The first few weeks of the school year passed by quietly and uneventfully, and Neville did not hear the strange voice again. But he had not forgotten it and the thought still sent shivers down his spine. Several times he had woken up sweating with the voice ringing in his ears. He didn’t know what thought was worse, that he had imagined it, or that he hadn’t. Either way, he decided, he wasn’t going to tell anyone about it, not even Hermione.
Neville decided to distract himself with his other main worry, work. Having, he felt, barely scraped through his first year exams, admittedly with an impending confrontation over the Philosopher’s Stone looming over him, now it seemed his classes had risen to whole new level of difficulty. Even with Hermione’s help, he was happy just to get passing marks in his assignments for most classes. In Potions, with the odious Professor Snape, he just kept his head down, turned a deaf ear to the withering criticisms that came his way and tried not to set fire to or explode anything. Mostly, he was successful. Snape, however, seemed to regard him even more as an insult to wizarding intelligence and took every opportunity to make this point.
The sad thing was, though he didn’t know it, under different circumstances he might well have quite liked Potions. After all, it provided a natural compliment to his favourite subject, Herbology. But it would have taken a person of far stronger constitution than Neville to stand up to the constant belittling and bullying of Snape and not have it rub off on him. He now took it for granted that he would always fail the subject, that he had no potion-making skills. Like a great deal of Neville’s assessment of himself, he was wrong, but it was not hard to see why he held that view.
As with last year, Neville spent most of his time alone or with Hermione in the common room, or in his own dormitory. After hearing the voice, he was even less inclined to wander the corridors of Hogwarts as the nights closed in. He was finding the common room a more comfortable place than he did last year, most people by now knew him well enough and didn’t pester him and gave him space if he wanted to sit and be quiet.
The one notable exception to this rule was the young boy with the camera, Colin Creevey. Colin, who never seemed to stop taking photographs, would hover around Neville incessantly in the common room, apparently waiting for the moment when his idol would do or say something extraordinary. Nothing Neville could say would dampen his enthusiasm. Neville had to admire his dedication, and he quite liked the kid really, after all Colin was somewhat out of place himself as well and was coping admirably. But there was only so much hassle he could take. He got into the habit of redirecting Colin in the direction of Harry and Ron, who always enjoyed sharing tales of their exploits, or Fred and George, who would invariably make up something outlandish.
As autumn drew on and Halloween approached, Neville had almost forgotten about the strange voice. Two days before Halloween, at the end of a long day, he found himself half nodding off over supper. Hermione shook him awake. “For goodness sake, Neville, what’s the matter with you?”
“I blame Binns,” said Neville with a yawn. “Does he want his class to fall asleep or what?” He finished the last of his meal. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He got up from the table and almost ran straight into Ginny Weasley, who was coming the other way. She looked quite flustered.
“Oh, er, hello, Neville Longbottom,” she said in an odd kind of way and hurried on past him before he had a chance to reply.
“That was a funny thing to say,” said Hermione quietly to Neville. Neville didn’t reply. He looked back and saw that Ginny was talking to Ron and Harry. Ron looked embarrassed and keen to be somewhere else, Harry was polite. “She’s an odd girl, that one,” continued Hermione.
“Everyone’s odd round here,” observed Neville. “Especially around me.” He had to admit, though, that Ginny was quite strange. Though, by all accounts, she was a popular and outgoing girl, she almost never spoke to him. She seemed to spend a lot of time hanging around her brothers, particularly Fred and George, which, Neville thought, couldn’t be good for her. He made a mental note to ask Colin Creevey about her next time he had the opportunity. He did this in the way he always made mental notes, by taking out his Remembrall and staring into it for a moment. It didn’t always help, but it had become a habit of his.
Neville and Hermione left the Great Hall. “Are you coming to the library?” Hermione asked. “There’s an essay due next Friday I need to start work on.”
“Fine,” said Neville and they ascended the staircases and passed along to the library entrance. Inside, Hermione got out some books and started to work. Neville, across from her, pretended to work himself, but really spent most of the time staring out of the window, watching the last rays of sun disappear behind the mountains, and wondering what the festivities for Halloween would be like that year.
“Neville, Neville are you listening?” Neville snapped out of his reverie. Hermione had a familiar disapproving look on her face. “Obviously not. Your parchment’s still blank.” She pointed her quill at it. “If you’re not going to do any work you might as well go back to the common room, rather than just taking up space here.”
Neville had to admit she had a point, the chances of him actually doing any work were practically non-existent. He collected up his things and left quietly. Outside the corridors of the castle were now largely quiet and he made his way alone through the castle. He paused for a moment to admire a great tapestry of some ancient wizarding conflict on one of the walls. Then something happened which made him freeze solid and sent his heart pounding in fear. He heard a voice.
“Attack.”
He looked around desperately but there was no one there. He couldn’t tell where the voice had come from, but it sounded close. He stayed rooted to the spot, not knowing whether to stay still or run, and in which direction.
“I smell blood. I will kill. I will kill…”
That time it sounded like it had come from just up ahead of him, almost from within the wall. He turned to run in the opposite direction, then stopped. Something terrible was going to happen to someone, he knew it, but from where the voice came from it did not sound like it was going to be him. What if someone was hurt? How could face himself knowing he had abandoned them, when he could have fetched help? Slowly, reluctantly, but quicker and quicker after a while, he moved in the direction of the cold voice.
He descended a flight of stairs and turned a corner. His shoes splashed on the stone floor. Neville looked down and saw that water was covering the floor. It had evidently poured out of one of the bathrooms here and was flowing thickly down the corridor, which was otherwise empty. Neville thought he saw a glint of something up ahead and splashed forward.
There, in the middle of the corridor, suspended in the air seven feet above the wet floor and slowly revolving, a small hairy creature floated, utterly rigid and motionless. Neville stared up in amazement, for he recognised it immediately. It was Mrs Norris, the ever watchful cat of Mr Filch the caretaker. Her yellow eyes were now blank and unblinking.
Neville took out his wand instinctively, though he didn’t have the first idea of how to undo whatever curse had been placed on the animal. For a moment as it turned he saw something reflected in the cat’s eyes on the wall behind him. He spun round and gasped. A message, written in what appeared to be a large quantity of blood, was daubed across the wall. In dripping bright red letters Neville read “THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS IS NOW OPEN. FLEE, MUDBLOODS, OR DIE.”
Neville stood reading the words over and over again, shocked and uncomprehending. Suddenly he heard a noise behind him and turned, wand still in hand. Draco Malfoy, of all people, with Crabbe and Goyle behind him, was staring open mouthed at the scene as Neville had done. “Short-arse? What are you doing?” he exclaimed.
“What, no, I…” Neville stammered, but was unable to finish the sentence. More students were arriving and reading the words. Neville just stayed in place, still clutching his wand, not knowing what to do. He heard a clatter behind him and turned. Colin Creevey, mouth forming a perfect O, had dropped his camera and was not making any attempt to pick it up again. Neville recalled that he was Muggle-born. He could only imagine what he was thinking.
Fred and George joined the crowd and for once they weren’t laughing. Nobody knew what to make of the message. Neville heard a voice behind everyone. “What’s going on? Clear off, the lot of you. Make way.” Filch himself burst through the crowd and surveyed the scene. “Mrs Norris? MRS NORRIS!” he screamed, and leapt pathetically in the air, trying to claw down his inert cat from the point it was floating just above his reach. “Who did this?”
Neville waited for a dozen fingers to be pointed in his direction. To his surprise none were, but he still felt horribly exposed. Filch continued to scrabble weakly in Mrs Norris’ direction. No one else moved. Now teachers were arriving: Flitwick and Sprout, and Snape with his expressionless face. At length a deep voice spoke into the silence. “Would all students please return to their dormitories immediately.” Everyone turned to see Dumbledore now standing there, reading the message with a pained look in his face. “The heads of houses please stay.”
Reluctantly everyone began to file away, led by prefects. Neville turned to go, but Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Neville, stay a moment.” He looked up and pointed his wand at the cat. It fell to earth and was caught by Filch who examined it.
“She’s dead!” he wailed, and sure enough Mrs Norris was still not moving.
“Here,” said Dumbledore and gently took the cat himself, holding it up to examine it through his spectacles. “She lives, Mr Filch,” he said at last. “She has been Petrified, that is all.” He turned to Neville. “Neville, am I right in saying that you were the first to find Mrs Norris?” Neville nodded. “Did you see anyone else around, anyone at all?” Dumbledore looked genuinely worried, which was enough to frighten Neville considerably.
“No sir. Sir, if I may ask, can you cure Mrs Norris?”
“The one cure for Petrification is draught taken from fully matured Mandrakes. Unfortunately they take many months to mature. Professor Sprout, will you take care of the arrangements?” Sprout nodded. Dumbledore looked up at the blood writing once more and with a dismissive voice pointed his wand and said “Tergeo”. The blood vanished. “Thank you Neville, you may go. Staff, would you come with me.”
Neville made to leave, then stopped. “Sir,” he said, “the message, should we be worried? I mean, are Muggle-borns really in danger?”
“I’m afraid we must take the warning very seriously, Neville,” replied Dumbledore gravely.
Neville didn’t stop any longer. “Hermione,” he said, and ran off.
* * *
“Slow down, Neville, you’re going too fast. Relax,” said Hermione. They were sitting in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, while all around students were discussing the events of earlier that evening. Occasionally one or two would stop to throw an odd glance in Neville’s direction. Hermione as it had turned out had been perfectly safe and still in the library. Neville had dragged her away protesting and now, once he had fully got his breath back, finished telling Hermione what had happened.
“But what does it mean? I’ve never heard of a Chamber of Secrets.”
“Neither have I,” replied Neville. “But I’m sure Dumbledore did and it definitely worried him.”
Hermione glanced at her watch. “If only the library wasn’t closed, I could go right down there now and start researching it,” she said disappointedly.
“No!” exclaimed Neville, more forcefully than he’d intended. Hermione was taken aback. “I mean, it’s not safe for you out there. I told you what the message said. And I definitely heard…” He trailed off.
“Heard what, Neville?” But Neville wouldn’t say, he didn’t want to appear crazy. “Don’t be silly, Neville,” Hermione continued. “I’m not staying in here all day just because of some threatening message. I’m sure Dumbledore and McGonagall and Lockhart and the other teachers are more than capable of protecting the school and all of us. It’s probably just some brain-dead Slytherin trying to scare people. Nobody’s been hurt.”
“Not yet,” muttered Neville, but it was too quiet for Hermione to hear. Aloud he said “Malfoy was the first there, with Crabbe and Goyle. He looked quite pleased. You don’t think it could be him, after what he said the other day?”
“Maybe, but we’ve no proof,” replied Hermione. “If only we knew what the Chamber was…”
* * *
The next morning in History of Magic class, Neville dozed gently on his desk as usual. Binns hadn’t even arrived yet, but Neville was already getting ready for a long nap, it was impossible to stay awake in the class anyway. Suddenly, as Binns entered, passing silently through the blackboard to his desk, Hermione gave Neville a sharper than usual kick in the shin. “Wake up, Neville,” she said, none too quietly. “You’re going to want to be awake for this.”
Neville opened his eyes reluctantly. To his surprise, almost before Professor Binns had started speaking, Hermione’s hand shot in the air. When the astonished ghost finally called on her to speak, she said “Professor, could you please tell us what you know about the Chamber of Secrets?”
There was a hush around the room. With some reluctance, Binns agreed, and for once the Gryffindor class all sat and listened attentively as he recounted the fascinating and frightening tale…
Neville Longbottom and the Chamber of Secrets by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which Mrs Norris is Petrified and blood writing appears on a wall.