko’s and settled down to wait for eleven o’clock. He was actually substantially early, but he wasn’t going to risk doing anything else without the Marauders’ help. He rubbed his hands together to fight against the bitter cold and pulled the cloak more tightly around him.

He sat staring at his shoes and feeling sorry for himself when suddenly he heard his name. “Neville Longbottom.” He almost stood up at once to throw off the cloak and greet Harry or whoever it was, but then he realised it was not a call but a snatch of overheard conversation. Three wizards had just walked past him on their way down the High Street. Neville instantly recognised the tiny figure of Professor Flitwick, but not the other two. One was an elderly wizard wearing a distinctive lime-green bowler hat, the other a tall, imposing figure with a mane of greying red hair.

Neville was well aware that random people would sometimes talk about him and was about to ignore them when the man in the bowler hat spoke. “There is no need to inform him any more than the rest of the public. If Lupin truly is in Hogsmeade, the last thing we want is mass panic.”

At the mention of Lupin’s name, Neville sprang to his feet. For weeks he had waited for news, hoping the sightings (including his own) were mistaken. If Lupin was truly here and meant him harm, he had to know.

“My sources are very reliable, Minister,” said the tall wizard. “Lupin certainly is here, or else has been until very recently. His skills at evading capture continue to impress me, however. Given his… monthly condition, it is all the more remarkable.”

“I don’t want him to impress you, Scrimgeour, I want him caught!” snapped the other man. My God, that’s Fudge, the Minister for Magic, thought Neville. He hurried along beside the men, taking as much care as possible not to trip over the hem of the invisibility cloak.

“It is only a matter of time, Minister,” replied Scrimgeour blandly.

“And while time passes, lives are at stake! Including that of the Boy-Who-Lived, may I remind you. Do you have any idea what kind of public reaction there would be, if something were to happen to Longbottom?” Fudge was seething with anger.

“Gentlemen,” interrupted Flitwick, “perhaps it would be better if we continued this conversation in private?” They had now passed off the High Street down a side lane and had reached the door of a rather run-down, shady looking establishment. A wooden sign swinging above the door featured a rather grisly crude picture of the severed head of a boar, below the words “Hog’s Head”.

Fudge wrinkled up his nose as Flitwick pushed the door open. “Couldn’t we have gone somewhere more pleasant?” he complained.

“This does have the advantage of being somewhat discreet,” Flitwick replied. Upon entering however, Neville decided the word “discreet” was not exactly the word he would have used. The place was deserted, and the debris on the floor suggested it could have been that way for centuries. The only person present was a gruff barman, who gave not the slightest reaction to the arrival of the three wizards. Neville thought the barman looked oddly familiar.

Fudge, Scrimgeour and Flitwick settled into chairs in an empty back room, Fudge still looking disdainful at his surroundings. Neville quietly edged into a corner to listen. “What I still don’t understand,” said Scrimgeour, “is this fixation Lupin has with the boy. It’s the only reason he could be here. It strikes me as more than just simple mania.”

“Ah, there is a lot of history there, Rufus,” replied Fudge. “It is partly to explain that that I have invited Professor Flitwick here to meet us. Filius has assisted extensively in liaising between me and Dumbledore over this matter.”

“Quite so, Minister, and I must say the Headmaster greatly appreciates being kept informed,” said Flitwick. “We hope that to some degree this conversation will reciprocate the favour. Tell me, Mr Scrimgeour, how much do you know of Remus Lupin’s past?”

“Beyond that he was bitten at a very early age, by Greyback so they say, very little. I am aware that he attended Hogwarts, under certain provisions, but his time there seems to have passed without incident. It is his activities after Hogwarts that are a mystery. The war was at its height and information is scarce to come by.”

“In fact, he made quite an impression on many of us at Hogwarts. I can’t say I remember him well, but he was a bright, studious and fairly quiet boy. He would occasionally get up to mischief, but he didn’t seem a dangerous child. He made enough of an impression on Dumbledore, though, that he recruited him for the Order of the Phoenix.”

At this, Scrimgeour leaned in closely. “Dumbledore’s legendary band of fighters?” he said, shocked. “I’d half believed they didn’t exist.”

“They were very much real,” replied Flitwick. “I myself was not a member and Dumbledore has told me little about their activities, but they were highly active in the last years of the war.” Flitwick paused, before beginning the tale he had come to tell. “Late in the war, so I have learned, Dumbledore received intelligence that certain families who were members of the Order were under direct threat from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. One of these families was the Longbottoms.”

“Frank and Alice were in the Order?” exclaimed Scrimgeour. “I didn’t realise Dumbledore had penetrated even into the Auror department. But I shouldn’t be so surprised. They were the best of the best, those two. I’ve never worked alongside such brave and dedicated Aurors as them, before or since. But continue your story.”

“Now I get the impression from what the Headmaster has told me,” Flitwick went on, “that only one family was truly under threat, although Dumbledore did not know which family it was. If he had done, perhaps better security could have been put in place. There are powerful protective charms that could have been used. But it is far too late to wonder what might have been. Other measures set up by Dumbledore had to suffice.

“Dumbledore tells me he placed round-the-clock protection on the Longbottoms’ home. Frank and Alice were less active at the time, since they had to care for young Neville, so the arrangement was expected to work well. Day and night, there would be at least one Order member present outside their house to watch for potential attack and call for help if necessary. The rota of members was kept confidential, known to Dumbledore alone, who would tell each member only their own times and who they were relieving when they arrived. Suspicions had been growing that there may have been a traitor in the Order, and security was tight.

“On the night of Halloween, 1981, the wizard on duty outside the Longbottoms’ was Remus Lupin. That night, as we all know, You-Know-Who struck. But there were several clear sightings of Lupin in Hogsmeade both before and during You-Know-Who’s attack, and when the first wizards arrived on the scene to find the house destroyed, there was no one except baby Neville there. Lupin had clearly abandoned his post, and done so deliberately to leave the way open for You-Know-Who, knowing that he was coming.

“The next day he had his confrontation with Pettigrew, as we all know, so his actions of the previous evening became somewhat forgotten. Pettigrew was also in the Order, perhaps he had gone to confront Lupin, it is known they had been friends. So to compound his treachery and hand in the death of Frank and Alice, he committed his most terrible deed.”

Flitwick leaned back in his chair, his story finished. “I was there when they arrested him,” put in Fudge. “The street was devastated, bodies everywhere. Eleven Muggles, plus Peter Pettigrew, that was the final count. All we ever found of Pettigrew was a single finger. Poor man.” Fudge sighed. “I remember Lupin just stood there, silent, morose. He didn’t even struggle when they led him away, didn’t even protest. It was if he no longer cared.”

“His master was gone, he must have known that,” said Scrimgeour. “He was a spy all that time?”

“For months, so Dumbledore reckoned,” answered Flitwick. “Who knows how many other deaths are on his account?”

Neville couldn’t bear to hear any more. He rushed from the Hog’s Head, not caring if he was heard. The invisibility cloak still flapping around him, he ran through the snow-covered streets to the edge of the village, where he finally collapsed to the ground not far from the Shrieking Shack. He threw off the cloak and buried his head in hands. He felt like he ought to cry, but no tears came.

He thrust his hands in his pockets and his right hand closed around a smooth object: his Remembrall. He pulled it out and stared into the smoke, but for once it did not turn red. For once he could remember everything, at the one time he wished he could forget what he had just heard.

He killed them, he thought. They trusted him and he took them away from me. His parents. Neville rarely thought about them too much. He had never known them, and it hadn’t ever occurred to him to think what it might have been like if they’d survived. It was just part of who he was. Now for the first time he was confronted with the truth of how they died and it pained him to think that but for Remus Lupin they might still be beside him now.

He gazed into the Remembrall again, thinking of them, but though there was no change in the smoke, nothing else happened. He had no memory of his parents, save the Dementor-induced vision of his mother’s death, which he had no desire to relive. How was it possible to miss something he never had? He didn’t understand. His Gran was not the easiest person to live with, but he had been brought up healthily enough. Now a yearning for people he didn’t even know had awoken inside him, and he felt terribly alone.

Neville was usually comfortable with loneliness, it was his natural state. But now he felt it acutely, as if his parents had died only that day. It seemed like there was this gaping hole inside him and the only thing he could find to fill it was fear and hatred of Remus Lupin.

* * *

Author's Note: The text on the Marauder's Map is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, chapter 10.

Neville arrived back in Hogwarts after the Christmas break on January 2nd. It had been a quiet Christmas at home in Huddlesby, uncomfortably quiet. Gran had met him off the Hogwarts Express and taken him straight home and neither had left the house until it was time to return to King’s Cross once more. Her agitation seemed to have grown over the preceding term and was visible for all to see, but she still did not talk about it with Neville.

The entirety of the holidays had been conducted pretty much in silence from start to finish. After overhearing the shock news about Lupin and his parents’ death, Neville had been in a morose and withdrawn mood himself and did not feel like sharing his problems with anyone, least of all Gran. He had sat alone in his bedroom, silently brooding on all he knew of his parents, and what had happened to them.

When it came down to it, he realised how little he truly knew about them. Where were they born? Where did they live? Where were they buried? These and more were all questions that he had never thought about before, never considered that he needed to know. Now they gnawed at him, as if a piece of himself had suddenly gone missing, and he didn’t know how to get it back.

When the Marauders had finally found him sitting in the snow that fateful December morning in Hogsmeade, they knew something was terribly wrong and had begged him to explain, but he had refused. He had left on the Hogwarts Express the next day without even saying a word to Hermione. He occupied himself entirely with his own thoughts and had shut out everything else.

Returning to Hogwarts had not helped matters. He had spent the first evening alone in the common room, ignoring anyone who stopped to wish him a “Happy New Year”. Even when Harry had come over and excitedly wanted to talk to him about something, he’d not listened to him.

So it had come as something of a surprise when after the first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of term, Professor Black had called him over and asked him when he wanted to begin their lessons in combating Dementors. He had completely forgotten he had agreed to do that and was half inclined to back out, but Black seemed far too enthusiastic to take no for an answer. “Harry did really well on the preliminary stuff we did over Christmas,” he said. “He’s not there yet, of course, still a long way to go, but he’s right on track. He’s just as good as his dad was, if not better.”

They eventually decided meeting Monday evenings would fit their schedules best; Harry was having his lessons on Thursdays. They both agreed it was best to keep this as much as possible between themselves for now; Black certainly did want to be accused any further of favouritism towards Harry.

Neville continued to wallow in his misery right through the first week. He didn’t even care when Snape docked Gryffindor twenty points for absent-mindedly destroying his cauldron (and most of his desk) during Potions. In Muggle Studies they had moved on to basic Muggle technology, but Neville didn’t even join in any of the discussions for once. Professor Sprout even stopped him to ask him what the matter was after Herbology, but he didn’t reply.

He spent most of his time in the common room or at meals simply sitting and watching other people, wishing his life was as simple as theirs seemed to be. Now that he actually paid attention, he realised just how much time Harry and the other Marauders actually spent together. Whilst he knew well that Harry and Ron were almost never apart, he could now see that they were regularly plotting away in some corner with Fred and George. Neville desperately envied their carefree, easy friendship and humour.

He also noticed how much time Ginny seemed to spend hanging around them. They barely seemed to notice the youngest Weasley as she sat by them in the Great Hall or listened in on their conversations in the common room. It was small wonder she had found out their secret. Neville, who knew better than most what Ginny was capable of, was sorry they didn’t seem to appreciate her. Ginny was actually the first among everyone to spot Neville watching her and appeared embarrassed, so Neville stopped.

When Monday finally rolled around, Neville was happy to be going to his meeting with Black just to break the monotony. At eight o’clock in the evening, he made his way down from the common room to Black’s office on the second floor. He knocked with trepidation but a smiling Black opened the door and invited him in.

This was the same office as Lockhart had used the year before, but the look of the place was completely different. One wall was given up to a shelf thickly lined with books on Dark Arts defence and defensive theory, which surprised Neville as he didn’t figure Black for much of a reader. Quidditch paraphernalia covered another wall. Black’s desk was piled high with papers and rolls of parchment, but given pride of place were two moving photographs. One was of a grinning Harry, the other of four teenage boys, arms around each other’s shoulders, laughing together. Black saw Neville glancing at the photograph and quickly ushered him to a chair, facing away from the desk.

He sat down opposite him and looked at Neville closely. “Nervous?” he asked. “Don’t be. This should be an enjoyable experience. There is no more satisfying spell when cast correctly than the Patronus Charm, nor more emotionally powerful.”

“The Patronus Charm?” replied Neville. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It is normally reserved for NEWT level Defence Against the Dark Arts, and few even then achieve the practical side. I think it is looked down on by some, as it has no offensive use, its primary purpose is purely to shield against attack. It works like…”

Suddenly there was a quick tap on the door and it was pushed open. Neville was surprised to see Professor Burbage step into the room. “Sirius, are you… Oh, Neville, I didn’t see you there,” she said.

“Neville just wanted my help with something. I’ll see you in about an hour, Charity, okay?” explained Black.

“Don’t be late,” smiled Burbage and closed the door.

Black grinned to himself, then caught Neville looking at him. “What?”

“Isn’t she a bit old for you?” asked Neville.

“Mind your own business,” laughed Black. “Anyway, she’s only four years older than me. About the same age as your parents were, I guess, give or take a year.”

Not wanting to dwell on the subject of his parents, Neville rapidly changed the subject. “So tell me about this spell, then.”

“Oh, right. Well, Patronus means sort of protector, I think. Like patron. It’s an outward projection of everything the wizard feels protects and safeguards them, channelled through the wand. When performed correctly, it takes the form of an animal, unique to the wizard who cast it, embodying those qualities. But we won’t get that far here. Just to get any shape is hard enough.” Neville’s confidence was hardly growing with Black’s description. “You do have a slight disadvantage to Harry in that I won’t be able to test you in real conditions. With Harry, I used a boggart as his takes the form of a Dementor, but that doesn’t work for you as we know. I’m certainly not going to bring a real Dementor in here, even if Dumbledore would let me, so we’ll just have to do it without a target.”

This reassured Neville a bit. He knew doing anything in the face of a Dementor was hard enough, let alone learning an extremely complex new spell. “So what do I have to do?”

“Now this is the tricky part. The incantation is simple enough: Expecto Patronum. But the real key to the spell is memory. You see, in order to project this force, the wizard needs to call on emotions of joy and happiness, and the way to do that is to focus, to fixate on the happiest, most powerful memory they have. Do you understand?”

“Not really.”

Black nodded sympathetically. “That’s all right. Let’s have a demonstration.” Neville smiled. Black was very keen on doing demonstrations in classes, even if they didn’t always quite come off as planned. “Right,” he said, standing up and adopting a stance with his wand. “The wand is held like so. I clear my mind and remember something unpleasant like, say, my parents. Expecto Patronum!”

Nothing happened. “You see?” said Black. Neville looked bemused. “Okay, now I shall remember something particularly happy, like a recent evening spent with the delightful Professor Burbage.” He grinned. “Expecto Patronum!” This time an insubstantial silvery-white mist emerged from Black’s wand. It hovered there for a moment, before dissipating. “Getting there, I hope you notice,” continued Black, “but the key is the memory has to be the most powerful you can visualise. If I do that, then we get the proper result, as I shall now demonstrate. Expecto Patronum!”

A silver figure erupted from his wand. It landed lightly on all fours on the stone floor and padded gently around as Black guided it. It was a thick-haired dog, its glistening tongue lolling out of its mouth. It nuzzled up against Neville’s leg, producing an odd, pins-and-needles sensation. Neville was entranced. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” replied Black proudly. “They’re always impressive, though, in their own way. I’m sure yours will be the same when we eventually get there. Shall we begin?”

After a short while practising the basics and getting Neville’s pronunciation right, Black announced he was ready to make a proper attempt. “Now I want you to think hard. Do you have a memory that you think might work?” Neville closed his eyes and thought. The fact was, though, that he was so miserable and depressed that he struggled to think of anything good that had happened to him. Neville’s memory was notoriously poor. Not just for facts, but of his past too. He was thirteen and he could hardly remember anything about being eight already.

Looking back, a lot of unpleasant things had happened to him in his life, but few he would call truly happy, at least in the way Black meant it. Eventually he decided to try the day Gryffindor won the House Cup thanks to points from him at the end of his first year. They had cheered him in the common room that day. Maybe that would work. He raised his wand, concentrated on Dumbledore making that announcement, and cried “Expecto Patronum!”

Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Not even a spark emerged from Neville’s wand. He scrunched up his face and tried again. Still nothing. “One more go,” encouraged Black. But it was to no avail. Neville collapsed back in the chair, breathing hard and feeling even worse than before. “Don’t worry,” said Black. “I said this will take time. What were you thinking of, by the way?” Neville told him. “Are you sure that’s the best you can do? There must be something else.”

“I don’t know. What was your memory?”

Black hesitated for a moment, before replying, “My first day at Hogwarts. I was sorted into Gryffindor and made the best friends of my life all in the same day.”

Neville considered that. His own first day had certainly been a memorable one, and he was proud to be a Gryffindor, even if he didn’t know why he was in the house of bravery and courage when his own reserves of those qualities were so low. “Let me try that,” he said. He thought of the boat ride across the lake, of the Sorting Ceremony and the Welcoming Feast. He raised his wand and intoned the spell once more. Again no effect. Several tries further and still nothing. “I’m useless,” he moaned.

“No you’re not, Neville. It’s difficult, it will take time. You just see; in a couple of weeks you’ll have forgotten all about these problems.”

* * *

“Concentrate, Neville, concentrate!” yelled Black, his frustration building.

“I’m trying,” whined Neville, but it was no good. It was now five weeks since they had first started their lessons and in that time they had progressed not one inch. True, they had missed one week in which Black had been too busy with work. But still, after five whole sessions including the current one, they should have achieved something. But still not so much of a splutter from Neville’s wand.

Neville had changed his supposedly happy memory more times than he could remember. At the moment, he was using the day he received his first Hogwarts letter, but that wasn’t working either. The truth was he had no one perfect happy memory; each was corroded or corrupted by something bad. For instance, the day he’d received that letter had been the day Dumbledore had told him that Voldemort had killed his parents and given him his scar.

The scar seemed to hang heavy over all his happiest times. They all seemed connected to what he had dubbed his “Marauder side”, the side that drove him into dangerous adventures. And most of those adventures he had not wanted to have, but had been drawn into because he was the Boy-Who-Lived, because of the scar. He was beginning to think there had never been a time in his life when he had been truly, totally, genuinely happy, free from all the cares of his life.

Black was proving little help now. As the term had gone on, he appeared to be becoming increasingly more frustrated and irritated in general. The daily grind of teaching appeared to be getting him down. Perhaps he was just discovering he wasn’t truly cut out for it. Neville remembered the so-called “curse” and Harry’s guess that Black would become bored of the job. He expected the turnover of Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers would continue.

And there was Harry of course. Black would never stop talking about Harry; he was his favourite topic of conversation. He adored his godson, that was plain. He would go on at length about how Harry was single-handedly winning the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor (they had recently beaten Ravenclaw in a tense match) and, most annoying for Neville, how well he was doing in Patronus lessons. Apparently he could already cast the spell and his Patronus was beginning to take shape.

It was hardly Harry’s fault, but Neville did not need reminding how much better his friend was at everything than he was. They may have been born only a day apart, but there could not be two more different people. It seemed to Neville that Harry had talent and charm in abundance whilst Neville possessed neither. To be compared to Harry, however unintentionally, was not good for his confidence.

“Maybe we should give up,” he said. “I’m never going to get this to work.”

“No,” replied Black forcefully. “I don’t like giving up on something, however hard it is, and neither should you. Look, we’ll finish for today and maybe we should scale back these lessons to once a fortnight, make it less intensive. But I want you to keep working on finding your memory, okay? If you can find that, all else will follow.”

Neville left Black’s office and trudged back up through the castle towards Gryffindor Tower. He knew he had a Muggle Studies assignment waiting for him to complete, and Hermione seemed too busy at the moment to help him. He tried to forget about yet another failed lesson, but it wasn’t easy.

The thing was, it was all very well for Black to tell Neville to find a happy memory but the more Neville thought about it, the more he felt how unhappy his life had been. His parents dead, cursed to wear a scar that dominated his life and the way people thought of him, incompetent, unpopular, and now with the man responsible for his parents’ death out to kill him. Where was the happiness? How could he ever hope to find a happy memory in such a life as that?

It was late in February when the hearing into the incident between Buckbeak the hippogriff and Draco Malfoy finally took place. Neville, who didn’t take Care of Magical Creatures and hadn’t paid any attention to the case, was surprised to hear that Hermione, along with Harry and Ron, had been helping Hagrid prepare for the hearing. Hermione had apparently been spending some time in the library, looking at old cases and legal material for anything that could be useful to Hagrid or Buckbeak.

Hermione seemed to have become quite fond of Hagrid in their lessons and, not having Neville there, the class had probably strengthened her friendship with Harry and Ron. Hermione didn’t make friends all that easily and tended to rely too heavily on her friendship with Neville at times. It was good to see her broadening her horizons. If only it would work for Neville.

Still, it was remarkable to Neville that she even had time to spend poring through obscure legal books. She was taking on a very heavy workload and it looked to Neville like it was beginning to tell on her. She often seemed very tired and occasionally irritable, particularly in Divination, about which she was scathing at times. Neville had on more than one occasion heard her refer to it as a “joke of a subject”.

Neville wasn’t particularly fond of Divination, but at least it was an easy subject requiring little talent, or even thought, so he didn’t mind it so much. It was one of only two subjects though (the other being Defence Against the Dark Arts) in which he was more likely to go to Harry for help than Hermione. Harry had the greater creative talent (that is to say, he was better at making stuff up).

Hermione was also beginning to tire of Muggle Studies, which surprised Neville more. Neville loved the subject, and Professor Burbage was rapidly becoming his favourite teacher, though he wasn’t going to tell Professor Sprout that. He was learning all sorts of remarkable things about Muggles. In particular he was amazed how resourceful they were. It was the typical wizarding, or at least pure-blood, view to rather condescendingly pity Muggles for their lack of access to magic, but Neville was astonished at how much they could achieve without it. It made him feel a little better about himself; magical skill clearly wasn’t everything.

As it turned out, Hermione’s efforts were largely in vain. Neville learned what had happened at the hearing when Ron and Hermione came into the common room one evening, both looking glum. Ron explained what had happened. Apparently Lucius Malfoy had done his best to turn the hearing into a show trial, organising the whole thing like a circus ringmaster. From what Hagrid had told them, it sounded if Hagrid himself had been lucky to escape punishment, but Malfoy had settled for the execution of Buckbeak.

Hagrid, according to Ron, was understandably distraught, and Hermione looked particularly upset, the sense of injustice was what most annoyed her. Neville had never even seen a hippogriff, let alone this particular one, but he did his best to sympathise. The execution was scheduled for early June, pending a highly unlikely appeal. Neville’s opinion of Lucius Malfoy slipped to a whole new low and he was even gladder he had freed Dobby from the man.

The days and weeks of the second term of Neville’s third year slipped by, with little change in the sense of gloom that hung over him. That feeling wasn’t alleviated by seeing Draco Malfoy strutting about the castle, revelling in Buckbeak’s imminent demise and the anger and hurt felt by the Gryffindors. Neville knew Harry and the Marauders were already planning some form of revenge.

Patronus lessons with Black continued, but they were proving no more successful than before. Occasionally a light would splutter for a moment from Neville’s wand, but would not last. Black refused to give up, but there was little that he could do now. Harry on the other hand could now cast a vaporous form of his Patronus at will. He was eagerly speculating what animal form his might take.

Nothing had been heard of Remus Lupin for weeks, though security did not let up and it appeared to Neville his movements were still being monitored. He took the opportunity to write to Gran and ask to stay at Hogwarts over the Easter break, which she seemed all too happy to agree to. Hermione, Ron and Harry were all staying as well, and he much preferred staying at Hogwarts over going back to a likely miserable, silent, cooped-up time at home.

Neville had got into the habit each evening of staring out of his window in Gryffindor Tower to check on the phase of the moon that night. Each time it came around to the full, he would become restless and nervous, and his sleep would be interrupted by unpleasant dreams. Usually they involved him coming face to face with the werewolf, but occasionally other features like Dementors or the dying words of his mother would invade their way into the dreams. Everything seemed bound up together and until Lupin was caught, he knew this fear would continue.

The lessons with Black stopped for the Easter break, and Neville wasn’t sure if they would start up again. If it wasn’t for the looming presence of the Dementors about the walls, and in his dreams, he would much rather have forgotten the whole thing. He settled down to a quiet holiday in the castle, doing very little and spending his time in Gryffindor Tower or wandering through the Herbology greenhouses, enjoying the plants outside of lessons.

One evening a little more than a week into the holiday, Neville was relaxing in the dormitory, playing with Trevor, who was hopping happily about on his bed. Across from him, Ron was listening to a Quidditch report on the Wizarding Wireless. Suddenly, Harry stormed into the room. Looking angry and frustrated, he went over to his bed and kicked his trunk hard before collapsing on the bed. Ron glanced across at Neville, before wearily asking, “What is it, Harry?”

Harry looked around to check that he, Ron and Neville were alone before answering glumly, “I lost the Map.”

Ron’s eyes widened. He turned off the wireless and scrambled to the end of the bed. “The Marauder’s Map? Seriously?” Harry nodded. “Fred and George are going to kill you. It was Fred’s turn to take care of it tomorrow”

“I know,” acknowledged Harry.

“What about everything we had organised? The whole ‘get Draco’ plan? We can’t do it without the map, you know that. How did you lose it anyway?”

“Well, I didn’t lose it as such; it got taken away from me. It was all bloody Snape’s fault,” moaned Harry.

“Snape took it?” exclaimed Ron.

“No. Look, let me explain. I’d gone out scouting the corridors up from the dungeons, to find a place from where we could spook Draco. You know, around where we pulled the prank last year. I took the map along, of course. But I wasn’t paying attention and I ran right into Snape.”

“What about your cloak?”

Harry reached under his bed, pulled out the cloak and held it up. “I didn’t think I’d need, so I left it here. Dumb, as it turned out. So Snape starts laying into me, and I mean really having a go, accusing me of ‘loitering about the castle’ and ‘plotting trouble’.”

“Well you have to admit, he was kind of right,” pointed out Ron with a smile.

“That’s not the point!” retorted Harry. “He can’t go around accusing people without evidence and besides, he claimed I was going to steal from his stores, which I wasn’t. What would I want with all that rubbish? He’s had it in for me since day one. Just because he can’t get over stuff that happened twenty years ago, he has to make my life a misery.”

“What did happen?” asked Neville.

“Oh, he and my dad fought a lot when they were both here. They hated each other. Sirius tells me it was mostly Snape’s fault. I think he was sort of the Draco of his day. Anyway, I gave him some remark back like, ‘better than prowling the corridors looking for innocent kids to pick on,’ and he goes really mad. That’s when he grabbed the parchment off me. Luckily I’d deactivated the map before he’d caught me.”

Ron giggled. “He didn’t try to read it, did he? That must he been a right laugh to see. Did it get him good?”

“Best I’ve ever seen it do,” laughed Harry. Neville looked nonplussed. “You see, the map insults anyone who tries to read it without the correct passphrase,” explained Harry. “The… the…” he half collapsed into fits of laughter, “the map called him an ugly git with greasy hair and a giant nose! Right to his face! You should have been there, Ron. Snape went purple like he was going to explode!” Harry and Ron laughed together for some time before Harry regained his composure. “Yeah, but that was when Sirius showed up.”

“Sirius?” said Ron, stopping laughing himself. Trevor hopped onto Neville’s lap and Scabbers loudly scrabbled at the bars of his cage.

“He must have overheard us or something. Of course, Snivellus takes the opportunity to go straight after him; he hates Sirius more than he hates me, I think. He starts haranguing Sirius over me, giving his opinion on how useless a guardian and a teacher Sirius is, which is rich coming from him. Then he shows him the parchment and Sirius went white as a sheet, I swear. He took the parchment from Snape and said he’d deal with the situation. Then he marches me back to his office and has a right go at me!”

“Whatever for?”

“I don’t know! He yelled at me, going on about how I should have told him about the map, and how I shouldn’t be wandering around the school with it. He wanted to know where I’d got the map from and what I’d been doing with it, which I didn’t tell him of course. That only made him angrier. Then he said he was confiscating the map and sent me off back up here. It’s totally unfair, I tell you. He’s never usually like this. I don’t know what about the map frightened him so much.”

“Wait a minute,” said Ron. “Are you saying he knew what the map was? How’s that even possible? You didn’t give him the passphrase, did you?” Scabbers scratched even louder against his cage.

“No, that’s just the thing,” replied Harry. “He seemed to know something about what the parchment was, that’s for sure, but I don’t know how much he knows. He must have seen something like it before, though I’ve never heard of anything similar. Something spooked him about that map, for sure. I’m going to try and find out what it is.”

“Is there any chance of getting the map back?” asked Ron. “We can’t be the Marauders without the map, it makes no sense.” Neville had got the impression that Ron most of the four enjoyed being in the Marauders; it gave him a place to belong and improved his standing with his twin brothers.

“I can ask,” said Harry, “but he seemed pretty determined to keep it. I’ll do my best. But there’s not much we can do about it now.” He shrugged and took a book off his side table to read. Ron turned the wireless back on.

Neville, who had listened quietly to Harry’s story, felt sorry for him and Ron. He had seen over the previous few weeks how much they loved their little secret club and he agreed with Harry that it seemed unfair that it might be taken away from them. He put Trevor back in his box and spent the rest of the evening thinking and overhearing Ron’s wireless, before going to bed.

In the morning when they woke they discovered Scabbers’ cage broken open, and Ron’s rat had disappeared again.

For the rest of the Easter holidays and into the third term, the Marauders searched fruitlessly for Scabbers. No trace of the missing rat could be discovered anywhere and Ron was looking increasingly miserable. With the map unavailable to them, the chances of finding him were even more remote than they had been the first time Scabbers had vanished. The only comfort Neville could take from the situation was that at least he was no longer the member of the class best known for losing their pet.

Casting around for someone to blame other than himself, Ron had turned his attention to Crookshanks, Hermione’s cat. Ron had long been convinced Crookshanks didn’t like him, and claimed to have seen that dislike transferred onto Scabbers. This had contributed to something of a falling out between Ron and Hermione, who was already not in the best of moods herself. She was uncharacteristically irritable and short-tempered. Her concentration in some lessons appeared to be wavering and more than once Neville had found her asleep in the common room, apparently exhausted.

Neville didn’t want to pry too much into Hermione’s problems, but he was sure she was keeping something from him. At first he thought it to be nothing more than stress from taking on too heavy a workload, but he had begun to feel it was something else. He had no idea what it was, though. If Hermione wasn’t prepared to confide in him, then he wasn’t going to press the issue.

It was inevitable that if Hermione finally was going to crack, it would be in Divination, and so it proved. Early in term, Trelawney was conducting a particularly ridiculous lesson on crystal balls when a tired-looking Hermione gave a flippant reply to one of her questions. Trelawney gave her a long stare through her thick spectacles and said, “My dear, it is clear that your cold focus on only the limits of reality has blinded you to any hope of accessing your inner eye.” She smiled, but Hermione just looked at her as if she was mad, got up and calmly strode out of the classroom. She did not return.

Neville did consider joining her walkout but, unlike Hermione, he didn’t have the luxury of being able to drop any subjects. When he eventually got to talk to Hermione about what happened, she confirmed she wasn’t going back, but told Neville he had to stick it out. “Don’t worry, it’s not as if you can really fail the subject,” she said, but Neville was not particularly looking forward to his first subject without Hermione there to help him. Fortunately he was still able to turn to Harry and Ron for help.

With the end of year exams looming, his Patronus lessons with Professor Black had come to an end, and Neville was not sad to see the back of them. He had never been able to manage more than a faint glow from his wand lasting a few seconds and, despite Black’s refusal to admit defeat, it was patently clear to Neville that the spell was beyond him.

Neville turned his attention to trying to cram enough information into his leaky memory to get through his exams. He had forgotten how good it was to not have exams the previous year and how stressed he had been in his first year. In fact, although it didn’t occur to him, the stress of revision did have the advantage of temporarily making him forget about his other myriad problems.

The days passed and turned into weeks, and all too soon the week of exams was upon him. It was the first week in June and summer had just begun to push away the last of a cold spring. Neville had no time to enjoy the new warmth however as he scurried from classroom to classroom and exam to exam, each time hoping that the next exam wouldn’t go as badly as the one before. Nine subjects, nine exams, and only in Herbology and Muggle Studies did he feel he had done the best he could. He reflected it was odd that he was apparently better at remembering Muggle facts than wizarding ones, though he put that down to the skills of Professor Burbage.

Professor Black, he had to admit, had set a relatively easy Defence Against the Dark Arts exam, though that just meant Neville’s mark in relation to everyone else would be poor. Also, Black heavily waited the exam to the practical side and Neville got so nervous he felt his practical demonstrations had turned out terribly.

By the time he got to the Divination exam, the last of the week, he was exhausted. Though it had only been four days, he felt the exams had been going on for a lifetime. In the quiet, empty Divination classroom, he sat opposite Professor Trelawney and spouted whatever came into his head, while Trelawney listened politely and made occasional notes. As time went on, Neville found himself flagging more and more, and rather mumbled his way through his tea leaf assignment.

Looking up from the tea cup, though, he noticed Trelawney did not seem to be paying attention. Her head was lolling forward and her eyes appeared half closed. Is she asleep? Neville wondered. I really must be bad if I sent her to sleep. “Professor? Professor?” he asked gently.

Suddenly Trelawney sat bolt upright in her seat and stared straight at Neville. Her eyes, magnified by her huge glasses, were wide and seemingly misted over. She gave a startling guttural cry and then began to speak in a strange strangled voice that was not her own: “TONIGHT AS THE MOON RISES, THE MAN SHALL ARISE FROM THE BEAST AND THE SERVANT SHALL RETURN. THE DARK LORD AWAITS HIS FOLLOWER AND HE SHALL RISE IN POWER ONCE MORE. A SECOND DARKNESS SHALL FALL AND THE END OF THE BEGINNING SHALL BE AT HAND. TONIGHT AS THE MOON RISES…”

Neville stared at her in terror and astonishment. But even as he did so, the mist faded from her eyes and she shook her head in confusion. Looking up, puzzled, she spoke in her normal soft voice. “I’m sorry Neville dear, had you finished?”

“P-Professor, what just happened?” stammered Neville.

“Nothing happened, dear. Did you have a problem? The exam’s over now, so no need to be so worried.” She looked oddly at Neville, who got up and staggered from the classroom. At the bottom of the North Tower he collapsed to the floor and sat holding his head, trying to work out what had just happened. Trelawney seemed unaware of what she had said. It slowly dawned on Neville, had she just uttered a prophecy?

Neville knew about Seers and prophecies, the legendary figures in wizarding history whose strange and random proclamations revealed the future. But Trelawney was nothing more than an old fortune-teller; a year in her classes had taught Neville that much. Real Seers were famous and honoured, not obscure schoolteachers. Yet if it wasn’t a prophecy, what was it?

The nagging thought at the back of Neville’s brain was that really he just desperately wanted it not to be a prophecy, because then surely it would have only one meaning, wouldn’t it?

His mind racing, he made his way up to Gryffindor Tower and into the common room. He found Hermione sitting in a chair, looking miserable. “Hermione, I need to ask you… hey, what’s the matter?” he asked as he noticed Hermione’s mood. “Exams are over, you should be happy. Shouldn’t you?” It wasn’t necessarily an obvious inference with Hermione.

Hermione looked up at him. “Don’t you know what day this is?” she said. Neville shook his head. “They’re killing Buckbeak today. At sundown.”

“Buckbeak, Hagrid’s hippogriff? I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. Is there nothing more that can be done?”

“No. It’s just so unfair. It’s just so… wrong.” She pounded her fist on the arm of the chair in frustration. “He doesn’t deserve it. Just because that creep Malfoy…” She tailed off, not prepared to say any more. “We’re going to go see Hagrid after supper. Do you want to join us?”

“They won’t let me go walking across the grounds in the evening, you know that,” pointed out Neville.

“True. Tell you what, we’ll ask Harry to ask Professor Black if he’ll agree to make an exception this once. If a teacher knows where we are it shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll be with Hagrid most of the time anyway and you’ll be back well before dark.”

“All right. Hermione, do you know anything about prophecies?”

“Prophecies? Not really, why?”

Neville considered for a moment. “Nothing,” he said at last.

* * *

The four friends made their way down to Hagrid’s hut at a little after half past seven. Black had agreed that Neville could go, according to Harry, as long as they went straight to Hagrid and straight back, sticking to the path. Harry said that Black had wanted to come himself but was too busy. He had asked Harry to pass along his condolences to Hagrid.

The four of them walked out of the castle in silence, heads down, each miserable. “Look at us all,” commented Ron. “A right bunch of misery-guts we must all look.”

“It’s not like we’ve much to be happy about,” said Harry, and that was true. Aside from Buckbeak, Ron was still smarting over the loss of Scabbers, Harry seemed to have fallen out with his godfather a little over losing the Marauder’s Map and Neville was in a world of his own, still thinking on Trelawney’s words.

They passed Buckbeak chained up outside Hagrid’s hut and for a moment Neville stopped to look. He had never seen the hippogriff before, or any hippogriff for that matter. He was struck by how proud the creature looked, and how calm and serene, unaware of what was coming. It gently ruffled its silver-grey feathers and stared inquisitively at Neville. For the first time Neville realised the enormity of what was about to happen, and the unfairness of it. He nodded gently to the creature and turned to follow the others inside the hut.

Hagrid invited them all in and made them some tea. He was visibly shaking and, though he tried to hide it, his voice would occasionally crack. Everyone sat down and consoled him, though there was little they could do to cheer him up. Neville listened to his tales of “Beaky” and understood just how much the animal meant to Hagrid. Aside from Trevor, Neville had never really cared for animals that much; he was far more interested in plants. But the way Hagrid spoke made him regret that attitude; the bond Hagrid seemed to feel with his animals was obviously a very powerful and emotional one for the giant gamekeeper. “Animals are importan’,” he said. “If we can’t treat animals right, what hope have we got of treatin’ each other right? Speakin’ of which…”

He went over to a small box and fished out something tiny that wriggled in his huge hands. “At least I can make someone happy today,” he said, holding out his hands.

“Scabbers!” exclaimed Ron, and so it was. There lay the scrawny rodent in Hagrid’s grasp. Ron leapt up and seized on him joyfully.

“Found him down in the corner just this mornin’,” Hagrid explained. “I reckon he might have been here for some time. Lucky Fang didn’ get hold of him.” He sniffled. “Keep good care of him, Ron. Let’s not lose any more today.”

Ron looked as if he didn’t know whether to smile or cry. “Thank you, Hagrid,” he said. “I will.” He gripped Scabbers firmly, who squirmed in his clasp.

“If only Beaky could fly away and never be found,” sighed Hagrid. Neville glanced out of the window at the poor, condemned creature, almost hoping Hagrid’s wish would magically come true. But Buckbeak still sat there, unmoving.

Then beyond Buckbeak he suddenly noticed some movement on the path down from the castle. “Hagrid,” he called, and Hagrid came to the window, peering out.

“Blimey, they’re here,” he said. “I’ve kept you far too long.” Neville looked at his watch. To his astonishment he realised they’d been at Hagrid’s for over an hour already, far beyond when he was supposed to return to the castle.

“Who’s here?” asked Hermione, straining to look.

“Fudge an’ the rest. The execution squad,” answered Hagrid grimly. “It mus’ be time. I can see Dumbledore with them. He did promise he’d come. Look,” he said, turning to the four students, “you lot had better go. Dumbledore would go nuts if he knew you in particular were ’ere at this time, Neville. Go out the back way.”

They said their sad goodbyes to Hagrid and snuck out of the hut. Hiding behind the back, they listened as the group knocked at Hagrid’s door and entered, before hurrying back up towards the castle. They stopped half way there, near to the place where Neville had been attacked by the Dementors a little over six months before. Scabbers wriggled in Ron’s hand.

The sun was very low in the sky away to the west. Looking back, Neville could just make out figures emerging from Hagrid’s hut. Sunlight glinted off a huge axe in the hands of one. Neville turned away, as did the rest. None saw, or wanted to see, the axe fall.

They had taken barely a few steps when Ron cried out. “Ow! Scabbers!” Neville saw him clutch his fingers, letting go of the rat. “He bit me!” Ron exclaimed. “He never bites me.”

Harry looked down at Ron’s feet. “He’s gone,” he said.

Desperately Ron began casting about for his pet. “Not again,” he muttered. Then suddenly he gave a cry and pointed ahead. “There he is!” Scabbers was scuttling quickly through the long grass, east towards the forest. Ron raced off in hot pursuit before anyone else could react. They chased after him, but Ron was ahead.

Scabbers raced forward in a straight line, but suddenly stopped as it approached a giant tree, and made to go off in a different direction. That was all the hesitation Ron needed however, and he pounced on the rat and struggled with it in his hands. Harry, Hermione and Neville rushed up. At once, Hermione yelled, “Ron, watch out!”

Suddenly Neville realised what tree Ron was underneath. It was the Whomping Willow. Confused, Ron looked up, just in time to see a branch of the tree crash down on top of him. He dived out of the way, only for a second branch to swing across at him as he moved. It caught him a glancing blow on the side of the head and he went down. He lay on the ground, barely moving, semi-conscious, Scabbers still clasped in his right hand.

Harry gave a cry and dove forward. But at that moment, something emerged from underneath the tree. Out of a hole at the base of the willow that Neville had never noticed before emerged an animal. Neville gaped. He had seen the animal before.

It was the wolf, the same wolf he had seen in his garden in Huddlesby and at this same spot back when the Dementors had attacked him, he was certain. And yet it wasn’t a wolf. Its coat was black and far too thick; its nose was too short; its ears were flat against the side of its head. And of course it was still daytime; the moon had not risen. It was a dog. A large, black dog.

Before anyone could react, the dog leapt upon Ron lying a yard away. It seized Ron by the ankle and dragged him backwards towards the hole. Ron, still dazed, was barely able to stifle a cry before he vanished from sight. It had all happened in an instant.

Harry yelled, “Ron!” and charged forward recklessly. Barely noticing the blows from the willow raining around him, he ran desperately at the hole. A branch caught him in the chest and he was thrown hard against the trunk. But in that moment the tree stopped attacking and fell still. Harry didn’t wait to investigate this miraculous occurrence. Picking himself up from the ground, he straightened his glasses on his nose and clambered towards the hole. “Come on, come on!” he urged Neville and Hermione.

Neville hesitated, but Hermione ran forward, giving Neville no choice but to follow. He could hardly stay there on his own. Before he had a chance to stop and think, he had passed through the hole at the base of the tree after Harry and Hermione. They found themselves at the beginning of a long, dark, narrow tunnel. Harry lit the end of his wand but it only cut a few feet into the blackness and Ron was nowhere to be seen. “Let’s go,” said Harry, and led the way down the tunnel.

Neville, following at the rear, had the oddest sense of déjà vu. He had been through this before. He was reminded of a year before, when he had also followed Harry into darkness to chase after Ron, and the terrible things that had led to. And the end of his first year, where the four of them had faced the defences of the Philosopher’s Stone. Was it happening again? It seemed he was once more being dragged into another dangerous adventure, that the curse of being the Boy-Who-Lived was falling on him again.

He looked ahead at Harry, striding purposefully forward, keeping his head down to avoid the low ceiling. He wished he had Harry’s courage, Harry’s determination and drive. But his “Marauder side” as he had nicknamed it was the product of accident, not his own inner strength. Harry was the true Marauder, and Neville was just the weak one dragged along behind. He knew he didn’t belong here, but he also knew it was his fate to be caught up in such things.

The tunnel was long and they trudged forward for a long while, with still no sign of Ron. But at last they saw an opening ahead, and heard muffled voices beyond. Gathering together, the three of them paused at the entrance before bursting through into whatever lay beyond.

They found themselves in a dilapidated room with wooden walls and boarded-up windows. A few seconds glance around would have let them know where they were; they were in the interior of the Shrieking Shack on the edge of Hogsmeade. But they didn’t have a few seconds. Their attention was drawn by the sight in the corner of the room. Ron lay there on the floor, now fully conscious. An ugly bruise was on his forehead and his left leg looked badly injured. He still held Scabbers in his right hand.

He was looking up at the two figures looming over him, who each turned as the three friends burst into the room. The first to turn was the black dog, who barked to his companion. The companion was a man, dressed in rags with dirty, straggly hair that came down to his shoulders. Neville gasped as he saw the man’s face. He recognised it instantly, for it was a face that had haunted Neville for nearly a year. It was the face of Remus Lupin.

Harry’s wand was out in front of him before anyone else could react, pointed straight into Lupin’s face. “You get away from Ron!” he yelled furiously, advancing on the convict.

“H-Harry, don’t you know who that is?” stammered Neville, backing away towards the tunnel again, too scared to draw his own wand. But if Harry did know, he didn’t reply or react; his eyes burned with fury.

Lupin for his part was silent and still as a stone. His frame was slight and weak. His once light brown hair was now a filthy and bedraggled mess, half grey, half black with dirt. His clothes were in rags and his feet were bare, but about his shoulders was wrapped a smarter-looking woollen coat to keep him warm. There was a haunted, horrified look in his eyes as he stared at Harry in astonishment. “My God, James,” he croaked in a thin, hoarse voice, and staggered back a pace. “It… it can’t be, no…” He steadied himself and looked closer into Harry’s eyes. “It’s… it’s Harry, isn’t it? You must be Harry.”

Harry was taken aback for a moment, but kept his wand pointed between Lupin’s eyes. “How do you know my name?” he demanded, but before Lupin could react, the black dog leapt between them. Barking loudly, it snapped at Harry’s legs and tried to drive him away from Lupin. Harry tried to stand his ground, but the dog was very large and snarled viciously. “Call off your dog, you coward,” snapped Harry.

Half a smile crept across Lupin’s face. “You really don’t know, do you? You have no idea. Leave now and you won’t be harmed. We’ve got what we came for.”

“What? What did you come for?” asked Harry, bewildered.

“Me,” said Neville quietly from the corner. Everyone turned; up to that point none had paid him any attention. There was an odd calmness in Neville’s voice, a resignation, as if he had passed beyond fear for a moment to somewhere else. “This is the man who betrayed my parents, Harry. He’s been looking for me for a long time and somehow I knew he’d find me in the end. Go on, the rest of you go. Take Ron and get out. It’s only me he wants.”

“Like hell we’re leaving you,” answered Harry, and didn’t move or lower his wand.

“We’re not going anywhere,” said Ron, bravely trying to lift himself up onto one knee and draw his own wand. Hermione said nothing, but stepped firmly in front of Neville, defiantly meeting Lupin’s eye. Neville was shocked and confused. He’d given them a way out. This wasn’t their fight. What were they doing?

Lupin lowered his head and looked down at the dog. “If that’s the way you want it,” he muttered. “Come on, old friend, we can’t keep our secret any more. They deserve the truth.”

The form of the dog in the middle of the room began to twist and distort, standing up on its hind legs and growing taller. Its hair faded away and clothes formed to take its place. Its face shrank and flattened and turned pale. Within barely a second where there had once been the animal now stood a man, smartly dressed and handsome with black hair and a twinkle in his grey eyes. The man was Professor Black.

Harry fell backwards and almost fainted in shock. The others stood in disbelief as Black embraced Lupin warmly. “We’ve done it at last,” he said. “After all these months, it’s done.”

Harry could barely articulate a response. “H-h-how… w-w-what..?” he spluttered incoherently. The rest were equally dumbstruck.

“Harry, listen to me,” said Black, crouching down to look in Harry’s eyes. Harry backed away in horror. “Listen,” pleaded Black. “This man,” he pointed up at Lupin, “is innocent. I swear on my life, this man is no murderer. I can explain. Just let me explain.” He reached into his robe and took out his wand, offering it to Harry. “Take it,” he said. “Take it, so you know I can do you no harm. No one’s going to hurt you or anyone else.”

Confused, Harry took the wand and scrambled back to his feet, lowering his own wand. “Harry, don’t!” cried Neville. “He did betray my parents, I know it!”

“No,” replied Black. “That’s what I and everyone else believed too, for a long time. But he didn’t.” Lupin had collapsed into a wooden chair set up against the wall. He looked haggard and tired and his eyes were trained intently on Ron.

“I think we should hear him out,” said Harry. “He’s my godfather, Neville. I trust him.”

“But apparently he never told you he was an Animagus,” put in Hermione. “Are you registered, Professor?”

Black smiled. “Very astute of you, Hermione. No, I’m not. Until today, only five people knew of my ability. I’m sorry I never told you, Harry, but it would have led to some awkward questions.”

“And this situation doesn’t?” exclaimed Ron. “If someone doesn’t bloody well start explaining things, starting with why you thought it necessary to try and rip my leg off, my head’s going to explode.”

Black sighed. “I think it’s best if I start from the beginning,” he began. “I guess it starts with this.” He reached into his robe again and pulled out a piece of parchment, covered in intricate lines and tiny writing.

“Our map!” said Harry.

“Our map,” replied Black. He pointed to the names at the top. “Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. Didn’t you ever wonder who they were, Harry?”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “They were you? But we never… I mean Fred, George, Ron and I, we took the names, but we guessed they were someone else before us. You?”

Black looked at his godson and grinned. “What name did you choose, Harry?” he asked.

“Prongs.”

“Naturally. That was your father’s name, Harry. You know that Patronus you can almost produce? I’ll bet it’s a stag. Prongs lives on.” Harry was stunned into uncharacteristic speechlessness.

“It was our first day at Hogwarts that the four of us met,” explained Black. “Remus, Peter, Sirius and James, what a quartet we made. We were the best of friends immediately. The terror of the school they called us, eh Remus?” Lupin did not reply. “The pranks we pulled, the mischief we made, it was legendary. I’ve seen some of the stuff you youngsters have got up to, Harry, and it’s a good start but it’s not a patch on what we could do. The Marauders we called ourselves, and we made this map to aid our mischief-making. But one of us had a secret.

“It was in our second year that we discovered Remus was a werewolf. Every month at the full moon Dumbledore had arranged that he would come here through that tunnel to undergo his transformation in relative safety. It wasn’t too hard for us to figure out what was going on. We promised him we would keep his secret and we offered to help. In secret we studied to become Animagi, so we could come down here with him and keep him safe, without risk to ourselves. My form’s a dog, as you’ve seen. James’ was a stag and Peter’s… well, we’ll come to that later.”

He held up the Marauder’s Map and pointed to the names. “Moony the werewolf, Padfoot the dog, Prongs the stag. Peter was Wormtail. All through our school years we were together and nothing could separate us. And when we left Hogwarts, we all joined the Order of the Phoenix.

“The war was at its height at the time and friends were few and trust hard to come by. Some of us drifted apart a little, especially Remus from the rest of us. It’s tougher than you can imagine being a werewolf in the outside world. James married Lily, of course, and you were born, Harry, the one ray of light in those dark times. But then tragedy came.

“We had suspected there was a traitor among us for some time, and for one reason or another suspicions were turned towards Remus. Then came the night of your parents’ murder, Neville, followed by Peter’s death and Remus was arrested. He was thrown in Azkaban without trial, without a chance to defend himself, and none of us doubted his guilt.”

“Then Peter was Peter Pettigrew!” exclaimed Neville, remembering the name. “I-I overheard about him,” he explained.

“Yes he is,” answered Sirius gravely. “Shortly after that, James and Lily were attacked, and my world fell to pieces. All three of my best friends were gone, or so it seemed, and I was left with Harry as my only lifeline.” There was the suspicion of tears at the corners of Black’s eyes. “You helped me rebuild my life, Harry. Caring for you gave it meaning, and I made a promise that nothing would ever happen to you, but I kept my past from you. It was too painful to remember. Then last summer I learned something that turned my world upside down again.”

Black wheeled round to look at Ron. “Do you want to know what Peter’s Animagus form was?” he said, pointing at Ron’s hands. “It was a rat.”

“Scabbers?” cried Ron. “But he’s just my rat. We’ve had him for years.” Scabbers wriggled furiously in Ron’s hands, but Ron kept a tight hold.

“Let me guess, twelve years?” said Black. “What a remarkably long-lived rat you have, Ron. Trust me, I know Wormtail. I’d recognise that rat anywhere. Do you remember last summer Ron, when you came to stay with me and Harry? The first few weeks you wouldn’t stop talking about the rat you’d lost, how it had escaped before you left Hogwarts. You even gave me a detailed description of it, the scrawny body, the twisted tail, the missing toe. I knew at once that Scabbers was Pettigrew, but that could only mean one thing. Remus was innocent. My past had come crashing back down on top of me and I knew I had to act.”

Black went over to where a crude bed had been laid out in the far corner of the shack. Next to the bed was a small wooden table upon which were several small bottles and jars. Most were empty, but some were half full of a dark-coloured potion. Black picked one up. “This is Wolfsbane potion,” he said. “A fairly recent invention; it doesn’t cure lycanthropy but it alleviates some of the effects. The sufferer retains mental control during their transformation and can actually direct their own actions. In mid-July I arranged for a letter and a bottle of this to be smuggled into Azkaban for Remus. I told him I knew he was innocent, that Peter was alive, and to take the potion before the next full moon. He did and was able to escape past the Dementors in his wolf form. I met him over on the Scottish coast when he came ashore. He was a wreck.”

Black looked sadly at Lupin, still sat in the chair, silent, head down. “It’s a terrible place, Azkaban, terrible,” he continued. “Hundreds of Dementors surround the prisoners day and night. They drain every last drop of happiness from their victims, all colour, all warmth, all hope. Many go mad, but most just freeze inside, until living seems like too much of a burden and death is welcomed with open arms. Twelve years he’d been in there.”

“My God,” said Hermione, horrified. “How did he survive?”

“I didn’t,” answered Lupin weakly. He had been silent during all of Black’s explanation and everyone was startled to hear him speak. His voice was cracked and hoarse and as he looked up his haunted eyes betrayed the pain his face was trying to hide. “I didn’t,” he repeated more forcefully and a chill ran down Neville’s spine. “The wolf kept me alive. When all I wanted was to crawl into a corner and die, the animal inside me kept me strong. It fought for life, and the Dementors could not touch it. So I lived on, but I was dead inside.”

Lupin paused, as if it was a struggle to speak, or the words were too painful to say. “The night Frank and Alice were killed, I’d been assigned guard duty at their house. It was a secret location, only the Order knew where it was, and no one was supposed to know who was on guard duty each night. I’d lost contact with most of my friends and the burden of my condition was weighing heavily on me at the time. But I would still see Peter from time to time. We’d talk over old times, laugh and joke together; it was a release from the troubles of the war. At some point I must have told him where I’d be that night.

“An hour before midnight, he turned up to meet me outside the house. He told me that Dumbledore wanted to see me urgently, in the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, and that I should make my way there at once. He said he’d been sent to take over guard duty. So I left and Apparated to Hogsmeade. But Dumbledore wasn’t in the Three Broomsticks and no one had seen him. I Apparated back at once, but when I got there, the house was destroyed and Frank and Alice were dead. Peter was gone. I didn’t stay to learn any more; I was in a rage. I went straight after Peter. I caught up with him in a Muggle street just round the corner from where he lived. He just stared at me blankly, as if he had no idea what I was talking about. Then, as I went for my wand, he calmly sliced off his finger, tossed it in the air and blew up the street.

“I didn’t even know if he’d survived, though I guessed he had. When they came to arrest me, I knew there was nothing I could do. No one would believe the word of a werewolf. I was just in a state of shock. I was in Azkaban before I knew what had happened. I would have grown old and died there if it wasn’t for Sirius.”

Black took up the tale once more. “Once Remus had escaped, I turned my attention to tracking down Peter. He could have been anywhere, of course, and I wanted to check that you were safe, Neville, so I paid you a visit in Huddlesby. I apologize for spooking you and your Gran like that. I foolishly allowed myself to be seen. But the greatest likelihood was that Peter was still at Hogwarts. So I applied for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. I’m not really cut out to be a teacher, that much must be obvious after a year, but it was the only way to get into the castle. What with the curse on the job, I was bound to get it; nobody else wants it.

“As soon as I was settled in, Remus moved into the Shrieking Shack here. It’s not much, but he’s had a roof over his head and has been safe. No one can get in except through the tunnel and not many know about it. Here I could keep him supplied with food and Wolfsbane potion when he needed it. I’ve been mixing it up in my room all year using supplies I’ve nicked from Snape’s stores. That night you saw me by the Whomping Willow, Neville, I’d just come back from seeing him.

“But I couldn’t find any trace of Peter anywhere. I’d been hoping to find our map, of course, but it had gone missing. When I found out you had it, Harry, I was shocked and I’m sorry if I was hard on you. Of all the places it could turn up, I hadn’t expected that. At last I had the chance to go after Peter.”

“But there’s no Peter Pettigrew on the map,” pointed out Ron. “The label says Scabbers.”

“Of course it does!” exclaimed Black. “Don’t you see? The map never shows animals, it only shows humans and other beings, that’s how we made it. You can’t change that. But changing a name, that’s a simple matter. At some point in the last few years, Peter must have got hold of the map and altered it so his name would show up as Scabbers. Only a Marauder could do that; only we know how the map works. It had to be Peter!

“When I got the map, Peter went and did a runner again; he knew I was after him. I thought we’d lost him for good this time. But now here he’s come, right into our lap!”

There was a long pause after Black finished his tale. Everyone stood or sat silently, wondering what was going to happen next. Neville studied the faces of Black and Lupin. In spite of his fear, he found himself believing them. Black’s face was earnest and open, willing to be believed. But Lupin’s face was raw and bleak and filled with a lifetime of sadness and pain that could not be faked. For so many months he had built up an image of this man and now he was confronted with a reality that was so different from that picture. Could he really have been so wrong about Lupin? Behind the wolf, was there truly an honest man?

It was Hermione who spoke up at last with the voice of reason. “That’s quite a story, Professor Black. But can you prove it?”

“Yes I can, Hermione,” replied Black, “if Harry will allow me to take back my wand.” Slowly, uncertainly, Harry handed back the wand. Neville saw that Hermione’s hand was on her own wand, just in case.

Black turned to Ron and held out his hand. “Give me the rat, Ron,” he said calmly. “Let us bring the traitor out into the light.”

Ron hesitated, still holding Scabbers tightly in his hand, still trying to take in all that Black had just said. Black remained calm, with his hand outstretched, waiting for Ron. All was silent inside the Shrieking Shack, everyone waiting to see what would happen. Reluctantly but inevitably, Ron offered up his rat.

Scabbers desperately tried to make one last break for freedom, but Black seized upon the rat, gripping it sharply between his fingers. “Remus, would you do the honours?” he asked, passing Lupin his wand. Black pinned the rat to the wooden floor of the shack while Lupin raised the wand and pointed it at Scabbers. Suddenly the rat began to grow and morph, just as the dog had done a few minutes before. Black’s hands were thrown back as the form outgrew his grasp. In an instant, the shape had resolved itself into that of a man, hunched on all fours on the floor.

He was short, with a pasty round face and small, squinting eyes. His hairline was receding atop his head. His clothes were filthy and his fingernails, Neville could see, were black with dirt. As he raised his head, he wrinkled his nose slightly and Neville got the curious impression that he looked as much like a rat now as he did before.

He immediately tried to bolt for the hole by where Neville was standing, but Black grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back. “Welcome back, Peter,” he said without a trace of warmth. “So nice of you to join us at last.” Neville looked across at Ron. His face was a picture of horror. Neville though of how much Ron had cared for Scabbers. He couldn’t imagine what he was thinking now.

Black and Lupin forced Pettigrew into the chair Lupin had just vacated and, taking back his wand, Black conjured ropes which bound Pettigrew tightly to the chair. The rat-man struggled feebly, with a pitiful, pathetic look on his face. “Sirius, Remus, look, I can explain…” he whimpered.

“Can you, Peter?” snapped Black, jabbing his wand into Pettigrew’s forehead. “Can you really? What could you possibly say?”

Pettigrew flinched. “I-I had to. I had no choice. Please, Sirius…”

“No choice?” bellowed Black furiously. “No choice? There’s always a choice, Peter. Only a coward pretends otherwise. Is that how you’ve slept at night for twelve years? All those crimes, all that suffering, it doesn’t matter because you had no CHOICE?” He seemed ready to bore his wand in Pettigrew’s skull, but Lupin laid a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

“Let me talk to him,” he said gently. There seemed no anger in his voice, but there was a steady determination. Black relented and stepped back to allow Lupin to stand in front of Pettigrew. For the first few seconds Lupin said nothing but merely stared into Pettigrew’s eyes. Pettigrew could not bear to hold his cold stare for long and quickly looked away. Finally, Lupin spoke. “How did You-Know-Who find you, Peter?”

Pettigrew kept his head turned away. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking…”

Lupin moved to meet his eye again. “How, Peter?” he repeated calmly.

The calm focus of Lupin seemed to unnerve Pettigrew completely and he collapsed into pitiful sobbing. “Two Death Eaters broke into my house one night,” he mumbled between the sobs. “They knew where I lived. They dragged me before him. He offered me my life, Remus. All he wanted was information. Don’t you see, Remus? He tortured me. He would have kept torturing me until I was dead. The pain, Remus, you couldn’t imagine the pain.”

“Don’t speak to me of pain, Peter,” said Remus calmly and flatly. “You can’t teach me the first thing about pain. Do you know how painful it is to have your flesh rip apart once a month to release the wolf inside you? Do you know how painful it is to wake up in the morning not knowing what damage you’ve done, and to whom? How painful it is to be betrayed by your friend and abandoned by everyone you know? How painful it is to endure twelve years in Azkaban, with only darkness and despair around and within you, hoping only that death will release you from your plight? Don’t talk to me about pain, Peter. You have no right.”

Pettigrew fell silent and did not reply. Lupin continued. “So you bought your life with information. But that wasn’t enough, was it Peter? You-Know-Who wanted more, and you were only too happy to oblige. You became his servant, his spy, and one by one our comrades began to fall.” Pettigrew did not contradict Lupin’s words. “And then came Frank and Alice. What happened there, Peter? Why the elaborate charade, and what happened after I had gone?”

“The Dark Lord summoned me,” replied Pettigrew thickly. “He said he had determined that the Longbottoms must die, and that he must do the deed personally. He knew they were in hiding, and that there were defences set up by the Order. He ordered me to break down those defences, and I said I would find a way to lure away the guard. Don’t you see, I saved your life, Remus. If he had come with you still there, he would have killed you, and any of the Order you summoned to help. None of you could defeat him. I lured you away, removed the warning charms on the house and summoned the Dark Lord. And then I left, I swear. I don’t know what happened in that house. I didn’t find out the Dark Lord was gone until later.”

“You’re still trying to squirm your way out of this, aren’t you Peter?” said Lupin. “Your chivalry in saving my life doesn’t wash. Why didn’t you ask Dumbledore if you could join the guard duty then await your turn before calling You-Know-Who? Because that would have instantly blown your cover. You needed a fall guy; someone to take the blame, someone you knew would trust you enough to tell you when it was his turn to guard. Someone like me. And then when I came after you, with your master gone, you faked your death to ensure I was the one who went to Azkaban in your place. Perhaps it would have been kinder if I had been killed, Peter.

“And so for twelve years you’ve lived as a rat, hiding yourself away. You wheedled your way into an innocent family, and waited for your master’s return. It must have been quite a shock when Ron here came into possession of our map. Your secret was nearly out. So you made sure you doctored the map to cover your tracks, didn’t you?”

Pettigrew nodded feebly. “In his first year. I borrowed his wand while he slept.” He turned his head towards Ron. “I was a good rat though, wasn’t I? I never hurt you, never did anything to you. But I had to hide somewhere.” Ron, still nursing his injured leg, refused to even look at Pettigrew.

“Then you ran away last summer to avoid Sirius,” continued Lupin, ignoring Pettigrew’s comment. “You knew you’d be recognised if Ron turned up at Sirius’ home with you. But we found out anyway. It’s taken us months to run you to ground. For months I’ve waited for this moment. Do you have nothing else to say, Peter?”

Pettigrew’s head was bowed, he would not look up. “I had to,” he murmured, as if they were the only words he knew how to say. “I’m sorry, but I had to.”

“You’re SORRY?” exploded Black, who had been pacing up and down behind Lupin, his impatience and anger visibly building. “You have the nerve to sit there and say you’re sorry? Frank and Alice, dead. The McKinnons, all dead. Edgar Bones, dead. Those eleven Muggles you never even gave a second thought about, all dead. All by your actions, your treachery. Can you say sorry to them? Can you? Look,” he shouted, pointing at Neville, “there’s Frank and Alice’s son, right there. The boy whose parents you took away. The boy you tried to help kill. I dare you to apologise to him. I DARE YOU!”

Pettigrew only remained silent, his head down. “Remus, get out of the way. It’s time,” said Sirius darkly.

Lupin stood to one side. “He’s all yours, Sirius. Do it.”

Black stood over Pettigrew and levelled his wand at the man’s head. “Peter Pettigrew,” he said, “you have confessed to the crimes of treachery towards your fellow wizards, betrayal of your friends, and murder of innocent men and women. The penalty for these crimes is death. Do you have any last words?”

There was a shocked silence around the shack, no one moved or spoke, no one hardly dared to breathe. Neville could tell by the tone of Black’s voice that he meant exactly what he said. Pettigrew knew it too and began to shake with fear, tears trickling down his cheeks. “Sirius, Sirius, no you wouldn’t. Not after all we’ve been through together. Not in front of the children, surely.” He struggled feebly in the bonds tying him to the chair and his eyes darted around the room, looking at each of the people there for a way out. “Remus, Remus, you wouldn’t let him, you’re too good, you’re too noble,” he pleaded. Lupin turned away silently.

Pettigrew continued round the room. “Ron, I was your pet all those years. Doesn’t that count for anything? Hermione, you wouldn’t watch a man die, would you? Harry, for the sake of your father, don’t let his best friend be killed.” None of them said anything. “Neville, please show mercy, please. They’ll listen to you. What would your parents have done? Please, I don’t want to die.”

Neville studied the face of his parents’ betrayer. He had no idea what his parents would have done; he never knew them. This man was the reason why. It would be just to kill him, surely. It was what he deserved. One death for another.

“Enough,” said Black. “The four of you can go; you don’t have to stay to watch. Go straight back to the castle. I’ll meet you there when it’s done. Go on, go.”

“No,” said Neville suddenly. “Don’t do it.” Everyone stopped to look at him. The words had almost sprung from his mouth unbidden, but the longer they hung in the air, the more he was convinced they were right. “Don’t kill him. Let him live.”

“Neville,” said Black, not lowering his wand, “he deserves to die.”

“Maybe,” replied Neville, “but no more death, please, no more. Enough people have died already. What will happen to you if you kill him? Look, we’ll take him back with us. They’ll put him on trial, make him tell the truth. That way Mr Lupin will be free. Isn’t that better?”

Black hesitated for a moment, gazing at Neville. Then slowly he lowered his wand. “Okay, Neville, it is your right to decide. We’ll take him back with us. You owe Neville your life today, Peter. Don’t forget that.”

“Thank you,” grovelled Pettigrew to Neville.

“Shut up,” said Neville, disgusted. “If Mr Lupin’s right about Azkaban, I may not have done you a favour.”

“Maybe they’ll give you my old cell, Peter,” added Lupin. “The Dementors will be missing a soul to feast on.” Pettigrew gave no reaction.

Everybody got ready to leave the Shrieking Shack together. Lupin borrowed Hermione’s wand to conjure a rudimentary splint for Ron’s leg, and Harry and Hermione together supported Ron on their shoulders. “Sorry about that,” apologised Black. “It was the only way to get to the rat and besides, if you’d lain where you were any longer the Whomping Willow would have flattened you.”

Black unbound Pettigrew from the chair and held him at wandpoint, at the rear of the group as they left. Harry, Ron and Hermione went in the middle, and Lupin led the way with Neville. “It feels odd to leave the place,” said Lupin to Neville. “This has been my home now for months. It’s always been a part of me. It was my howls that gave the place its name, all those years ago. But it’ll be good to breathe the open air again.”

He put a hand on Neville’s shoulder as they ducked into the narrow tunnel. “You know, you sounded just like your mother back there,” he said.

Neville looked up at him in surprise. “Did you know my parents well?” he asked.

“Not as well as I might have hoped,” answered Lupin, “it was tough times, and we really didn’t have much time for friendships. Besides, they were really more part of Moody’s crowd. But they were good people, fierce fighters, and had an incredibly strong sense of justice, I know that. They would have done the same thing, I’m sure.

“I won’t say I’m happy to have him still alive, but you’re right, I can be free now. It’s been so long, I’ve almost forgotten what freedom is. The world won’t welcome me back with open arms, I know, I’m still what I am, but I have a chance to start again. Thank you, Neville.”

The low ceiling in the tunnel meant Lupin had to crawl on all fours for much of the way, and Neville had to help him occasionally when he slipped or stumbled. He was tired and physically weak, but not too proud to accept help. Neville found himself rather admiring the uncomplaining persistence of the man, and almost felt angry with himself for fearing and hating him for so long. He knew it was going to take a long time to come to terms with what he had learned in the last hour. But one thing he had learned was how important the truth was to him, and he vowed never to let the truth about anything be hidden from him again, so long as he could help it. He was all too aware of how painful it was not to know.

He looked forward to Pettigrew’s day in court, to Lupin’s exoneration, so the world would finally be set to rights again and the ghosts of his past could be laid to rest. The weight that had oppressed him for the last year now felt lifted and he felt for the first time in long while that he could actually be happy again.

When they reached the base of the Whomping Willow, Lupin went ahead of Neville and touched a knot on the tree’s trunk as he climbed out which, he said, would stop it attacking. He helped Neville up out of the hole. Neville was at first surprised that it was now dark; the sun must have fully set while they were in the Shrieking Shack and now the stars were out, shining brightly between the clouds in the night sky. A warm gentle breeze was blowing through the branches of the willow.

Ron was the next to emerge, flanked by Harry and Hermione. They let him rest at the foot of the tree for a moment, while they waited for Black and Pettigrew. They arrived a few seconds later, Pettigrew first, Black with his wand at Pettigrew’s back. Lupin grabbed hold of his arm roughly to make sure he didn’t try to run. Pettigrew looked despondent and didn’t try to struggle.

“Is everyone all right?” asked Black. “Let’s get going. Keep a hold on him, Remus.” But they had barely begun to move when there was a fresh gust of wind at their back. Behind them the clouds parted and Neville saw a shaft of light reflect off Lupin’s face. He looked back to see what it was. Poking above the high mountains, now revealed between the wispy clouds, the moon was rising. It took a moment for Neville to register the horrible truth. The moon was full.

Lupin turned his pale face into the moonlight. “No,” he cried, “no, not right now, not now. Please not now.” Neville saw Lupin’s skin beginning to bleach in the light. He dropped his grip on Pettigrew’s arm and his hands went up to his face, feeling for the growth of hair. A visible spasm of pain shot through his body.

Black ran to his friend’s side. “Moony, Moony, hold on,” he urged. “Look at me, hold on. Have you taken enough Wolfsbane? Can you keep control?”

“I…don’t…know,” gasped Lupin, his face contorted into a grimace. The Wolfsbane potion kept the sufferer in charge of themselves, but only if enough had been taken in the time leading up the full moon. It did not stop the transformation, nor dull the terrible pain. Lupin doubled up clutching his chest and let out a terrible scream.

Then suddenly several things happened at once. Pettigrew, released from Lupin’s grasp, swung a punch at the distracted Black. The punch was weak but Black was caught by surprise and went down, his wand slipping from his grasp. Pettigrew pounced for the wand, while Harry and Hermione struggled to draw theirs. Lupin, now on all fours, writhed in agony, his clothes splitting apart, fur growing on his body, his face contorting into its new shape. Neville stood rooted to the spot, unable to react quickly enough. But also he felt a familiar prickling on the back of his neck, a sense of approaching cold and dread.

Pettigrew, sprawling on the grass, raised Black’s wand at the same time as Harry and Hermione raised theirs. He fired a quick spell at Harry and the jet caught Harry in the shoulder. Harry tumbled backwards and fell away down a steep slope, disappearing into the darkness. But Hermione cried, “Expelliarmus!” and the wand sprang out of Pettigrew’s hand. Neville, backing away from the emerging werewolf, looked behind him to confirm what he knew he would see. Across the Hogwarts grounds, the Dementors were coming.

Pettigrew didn’t wait for Hermione’s next spell. He set off at a run down the hill, his body shrinking as he went. By the time he passed by Ron, who was still unable to stand, he was a rat once more.

Black was just regaining his feet, it had all happened so fast. The now fully transformed werewolf was curled up on the ground, whimpering. Black staggered over to it. “Moony?” he said. “Moony, are you there?” The werewolf looked up and struggled up onto all fours. For a moment Neville thought it was about to spring on Black, but it just looked into his eyes and nodded its head. The Wolfsbane had worked.

“Professor, look!” yelled Neville pointing behind him. Dementors, maybe a dozen of them, moving at incredible speed, were almost on top of the group. The hooded figures sensed their long-sought prey and would not discriminate between souls when there was a feast to be made.

Frantically, Black cast around for his wand. “Where’s Harry?” he cried in panic, seeing that he was missing.

“He fell,” answered Ron, trying desperately to pull himself up and raise his wand, though there was nothing he could do against the Dementors.

At last Black pulled up his wand out of the long grass. “Remus, go,” he cried to the werewolf. “Go after Peter. Don’t let him get away. I’ll protect the kids. Go!” The werewolf sprang away in the direction the rat had gone, its nose to the ground. Neville’s eyes darted between it and the approaching Dementors. Then all of a sudden, he broke and dashed off after Lupin.

“Neville, come back!” cried Hermione, but Neville didn’t listen. He wasn’t even thinking about what he was doing. It was an instinctive reaction. Was he running from the Dementors or running to help Lupin? He didn’t know. Probably a bit of both. It would be far too unfair if anything was to happen to Lupin now, and he certainly didn’t want Pettigrew to get away. He ran as fast as his short legs would let him, trying to keep up with the werewolf.

Behind him he heard Black shout, “Expecto Patronum!” and felt the flash of light at his back. He hoped they would be all right, but he didn’t stop to look back. Ahead of him the werewolf ran forward, its nose sniffing for a scent, down towards the lake. It reached the lake shore a little before Neville and began to cast about for its next move. In doing so, it saw Neville running up and stopped for a moment, apparently shocked to see him. Then just as Neville approached, it gave a series of loud howls that made Neville stop and back away for a moment, before he realised what Lupin was trying to tell him.

In his haste chasing after Lupin he had not noticed the cold descending on him once again. He looked round behind him. Coming along the shore of the lake towards him were dozens and dozens of Dementors, far more than he had ever seen before. This was the majority of those stationed at Hogwarts; only a few had stayed to harass Black, Hermione and Ron. The rest were come to claim their prize. They would not care about Lupin’s transformation; they were interested only in the soul, not the flesh.

They swarmed around and over Neville and Lupin, draining all warmth, chilling the heart. Neville looked at Lupin, and in the eyes of the wolf he thought he could see the fear and terror of the man. Few knew Dementors better than Remus Lupin. All hope and happiness that Neville had felt a few minutes before was gone, and the defiant last cries of his mother began to sound inside his head.

Those cries awakened his own defiance and he drew his wand. Aiming it wildly, he cried, “Expecto Patronum!” and as he did so, he thought of his parents, the fighters who would never give up. A ball of light bloomed from his wand, strong enough to cause the first three Dementors to hesitate, but all too soon it faded. It was actually the best Patronus Neville had ever cast, but it was far too weak to have much effect. The next Dementor swooped in over Neville and he slipped to the ground.

Next to him the werewolf clawed feebly at their attackers, but to no avail. They were overwhelmed. The Dementors, having prepared their victims, would now move in to feed. Neville knew what was coming: the Dementor’s Kiss, the sucking out of the victim’s soul. He knew it was considered a fate worse than death; for the Boy-Who-Lived, it would be one final irony. He cursed his stupidity in running after Lupin, and his incompetence that meant he could do nothing but lie there and share his fate.

A Dementor stood over him and threw back its hood, revealing the decaying flesh within. The world began to fade from in front of Neville’s eyes, and he hoped that the end would come swiftly. The Dementor leaned in.

Suddenly there was light, a bright, blinding light from across the lake, tearing into the darkness. With his last strength Neville turned his head to see the source. Dimly, hazily, down the shore of the lake, he saw a boy standing with an outstretched wand. The light was erupting, flowing forth from the wand, resolved in a vague shape something like an animal. “Harry!” Neville tried to shout, but his voice was too weak to be heard. “Harry!”

Neville saw Harry direct his wand and the animal sprang forward, the light flowing over the surface of the lake. The Dementors broke and scattered, and the light washed over Neville. He felt himself drowning in that light and as he slipped away, he kept his eyes on the dim, fading form of Harry, still with his wand out in front of him. Neville’s last thought was a silent offer of thanks to Harry the hero, before he gently slipped into unconsciousness.

Slowly, uncomfortably, Neville woke from a dark, dreamless sleep. He found himself lying on his back on a soft surface, and could hear voices heatedly arguing nearby. The whole situation seemed eerily familiar to Neville and it took him a few moments to ascertain where he was. He was in the hospital wing, exactly as he had been the last time he had been attacked by Dementors. A jumble of thoughts was cascading around his head, memories of the extraordinary events of the evening flooding through him, making him dizzy. He rubbed his temples and blinked several times before raising himself up to see what was going on.

The fierce argument was coming from three men standing in the centre of the room: Professor Black, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, and Professor Snape. Snape looked particularly furious; the snarl on his face was directed straight at Black. Hermione was standing close by, listening in, as was Ron, lying on the bed opposite Neville’s. Apart from them, no one else was in the room. None of them noticed Neville waking.

“You can’t, Minister,” Black was saying, a note of pleading in his angry voice. “It violates our whole system of justice. Now if you’d just listen to me…”

“I think we’ve done enough listening to Black and his fanciful theories, Minister,” said Snape.

“They’re not fanciful, they’re true,” interrupted Hermione forcefully. “We were there.”

“I think I know a preposterous concocted lie when I hear one, Miss Granger. Are we really supposed to believe you just stumbled on Lupin on the grounds? That he just happened to have with him one of his victims, who was not dead after all, and who has now fortuitously vanished? That all this somehow proves his innocence? I was under the impression you were considered intelligent.” Snape’s naked sarcasm was harsh and biting. “Your devotion to Black is commendable, if tragically and woefully misplaced. What I want to know is,” here Snape turned to eyeball Black directly, “when are you going to arrest Black for aiding and abetting a fugitive, Minister? I should have known he was helping his old friend all along. You don’t really believe, as he claims, that this was the first time he had met Lupin since his escape, do you? Who else could have been supplying Lupin with Wolfsbane potion, using materials from my stores, I’m certain?”

Black did not reply, and Ron and Hermione exchanged glances behind his back. Clearly Black had tried to conceal his involvement with Lupin from the authorities, though, it appeared, with limited success. But where’s Lupin, and where’s Harry? thought Neville.

At that moment Hermione glanced round and noticed Neville. “Neville, you’re awake,” she exclaimed happily, and ran to give him a big hug.

“H-how long have I been out?” asked Neville groggily.

“About twenty minutes or so,” answered Hermione. “Neville, you’ve got to tell them. Tell them Lupin’s innocent. They’ve captured him. The Minister wants to send for the Dementors, to do the Kiss.”

“What?” Neville sat bolt upright in his bed.

“Contrary to Professor Black’s assertion,” said Fudge flatly, “I am well within my rights to do so, in extraordinary circumstances. Lupin is a clear danger to the public and has demonstrated that we cannot hold him. The only option left for the safety of the community is the Dementor’s Kiss.”

“But he’s still a werewolf,” Ron objected.

“All the more reason to act now before he becomes violent,” Fudge countered. “The Dementor won’t mind.” Black looked like he was restraining the urge to punch Fudge in the face.

Neville voiced the other question that was worrying him. “Where’s Harry?”

“No one knows,” said Hermione. “He’s still missing; we couldn’t find him afterwards. I hope he’s all right.”

“But that’s impossible…” Neville muttered to himself, but no one heard him.

“I should be out there looking for him,” fretted Black.

“You’re staying right where you are,” said Snape. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until Lupin is dealt with and you’re arrested.”

Black rounded on his adversary furiously, any civility abandoned. “You’re really loving this, aren’t you Snivellus? You’re quite happy to leave Harry to die out there. He could be injured; there are still Dementors out there. If he dies, what a success this day would be for you. Harry and Remus gone, and me on my way to Azkaban. Is there anything more you want? Is your need for revenge satisfied, or would you prefer to kill me here and now?”

Before Snape could reply, the doors of the hospital wing swung open and Professor Dumbledore strode in. He wore a grave expression on his face and such was the command of his presence that everyone fell silent and looked towards him. He gazed around the room with his piercing blue eyes, and then gave a gentle nod of his head as if he understood all that had been going on in the room.

“Remus Lupin is secure in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom on the first floor,” he announced. “He has regained consciousness, but remains in his wolf form. He is clearly agitated, but apparently in control of his senses and has not been violent. His chains are more than sufficient for restraining him. Do you still intend to proceed with the Dementor’s Kiss, Minister?”

“Yes,” confirmed Fudge.

“Headmaster, can’t you stop it?” begged Black. “Surely you will believe the four of us, even if no one else will.”

“Such matters are out of my control, Sirius,” replied Dumbledore, with a sideways glance at Fudge. “The Minister will do as he sees fit.” Sirius looked stricken, and Hermione was horrified. Neville was struggling to come to terms with everything that was happening. The whole situation seemed to be spinning out of control.

“We’re wasting time,” said Fudge impatiently. “We should send Macnair for a Dementor immediately. Come on, Professor Snape, let’s go. Professor Black, you had better come with us for now.” Sullenly, Black left the hospital wing behind Fudge, a plaintive glance back at Dumbledore as he left. Snape followed behind Black, keeping a suspicious glare on his colleague in case Black tried anything.

“What was Snape doing here anyway?” Neville asked Hermione when the three of them had gone.

“He was on patrol at the entrance when the Dementors attacked, and came to help us,” explained Hermione. “He escorted us back to the castle, and it was he who found you and Lupin.” She turned back to Dumbledore, who had remained behind. “Professor, is there nothing we can do? He is innocent, we know he’s innocent. How can you stand by and do nothing? Doesn’t his side of the story at least deserve to be heard?”

Dumbledore peered shrewdly at Hermione, as if weighing something up in his mind. “Maybe it does, Miss Granger, maybe it does. However, the one thing we lack is time.” His emphasis on the last word caused Hermione to meet his gaze and give a little gasp. “You remember where Lupin is,” Dumbledore continued. “Retrieve your lost friends, and be sure not to be seen and to be back here in time. It is the only way you can hope to succeed. That is all I can offer, I’m afraid.”

He gave an enigmatic smile, and turned to leave. When he reached the door, he paused and glanced back. “Oh, three turns would be my recommendation, Miss Granger. Be seeing you.” With that, he stepped through the door and closed it behind him, leaving Neville, Hermione and Ron alone in the room.

“Is it me, or has Dumbledore completely lost it?” asked Ron.

Hermione ignored him, and looked at her watch. “Twenty-four minutes to midnight,” she said, reaching for a thin chain around her neck and pulling it over her head. “Remember that, Neville.”

“What?” said Neville, as Hermione pulled Neville off the bed to his feet and looped the long chain over his head and back over hers. Attached to the chain was an odd-looking pendant in the shape of a small hourglass.

“Sorry you can’t come with us, Ron,” said Hermione, “but you’d never get anywhere on that leg. It’ll have to be just Neville and me. Don’t be alarmed by what you see.” She lifted up the tiny hourglass and carefully turned it over three times.

The whole world began to blur in front of Neville’s eyes, as if he had been swept up in a tornado or a tidal wave, but he himself was not moving. The whole sensation was horribly dizzying and he thought he was going to faint. When it stopped, as suddenly as it began, he blinked hard several times and put his hand out to steady himself on the bed.

It was then he discovered it wasn’t there. He stumbled and Hermione had to grab him by the arm to stop him sprawling on the stone floor. He looked around in confusion. They were no longer in the hospital wing, but in a dark, empty room covered in dust. A few old desks and tables were dotted about the room. “What just happened?” he said, bemused. “Where are we?”

“In classroom one on the ground floor, just off the Entrance Hall,” answered Hermione. “Here, let me get this chain off you before you garrotte yourself.” She lifted it from around Neville’s neck. “Now listen carefully, Neville, because this is very important and we don’t have a lot of time. Do you know what this is?” She held up the hourglass on the end of the chain. Neville shook his head. “It’s called a Time-Turner, Neville. Have you heard of them?”

“No.”

“The Ministry keeps a tight rein on them. McGonagall arranged for me to have one at the beginning of the year, so I could make it to all my lessons. Neville, this device rewinds time. For each turn of the hourglass, it takes the user one hour back in time.”

“Hang on, are you seriously telling me we’ve time travelled into the past?”

“Three hours into the past to be precise. It’s now twenty-three minutes to nine this evening. Look.” She went over to the windows and threw back one of the shutters. Sunlight filtered into the abandoned classroom.

Neville was astonished. “Blimey. So that’s what Dumbledore was talking about? He wanted us to go back in time and change the past?”

“Not exactly,” replied Hermione. “Strictly speaking you can’t change the past, you can only become the past and work within it to achieve your objectives.”

“Come again?” This was beginning to go right over Neville’s head.

“It’s fairly simple. The theory is, we each have memories of the last three hours, and time will follow the path of those memories again, to preserve causality. However, we do have free rein to act in a manner that does not contradict what we already know. The problem comes if we attempt to interact with our past selves, either deliberately or accidentally, in such a way as we do not recall happening. In those cases, although time records the events as having occurred with our new participation in them, the psychological effect on us would be potentially catastrophic as our minds attempt to reconcile contradictory memories of the same time period. For that reason, it is absolutely vital that we are not seen by our past selves or by anyone else we have had contact with in the last three hours. Do you understand?”

Neville had in fact followed Hermione’s explanation only as far as the word “simple”, but for the sake of a quiet life just nodded and hoped that would be enough. “Good,” said Hermione. “Let’s go.”

“Go? Go where? What exactly is it we’re supposed to do?” asked a bewildered Neville.

“Rescue Lupin of course,” replied Hermione. “We’ll work out the details of how as we go. Come on.” She dashed out of the classroom. Neville suspected she had no more clue of what she was doing than he did, but having no other option, chased off after her. They ran into the Entrance Hall and out of the great oak front doors into the grounds. All was quiet and no one was around. Hermione ran on and Neville struggled to keep up.

She seemed to be making for the Whomping Willow and Neville wondered what her plan was. But when she reached the point where she would have to leave the path, she stopped and stared off down the hill towards the front gate. Neville caught up with her and followed her gaze. She was looking down to Hagrid’s hut, nestled against the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Chained up to a post outside the hut was Buckbeak the hippogriff, still very much alive.

“They haven’t killed him yet,” said Hermione. “We must still be inside.”

“You mean to say I’m in that hut right now with Hagrid and the rest of you?” said Neville. “This is just far too weird.”

But Hermione wasn’t listening. Her brow was furrowed; she was evidently thinking something over. Then she suddenly exclaimed, “Of course! Remember what Dumbledore said: ‘Retrieve your lost friends’. We can save Buckbeak as well. Maybe we can even use him to help Lupin escape. Come on.” Before Neville could protest, Hermione had set off again and he was forced to follow. He seemed to have spent most of this never-ending day chasing after someone or other. When would it end?

They reached the hut, but Hermione hesitated as she approached the silver-grey hippogriff. Neville didn’t blame her, the creature was huge, but Hermione seemed to be thinking of something else. After a moment, she backed off and led Neville behind a tree on the edge of the forest to hide. “What’s going on? Why don’t you get on with it?” demanded Neville.

“We can’t. When Fudge comes down here in a few minutes with the executioner, he has to see that Buckbeak’s still here. We have to see him still here as well when we leave the hut. That’s what happened last time. Once Fudge is inside and we’ve gone, we can take Buckbeak without getting Hagrid into trouble or changing the past.” Neville felt his brain twisting in knots trying to understand the logic, but he trusted Hermione knew what she was doing.

They waited a short while behind the tree until they saw Fudge, Dumbledore and the executioner with the axe approaching. It was quite a shock for Neville when he then saw himself emerging from the back door of the hut, along with Harry, Ron and another Hermione. Ron was carrying Scabbers in his hand and Neville had a momentary shiver when he realised who that was. But there was nothing he could do but remain hidden as the adults entered Hagrid’s hut and his past self followed his friends away back up the path.

Seeing the coast was clear, Hermione left her hiding place and approached Buckbeak. She bowed low to the hippogriff, and then cautiously undid the chain from the post. Neville could hear voices coming from inside the hut and urged Hermione to hurry before they finished talking and came out to perform the execution. Buckbeak was a stubborn animal however, and it took a great deal of coaxing by Hermione before the hippogriff would allow itself to be led away into the trees.

Barely had it done so when the door of Hagrid’s hut swung open and Fudge, Dumbledore, Hagrid and the executioner emerged. As Neville walked off with Hermione and Buckbeak into the forest, behind he could hear cries of bewilderment and fury as the hapless Minister tried to understand how a hippogriff he had seen moments earlier had vanished into thin air.

Hermione led Buckbeak along the edge of the forest, in the direction of the Whomping Willow, which stood a little out from the forest on a small outcrop. She found a clearing where she let Buckbeak run free. “What now?” asked Neville as he caught up with her.

“Well, we’ve all gone inside the willow out there by now,” she replied, pointing up to the lone tree, and indeed no one was there. “So there’s nothing left to do now but wait until everyone comes out.”

“Good,” said Neville, sitting down on a rock. Something had been building in him for some time, and he needed to get it off his chest. “We need to take a break for a bit,” he added. “This is going way too fast for me. I can’t go on.”

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Hermione. “You can’t give up. Don’t you want to save Lupin?”

“Of course I do,” said Neville. “But look at this. Look at all this. Werewolves and Animagi and Time-Turners and Dementors. Desperate rescues and heroic escapes. You know me, Hermione. This isn’t me. I shouldn’t be here. This isn’t me.” He buried his head in his hands. There, he’d said it. Whatever Hermione would think of him, it had to be said.

Hermione sympathetically sat down next to him. “Yes it is,” she tried to reassure him. “Come on. You’ve faced You-Know-Who. You’ve fought a basilisk.”

“Yes, but those things weren’t really me,” Neville countered. “They were some other legendary hero called the Boy-Who-Lived, who everybody is obsessed with. Don’t you see what I’m trying to say? I’m just Neville, the dumb useless kid who sits quietly in a corner. I don’t belong here. There’s this other part of me, the Marauder side I called it, the Boy-Who-Lived side. He’s the one who gets dragged into adventures, because he has the scar; he’s the one You-Know-Who wanted to kill. I’m just Neville.

“When we went after the Philosopher’s Stone, it was your idea and Harry and Ron did most of the work. Besides, I didn’t know You-Know-Who was waiting at the end. Last year, it was Harry who led the way into the Chamber, and it was Ginny who was prepared to stand up to Riddle and the basilisk. The sword of Gryffindor came to her. I’m not a true Gryffindor. I’m not brave. I just don’t run away fast enough.”

Hermione looked shocked at Neville’s outburst, but tried to conceal it. “You’re too hard on yourself, Neville. You didn’t have to go after the Stone, you chose to. It was you who actually killed the basilisk and destroyed the diary. It takes a Gryffindor to do that, surely.”

“Even so, what about all this?” replied Neville. “Why do I belong here? It was only because of Harry and Black, and Lupin’s connection to my parents, that I got mixed up in all this. Now because of you and Dumbledore, I’m out here reliving the past, on this crazy rescue mission. I didn’t choose to be involved, I just had to be because of this stupid scar. I can’t be a hero. I can’t be like Harry.”

“Harry?”

Neville nodded. “Did you see what happened down by the lake with me and Lupin and the Dementors?”

“No. We saw the Dementors leave, but we didn’t know what drove them off. We didn’t want to stop to find out.”

“It was Harry. I saw him. When the Dementors swarmed all over us, I tried to cast a Patronus, but of course I couldn’t. Then at the last moment I saw Harry down the shore. He cast a really powerful Patronus that scattered the Dementors. He’s the real hero. He must have recovered from his fall in time to save me.”

“But where did he go after that?” asked Hermione. “Nobody could find him afterwards.”

Suddenly Neville sprang to his feet as inspiration hit him. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “That’s where he went, he went with us! I mean, will go with us. When he falls, we can go to him, make sure he’s all right, and then take him to where he can cast the Patronus. After that, he can help us free Lupin. He’ll know what to do; it’s what he’s good at. It all makes sense.”

Hermione stood up and clapped Neville on the shoulder, feeling he needed some encouragement. “Brilliant, Neville! I think you’ve got it. We’re right on hand to help him after the fight. Dumbledore did say lost friends, plural. This must have been what else he meant.”

Neville felt relieved; the weight had been lifted from his shoulders. With Harry leading the way, he knew they would succeed. The liability of his own presence would no longer be an issue. He settled down to wait out the remaining time much more relaxed.

The last rays of the sun disappeared and the stars came out as night enveloped the Hogwarts grounds. Neville and Hermione sat patiently waiting from their vantage point in the forest clearing, watching the Whomping Willow, while behind them Buckbeak trotted around searching for food. Occasionally Neville thought he caught a glimpse of the first light of the full moon glinting over the tops of the mountains, a reminder of what was to come.

Suddenly Hermione gave a stifled cry and pointed. In the gloom, Neville could just make out the thin figure of Remus Lupin, his head and torso poking out from under the Whomping Willow. Neville saw him touch the knot on the trunk, before lifting himself fully out of the hole and reaching down to help the next person out. That next person was of course Neville himself, followed quickly by the rest of the party. Neville flinched when he saw Pettigrew emerge; he knew that soon he would escape, and there was nothing Neville could do about it.

Neville watched the scene unfold, just as he had remembered it. The clouds parted, revealing the moon. Lupin cried out in pain as he began to transform. Black rushed to help him, and Pettigrew swung his punch. Black went down, and Pettigrew dived on his wand, firing off his one desperate spell. The spell struck Harry, who was standing with his back to Neville and Hermione, in the shoulder and he fell backwards down a slope into the undergrowth, almost directly towards the two of them.

Neville and Hermione didn’t wait to see the rest of the scene play out, they rushed to where Harry had come to rest. He was sprawled out face down and wasn’t moving. Hermione got to him first and rolled him on to his back check how he was. Neville hurried up behind. “Is he badly hurt?” he panted. “What spell hit him?”

“I don’t know,” replied Hermione. “It can’t be a Stunning Spell, unless it didn’t work properly, because he’s still conscious. Look.” Neville leaned over Hermione’s shoulder to see that Harry’s head was moving slightly and his eyelids were flickering. He seemed barely aware of where he was. “Harry, Harry, can you hear me?” said Hermione. “Harry, say something.” Harry groaned and mumbled and tried to shift his body, but managed little more.

A familiar cold sense of dread fell on Neville; the Dementors were coming. “Come on, there’s no time, we’ve got to get him to the lake,” he said. Taking an arm each, they lifted Harry up and supported him on their shoulders, and began carrying him as fast as they could along the edge of the forest and down towards the lake. They did not have far to go, but the going was not easy as Harry was heavy and his feet dragged along the rough ground. Harry did not appear to have any broken bones, but he was bleeding in several places and was dazed and confused. “Wha- what’s happening?” he murmured weakly as they approached the lake shore.

In the distance, Neville could make out the mass of Dementors already bearing down on their prey. By the moonlight, he could just see shapes of himself and the werewolf, trapped, unable to run. He lifted Harry’s arm off his shoulder and Harry slipped backwards, unable to stand unaided. “Harry, Harry, we need you. You have to cast a Patronus, right now,” said Neville, glancing over his shoulder. They were running out of time.

“You…what…I’d don’t…” stumbled Harry, not comprehending.

Hermione crouched and allowed Harry to sit, supporting his back. “Neville, he’s in no condition to walk, let alone do magic. Just give him a moment.”

“We don’t have a moment!” Neville exclaimed, pointing down the lake shore. “I’m dying out there! He has to do it; he did it before. I saw him. Right in front of where we we’re standing. It’s the way it happened.” But as he looked down at Harry, he knew something was not right. He glanced behind and saw a brief flash of light: his own weak, desperate attempt at a Patronus that had failed.

Hermione made one last attempt to rouse Harry quickly. “Harry, come on, try to get up,” she urged, but to no avail. Then she looked up, because she thought Neville had said something. “What did you say, Neville?”

“I’m wrong,” repeated Neville quietly, seemingly to himself. “I was wrong. I’m always wrong; I should have known.” Suddenly, and before Hermione could react or say anything, he turned and rushed to the very edge of the lake, his wand drawn, pointed at the Dementors.

Neville thought of the boy he’d seen on this very spot. He thought of the Patronus the boy had cast, the animal-shaped light that he was certain now had not been a stag. He thought of the outline of the boy against that light: shorter and stockier than Harry. And he thought with joy that what he had seen was the impossible, that he had seen himself perform powerful magic far beyond his expectations. Happiness filled his heart at the realisation. For once he was not a failure, for once he would achieve something that was all his own. He would save himself, and Lupin.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Light poured from his wand in a wave, so fast and so strong that he was almost thrown backwards by the force. Quickly the light coalesced into an animal form, which Neville drove forwards across the lake towards the Dementors. The animal was a lion.

A Patronus is a symbol, unique to its caster. It represents that in which the caster places most trust, the one thing that the wizard feels most protects and guards them. More than any other magic, it shows that person, place or thing with which the wizard has the deepest connection. The silvery form of the lion of Gryffindor charged headlong into the Dementors, and they scattered and fled before it.

* * *

Neville bounced happily around the clearing as Hermione and Harry sought to bring Buckbeak under control once more. He paused every so often to flourish his wand and yell “Expecto Patronum!” once more. Each time he did so, it produced little more than a brief flash of light, no better than his previous attempts, but this did not seem to discourage Neville, or dampen his exuberance.

“You’re not going to get it to work again, Neville,” said Hermione. “You could only do it that one time because you already knew it was going to happen and could use that memory. It’s a classic predestination paradox.”

Neville wasn’t listening, though. He neither understood nor cared that his feat of magic was purely the result of a bizarre and convoluted quirk of time and causality. All he cared about was that he had done it. For one brief moment he had not been a weak, timid, poor excuse for a wizard. He was capable of better things. And if it had happened once, why not again?

It was now over a quarter of an hour since he had cast the Patronus. Harry had now largely recovered and Hermione had stopped his bleeding. He was able to stand, though he was still rather groggy, and a nasty bruise had sprouted on the top of his head which Hermione hadn’t noticed before. He had taken Hermione’s hasty explanation of what was going on remarkably easily in his stride.

Together they had returned to the clearing in the forest and had watched Snape come down from the castle to meet up with Black, Ron and Hermione and discover Lupin and Neville. Ron, Neville and the werewolf were placed on conjured stretchers; Snape insisting on binding Lupin to his. Then the group had all made their way back up to the castle, where no doubt they would be meeting up with Fudge and Dumbledore.

Now all Neville, Hermione and Harry had to do was rescue Lupin. Hermione rather baulked at Harry’s suggestion that they fly Buckbeak to the window of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, where Lupin would be held, to free him. Hermione did not like flying. Normally Neville would have objected as well, but at the moment he simply didn’t care; he was ready to do anything.

Buckbeak was remarkably compliant with Harry in charge and allowed the three teenagers to climb up onto his back. Hermione shifted uncomfortably and grabbed hold of Harry tightly, with Neville behind them. Remarkably, the hippogriff seemed to hardly feel or notice the heavy weight on his back and soared easily into the sky. As they rose above the forest, Neville’s head felt in the clouds already and for the first time in his life, he was just able to enjoy the pure sensation of flight.

Timing was of the essence at this point, and they hovered above the castle, waiting for the right moment, as the key players were gathering in the hospital wing, and Neville himself was awaking there. At that time Harry guided the hippogriff down in a gentle arc to the windows on the eastern side of Hogwarts. The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was only one floor above ground level, but they were still several feet above the ground as they located the correct window.

Trying desperately not to look down, Hermione drew her wand and said, “Alohomora.” The latch on the window sprang open and Harry precariously clambered in. Neville waited nervously to see what would happen. He heard what sounded like the snapping of chains and for a terrible moment Neville wondered what would happen if the Wolfsbane potion had worn off. He needn’t have worried however, for a moment later Harry appeared at the window with the werewolf.

There was brief confusion while they wondered how to get Lupin onto Buckbeak, but then to the surprise of them all the werewolf leapt out of the window and scrabbled vertically down the stone wall of the castle, showing amazing surefootedness and grip. Eventually he slipped and fell a fair distance to the ground, but though he landed on his side, he rolled over and stood up immediately, unharmed.

Hermione helped Harry back onto Buckbeak and they floated down to the ground. In a dark corner under the east wall they landed and dismounted from the hippogriff. Buckbeak was a little alarmed at the sight of the werewolf, but Harry soothed him. Neville and Hermione ran to Lupin; Hermione patted him on the back and ruffled his fur. The werewolf could not speak of course, but fixed Neville with a very human stare, a look of wonder and gratitude. “Goodbye, Mr Lupin,” said Neville. “Good luck.”

“Can you make it safely to the Forest from here?” asked Hermione. “Hide under the trees. We’ll get Professor Black to come find you in the morning.” The werewolf nodded, and then approached Buckbeak. The hippogriff proudly stood his ground, but the werewolf sunk onto his knees in front of him, its head bowed. Buckbeak acknowledged Lupin’s bow.

“I think they’ll go with each other,” said Harry. “Bye, Buckbeak. Look after him.” He let Buckbeak go and the hippogriff spread his wings and galloped off in the direction of the Forest, eventually taking to the air, a few feet off the ground. Below him scampered the werewolf, keeping pace with him at an impressive speed. The three friends watched them go, fading into the darkness. “I reckon they’ll be all right,” opined Harry.

Hermione looked at her watch. “Twenty-nine minutes past eleven,” she said. “Come on Neville, we’ve got to go. We’ve only got seven minutes left. We need to get back to the hospital wing. Harry, you’d best wait twenty minutes or so, then stagger in through the front door. Hopefully your injuries will be enough to convince everyone you’ve been knocked out all this time. See you later.”

Without waiting for a reply, she dragged Neville away and ran off around the castle towards the main doors. Neville gave Harry a quick wave goodbye and then dashed off in pursuit of Hermione. Hermione reached the great wooden doors first and paused to allow Neville to catch up. After checking the coast was clear, they slipped back inside and ran across the Entrance Hall to the main staircase. Leaping up the stairs two at a time, they ascended to the first floor.

Just as they were turning into the corridor to head for the hospital wing, they heard voices up ahead. Hermione dragged Neville into an empty classroom. Peering out from a crack in the door, they saw Fudge, Black and Snape pass, no doubt on their way from the hospital wing to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, to seal (or so they thought) Lupin’s fate. Neville and Hermione waited for them to pass, before leaving the classroom and rushing on towards the hospital wing.

As they turned the last corner, they heard Dumbledore ahead, saying, “Be seeing you.” As they rushed up, Dumbledore emerged through the hospital wing doors, and closed them behind him. He turned to greet Neville and Hermione. “And here you are,” he said, without a hint of surprise.

“We did it. He’s free,” exclaimed Hermione breathlessly.

“I would expect nothing less,” replied Dumbledore with a smile. “I advise rest. Time is on your side now. Goodnight.” He patted them both on the shoulder and calmly walked off down the corridor.

Neville and Hermione pushed open the door of the hospital wing and stepped inside. Ron looked up from his bed with a wide stare, his head twisting back and forth between them and a point just in front of him, like a spectator at a tennis match. “That was bloody weird,” he said.

The hour after Neville arrived back in the hospital wing was not a happy one for either Cornelius Fudge or Severus Snape. They found themselves at a total loss to explain how a chained werewolf had somehow escaped from a locked first floor room in only a few minutes, and had vanished without a trace. Snape unsurprisingly began throwing wild accusations about, even at Black, although he had been with Snape the whole time.

When Harry showed up, Snape turned his attentions to him, but Madam Pomfrey leapt to Harry’s defence, declaring his injuries such that he could not possibly have been running around freeing prisoners by himself. She quickly ushered him into the hospital wing as well to receive treatment.

Throughout the commotion, Dumbledore had remained quiet and unflustered, calmly pointing out simple, undeniable facts to the irate Fudge and Snape. He did however choose to forcibly make the point that, with Lupin gone, there was no further need for Dementors around his school. Fudge reluctantly had to accept this, but left in a very angry mood, and none too happy with Dumbledore.

Neville on the other hand was able to enjoy a peaceful night’s sleep in the hospital wing, along with Ron, Hermione and Harry. In fact, he slept through much of the morning as well, an effect of his internal body clock adjusting to the time travel, according to Hermione. When he awoke, the other three were already up and waiting for him. They barely had a few minutes to talk things over however when the door behind them opened and Dumbledore entered.

“Ah, good to see you all up at last,” he said with a smile. “Feeling better I trust, Harry?”

“Er, yes, thanks Professor,” replied Harry.

“Excellent,” said Dumbledore. “Professor McGonagall will be particularly relieved; she was most worried. I fear her concern may have been more for the welfare of her House’s star Quidditch player, but it was genuinely felt, I’m sure. I would like to speak with Neville alone for a few minutes, if that is all right.”

Hermione, Ron and Harry exchanged glances and nodded. “We need to find Sirius anyway,” added Harry. “We’ve got to tell him where… well, we’ve got something important to tell him.” The three of them departed, leaving Neville alone with Dumbledore.

Dumbledore peered long and hard at Neville over the top of his half-moon spectacles. Eventually he spoke. “Well Neville, I think you had better tell me everything that happened yesterday. And I mean everything.” Dutifully, Neville recounted the tale. It took a long time and Dumbledore listened in silence, not interrupting once until Neville had finished.

“Remarkable,” he said at last when the tale was over. “Quite remarkable. It appears I shall have to have a talk with yet another Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher about withholding information.”

“Professor Black was only doing what he thought he had to, sir. I hope he doesn’t get into too much trouble.”

“I understand,” said Dumbledore, “but I do wish he’d come to me last summer when he found out. Though, would I have believed him? Would anyone have been prepared to believe Remus’ innocence?”

“Why did you trust us, sir? When we told you he was innocent, you could have disbelieved us.”

“Ah, but by then I had seen Remus. I had looked into his face. The face of a werewolf does not lie. We have learned to master our human faces to conceal the truth at will, but a werewolf cannot do so. I looked at him and I saw only innocence, fear and frustration. It wasn’t enough to be sure, but the testimony of four people, including yourself who had no reason to care for Remus, was enough for me.”

Neville looked down at his feet. He felt uncomfortable asking his next question. “Sir, the Patronus I cast. Does it really mean I have powers I didn’t know about? I’ve never been able to do anything but the simplest magic, you know. Where did that power come from? Will I be able to do it again? What does it all mean?”

Dumbledore looked kindly on Neville. “I would say it means nothing, and also a great deal, Neville. The Patronus Charm, like most truly powerful magic, is a very emotional spell. It depends greatly on the mental state of the wizard. Yesterday, you were able to channel your pre-knowledge that you would overcome your previous limitations, that you would achieve a dream of yours. It put you in exactly the right state to cast the spell. Whether you can achieve that state again is impossible for me to say.

“Do not be so despondent, though,” continued Dumbledore, seeing Neville’s face. “Yes, I cannot say whether in time you will become a skilled wizard or not, Neville. But to me that is an irrelevant question. What matters about last night to me is what you did, not how you did it. You were instinctively prepared to risk yourself for the sake of someone you hardly knew, out of a sense of justice and right and wrong. That took a great deal of heart, and not a small amount of courage, Neville. Yes, courage, Neville. You may not see it in yourself, but it is there.

“I must confess I should have trusted the Sorting Hat more. Last year, when you told me the Sword of Gryffindor did not come to you in the Chamber of Secrets, but to your friend Ginny, I confess I briefly entertained doubts as to whether you were a true Gryffindor. I hid them so as not to worry you, but they were there all the same. I must offer you my profuse apologies. It is clear, not just from the form of your Patronus, but more importantly from the choices you made, that you are where you belong. I can say truly that your parents would have been most proud of you were they here today, but for reasons that would have nothing to do with you casting powerful magic. Rather because you were prepared to stand up for the truth and for your friends, despite the risks. That is what would have most pleased them.”

Neville turned his eyes away from Dumbledore. He always felt uncomfortable about accepting praise, especially from such a person as Dumbledore, and mention of his parents always affected him. Eventually, he said quietly, “Mr Lupin didn’t deserve to suffer any more. It’s not fair what happened to him. I wonder what’ll become of him?”

“I shall leave his fate in the capable hands of Professor Black,” answered Dumbledore. “He will have to stay in hiding of course, sadly. There’s no chance of me convincing the Minister of his innocence and it would be foolish to try. If only Pettigrew hadn’t escaped. We may all come to rue that in time.”

Neville had almost forgotten about Pettigrew. Now however something else that had slipped his mind forced its way back into that memory. “Sir, there’s something else that happened yesterday that I forgot about,” he said. He told Dumbledore about his strange encounter with Professor Trelawney, and her mysterious words. At the time he thought they were about Lupin, but now they had to be about Pettigrew. “Is Professor Trelawney really a Seer, Headmaster?”

“Not really, but she does have her moments,” replied Dumbledore with a smile. “Tell me exactly what she said, Neville. It may be very important.”

“I’m afraid I don’t remember it exactly, Professor. But there was definitely something about a servant returning the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord rising again. Then something about the end of the beginning; I didn’t really understand that bit. I’m sorry I can’t remember any more. Does it really mean You-Know-Who will return?”

“Lord Voldemort was always going to return sooner or later, Neville. All this means is that it will most likely be sooner. Pettigrew has nowhere else to go but back to his master and Voldemort is helpless without followers at present. We must be on our guard.” Dumbledore pondered for a moment. “The end of the beginning,” he mused. “An interesting phrase. I wonder…” There was silence in the room for some time. Neville felt all the elation he had felt at Dumbledore’s praise draining out of him, and old fears returning.

At last, Dumbledore said, “Well, thank you for the warning, Neville. I would not worry so much at present. We may yet have long years of peace ahead of us. But now I am keeping you from your friends. Go on, Neville. And if you happen to see Professor Black before me, tell him I wish to speak with him. Good morning.” He parted from Neville with a smile, but walked away with a very thoughtful manner.

As it happened, Neville did not get to see Black on his leaving the hospital wing, nor for the rest of the day. When he returned to Gryffindor Tower, he spoke with Harry, who informed him that he had told Black about the whereabouts of Lupin, and Black had left the castle immediately and not yet returned. They waited for him to return, but he did not, nor was he to be found the next morning, which was a Saturday, exactly a week before the departure of the Hogwarts Express at the end of the year. It was only at lunch in the Great Hall that one of the fifth-years mentioned over the Gryffindor table that he’d seen Black entering his office just minutes before.

So immediately after finishing eating, Neville, Hermione, Harry and Ron gathered together and hurried up to Black’s office to meet him. They were joined on the way by Fred and George, who insisted on coming along as well. Neville guessed Harry or Ron must have told them something about the Marauders for they looked very excited.

The six of them burst into Black’s office without warning, startling Black immensely. He was standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by boxes and various trunks and cases. “Harry!” he said brightly. “Come in, come in, all of you. Sorry about the mess.”

“Where have you been?” asked Harry. “How’s Lupin?” Black looked past him at Fred and George with a worried look on his face. “It’s all right, they know,” continued Harry, seeing Black’s expression. “I told them yesterday. You can trust them.”

Black smiled. “Of course you told them everything. You’re the Marauders. Remus is safe. A little shaken after everything that happened, but basically fine. I moved him into a place in London I have. Harry knows where I mean, but it’s probably best if that’s all I say. Your hippogriff’s there too. I had to stay a while to make sure he was all right, and then I went to see Dumbledore this morning.

Hermione looked around at the boxes. “Did Dumbledore sack you?” she asked.

“No, he didn’t,” answered Black, “although perhaps it would have been within his rights to do so. Actually I resigned.” The disappointed reactions of the six teenagers in front of him made him grin broadly. “Thank you, I can’t tell you what that means to me. But to be honest, I was never a great teacher and my heart wasn’t really in it.”

“You were a good teacher,” said Hermione. “Far better than either of the others we’ve had, although admittedly that’s not saying much. You really made the subject fun.”

“Yeah, and you let us get away with so much in class,” added Fred.

“Exactly,” said Black. “I don’t have proper teaching skills like discipline, and I never will. But that’s only one of several reasons I’m leaving. I’ve done what I came to do. I abused Dumbledore’s trust by taking the job under false pretences and it would be wrong to stay after that. And although Dumbledore smoothed things over and I won’t face charges of helping Lupin, I think Snape could make it very hard for me if I stayed. It wouldn’t take too much to persuade parents or the governors that I’m guilty; after all, I am. I couldn’t put Dumbledore through that; I owe him too much. Anyway, Dumbledore reckons he might be able to get someone good for next year.”

“What is it between you and Snape, Professor?” said Hermione. “I mean, he really seems to hate you over something in particular.”

Black’s smile turned rueful and he scratched the back of his neck. “There are quite a few things, but the main one is something rather stupid I did in the middle of my fifth year. We told you Remus would go down to the Shrieking Shack for his transformations and we went with him. Well, Snape was snooping around and being a pain, and I decided it would be a wheeze if I told him how to get through the Whomping Willow to the shack on a full moon. I didn’t think he’d go, but he did. James caught up with him and stopped him. Perhaps saved his life from the werewolf. I’m not proud of it, and I like to think I’ve grown up since then. But ever since, Snape has been convinced I tried to kill him, and he loathes me. Frankly though, I can’t say I care.”

Leaving everyone else to ponder on what he’d just said, Black turned to look among the boxes and the piles of papers and other assorted junk. Failing to find what he was searching for, he raised his wand and cried, “Accio map!” A sheet a parchment leapt up from under several others on his desk and flew to him. Black caught it and turned back to the others. “Since I won’t be needing it any more, I wanted you to have this back, Harry,” he said, handing it over.

Harry took the parchment. “The Marauder’s Map?” he exclaimed.

Black nodded. “It belongs to you now, and the Second Marauders.”

“So it is true!” said Fred, pushing forward in front of the others with George. “You were the original Padfoot? It’s an honour, Professor.” He shook Black’s hand reverently, as did George. “We owe so much to you,” added George. “You were our heroes.” Black laughed.

“Does this mean we’ve your blessing to continue the Marauders?” asked Fred.

“I would love it if you did. It would be good to know there’s still a place at Hogwarts for pranks and mischief-making. Make us proud.”

“Oh, we will,” grinned George. “So, now we know who the names belong to, what are we going to call ourselves now?”

“I still want to be Prongs,” said Harry. “It was my father’s name, and the stag’s my Patronus. I want to keep it. I think we should keep the same names.”

“Even Wormtail?” asked Ron.

There was an uncomfortable pause, before Black unexpectedly said, “Yes. I think since Pettigrew has forfeited his right to be in the Marauders, he has forfeited the name as well. But it’s up to you and I would understand if you don’t want to use it. Apart from Harry, the names don’t mean the same to you as they did to us.”

“I’ll take it,” declared George. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint the rest of you, and maybe we can make Wormtail a name to be proud of again.”

Fred patted his twin brother on the back. “You know, George, I know a great jinx that would give you exactly the right sort of tail if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” replied George and the twins both laughed. Fred reached out and took a corner of the map Harry was still holding and indicated that George and Ron should do the same.

“Moony,” said Fred.

“Wormtail,” continued George.

“Padfoot,” stated Ron.

“Prongs,” finished Harry.

“Marauders for ever,” declared the four of them in unison. Black was beaming, but Neville could swear he saw a tear in his eye.

“Take care of my name, Ron,” said Black. “Don’t do anything with it I wouldn’t do.”

“That doesn’t rule out much,” said Harry. Black roared with laughter and faked to punch Harry. “So what are you going to do now?” Harry added.

“Go back home, look after Remus and try to find another job, I suppose. I guess if the worst comes to the worst I could always make a career as a guide dog,” joked Black.

“What about Professor Burbage?”

Black stared at Harry at the mention of the name with his mouth half open. “When… how did you find out about that?”

“Oh come on, Sirius. It’s been obvious for weeks. I don’t know why you couldn’t tell me. Is it serious?”

“It’s always ‘serious’ with me,” he laughed. “In this case, that’s up to Charity. I’d like to keep seeing her, but that is another long talk I have to have.”

“Will you be staying for the leaving feast?” asked Neville.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * *

Black was as good as his word, and the leaving feast the next week was a good as ever, particularly for Neville as he had just learned he’d managed to pass his exams, including commendations in Herbology and Muggle Studies. However, there was one disappointment. Despite getting a ridiculously high mark, Hermione told him she was dropping Muggle Studies in order to lessen her workload. She was giving up the Time-Turner as it had become just too tiring for her to use. That meant that next year he would be taking a course with none of his friends for the first time. He looked up at the friendly Professor Burbage sitting next to Black at the teacher’s table and reflected on what an interesting couple they would make.

The next morning, just before Neville departed Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall handed him a sealed envelope, together with a note which read, Dear Neville, Please give this letter to your grandmother. It will explain everything to her and put her mind at ease. Enjoy your summer. Yours, Albus Dumbledore. Grateful that Gran would not be spending this summer keeping him under paranoid surveillance, Neville tucked the letter into his pocket.

Having sent his belongings on ahead, Black actually joined everyone on the Hogwarts Express for the journey to London, as he had done on the way to Hogwarts at the beginning of the year. The friends sat in the same carriage and talked over the remarkable year they’d had and what the future held in store, but Neville was thinking about his conversation with Dumbledore and the phrase the end of the beginning, and he was quiet and perturbed.

On Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters they made their farewells. Ron talked of meeting up over the summer. Neville shook Black’s hand and said, “Goodbye, Professor… I mean, Mr Black.”

“Sirius, Neville. If it’s the last thing I teach you, it’s to call me Sirius at last.”

“Goodbye Sirius, then,” said Neville.

“That’s better. And this isn’t goodbye anyway. We’ll see each other again soon, I expect. Enjoy your summer.”

And with that, Sirius turned and proudly strode off down the platform alongside Harry. His fine cloak was billowing in the draft created by the train and he was already talking and laughing heartily with his godson. Neville watched them go until they reached the barrier at the far end, stepped through, and vanished.

Hermione came up alongside Neville. “It’ll be strange without him around next year,” she said.

“It was strange with him around,” replied Neville. “I think that’s what made it so interesting.” He finished loading his trolley, said goodbye to Hermione, checked Trevor was still secure in his box, and left quietly in search of his Gran.