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.
Neville Longbottom and the Prisoner of Azkaban by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which exams are held, Trelawney makes a prophecy and Buckbeak’s execution is scheduled.