When Neville got to the Gryffindor common room after the Welcoming Feast, the entire room fell silent as he entered. Neville put his head down and headed straight for the dormitories, avoiding the looks of his fellow Gryffindors. He thought he heard the Marauders in a corner loudly trying to distract everyone, but he didn’t stop or look up. When he got to his dormitory he methodically unpacked his case, got Trevor out of his box and fed him, and sat on his bed, trying not to become lost in his own thoughts.
After a while, the door opened and Seamus entered the room. He had a copy of the Daily Prophet under his arm which he flung on his bed. Then he turned to face Neville and said bluntly, “So, do you still stand by it?”
“Stand by what?” muttered Neville, hardly looking up. He’d barely acknowledged Seamus entering the room.
“That You-Know-Who’s back, of course,” snapped Seamus. “Do you really believe that?”
Neville at last looked up and met Seamus’ eye. Seamus was looking down at him with a mixture of fear and anger, waiting to see what his reaction would be. “Yeah, yeah I do,” said Neville quietly.
Seamus made a weak half-hearted attempt at a laugh. “Come on, Neville, you can’t really believe that. What really happened?”
“It’s true,” Neville said, his voice again getting barely above a whisper. “I saw him.”
Seamus took a step backwards. “You are mad,” he said, almost to himself, but loud enough to be certain Neville heard it. “Neville, it’s all in your head, there was no You-Know-Who, you must see that.”
“I know what I saw,” said Neville. The last thing he wanted was an argument, but he wasn’t going to lie. Neville, who had lived so much of his life in ignorance, knew the importance of the truth.
“Look, Neville, even the Ministry, the Prophet are saying...”
But at that moment Dean walked in. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Did you know he’s still saying You-Know-Who’s back?” said Seamus, pointing at Neville.
“Yeah, I did,” replied Dean. “What of it?”
“Don’t tell me you believe him?” exclaimed Seamus incredulously.
“I don’t know what to believe,” said Dean. “But I trust Neville. We both know him, Seamus. Do you really see him making up something like this? So if it comes down to a choice between trusting Neville or not, well then yes, I do believe him. So does Dumbledore, for that matter.”
Seamus shook his head “You’re all as mad as he is.” He took one last apprehensive look at Neville and stormed out.
“Sorry about that,” Dean said sympathetically. “His mum was threatening not to let him return this year, apparently.”
“Don’t worry about it,” mumbled Neville. “He’s not the only one.”
Neville went to bed early that night, hoping to use sleep to escape from his worries for a short time. But memories of Cedric’s death still invaded his dreams, as did other strange images of dark corridors and locked doors that he didn’t understand. He woke no less agitated or troubled than before.
* * *
There was much talk in the corridors of Hogwarts on the first day of term, and not all of it was about Neville Longbottom. The curious absence of Hagrid from the school and the teaching staff was much remarked upon; a substitute teacher for Care of Magical Creatures had been appointed, but no explanation had been given for why the half-giant was missing. The lack of information had led to a number of wild rumours flying about the school.
The other major topic of conversation was Professor Umbridge, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. The fact that she was a Ministry official had already widely circulated, and indeed it was now being claimed in several quarters that the Ministry had appointed her directly, over Dumbledore’s head. What this meant for the subject was unclear, though those believing the Daily Prophet were naturally delighted that the Ministry was standing up to Dumbledore. Hermione seemed apprehensive.
Neither of these subjects was particularly of immediate concern to Neville however. He didn’t take Care of Magical Creatures, and didn’t have Defence Against the Dark Arts for a couple of days. His most pressing worry was the fact that he had double Potions that afternoon, and would have to walk into a classroom with Snape in it. He was terrified at the prospect and though he had not confessed his fears to Hermione, she must have known. She was as shocked as anyone who knew what happened that Snape was still a teacher and appeared nervous about the lesson herself.
Neville’s first lesson of the week was Charms, and Professor Flitwick began the lesson with a long lecture reminding the students (as if they needed telling) that this was their OWL year, and that consequently their workload would be a lot heavier and their studies more intense in the coming months. The prospect of more schoolwork would at any time in the past have panicked Neville, but now he just accepted it; he had many far bigger worries.
The warnings from the teachers over OWLs continued throughout the day, even in Muggle Studies, where Professor Burbage normally took a very relaxed attitude to the subject. Only in History of Magic did Professor Binns not mention OWLs, but then he barely noticed whether his students had turned up or not and just ploughed on with his notes. By the afternoon, Hermione was already fretting madly and planning a six-month revision timetable.
All too quickly, the time for Potions had arrived, and Neville and Hermione made their way down to the dungeons together. They entered the classroom, and Neville insisted on sitting near the back and away from the door. Hermione, though she generally preferred to sit at the front, agreed. They found seats on a bench just along from Harry and Ron.
Precisely on time, Snape marched into the room and straight up to the front of the class. To Neville’s relief, Snape did not even look in his direction, but instead launched into a lecture on OWLs similar to the other teachers. “I expect each and every one of you to achieve at least an Acceptable in your exams,” he said coldly, “but only students achieving Outstanding may pass to NEWT level in my class. That means that likely a great many of you will be leaving this class at the end of the year, which in some cases will be no great loss.” Snape’s words provided a small measure of comfort to Neville. Whatever happened, he would at least be rid of Snape by the end of the year, a long way off though that seemed at present.
Snape set them the task of preparing a Draught of Peace, and Neville alternated between working on the potion and keeping a wary eye on Snape, in case he moved to attack. With his attention diverted, his work was even worse than usual and it wasn’t long before his cauldron was bubbling furiously and belching forth smoke. Hermione did her best to help him without Snape noticing. Snape however had not moved from his seat at the front of the class, not even to conduct an inspection of the students’ progress. He waited silently until the time was up.
“Stop,” he instructed curtly. “Step away from your cauldrons. Let me see how you have fared.” He walked around the class examining each cauldron in turn, and Neville became more and more apprehensive as he approached the back of the room. When he got to Harry, he stopped. “Potter, what is this sludge?” he barked. “Do you revel in your mediocrity? Dispose of this before it eats away at your cauldron and damages this table.” He passed in sullen silence over Ron and Hermione’s work before reaching Neville.
Snape leaned in close over the top of Neville’s cauldron. Neville’s hand tightened over his wand beneath his robes. Snape looked up and his dark eyes fixed Neville with a cold stare. There was a long pause that seemed to last an eternity to Neville. “Characteristically abysmal, Longbottom,” Snape said at last, and walked away. Neville breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Once the lesson was over, Neville and Hermione walked up from the dungeons together. “Actually, he doesn’t seem to have changed much,” said Hermione. “He was always unfair to Harry, and to be honest that wasn’t your best potion, Neville.”
“I don’t know,” Neville replied. “There was something in that look he gave me. He’s still out to kill me, I’m sure of it. He just can’t do it in a room full of people.”
“If only Dumbledore would have told us why he allowed him back,” said Hermione.
“There’s a lot Dumbledore’s not telling,” Neville complained. “He hasn’t even talked to me since June. You’d think he’d at least ask how I was doing.”
They crossed a courtyard heading for the main staircase. Just as they reached the middle, Neville heard a loud voice from his right call out, “Hey, Short-Arse, had any more hallucinations lately?” Neville instantly recognised the voice and turned with dread to see Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, striding towards him. He made to quickly move on, but Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle broke into a run and moved to bar his way. “Running away, Short-Arse?” Malfoy taunted. “You’re good at that. Was that why Diggory died? Did you run away and leave him to die?”
Neville said nothing, but stared back at the three Slytherins. He remembered that all three of their fathers had been in the graveyard that night. They knew why Cedric had died. “Nothing to say for yourself?” spat Malfoy.
“Get lost, Malfoy,” said Hermione.
“You can shut it, Mudblood,” Malfoy snarled. “I’m just a concerned citizen. Longbottom here is a danger to himself and others, so the Ministry says. He shouldn’t be walking about the school. He should be locked up in St Mungo’s. They’ve got a place for loonies like him. Do you fancy that, Short-Arse? Chained up with all the other nutcases drooling down their chins? You just wai-... ugh.” Malfoy never got to finish his sentence. A Stunning spell had sprung out of nowhere and struck him square in the chest. He was catapulted ten feet backwards and lay motionless on the ground.
Crabbe and Goyle desperately scrabbled for their wands, but before they could get hold of them, two more Stunning spells shot out and struck them down. Neville turned to see Harry, seething with fury, advancing towards them, his wand outstretched. He marched right up to Malfoy and stood over his prostrate form, levelling his wand at Malfoy’s head.
Ron charged over and seized Harry by the arm. “Leave him, leave him, Harry, he's not worth it,” he urged desperately. For a moment, Harry seemed not hear him, and stood stock still, keeping his wand pointed at Malfoy’s head. Then finally he relented, lowered his wand and let Ron lead him away.
“That was a bit over the top, even for Harry,” said Hermione. “Come on, let’s get out of here before they wake up.” Neville didn’t reply as he had promised to keep Harry’s secret, but he knew exactly why Harry had reacted the way he did and frankly, he didn’t blame him.
* * *
The next two days for Neville consisted of further rounds of OWLs warnings from the teachers and more sideways looks and whispered comments from the other students. This was ostracism on a scale Neville had never experienced before, neither in his second year when he was briefly suspected of being the Heir of Slytherin, nor in his fourth, after his mysterious entry into the Triwizard Tournament. Then, there were merely suspicions about him, but now it seemed everyone was convinced he was dangerous, or mad, or both. To avoid it all, he never left Gryffindor Tower unless it was necessary, and rarely spent much time in the common room.
He had to head out into the castle for lessons, though, and he had come to dread the walks between classrooms. On his way to his first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of the term he was scowled at by a group of Ravenclaws and he hurried on by without a word.
When he got to the classroom, he found it neat and sparse, in contrast to the haphazard mounds of clutter that had usually been found in Moody’s classrooms. The desks were arranged in carefully ordered rows and there were no teaching aids or materials anywhere. Umbridge was not present, so the Gryffindors sat down and waited, chatting amongst themselves.
As the clock reached the hour, there was a quiet but forceful hem, hem from behind them. They turned to see Umbridge standing in the doorway, dressed all in pink, her arms folded. She waited there for several seconds before saying in her girlish voice, “Students will fall silent and stand when I enter the room.” The Gryffindors shuffled reluctantly to their feet as Umbridge walked to the front of the class. “Good morning, class,” she said. Receiving no reply, she instructed, “You reply, ‘Good morning, Professor Umbridge’.”
“Good morning, Professor Umbridge,” mumbled the Gryffindors, exchanging glances with each other.
“Good, you may be seated,” Umbridge said, flashing one of her sickly sweet smiles. “Wands away and books out, please.” A murmur of disappointment spread around the room. Neville stowed his wand and took out his copy of the textbook Umbridge had put on the booklist for the year. It was called Defensive Magical Theory by a Wilbert Slinkhard. Neville had of course not opened it once since he’d got it.
Umbridge stood in front of her desk, her hands clasped in front of her. “As your other teachers have no doubt told you,” she began, “this year is an important one for you. You have suffered in the past from massive inconsistency in the quality of teaching in this subject. I am sorry to say that the Headmaster has allowed his professors to teach any syllabus they see fit, without regard to Ministry standards. You will be glad to know that this is about to change.
“From now on you will be taught a strict, ordered curriculum carefully designed to give you the complete theoretical background in defensive magic that you will require for your OWL. You will study in detail the circumstances in which defensive magic is necessary, the appropriate options available, and how to come to a decision as to what action to take. Everything you will need can be found in Mr Slinkhard’s excellent book. You may now open it and begin to read chapter one.”
Neville drearily turned back the cover of the book to read. But to his left Hermione’s hand shot into the air immediately as Umbridge stopped speaking. Umbridge did her best to ignore her but Hermione’s hand was pointed so insistently skywards that eventually she relented and said, “Yes, Miss...?”
“Granger, Professor,” replied Hermione. “I’ve been looking over the book already,” (by which Neville knew she meant she’d read it cover to cover) “and from it and from what you said, I’m worried there doesn’t seem to be anything about the actual practical use of magic.”
Umbridge’s posture stiffened slightly and she unclasped and reclasped her hands several times as she looked down at Hermione. Finally, she said, “That is right, Miss Granger. There will be no need for you to perform spells in my class. As I said, you are here to acquire a theoretical knowledge of magic in order to pass your exams. That is what the Ministry requires of you, and that is what you will learn.”
“You’re not actually going to teach us any magic?” asked Dean incredulously.
“If a student wishes to address me, he or she will raise their hand first and wait to be called upon to speak,” stated Umbridge firmly. Dean at once raised his hand. Umbridge ignored him, but soon half of the rest of the class had also raised their hands.
Reluctantly, Umbridge called on Parvati. “But isn’t half the exam a practical test?” she asked.
“Once you have mastered the background, you should have no trouble producing the appropriate spells in controlled conditions,” said Umbridge firmly. “The Ministry has the upmost regard for your safety, and this class has been designed to ensure a safe and secure learning environment with absolutely no risk to you whatsoever. After my predecessor’s recklessness the need for this is more evident than ever.”
“But isn’t the whole point of this class to teach us to defend ourselves?” interrupted Harry.
“You will raise your hand if you wish to speak!” insisted Umbridge.
“But...” began Ron.
“You will listen!” screeched Umbridge, briefly losing her composure for the first time. She quickly recovered. “There are rules for how my classes are conducted, and these rules will be obeyed. You will stand when I enter. You will address me correctly. You will raise your hand when you wish to speak. You will not interrupt or contradict me. Penalties for transgressing these rules will be strictly enforced. Do I make myself clear?” There was a deafening silence in the room. “I said, do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Professor,” murmured the Gryffindors.
Umbridge smiled. “Good. As for the last outburst, your concern is understandable, if mistaken. No doubt many of you have heard the rumours circulating about the supposed return of a particularly dangerous Dark wizard. Let me assure you that the Ministry has fully investigated this matter, and these scurrilous rumours are totally without foundation. They have been put about by subversive and misguided individuals seeking to undermine the Ministry and destabilise the wizarding world. You have absolutely nothing to fear.”
Her eyes rested on Neville as she spoke. Neville, whose frustration had been building ever since Umbridge had started speaking, now found it turning to anger and shock. How could she stand there and lie to everyone? Neville thought of Cedric, callously murdered in front of his eyes with barely a second thought, and now this woman was brazenly denying that it ever happened. He couldn’t bare it. He wanted to stand up, to shout out that it wasn’t true, that Voldemort was back, that Umbridge and the Ministry were wrong.
But he couldn’t. He found himself seemingly frozen to his seat, unable to speak the words he desperately wanted to say. But no spell was affecting him. He remembered the words of Moody at King’s Cross about keeping his head down and not causing trouble, but more than that, it was fear. He was terribly afraid.
There was something about the look in Umbridge’s eye as she stared down at him that terrified Neville. This wasn’t like telling the truth to Seamus, this was a teacher, someone in a position of power over him. He had been through so much already; he just wanted it to stop. He couldn’t face any more trouble. So he sat in silence, though the truth burned inside him, desperate to get out.
“Of course,” said Umbridge, her sugary tone returning, “there may be some of you who doubt what I have said. Maybe there are those among you who have a different opinion, or who are convinced that their own version of events is true.” She walked forward, passing up and down the rows of desks, until eventually she stopped in front of Neville. “What about you, Mr Longbottom?” she asked, in the sweetest tone she could muster. “Do you have anything you want to say to me, to the rest of the class?”
She wants me to defy her, thought Neville. She wants me to stand up to her so she can put me down. And he so wanted to. He so wanted to cry out, to tell the truth to everyone and forget the consequences. But he couldn’t. He put his head down and said nothing, and Umbridge smiled and walked away.
Neville Longbottom and the Order of the Phoenix by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which the first classes of term take place, including Neville’s first lesson with Umbridge.* * *