The frosty atmosphere in certain areas of the Gryffindor common room in the days after Christmas had little to do with the cold temperature outside. Ron spent most of his time sulking in a corner and being generally rude and miserable. Hermione was barely in the common room at all, spending most of her time with Krum and taking the opportunity to avoid Ron as much as possible. Harry was walking about with a confused expression on his face, as if he knew he was partly responsible for the situation but had no idea why.
The only friendship that was in any way flourishing at this time was that between Ginny and Neville. Having found that they got on so well at the Yule Ball, they spent a lot more time in each other’s company. Ginny found that Neville was a good ear she could use to moan about life in general and her brothers in particular, and Neville was always grateful for any new friend that came his way.
Like his friendship with Hermione, Neville’s friendship with Ginny was a bit lopsided, in that she did most of the talking, although with Ginny he could at least make useful contributions to the conversation. Nonetheless, he found it a very rewarding friendship. He learned a lot more from Ginny about the social life of the castle and the complex alliances and rivalries of teenage interaction. Neville did notice however that while she mentioned the Marauders a lot, usually disparagingly, she almost never mentioned Harry individually. Yet her eyes would invariably turn when Harry entered the room.
New Year’s came and went, and the school term approached once more. For Neville, that meant not only a return to the drudgery of schoolwork, but the beginning again of Triwizard Tournament preparation sessions. In a strange way, he was looking forward to them for though he dreaded the impending Second Task, set for late February, Mad-Eye Moody and Sirius Black were two of his favourite adults and he would enjoy meeting up with them again.
The first meeting was scheduled for the first Tuesday of term and Neville was full of eager anticipation throughout his Monday and Tuesday lessons. He realised that unlike Transfiguration or History of Magic, where he spent almost all of his time bored or bewildered, Moody was actually teaching him practical magic which he could use, and which was not completely beyond his capabilities.
At eight o’clock on Tuesday evening, hidden under Harry’s invisibility cloak and carrying the golden egg he won in the First Task, he knocked on the door to Moody’s office. “Enter,” came Moody’s gruff voice from inside. Slipping off the cloak, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. He was warmly welcomed by Sirius, who was already there. “Sit down,” said Moody in business-like manner. “Pass me the egg.”
Moody took the golden egg, set it on his desk and, his wand at the ready, opened the clasp at the top. The egg sprang open, releasing the hideous screeching sound within. Neville and Sirius immediately clasped their hands to their ears, but Moody did not. Seemingly oblivious to the noise, he tapped at the egg with his wand, muttered something under his breath and examined the egg’s interior. Eventually he shut up the egg and the others could release their hands. “Blimey, how can you stand that, Mad-Eye?” asked Sirius.
“I’ve been in war,” answered Moody darkly. “I’ve heard worse.” There was a brief silence. “I think I recognise the charm,” Moody continued at last. He walked over to a wooden barrel standing in the corner of the room. “Help me with this, would you Black?” Together Sirius and Moody dragged the heavy barrel into the middle of the room.
“What on earth do you keep in here, Mad-Eye?” said Sirius.
“Just water,” Moody replied. “Never drink anybody’s drink but my own. This is my personal supply, kept magically sealed so nobody but me can get at it.” Sirius shook his head at Moody’s paranoia as Moody pointed his wand at the barrel and the top came loose. He removed it, took the egg and plunged it into the barrel. As he opened the egg once more, Neville prepared to cover his ears, but instead a sound like music floated up from the barrel. “Neville,” said Moody, “stick your head in the barrel and tell me what you hear.”
If it had been anybody else but Moody telling him to do that, Neville would have questioned it vociferously. Instead, he simply stepped forward, took a deep breath and plunged his head into the water. To his astonishment, the sound that greeted his ears from the egg was beautiful. A musical voice sang:
Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground.
An hour long you'll have to look
And to recover what we took.
Neville pulled his head up, gasping for air. Moody transfigured a roll of parchment on his desk into a towel and handed it to him. As he dried himself off he recounted what he’d heard. Moody pondered for a few seconds, before asking, “So Neville, what do you think it means?”
It was blatantly obvious that Moody had already figured it out; he was just doing the usual teacher’s trick of testing Neville. “Something that can only sing underwater “ merpeople?” he suggested.
“Excellent, Neville. Merpeople’s voices can only be heard properly through water. So tell me, can you swim?”
“Yes, quite well,” replied Neville. Normally ungainly on land, he had found himself quite comfortable in water on the opportunities he’d had to swim when he was younger. “But wait, are you suggesting what I think?”
“The verse is very clear. I don’t know if you’re aware, Neville, but there is a village of merpeople in the lake outside. Clearly the task involves recovering something from that village, and it is expected that this will require up to an hour of underwater swimming.” Moody scratched what remained of his nose, considering the situation. “Well, the standard method of providing breathable air is the Bubble-Head Charm. But creating one that will be stable for up to an hour is a difficult undertaking and will require a lot of work. In addition to that, we’ll need to work on your fitness and I’ll have to coach you in dealing with merpeople. There’s a lot to be getting on with, so let’s get started.”
They spent the meeting dealing with the basics of the Bubble-Head Charm, which Neville found extremely complex and difficult to grasp, and had little time to do anything else. Afterwards, Moody said to Neville, “Don’t worry, plenty of time to go yet. I want you to do up to half an hour’s running each day, after lessons. It’ll help you get more in shape. I remember your father used to swear by it to keep himself fit. Make sure that cloak’s covering you all the way back up to your common room. Constant vigilance.” Neville left, not entirely thrilled with the prospect of exercise work, and with the nagging feeling that there was something that would be useful for this task that he couldn’t quite remember.
* * *
Three days later, and Neville’s fears over exercise had been most definitely realised. He leant panting against the stone wall of the castle by the great front doors, feeling dizzy and a little nauseous. He’d chosen to do his runs from the Entrance Hall down to Hagrid’s and back, which seemed like a reasonable distance. Unfortunately it meant that the return leg was mostly uphill, climbing up to the cliff above the lake on which Hogwarts was placed. It meant that each time as he approached the castle he was so tired as to slow to almost a crawl. The day before a group of Slytherins had been at the entrance to “welcome” him with mock cheers. He wished he wasn’t so weak.
Staggering into the Entrance Hall, he was surprised to find this time not Slytherins but Ginny there waiting for him. “Hi Neville,” said Ron. “I was just on my way up to the library and I saw you struggling up the hill, so I thought I’d wait and see how you were getting on. You look awful.”
“Thanks a lot,” replied Neville, blinking to clear the spots from his eyes. “I’m parched. I really need a drink. I’m going straight up to Gryffindor Tower.” He headed for the staircase, but on reaching it stared up at the long line of stone steps and promptly sat down on the bottom one. “I’ll wait,” he said. “I don’t think I’m quite ready to tackle that climb yet.”
Ginny had a thought. “You don’t have to. Follow me, I’ll show you something.” She led Neville through the door to his right and down the steps that led towards the Hufflepuff common room. Neville followed her a short way along a corridor until she stopped in front of a rather dull-looking painting of some fruit. “Watch this,” she confided, reaching up and stroking a pear in the portrait with her index finger. “I’ve seen my brothers doing this when they were out on one of their pranks.” Suddenly there was a sound like a little giggle and the pear transformed into a door handle. Ginny pulled on the handle and the portrait swung back. “Come in,” she said.
The sight that greeted Neville as he stepped through the doorway revealed behind the painting was not one he had been prepared for. He was standing in a vast, cavernous room, as big as the Great Hall. Long tables stretched down its length, piled with food and cooking equipment, whilst against the walls were stacked all manner of pots, pans and other paraphernalia. But most astonishing was that the room was thronged with dozens and dozens of house-elves, all busy as beavers preparing and cooking mountains of food. “We’re in the kitchens,” said Neville unnecessarily, open-mouthed.
Several of the house-elves closest to them noticed them and approached. Neville thought they were going to shoo them off, but instead they crowded around, and one spoke, saying, “Yes sir, miss, how may we be helping you? We have some excellent roast chicken if you are interested.”
“My friend is thirsty and would just like a drink,” explained Ginny.
“Right away miss, right away,” said the house-elf chirpily and dashed off, returning only seconds later with too huge tankards of pumpkin juice which he presented to Ginny and Neville.
“Er, thank you,” said Neville gratefully.
“Gratitude is unnecessary, sir; a house-elf’s work is its own reward,” replied the elf. “You are the great Neville Longbottom, are you not, sir? We house-elves are greatly honoured to have you in our kitchen, sir. Are you sure you wouldn’t like anything else?”
“No thank you,” said Neville, with an embarrassed smile. He and Ginny sat on a couple of upturned saucepans and drank their pumpkin juice, keeping out of the house-elves’ way. “I never even knew we had house-elves working the kitchens,” Neville whispered to Ginny. “I mean, the food just appears at meals, you know.”
“Food can’t be conjured out of thin air, Neville,” replied Ginny. “Hasn’t McGonagall taught you that?”
“Probably on a day I wasn’t paying attention. That happens a lot in Transfiguration.” Neville looked around the kitchen. “They seem to be happy,” he observed.
“All except that one,” pointing the far side of the hall. “The rest of them seem to be giving him a wide berth for some reason.” Neville looked where Ginny was indicating. There indeed was an isolated elf, busy working by himself without any help. He had longer, slightly more pointed ears than most elves, but the one unique thing around him was that, aside from the dirty rag he wore, he had a single shoe hanging from around his neck like an oversize necklace, tied in place by its shoelaces.
Neville leapt to his feet in astonishment. “Dobby!” he exclaimed. So loud was Neville’s cry that the elf, who had not noticed the two interlopers until now, turned and gave a little cry of surprise. Neville ran over and embraced Dobby in a huge hug, which led to disapproving looks from the other elves. “Dobby, this is a surprise! What are you doing here?”
“Dobby works here now. Since Neville Longbottom freed Dobby, Dobby has found it hard to get work, sir. Wizards do not want to pay a free elf. But Professor Dumbledore has kindly agreed to employ Dobby, sir.”
“It’s not right, masters paying elves,” muttered a nearby elf.
“Dobby is not popular with the other elves,” Dobby acknowledged, “but Dobby does not mind, sir. Dobby is most grateful to be free.”
Ginny came over and Neville introduced her. “This is the famous Dobby?” said Ginny. “Our family owes you a great deal, I understand. But why do you have a shoe tied around your neck?”
“Is that my old shoe?” asked Neville.
“Yes, the very same with which you freed Dobby, sir. It is the mark of Dobby’s freedom and Dobby wears it with pride. Dobby is sorry he had to shrink it a little, sir, it was a little too heavy around his neck.”
Neville smiled. “If I’d have known, you could have had the other one and worn them properly. In fact, I think I’ve still got the other one in my trunk; you can have it if you like.”
Dobby’s face brightened into an expression of delight. “Neville Longbottom is very generous, sir. Dobby is not worthy of such honours.”
“Dobby is more than worthy,” Neville countered. He’d always been uncomfortable with house-elf deference, something he knew he shared with Hermione, and especially when it came from Dobby, whom Neville greatly admired. “I’ll come find you tomorrow and bring you the shoe, okay?”
So it was that the next day, Saturday, saw one of the stranger sights ever seen on the Hogwarts grounds, a place not unaccustomed to the unusual. Back and forth across the grounds was jogging a short, slightly podgy boy with a scar on his forehead and happily running alongside him was a house-elf proudly wearing a pair of brightly polished black shoes. Neither was particularly fast or strong, but they talked cheerfully to each other as they ran, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
Dobby had insisted on joining Neville on his run and taking the opportunity to help him in any way he could. Neville was very fond of Dobby, and he was delighted to see how much happier the elf was than when he was under the thumb of the Malfoys. Dobby for his part still idolised Neville. It was the oddest of friendships, but it gave Neville a brief chance to escape from his worries and be reminded of happier times.
As they reached Hogwarts once more, Neville remarked, “That’s impressive work to get those shoes to fit so well, Dobby. How do you shrink them so effectively?”
“House-elf magic is different to wizard magic, Neville Longbottom,” replied Dobby. “Wizards are often surprised at what we can do.”
“I’ll say,” said Neville, remembering the time Dobby had sent Lucius Malfoy flying half-way across the very Entrance Hall in which they were standing. “Well, goodbye Dobby. Thank you for coming with me. See you again soon.”
“Goodbye, Neville Longbottom,” said Dobby. He snapped his fingers and vanished with a loud “crack”. Neville headed up the staircase to Gryffindor Tower. On the way he ran into Hermione, who was coming from the library.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Out for my run,” Neville explained.
“You’ve only just come back? You left ages ago. I know you’ve got to train, Neville, but you can’t neglect your schoolwork. You do know we’ve got a Herbology essay due for Monday, don’t you?”
“Oh, so we have.” Then all of sudden, Neville’s slow memory was jolted, prompted by Hermione’s remark. “Herbology! That’s it, that’s what I’ve been trying to remember.”
“What about Herbology?” asked a puzzled Hermione, but Neville had already gone, rushing up the stairs as if granted a new burst of energy. He dashed into the Gryffindor common room and on up to his room, pulled out his well-thumbed Herbology books and pored over them, looking for the reference he needed. Herbology was his favourite subject, the one he loved the most, and it looked like it could finally be useful to him.
Eventually, he found what he was looking for. It was perfect. He knew exactly what he needed to complete the Second Task without having to learn new magic and, thanks to his friendship with Dobby, he knew exactly how to get it.
Neville Longbottom and the Goblet of Fire by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which work begins on preparing for the Second Task, and Neville meets up again with an old friend.
Chapter Endnotes: The text of the egg's song is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, chapter 25, The Egg and the Eye.