From his upstairs room in the old farmhouse on Preston Road, Neville Longbottom looked out of the window miserably at the pouring rain. Though he rarely went outside, Neville hated the rain. The damp and the gloom served only to depress him. It had been a largely wet summer and this experience had become quite common for him over the last month or so.
He turned away from the window and lay down on his bed. To his surprise he found that actually he was bored. It was a surprise to him not because he usually had a lot to do, he was never a very active person, but because boredom was not a feeling he generally experienced. He was quite used to being fairly dull and unenergetic, unlike most boys his age. Indeed, now he thought about it, this summer had been no different to the last one. He’d spent most of it helping Gran around the house, looking after Trevor and playing quietly alone in his room.
But this summer it seemed somehow different. Like something was missing. True his year preceding this summer had been a bit different from the last one. He had been accepted at Hogwarts, the world famous school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sorted into Gryffindor House, encountered a three-headed dog, a baby dragon and a centaur and confronted the murderer of his parents and prevented him returning to power. All in all, that was a remarkable and eventful year.
The thing was, for large parts he hadn’t enjoyed it one bit. He hated schoolwork, possessed next to no wizarding talent or ability, had endured a succession of injuries and mishaps, suffered at the hands of some of the more unpleasant of his schoolmates (not to mention some teachers), and been in a state of anxiety and terror for a great part of the year. He couldn’t possibly be missing that, or could he?
He lay there thinking about it for a while and came to the surprising conclusion that what he was missing was other people. Neville had lived most of his life in seclusion, insulated from the world by his concerned grandparents, on account of the pressures arising from his fame as the Boy-Who-Lived. Going to Hogwarts, surrounded by children of his own age, had been quite a shock to Neville. But he’d found a niche in Gryffindor, where most were amiable and gave him space. He’d even found a friend of sorts in the eager and earnest bookworm Hermione Granger.
At the end of the year they’d agreed to keep in touch over the summer, but Neville had received nothing from Hermione. He’d sent off one letter himself, but Elwin their owl had returned without a reply. He’d hoped for something on his twelfth birthday a few days ago, but nothing. Perhaps Hermione had forgotten about him or was having too much fun by herself. Still, Neville found he missed having someone to talk to, or even just to listen to, he was a poor talker.
As he lay on his bed feeling sorry for himself, suddenly he heard a curious “pop” sound, which seemed to have come from the direction of his wardrobe. He got up in surprise. The door of his wardrobe now started to shake violently then sprang open. A small figure sprawled out onto the floor. It picked itself up, dusted off the horribly dirty and tatty rag it was wearing, then looked straight up at Neville with wide, large eyes.
“Dobby most apologises for his entrance, sir,” it said. “He is not familiar with this place. It is not how he wished to meet the great Neville Longbottom.”
Neville was momentarily nonplussed at being called “great”, the last description he would use of himself. He looked down at the curious figure bobbing around his toes, its long ears flapping at the side of its head. “You’re a house-elf,” he said. “I’ve never met one before. We can’t afford one here.”
“Yes, sir. Dobby, sir,” said the house-elf with a weak kind of bow. He looked around the room worriedly. “Dobby has come to warn you, sir. You are in danger.”
“In danger from what?”
“I-I” Dobby stuttered, fell to his knees and bashed his head repeatedly against Neville’s bedpost. “Dobby can’t say,” he panted. “But you must not go to Hogwarts this year. Hogwarts is not safe. Not safe for anyone, sir.”
“Don’t keep calling me sir,” said Neville, a little embarrassed. “I’m not your master.”
“No,” said Dobby in a sad, disappointed tone. The mere thought however seemed to set him off again and he returned to headbutting the bedpost. Neville had to physically restrain him, which was a real struggle. Neville was confused. He didn’t know a lot about house-elves, only what Gran had told him. He knew they were employed as servants by the richer families, that they were fiercely loyal to those families and that they took little regard for themselves. He hadn’t heard they commonly liked to injure themselves and he certainly hadn’t heard about them appearing in wardrobes with dire warnings.
“Who is your family, then?” he asked. “I don’t know anyone with a house-elf.”
“Dobby cannot tell you, sir. Dobby must keep the secrets of his family. Dobby should not be here.”
“But you are here.” Neville was getting more and more bewildered by the minute. He was beginning to suspect this house-elf was completely off his rocker.
“Dobby had to warn you. Dobby had to stop you going to Hogwarts. Terrible things are planned. Dobby has admired your greatness for a long time, how you defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…”
“But I didn’t do anything, I was only one year old!”
“Ah, but you stopped him again just two months ago, Dobby hears. Dobby only wishes to protect you from those who would do you harm.” Neville tried to protest but it was hopeless. The house-elf was definitely barmy. Imagine thinking of him, Neville, as a hero! The idea was crazy. “So will you promise not to return to Hogwarts?” the house-elf continued.
“Of course not!” said Neville. “I’ve got to… well I’ve all my…” He trailed off. Why did he really want to go back, and how to explain it to a raving house-elf?
“But Neville Longbottom has no reason to go back to Hogwarts. Dobby knows he is alone there and no one writes to him.”
“Yes, but… hang on a moment, how do you know that no one writes to me?”
“Er… bad Dobby, bad Dobby,” said the house-elf and now picked up one of Neville’s shoes to hit himself with. Neville had to wrestle it off him. “Dobby must not lie, sir,” he continued. “Dobby thought if you didn’t get them, you might not want to go back.” He raised his hand and three letters appeared in it from nowhere.
“You stole my letters?” exclaimed Neville.
“Yes, from a Miss Her-me-own. Dobby thought it best, sir.”
“Give me those, please,” said Neville.
“Promise not to go to Hogwarts.”
Neville snapped in frustration. “OK, OK I promise,” he said. He didn’t mean it of course, but it seemed the only way to get the house-elf out of his hair. Dobby reluctantly handed over the letters.
“Dobby is truly sorry, sir. It is for the best.” Neville thrust the letters into his pocket. “Goodbye, sir and remember: Dobby will be watching.” With that the house-elf snapped his fingers and vanished with a loud “crack”. Neville breathed a sigh of relief.
Gran called up the stairs. “What’s all that noise, Neville?”
“Nothing Gran,” Neville said quickly. “Just, er, an owl delivering a letter for me.”
“A letter for you? Who’s writing to you?”
“A friend from school,” said Neville.
“Oh really?” said Gran and Neville heard her pounding up the stairs. Great, now she wants to stick her nose in, thought Neville. At least the house-elf’s gone. Gran entered the room and looked him up and down. “Who’s this friend, then? You never tell me anything about what you’ve been up to at school. Are they friendly? Are they good? I don’t want you getting mixed up in any sort of trouble.”
Neville had decided not to tell Gran about any of the events of the past year. It would only have worried her and made her act even more overly protective of him. “She’s called Hermione. She’s really clever, she helps me with me with my work. She’s a bit bossy but really nice.”
Gran seemed satisfied. “Well, you shouldn’t rely on someone else to do your work for you, but we all know you find it hard and at least you’re smart enough to find a good person to help you. What does she have to say for herself?”
Neville ripped open the last of the three letters he’d recovered from Dobby (he’d stuffed the other two in his pocket as Gran had come up) and began to read. Mostly it consisted of Hermione being worried about why Neville hadn’t replied to her previous letters, but there was a little bit more at the end…
“She’s inviting me to go visit her at the end of the summer,” said Neville excitedly. “She says it’s OK with her parents. Can I, Gran? Can I?”
“Hmm. Who are her parents? Do I know them?”
“No, they’re, er, Muggles,” said Neville. “They fix Muggles’ teeth, apparently.”
“Oh,” said Gran. “Well, I’m sure that’d be fine. You’d better send Elwin with a reply. They can receive owls, can they?”
“I think so,” said Neville. Thanks, Gran.” Gran nodded and left, and Neville went on to reading the other letters from Hermione and writing his reply.
Neville Longbottom and the Chamber of Secrets by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which Neville is alone all summer until a house-elf arrives with a mysterious warning.