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.
Neville Longbottom and the Prisoner of Azkaban by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which Neville has his first lessons with Trelawney, Burbage and Black.