“So do you think the legend’s true, Hermione?” asked Neville. “There really is a Chamber of Secrets and something terrible inside, set to kill Muggle-borns?” They had returned to the Gryffindor common room at the end of the day to discuss what they had learned.
“I don’t know. Even if there is, who’s to say this Heir of Slytherin even exists? Anyone could have written that message.” Hermione was being stubbornly logical, though Neville was already convinced. “Where is this monster, then?” she continued. “Nobody’s seen it, no one even knows what it looks like.”
“But I’ve heard it,” said Neville, and then immediately realised what he’d done. Hurriedly he looked round to see if anyone else had heard. Fortunately there was no one nearby.
“What?” exclaimed Hermione, a little too loudly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, I heard something,” admitted Neville reluctantly. He shifted uncomfortably and his voice fell to a whisper. “I’ve been hearing, well, a voice recently. But no one else seems to be able to hear it. I heard it just before I found the writing. It sounded evil and it wanted to kill.” He shivered slightly at the recollection. Hermione stared at him with expression that mixed pity and doubt. “Don’t give me that look, Hermione. This is why I didn’t tell you. I’m not crazy. I told you I heard it!”
“I don’t think you’re crazy, Neville,” she replied kindly. “But monsters don’t talk, not even wizarding ones, and not so only one person can hear.”
“So what do you think I heard?” demanded Neville, but Hermione did not reply. She leaned back in her chair, adopting her typical thinking pose. Eventually she looked up.
“Okay, supposing there really is a Chamber, and an Heir of Slytherin, who is it? Slytherin died a millennium ago.”
“Malfoy,” repeated Neville firmly.
“Neville, you can’t just accuse someone because you don’t like them.”
“Don’t like them? Hermione, come on, Malfoy’s a foul cruel bully, you know that. He’s a Slytherin through and through, so is all his family. At the very least he should have an idea who’s behind this, but frankly I’m sure it’s him.” Neville’s opinion of Malfoy, which had never got out of the gutter, was at an all time low after the ‘Mudblood’ incident. “Crabbe and Goyle would know,” he continued. “Let’s set Fred and George on them, find out what they know.”
“Neville, no!” snapped Hermione. “We don’t go around beating people up just to find out information. Do you want us to sink to their level? What’s got into you?”
“I don’t know, I just… there’s something out there, Hermione and I feel I ought to do something.”
“Neville, it’s not your responsibility.”
“I know, but I feel I have to help somehow. I can’t just let things happen.” Neville could put it into no clearer words than that, he didn’t even understand himself what he felt, but hearing that voice and reading those words on the wall had triggered something in him, a fear that something terrible was going to happen and he was the only one who could see it coming.
“All right,” said Hermione at last, “there may be something we can do. I’ve had an idea. But I’ll need to do some research first and it could very well be dangerous. Okay?”
Neville nodded, and did not enquire into Hermione’s plan. He wondered whether she’d just said it to stop him bothering her, but over the next few days she did seem to be up to something, spending yet more time in the library and talking to Lockhart about something after a lesson.
Neville himself felt thoroughly depressed over those days, though. He moped about the castle, largely on his own, dreading hearing the voice again and frustrated that there was nothing he could do. He was not able to enjoy the Halloween feast, nor the next Quidditch match in which Gryffindor trounced Slytherin thanks to yet more nifty Seeking by Harry Potter. While most of the house were down in the common room celebrating, he sat in his room, miserable and tired. He was annoyed that no one seemed as worried as he was, yet wished he could be as relaxed as them.
Early in the week after the Quidditch game, after a particularly terrible Potions lesson in which Snape had directly accused him of trying to deliberately set fire to his classroom after he had absent-mindedly added three too many salamander skins to his cauldron, Neville was sitting in Herbology, paying little attention to Professor Sprout. With his current glum expression on his face, he was staring into the next greenhouse at the rows and rows of exotic plants lined up there. He hardly noticed when everyone started to leave at the end of the lesson, and when he looked around, the greenhouse was half empty. Sprout was busying herself collecting up the books and parchments on her desk.
Neville gave one last glance back towards the other greenhouse. In the far corner he could just make out a row of large plant pots with purplish-green leaves sprouting from them: the Mandrakes being prepared to cure Mrs Norris and, Neville realised with dread, any other potential victim that might suffer a similar assault. An idea formed in his mind. Waiting till the last student but him had left, he approached Professor Sprout. “Professor?” he said politely.
Sprout looked up. “Yes, Neville, what can I do for you?” she said, and smiled. Sprout liked Neville, he had a genuine interest in Herbology and his enthusiasm more than made up for his lack of academic skill in her eyes.
“Well, I’ve been wondering, could I help you look after the Mandrakes while they’re growing? I could come every day before supper, or, you know, whenever you need help. You see, I’ve been looking for a way I can be useful and I think this is something I could do.”
Sprout smiled warmly. “Thank you, Neville, I’d be glad to have your help. Come by this evening and I’ll show you what you can do.” Neville nodded, and left feeling far happier than when he had arrived.
That evening, he reported to greenhouse 1, where Sprout explained the tasks Neville could do, mainly weeding and pest control. “We’re going to keep them indoors until the worst of winter is over, then move them into the outside beds,” she said. “That’ll be a crucial time for them. For now, you only need to come down two or three times a week. Thank you. I’ll be next door if you need my help.” She bustled off merrily.
Neville slipped on the pair of protective earmuffs Sprout had provided and set to work. This was one kind of work he enjoyed, it was real life, it was practical… it was useful. Whistling to himself tunelessly and grasping his trowel, he set about his work. He was fascinated by the curious baby-like appearance of the Mandrakes screaming inaudibly whenever he exposed one of their tiny mouths.
Suddenly there was a curious tug on his ear. He grabbed onto his earmuff and looked around. No one was there. He shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the Mandrakes. The tugging came again, this time at his earmuffs. As fast as he could, his hand shot up to his ear, but he was too late. The right earmuff pulled up off his ear. For a moment he heard a sharp cry, a ringing sound that seemed to burrow deep into his brain. The pain was excruciating, but in an instant all was black…
* * *
Neville came to groggily. His head felt like it had taken a pounding with a mallet and his eyes took time to focus. He found he was lying in bed, on a hard mattress. Gingerly he raised himself up and sat looking around. He recognised his surroundings immediately, he was in the hospital wing. This was the third time he had been in here. Slowly he tried to piece together what happened.
From the far end of the room, Madam Pomfrey the nurse saw him rise and hurried over. “So, you’re awake at last, Mr Longbottom,” she said. “We must stop meeting under these circumstances.” She smiled, poured a small measure of liquid into a cup and handed it to him. “Drink up, it’ll clear that headache of yours. You’ve been out for several hours now. It was fortunate Professor Sprout found you in time and those Mandrakes are still young. You should be more careful with your earmuffs in future.”
Neville didn’t have the strength to protest. He swallowed the medicine and handed the cup back to Madam Pomfrey. “What time is it?” he asked.
“Late,” she replied. “You’ll stay here and get some rest overnight, then you should be fine again tomorrow morning. Good night, Mr Longbottom.” She walked off towards her office. At the door she almost ran into someone trying to get in. “Is their something I can do for you?” she asked.
Colin Creevey poked his head around the door, trying to see past Madam Pomfrey to Neville. He clutched his ubiquitous camera, attempting to snap a photograph. “I heard what happened. Is Neville okay?” he asked.
“Mr Longbottom is resting and is not to be disturbed. Please leave him in peace.” She hurried Colin back out of the door and closed it behind her.
The hospital wing was now deserted, Neville seemed to be the only current patient. He lay back down, wondering how on earth the earmuff had come off. Had he done something wrong he couldn’t remember? Was it just his general clumsiness?
All of a sudden he felt something pulling at his mattress, down by his feet. He peered down to the end of the bed. Something small, barely half his height, was trying to climb up on to the bed beside him. It eventually succeeded, smoothed out the filthy rag it was wearing and looked at Neville with its huge round eyes. “Hello again, Neville Longbottom,” it said. “Dobby is most pleased to see you are well.”
Neville sat bolt upright in surprise. It was the house-elf who had surprised him in his room in the summer. Dobby just stood there, a slightly guilty, hangdog look on his face, his long ears drooping by its side. His fingers were bandaged. Neville too waited for the house-elf to say something. When he didn’t, Neville asked “Why are you here?”
“Neville Longbottom did not listen to Dobby’s warnings. Neville Longbottom broke his promise and came to Hogwarts. Now terrible things are afoot and Neville Longbottom is in great danger.”
“Terrible things? You mean you were trying to warn me about the Chamber of Secrets?” Dobby went to reply, but stopped and started biting his own arm. Neville pulled it free. “Stop that, Dobby. Can’t you tell me anything about who’s behind this? You know, don’t you?”
“Dobby can’t, Dobby can’t!” the house-elf wailed. He leapt off the bed and began ramming his head into the bedside table. Neville tried desperately to restrain him.
“Okay, okay, you can’t!” he said. “But why do you keep hurting yourself, Dobby?”
“Dobby must obey. Dobby must obey his masters,” the house-elf sobbed. He looked up at Neville with a look of pain and desperation that Neville found at once shocking and appalling. “It is the life of a house-elf, sir. Dobby must serve his family forever, whatever they wish. Dobby must keep their secrets. Dobby should not even be here. If Dobby does his masters wrong, then Dobby must be punished. They are not here, so Dobby punishes himself.”
Neville looked down at the elf with an utterly new perspective. When they had first met he had considered him crazy, half-deranged. Now all he could feel was pity for the poor creature in front of him. Hermione had described house-elves as slaves. This, he realised, was almost worse. They didn’t know they were slaves. They didn’t even understand the concept, and so unintentionally cooperated in their own servitude. He now realised the great risk Dobby was taking and how difficult it was for him. “Why, Dobby? Why put yourself through all this? Why warn me?” he asked.
“You are Neville Longbottom,” Dobby replied, as if that were answer enough. “You are the hero who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Dobby needed to protect you, even from yourself. Dobby had to make you leave.”
“Make me?” Neville looked at him. “Dobby, what happened today, did you do that?”
Dobby broke down and sobbed. “Dobby is sorry, sir. Most sorry. Dobby only meant to scare you, to make you leave. Dobby only wanted to help. Dobby punished himself, as was right.” He held up his bandaged hands.
Neville leaned over and said, more forcefully than he expected, “Never, never punish yourself on account of me. Do you understand, Dobby? Never.” The elf nodded meekly. By rights he should be angry, but he didn’t feel it. His feelings of pity had not diminished. “Dobby, you haven’t done anything else to stop me, have you?”
“D-Dobby stopped you getting the Hogwarts train,” the elf stammered. “Will Neville Longbottom punish Dobby himself?” Dobby held out his hands.
“No, I will not,” replied Neville. This only set the elf off sobbing tears of gratitude and mumbling praises of Neville. “You aren’t happy with your life, are you Dobby?” Neville said, unnecessarily. When Dobby simply looked up the answer in his eyes was so plain that Neville realised what a stupid question it was. “Then leave it behind, Dobby. No one can stop you.”
“Neville Longbottom doesn’t understand. No house-elf can leave their master. Not unless their master provides them with real clothes.” He indicated the horrid rag he wore. “This is all Dobby can wear until then.” The very thought of a time he could be free set him crying once more.
Without thinking Neville picked up one of his shoes which had been placed by his bed and tried to give it to Dobby. This only seemed to make things worse. “No, no,” Dobby wailed. “Dobby’s master must give him the clothes. Only his master can set him free. Dobby wishes…” But he could not finish the sentence because, Neville realised, he would have to hurt himself again.
“Listen Dobby,” Neville said, once Dobby had calmed down again. “Thank you for warning me, but I can’t leave. Other people are in danger, Muggle-borns in particular, it seems. My friend is Muggle-born and I’m not leaving her. I’m sorry, but don’t think I’m not grateful.” Dobby just gazed at Neville with astonishment and adulation in his wide eyes. “If you can tell me anything, anything without needing to be punished, please do.”
Dobby stood unsure for a moment, if desperate to speak. Then he just bowed his head, murmured “Dobby is sorry,” and with a ‘crack’, he vanished. Neville sighed sadly. He hoped he would meet the little house-elf again, but now he settled down to sleep still pondering a great number of questions.
Despite that, he slept soundly, and awoke late. Realising he was in danger of missing breakfast, he hurriedly dressed and prepared to leave. However, when he opened the door to find Madam Pomfrey, he discovered she wasn’t there. “Maybe she doesn’t come on duty till later,” he thought, and wondered if he was allowed to leave. He had just decided to wait a while longer when he heard a commotion on the staircase leading down to the wing.
Four people were coming down the stairs towards him, supporting something between them. Alongside Madam Pomfrey, Neville was astonished to see Professor Dumbledore himself, along with the tiny Professor Flitwick. Behind them, looking noticeably distressed, Neville recognised Percy Weasley, Ron’s brother and one of the Gryffindor prefects. “Move out of the way please, Mr Longbottom,” called Madam Pomfrey.
Neville stood aside to let everyone past and as they did so, he let out a choked gasp of shock. Between Pomfrey and Dumbledore, floating unsupported horizontally under the control of Flitwick’s wand, was the inert body of a girl. She looked about sixteen, Neville guessed. Her long hair fell in curls about her shoulders but did not dangle down towards the ground. Now Neville looked more closely, her whole body was frozen rigid, unmoving. Her eyes were staring forward unblinking and her mouth was half open. The whole face gave the impression of an instant moment of shock and terror.
Flitwick guided her onto a bed and released his spell. Percy crouched down beside her, his usual stern manner quite absent. Neville loitered by the door, desperate to know what had happened. “Where did you find her, Filius?” asked Dumbledore.
“In a bathroom up on the fifth floor,” answered Flitwick in his squeaky voice. “She’d evidently been there since last night. Mr Weasley was concerned and asked me to find her. She was just standing at a sink, staring forwards as you can see.” Percy looked up and nodded, but did not speak.
Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “It’s started,” he muttered to himself. “Filius, tell the others. We shall hold a full staff meeting tonight at seven. New measures will have to put into effect. Poppy, I shall leave Miss Clearwater in your hands. I know there is nothing you can do for her for now, but look after her. Mr Weasley may stay if he wishes.”
With a last sad look at the Petrified form of Penelope Clearwater, Dumbledore made to leave. He looked surprised to see Neville still standing there, looking with horror and frightened curiosity on the scene. “Come on, Neville,” he said. “Best if we all leave now.”
“Yes, Mr Longbottom, you may go,” said Madam Pomfrey, turning her eyes immediately back to her stricken charge. Dazed and shocked, Neville left the hospital wing, parted from Dumbledore and Flitwick and made his way down to the Great Hall. Two words of Dumbledore’s were stuck in his head like a broken record, two words that frightened him more than he expected: It’s started.
Neville Longbottom and the Chamber of Secrets by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which Neville is hurt, talks to Dobby, and the first student is Petrified.