Neville Longbottom was out of sorts. And, being that it was Neville Longbottom, he had to be quite out of any sort of sorts to be out of sorts in the first place. It had taken him nearly thirty minutes to dress, and that didn't include the extra ten minutes it took to tie his tie, considering Neville Longbottom could not, in fact, tie a tie (his grandmother had sent him six pre-tied ties in his trunk, you see, but Neville had already accidentally undone them in the two months he had been at school). He was now perched on one of the armchairs by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, tie tied (albeit, in a knot), clutching his toad, Trevor, in his clammy palms. His eyes bugged precariously from his head (Trevor's eyes, not Neville's), and he squirmed uneasily, as if channeling his master's uneasiness. In fact, Neville had never resembled his pet toad more so than he did now—the poor Gryffindor even had a greenish hue to his round cheeks. It classed horribly with his robes.
"Longbottom! Who died?" came a voice from across the common room. Fred—or was it George?—No, it was Fred—came sauntering towards the fire, tailed by George—or, well, it could have been Fred, but since Neville assume the first one was Fred—well, you get it.
"Did Trevor bite the big one?" asked George.
"Go to toad heaven?" asked Fred.
"Amphibian hell?" asked George.
Neville looked upwards at the identical elder males, lower lip wobbling a bit as he held up his very alive toad. "N-no, Trevor's alright," he mumbled. At the stutter, the brothers glanced briefly at each other before placing themselves on either side of Neville, sensing a situation in which they could either provide brotherly advice or completely screw with the younger boy—and let's be honest, it was probably the latter. Neville looked between them before turning back to studying Trevor miserably.
"Fess up, Longbottom. What's got your panties in a twist?" inquired Fred, putting an arm around the green-tinged boy. Neville's lower lip wobbled a bit and he sighed a shuddering sigh.
"I heard we're going to have to fight a boggart in Defense Against the Dark Arts today," came the quiet reply.
Fred glanced over at George, whose face was already breaking into a maniacal grin, which he matched. Glad to know they were on the same page, George placed his arm around the other side of Neville. "So?" he asked.
Neville looked up, face chock-full of terror. "D-D'you know what a boggart is? It's a thing that t-t-turns into what you fear the most! I-I'm never going to be able to fight it," he mumbled lamely, hanging his head once more. He couldn't even fathom what scared him the most. Vampires terrified him. Then again, so did heights. Snakes were pretty bad, but so were midterms. Oh, no, now he was really frightened. Trevor gave an understanding croak.
Fred's face broke into a large grin. "Well, it's a good thing you have Trevor, then!" George looked momentarily confused, before a look of dawning understanding spread across his features, and he nodded ferociously.
"Bloody lucky, you are," said George.
Neville looked upwards again, from Fred, to George, and back again. "Um… what're you getting at?" he asked.
"Didn't you know that toad's… er, repel boggarts?" Fred stated, standing to his feet and motioning to the toad emphatically.
"Right magical things, toads," chimed George.
Neville frowned. "Really?" the poor sap of a boy asked, flushed face suddenly naively hopeful.
The other twin stood and joined his brother, as they both placed themselves in front of Neville. The two gave off the air of performing a show, so in tune were their brains and so charismatic as they were to watch. "Oh, of course!" said one, "Didn't you know?" said the other.
"W-what do I do, j-just hold it in my pocket?" asked Neville.
Fred and George exchanged glanced. "Er, not exactly," stated George, beating his brother to the punch. "You have to, er—"
"—lick it," finished Fred matter-of-factly with a curt nod. George beamed at his other half.
Neville's mouth fell open, puddle-grey eyes registering disbelief. "Lick it? I-I will not lick Trevor!" he spluttered, clutching the toad to his chest like a lover. Trevor was, indeed, very important to Neville, but he would not lick it. Blergh.
George shrugged. "Well, it's up to you, mate. It's only your Dark Arts grade, and all."
"Yeah, I mean, all you have to do is just give Trevor a swipe with your tongue before you face the boggart—" said Fred
"—and the thing backs off faster than… er, faster than—"
"—faster than Ron failing Potions," finished Fred once more.
"Oh, and kissing it for good measure never hurts," added George, not to be outdone.
Neville watched the two, incredulity still registering on his face. But the twins looked so eager, so honest… Sure, he had often been tricked by Fred and George, but surely they couldn't be lying now, right? Not when his grades were in jeopardy. Nervously, Neville stood to his feet, a shaky smile twisting the corners of his mouth upwards. "W-well, if you say so…"
Fred and George simultaneously slapped the younger boy on the back. "Atta boy, Longbottom. You show that boggart whose boss!" they cheered.
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"I'm sorry, Neville. What was that?" Professor Lupin asked, craning his head towards the boy.
"P-P-P-Professor Snape," Neville spluttered, embarrassed beyond all forms of embarrassment. When Professor Lupin had called on him to demonstrate how to repel a boggart, he had been mortified, but to be forced to admit his greatest fear? Oh, God. And then, pressured to say the first thing that came to mind, out of everything that scared him, he had to say Snape. The classes laughter brought a deep red to his ears and cheeks, and although Professor Lupin's eyes were dancing, he did not laugh.
"Yes, he scares us all," the Professor whispered to Neville in confidence with a small wink. Neville felt a swell of affection for the strange teacher—most professors ignored him, berated him, even disliked him, but Professor Lupin seemed to be on his side. He almost forgot about what was to come, until Professor Lupin moved towards the cabinet. It gave a terrible lurch, and so did Neville's stomach. "Now, I understand you live with your grandmother, Neville?"
"Y-y-yes…"
"Good. Now, can you picture your grandmother's clothes?"
Neville paused, taken aback. Professor Lupin was confusing him even more. "Um, I s-s-suppose—" he stuttered, "She wears these green robes, a-a-and a fox-fur scarf, a-and this hat, with a bird on top—" Neville paused, lowering his voice to a harried whisper, "—but I don't want the boggart to turn into her, either!"
Professor Lupin smiled kindly. "No, don't worry, it won't. Now I want you to picture your grandmother's clothes clearly in your mind. Can you do that?" The boy nodded, even more at a loss than before. "Good, now, when I release the boggart, I want you to imagine Professor Snape in your grandmother's clothes—" he said, pausing due to the uproarious laughter from the Gryffindor students, "—can you do that?" Neville nodded again. "Alright. On my count… one… two… three!" With a dramatic swirl of the arm, Professor Lupin unlocked the cupboard, and out swept a villainous Professor Snape.
Neville's throat closed. His stomach dropped to his feet. His heart stopped. It was as if he was watching a muggle movie of himself—he saw himself raising his wand, trying to mutter the spell, but no matter how much he desired himself to, he could not cast the spell. Oh, well. Time for Trevor.
Abandoning his wand, Neville's hand dived into his pocket to retrieve the toad. Giving him a quick look and a, "—sorry, Trevor, but I have to do this—" he gave Trevor the Toad a long lick with his tongue (Trevor tasted like seaweed and dirt and shame). The stunned silence from his fellow classmates and Professor Lupin was ignored, as Professor Snape was still leering at him. It wasn't working! Fearful now, Neville began to plant kisses on the top of Trevor's mossy head.
He did not know how long he would have continued, if it weren't for Professor Lupin intervening. The man, throwing a perplexed look at Neville, strode forward. The boggart instantly switched to a strange white orb, which, after Professor Lupin stated, "Riddikulus!" deflated like a balloon and flew straight back into the cupboard. Once it was safely locked away, he turned to Neville, a bemused smile on his features.
"Er, Neville?"
"Y-y-yes P-P-Professor?"
"This may seem like a nosey question—but, er—why were you kissing your toad?"
The class tittered behind Neville's back as he gazed at Professor Lupin. "W-w-well, I-I-I was told this morning that t-t-toads repel boggarts, if you lick them! E-e-even better if you kiss them!" he squeaked.
"And you, if I may ask, told you this?"
"Fred and George Weasley, sir."
Professor Lupin moved to speak, but was interrupted by a yell from the back of the room. "Neville, you giant git! Why'd you listen to them?" shouted Ron Weasley. The class roared with laughter, but was soon silenced by a raised hand from Professor Lupin.
"Thank you, Mr. Weasley. But he has a point, Neville. Next time you prepare for class, I suggest you stick to your textbook," Professor Lupin said kindheartedly, and sent the boy back to rejoin his peers with a gentle incline of the head.
Neville was mortified. He never, never, never should have listened to Fred and George! Why, why, why, why, why—
"Neville, that was brilliant!" shouted Dean. Seamus, who was standing next to Dean, nodded fervently.
"I mean, sure, it was a bit thick—but you licked a toad. That's bloody hilarious!" Dean said, grinning. Seamus nodded appreciatively. Smiling a bit, Neville turned back to the front, where another student was now facing the boggart. Sure, he had fallen for the oldest trick in the book, been really, really humiliated, and had the distinct taste of pond water in his mouth—but in the end, he had made people laugh.
He had to suppose, then, it had all been worth it.