The week following Neville’s surprise induction into the Triwizard Tournament was one of the most uncomfortable and miserable he had experienced. The presence of not one but two Hogwarts champions in the Tournament had sharply divided the four Houses, with only Gryffindor coming down on Neville’s side. Even then, respect for Neville within Gryffindor was not universal. The Marauders had been using their influence within the house to drum up support for Neville, but among those who had no knowledge of the mysterious and reclusive Boy-Who-Lived, there was a definite degree of suspicion, and among many of the rest ambivalence. Outside of Hermione and the Marauders, only Ginny had actually approached Neville and said she believed him and was a hundred per cent behind him.
From the other three houses, the hostility was far more open and marked. Everywhere Neville went, there would be someone jeering him, or making sarcastic or unpleasant remarks behind his back. He heard people calling him an attention grabber, a cheat, a liar and worse things besides. Neville was reminded of the time in his second year when he was briefly suspected of being the Heir of Slytherin and the school had turned against him. This was if anything worse, as then the students had been somewhat afraid of him. Now, this was outright hatred.
Draco Malfoy had been beside himself with glee at being presented with another opportunity to taunt ‘Short-Arse’ and the Gryffindors. He spent most of Monday’s Potions lesson making snide jokes about Neville’s impending demise and the various number of embarrassing (to Neville) and amusing (to Draco) ways in which it could happen, without incurring a single rebuke from Snape. Later that day, his ears mysteriously swelled to four times their normal size and he had to be taken off to the hospital wing. Seeing the Marauders laughing loudly amongst themselves over dinner, Neville felt he knew how it had happened.
Despite Dumbledore’s promise, Neville saw nothing of either him or Moody all week, until his Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson on the Thursday. Neville waited to see what he had to say, but Moody conducted the lesson as normal and barely acknowledged Neville. Only at the end did he mutter, “Longbottom,” as the class was filing out. Neville stopped and waited behind. “Longbottom, I want to see you in my office tonight at eight pm sharp,” said Moody bluntly, and no more. Neville nodded, and left. He got the impression that Moody didn’t want the meeting to be widely known.
Just before eight that evening, Neville slipped out of the Gryffindor common room when he hoped no one was looking and made his way down through the castle to Professor Moody’s office. He knocked on the door, and Moody opened it. Glancing up and down the deserted corridor behind Neville, Moody ushered him in.
Moody’s office was quite different from when Sirius had occupied it the year before. It had a very sparse, functional look, with little in the way of furnishings. Various strange magical devices were scattered around the room. Propped up against a wall was a strange mirror which reflected nothing but a dark mist. Sitting on Moody’s desk, a large circular object in a frame span gently by itself.
Moody lumbered over to a chair. “Were you followed?” he asked.
“Er, I don’t think so,” replied Neville.
“Not good enough, but it’ll have to do,” said Moody, tapping the circular object. “Nothing on the Sneakoscope at least. Sit down, Neville, we have a lot to talk about.” Neville took a seat as Moody stretched out his legs, and Neville noticed for the first time that one of them was artificial. Spotting Neville’s interest, Moody tapped the leg. “The one time I was careless,” he said, without further explanation. “Constant vigilance.”
Moody gave Neville a short, silent stare before saying, “So Neville, do you want to win the Triwizard Tournament?”
The question surprised Neville. “No,” he said quickly. “I mean, I shouldn’t even be in it, and it’s not fair on the others. Besides, I can’t.”
“Good,” replied Moody. “The last thing we want is you getting a sudden attack of competitiveness or over-optimism. My job is not to help you win, it’s to help keep you alive, and I will do that job to the best of my ability, provided you follow my instructions precisely. I will not lose another Longbottom on my watch.”
There was an almost pained tone in Moody’s voice, which Neville noticed. “Sir, you weren’t responsible for my parents’ deaths,” he said.
Moody’s one natural eye looked down at the floor. “Wasn’t I? I don’t mean to boast, but I was probably the most skilled member of the Order at that time, save Dumbledore, and definitely the most experienced. I should have taken the lead in protecting them. At the very least I should have put more effort into searching out the traitor. But the war was going badly and we were far too overstretched. And the threat to Frank and Alice was vague; apparently someone else could equally have been the target. It’s still no excuse. Too many people died in that war, far too many.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, which eventually Neville tried to fill. “So, what are we going to do about the Tournament then, Professor?”
Moody leaned forward. “We’re going to cheat, Neville,” he replied. “Cheat like crazy.”
“Can we even get away with that?”
“There’s nothing in your magical contract preventing it. Of course, if we’re found out the other schools will kick up a stink, but let them. Everybody cheats in the Triwizard Tournament anyway. Admittedly not on the scale we’re going to do it, but in this case the ends certainly justify the means. This is about your safety, not some stupid trophy.”
Moody took a quick swig from his hip flask. “Right, this will be the plan. You will report here every Tuesday and Thursday at eight o’clock. It would be best to keep these meetings confidential. Do you have some way of getting out of Gryffindor Tower without being noticed?”
“Erm, I suppose I could ask my friend Harry if I could borrow his invisibility cloak. It’s a good one.”
“Is that Harry Potter the troublemaker? No wonder he gets away with so much. Do you trust him?”
“Absolutely,” Neville replied with conviction.
“Okay. In these meetings I will coach you one-to-one on the specific skills you will need for each task. We will formulate a plan for each task and I expect you to follow it precisely. Do you understand?” Neville nodded. “These training sessions will be tough and arduous, beyond anything you may expect in my regular classes. We will test the limits of your capabilities and see how far we can push them.
“The schedule for the Triwizard Tournament is as follows: Next week will be the introduction ceremony known as the Weighing of the Wands. Thereafter the competition will consist of three tasks, held in late November, late February and late June respectively. There’s a scoring system, but we don’t have to worry about that. Officially, none of the champions is supposed to know the particulars of the task beforehand, so that’s the first rule we’ll be breaking. The First Task involves confronting a dragon.”
“A dragon? You’re joking!” exclaimed Neville.
“I never joke,” replied Moody sternly. “They’re shipping them over from Romania in a couple of weeks. Caused quite an upheaval when we told them there had to be four instead of three. There are various methods of dealing with dragons; we shall have to see which one best suits your capabilities.”
Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and Neville jumped. Moody’s magical eye however swivelled in the direction of the door and he nodded. “Ah, good. Neville, I thought it would be useful for you to have a training partner for these sessions; someone to face off against and provide a comparison whilst I concentrate on your technique. Fortunately there was an ideal person around here already. That’s him right now.”
Moody got up, walked over and opened the door. “Come in,” he said. Into the room entered a tall, confident man with thick dark hair and a broad smile.
“Sirius!” Neville exclaimed in surprise.
“That’s no way to address a former professor of yours, Neville,” said Moody.
“That’s exactly how he should address this former professor, Mad-Eye,” replied Sirius Black with a grin. Sirius looked healthy and was smartly dressed; he still exuded that effortlessly self-assured manner. “Hello again, Neville. Bet you didn’t expect me to be back here so soon.”
“As your last Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Mr Black was an obvious choice,” said Moody. “Since he’s not on staff any more, there is less chance of a breach of security within the school over these meetings.”
“Plus I was going to be in the area regularly anyway,” added Sirius, “and Dumbledore was happy to arrange access to the school for me.”
“What were you going to be doing here?” asked Neville, wondering if it had anything to do with Remus Lupin, and how much Moody knew.
“Um, seeing Charity, that is Professor Burbage,” replied Sirius a little sheepishly. Moody rolled his non-magical eye and shook his head. “Hey, we can’t all be confirmed bachelors like you, Mad-Eye. Some of us like to trust someone else once in a while.”
“I wasn’t sure whether you two had broken up,” said Neville.
“Well I had a lot of explaining to do about why I left here all of a sudden, but I won her round. It wasn’t easy, particularly as I couldn’t tell her the whole truth.”
“I thought you said you trusted her, Black,” pointed out Moody.
“We all have our secrets, Mad-Eye,” said Sirius, with a sideways glance at Neville. Evidently Moody was not in on the truth about Remus. Dumbledore had apparently told no one in the school and Neville reckoned that Moody, with his obsession with secrecy and security, would want it that way.
Neville spent the next half-hour discussing Moody’s plan and catching up with Sirius, but they did not begin any training, deciding to wait until the next meeting on Tuesday. Moody did however load Neville up with several books he advised Neville to read. Sirius explained he’d got a temporary job working Magical Maintenance at the Ministry until he could find a more permanent career, and making regular evening trips up to Hogsmeade to see Professor Burbage.
When they finished, Sirius left Moody’s office with Neville, and Neville took the opportunity of their being alone to ask how Remus was doing. “Well enough, he’s fit and healthy, though I don’t envy him having to live in my parents’ house,” Sirius replied. “His presence is at least driving Kreacher crazier than usual, which is one fun thing to come out of this.” Sirius laughed to himself. “Actually, I couldn’t say in front of Mad-Eye, but one of the reasons I took the Magical Maintenance job is I get access throughout the Ministry, including the Auror Headquarters. With any luck, if they get any leads in the search for Remus, I’ll overhear about them before they act, and be able to take action.
“Good night, Neville. See you next week. I’ll pass on your regards to Moony.” Sirius patted Neville on the shoulder and walked away, whistling to himself, while Neville turned to make the long climb back up to Gryffindor Tower, weighed down by Moody’s books.
* * *
The ostracism and abuse heaped upon Neville from three of the four houses of Hogwarts continued into its second week. Graffiti proclaiming “Longbottom the Loser” had begun appearing on corridor walls in random places, and Filch was finding it remarkably tough to remove. The Slytherins would gang up to heckle him almost everywhere he went. He never ventured out of Gryffindor Tower unless he had to.
Harry had readily agreed to let Neville borrow his invisibility cloak for his lessons with Moody and Sirius. Neville had decided to tell only Harry and Hermione about the meetings; Harry had not even told the other Marauders. Hermione enthusiastically approved of Moody’s plan, and took it upon herself to assist Neville with the preparatory reading Moody had given him. She was already half way through the pile of books already.
In the first couple of lessons Moody had not discussed offensive strategy, concentrating instead on teaching Neville the Incaloris Charm, which produced a shield against heat around a person. Moody had chosen it as a relatively simple charm, and Neville after the second lesson could produce and sustain it for a while, given enough time to prepare. Moody was a good tutor, tough but extremely clever, and Sirius was full of encouragement and enthusiasm. Under their guidance, for the first time Neville felt confident about learning. “It’s a start,” Moody had said. “Long way to go yet.”
Neville had been forewarned about the Weighing of the Wands ceremony taking place at the end of that second week, but it was still a pleasant surprise when he was called out of Potions early on the Friday afternoon. Potions, shared as it was with the Slytherins, had been even more of a nightmare than usual for Neville, and Snape’s disdain and disregard for him had not changed in the previous two weeks. As such, Neville counted it a small mercy that he was allowed to escape the Potions dungeon early for once.
It was raining outside, so he was led into the largely deserted Great Hall. However, all the judges were already there, as were the other three champions. Krum and Delacour ignored him, but Cedric smiled and nodded in his direction. He looked nervous, far more so than the other two.
Of the only other people in the hall, Neville instantly recognised one, the wizened figure of the old wandmaker, Ollivander. Two others he did not recognise: a flashily dressed middle-aged witch with overly coiffured blond hair, and standing next to her a fat, scruffy-looking wizard carrying a large camera. The witch flashed Neville a wide, insincere smile as he entered, but Neville didn’t notice.
“Good, now we’re all here, we can begin,” said Bagman cheerily. “Welcome to the Weighing of the Wands. Tradition dictates that at the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament, each champion must have their wands evaluated by an expert to ensure they are fit to compete. Our thanks to Mr Ollivander for filling the role, and a warm welcome to the representatives from the Daily Prophet covering this event.” Bagman was obviously relishing his role of master of ceremonies. Behind him Crouch had a terse, stoic expression on his face, looking like he’d much rather be somewhere else.
Ollivander’s job proved to be nothing more than describing the composition and properties of each wand and performing a couple of test spells. Each wand duly passed, and Neville was last to hand his over. Ollivander took it in his thin fingers. “Ah yes, the famous wand of a famous owner,” he proclaimed. “Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. The brother of another, even more famous wand.”
Neville had almost forgotten about his wand’s connection to Voldemort’s through the phoenix feathers in their cores. He had not given it much thought since Ollivander had mentioned it on the day he had bought his wand. He treated as just another one of those coincidences and acts of fate that surrounded him as the Boy-Who-Lived. He was very attached to his wand, indeed he believed he would have been an even poorer wizard without it. He reckoned it had a strength far above his own capabilities and could not imagine losing it.
Ollivander tested the wand by producing a shower of purple sparks before handing it back to Neville. He, along with the other champions, was then herded by Bagman in front of the photographer, who took so many pictures that Neville was left blinking with spots in his eyes by the time he was finished. The blond woman with the fake smile then shook his hand vigorously. “Rita Skeeter, Mr Longbottom. Daily Prophet reporter. I’ll be interviewing each of you for tomorrow’s edition. Big news, this tournament, especially you. Shall we take a walk?” With that, and before Neville could protest, she seized him by the shoulder and led him out via the side door to the room Neville had been in the night his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire.
She thrust him into an armchair and took the seat opposite him, removing from her handbag a length of parchment and a luminous green quill. She placed them on the table in front of her and the quill danced up, point downwards over the parchment. “It’s just a Quick-Quotes-Quill,” she said. “Just ignore it. So Neville, how do you feel being a Triwizard champion?”
Neville hesitated, unsure of what to say. The quill began to write: Neville Longbottom, fourteen, a boy of modest height and quiet demeanour, paused to consider the question. “Well, um, scared,” he said at last. He admittedly frankly to feelings of apprehension at the possibility of being outshone by competitors far more experienced and talented than himself, wrote the quill. “But that’s not what I meant,” he protested.
“I’m sure it was, more or less,” replied Skeeter, pulling the parchment closer to her, and before Neville could add anything, continued, “Of course, you are by far the most famous boy at this school. Do you think that by competing in this tournament you can help yourself live up to that immense reputation?”
“Er, I’ve never really wanted to. I mean, it’s not like I actually did anything to deserve my reputation.” The quill scribbled furiously; Neville thought he could just make out the appearance of the words modesty and arrogance? on the parchment.
“Yet with that triumph came tragedy,” persisted Skeeter, apparently oblivious to what he had just said. “The loss of your parents at such an early age must have affected you deeply.”
“I try not to think about it too much,” admitted Neville, wondering what the point of all these questions was.
“Hmm, repressed trauma,” Skeeter mused. “Perhaps the shock of your parents’ deaths is what led to the suppression of your magical potential, or subconsciously drove you to seek out dangerous and life-threatening situations.”
“I don’t think so,” said Neville, nonplussed, but the quill was busy writing an essay all of its own. Neville tried to lean over to read it, but Skeeter took him by the shoulder again.
“I think I’ve got all I need,” she said. “Thank you very much, Neville. You’ve been very helpful.” She guided him back towards the door.
“But I hardly said anything.”
“You said enough. Send what’s-his-name, Diggory in, would you?” Neville left the room, confused but glad that it was over. He went over to Cedric and told him it was his turn.
“Oh, right,” replied Cedric, seeming a little distracted. “Say, Neville, would you mind hanging around for a minute until I’m finished? There’s something I want to talk to you about.” He went on in, and Neville wondered worriedly about what Cedric wanted to say. This was the first time he’d seen him since he was put in the tournament and he hoped Cedric wasn’t going to be as angry as so many others in his house had been.
Skeeter took what seemed like barely a few seconds to interview Cedric, compared to the time she had spent with Neville. Neville had sat down on one of the Great Hall benches to wait for him. He noticed that Viktor Krum, waiting his turn to be interviewed, was watching him, unlike Fleur Delacour who took no notice of him. At first he assumed Krum was just annoyed at his presence, but the look on his face was more one of puzzlement and deep thought than anger. Neville had no idea what it meant.
When Cedric emerged, they left the Great Hall together. “Look,” said Cedric as they came into the Entrance Hall, “I just wanted to say that I know you’ve been getting a lot of stick over the past few days, and I’m sorry. You don’t deserve it, of course, and some of it seems to have been pretty vicious. I’ve done my best to stop the Hufflepuffs getting involved, but I can’t do much about the other houses. I hope it hasn’t been to rough on you.”
“Um, thanks,” said Neville, surprised but very grateful that Cedric was apparently as fair-minded as his house’s reputation. “Say, you seem a bit distracted about something. Are you all right?”
“Just a bit nervous, is all. I don’t think I’m going to do well in the First Task. Between you and me, I think there’s a bit of cheating going on.”
Neville nervously scratched the back of his head. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sure that both Viktor and Fleur know what the task is about already. They’re both looking very confident, and I overheard Maxime talking to Bagman earlier and it sounded like she knew. Now you and I are the only ones going in blind. I just feel I’m going to let everyone down.”
Neville felt rather guilty, and Cedric looked genuinely worried. He decided he owed Cedric something for being so understanding. They had reached the main staircase where Neville would head up to Gryffindor Tower and Cedric would go down to the Hufflepuff common room. “Er, Cedric, thanks again and if you want my advice, you might want to think about looking up about dragons,” Neville said quietly.
“Dragons?”
“Yeah,” said Neville, and went off up the stairs. He hoped he’d done the right thing, but if he and everyone else was getting an advantage in the tournament, it seemed only fair that Cedric should as well. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous this tournament seemed to him. Couldn’t they have come up with a better and safer way of deciding which the best school was? He only hoped the whole thing would pass as quietly as possible.
However, when he saw Hermione’s copy of the Daily Prophet at breakfast the next morning, he realised that hope was very much forlorn.
Neville Longbottom and the Goblet of Fire by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which Moody reveals his scheme to help Neville, and Neville meets Rita Skeeter for the first time.