Chapter 72: Harry and Neville
Harry slouched half-willingly back to Hogwarts and flung himself into a chair after removing a pile of Hermione's books. Hermione had willingly refused to attend classes in protestation of the treatment of Professor Lupin, but that didn't mean she was about to take the day off from studying entirely.
"You might've told me you were planning to sneak off to Sirius' all afternoon," said Ron from the other side of Hermione. "I'd've joined you."
"You're a prefect. You need to set an example," said Harry and Hermione in unison. Hermione meant it seriously; Harry meant it sarcastically. Both Ron and Hermione glared at Harry, then laughed.
"I suppose it is an unusual day," Hermione conceded.
"How's Sirius?" asked Ron.
Harry told them everything that he had learned from Sirius and Tonks. He meant to tell them what Sirius had said about how soon Harry would be able to do something more to help defeat Voldemort permanently; he was eager to hear their opinions on what that might mean. But their conversation quickly changed when he told them about the letters Lupin had received. Hermione's eyes lit up.
"We do need to get more organized if we're serious about pressuring the Ministry to bring Professor Lupin back," she said, and Harry recognized the expression on her face. It was the one she always wore when she talked about house-elves. "We need to make certain that everyone who wants to sign can sign. We need a copy for our own records, one for the Ministry, one for the Headmaster— not that Dumbledore wanted to let Lupin go— and one for the Daily Prophet."
"And one for the Quibbler," said Harry firmly. "The Daily Prophet likes Umbridge. It quoted her talking about how great Karkaroff was and how Tonks had to be brought to justice for killing him in self-defense. And then it made Ron's mum think my birthday party was a drunken orgy and that I shouldn't be around Sirius."
Ron, who had been drinking a cup of tea, nearly choked. "Mum just wants to protect you. She doesn't think anyone can do that as well as she can. She's like that with all of us."
A pleasant warmth spread through Harry to the tips of his fingers and toes, and he didn't think it had anything to do with his own cup of tea.
"Anyway," said Harry, because he didn't want to talk about how much he had always wished to be part of all of us and have someone like a mother "We should try the Quibbler, too, just in case the Daily Prophet doesn't want to print it. The Quibbler probably will. Luna likes Lupin. She thinks he's very nice and it isn't anyone's business but his if he's a werewolf."
"Luna also thinks the world is flat and there's a government coverup to keep us from finding the edge," said Hermione harshly. "I don't know if it will be good for Professor Lupin to have someone like that on his side."
"Aw, Hermione, Luna's a laugh," said Ron. "But I'd better be the one to talk to her. You can worry about who and when and how much for the rest of it."
"Oh, really?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, but Harry could tell that she was about to take charge and he didn't mind at all. They worked late into the evening drafting letters and petitions and charming parchment so it could not be destroyed.
The next day marked not only a return to classes but the fifth year Gryffindors' first lesson with Snape as their Defense professor.
The room that had belonged to Lupin for so long felt odd without him. Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.
"I wish to speak to you," said Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk. "I want your fullest attention. You have had three teachers in this subject so far, I believe. Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. I will be surprised if any of you manage to scrape an OWL in this class, let alone successfully handle NEWT work, which is much more advanced."
Most of the students were glaring at Snape now, unappreciative of the implied insult to Lupin.
"The Dark Arts," Snape continued, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."
Harry stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice?
"Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. In this class, I will seek to evaluate how helplessly behind Professor Lupin and his predecessors have left you lest you find yourself suffering the same fates as the unhappy witches and wizards in these pictures." He gestured at the horrifying images on the walls.
The students looked at one another. They were well used to Snape's teaching methods, but most of them appeared to be a bit unnerved by the prospect of Snape teaching a class in which the professor was sometimes required to hex the students. Harry shuddered at the prospect of learning to cast a Patronus or resist the Imperius Curse surrounded by Snape's sneering anger instead of Lupin's gentle humor.
"Thomas!" Snape began. "What is the incantation for the snake-vanishing spell?"
Vipera Evanesca, Harry thought as hard as he could in Dean's direction. Beside him, he could sense Hermione doing the same. Dean wasn't bad at Defense, really, but he hadn't committed the more specific spells to memory the way some of the other students had.
"I will take your silence as confirmation that Lupin was unable to drum a simple vanishing spell into your thick skull," said Snape. "Miss Brown! In what scenario would you use the impediment jinx?"
To slow a rushing opponent, Harry thought, and Lavender ought to have known it even if she did sometimes spend half of Defense class giggling about her star chart from Divination.
"To disarm an opponent?" Lavender stammered, and Harry tried not to groan as Snape shook his head in disgust.
"Finnigan! What does the reductor curse do?"
"It blasts objects into pieces, Sir," said Seamus immediately.
It was a perfect answer, but no one expected Snape to praise Seamus. "As destructive as you have shown yourself to be these past four years, Finnigan, I don't imagine you needed Lupin to teach you that." Snape raised his wand and summoned a battered-looking suit of armor to the center of the room. "Miss Patil, cast a protective enchantment upon this. If I cannot break your spell, we will consider this exercise a success."
Parvati rose to her feet, clutching her wand. She cast the enchantment properly; Harry could see that perfectly well. But Snape didn't soften his attempt to break the enchantment the way Lupin might have. Instead, he summoned all of his power and the air fairly rippled with magic as the armor exploded into a thousand pieces.
"Insufficient, Miss Patil," said Snape. "Be glad that that was merely a suit of armor and not your sister's bedroom."
Parvati looked as if she might be sick on the spot. Snape ignored her. "Longbottom, what is the incantation for the tongue-tying curse?"
The correct answer was Mimblewimble; Harry was certain that they all knew that. But Neville was always terribly nervous around Snape, and he had been looking worriedly at Parvati when Snape called his name.
"Not even a guess?" asked Snape silkily. "Perhaps someone has cast Mimblewimble upon you. Stand up, Longbottom." For the first time, the black eyes fell upon Harry. "You as well, Potter."
Harry's stomach turned as he rose from his seat. He loved practical Defense lessons most of the time, but he was nervous as he began to realize what Snape was getting at. Snape knew all of the students well, and Lupin had made detailed notes on each of their progress. Snape wasn't trying to assess what they knew; he was trying assess how they reacted in an unpleasant environment. It was why he hadn't called on Harry or Hermione. He'd known that Hermione had, as usual, swallowed all of the relevant textbooks and that Defense came naturally to Harry in a way nothing else but Quidditch did.
It wasn't a terrible idea. A Death Eater wasn't likely to be as pleasant and forgiving as Professor Lupin.
Harry still didn't want to be a part of whatever Snape had in mind for Neville.
"You have been practicing nonverbal spells, I believe?" Snape asked.
"I have," said Harry. "But that's NEWT-level, and not everyone—"
"Yes, yes," said Snape boredly. "We all know that the famous Harry Potter, prodigy that he is, cannot be expected to study the same material as his less exceptional classmates. What a pity that you were never willing to apply yourself so diligently to your potion-making as you do to your dueling."
"Harry and I are to duel?" asked Neville weakly. He promptly paled at the realization that he had spoken aloud.
"Is that so far beyond your abilities, Longbottom? Professor Lupin's notes tell me that Potter always duels at least two opponents at a time, but I feel that this has done Potter a disservice. One must use entirely different tactics against multiple opponents, and it is easy to forget how to handle a single opponent if one never practices."
Lupin had once said the same thing to Harry. But Lupin had said it in private, and he had only meant that Harry and Cedric ought to have a friendly match when time permitted. Lupin certainly hadn't used it as an opportunity to humiliate Neville.
Harry decided then and there that he was simply going to fail to cast a proper spell. Nonverbal spells were difficult, and he did struggle sometimes.
Something of Harry's plan must have shown on his face, because Snape took one long stride toward him. "Mr. Potter. If you do not succeed in incapacitating Longbottom, both you and Longbottom will receive detention. If Longbottom does not make a credible attempt to cast a shield charm— and yes, Longbottom, you may cast verbally— the result will be the same."
Behind Snape's back, Neville caught Harry's eye and gave him a resigned nod. Harry knew that all he could do now was make it quick. Expelliarmus, then; that had always been the spell with which he had had the best control and it certainly incapacitated an opponent.
"One final instruction, Mr. Potter," Snape added. "Professor Lupin's notes say that you oughtn't be permitted to rely upon the disarming spell. Use any spell but that one, or it will be detention for the whole class."
Harry wouldn't have thought it possible to be angry at Lupin while Lupin was locked in Azkaban. Harry would have been wrong.
"On my count," said Snape, and Harry and Neville raised their wands and lined up to face one another.
Stupefy, Harry decided. If not disarming, then stunning was the next step. Snape wouldn't be able to argue that Harry hadn't done anything, and Neville wouldn't be hurt.
"One, two, three!"
"Protego!" called Neville, and Harry was pleased to see that his shield charm looked strong. Perhaps it was even strong enough that Harry wouldn't even be able to knock Neville out.
Stupefy, Harry thought with a rush of renewed anger that Snape had put them both in this position, that Lupin was in Azkaban, that Umbridge continued to exist, and that Sirius hadn't told him about the next step in defeating Voldemort. The spell felt wrong as it coursed through his body and his wand. He wished that he could have opened his mouth to cast it as he had intended.
Then there was a smoky crackle as Neville's shield disintegrated and a thud as Neville hit the floor.
Parvati and Lavender both gasped, and Harry noticed that even Ron was shaking his head.
"What was I supposed to do?" Harry hissed at Ron. Neville was temporarily blocked from view as Snape leaned over him, checking for damage before casting a spell to revive him.
"I know you didn't do it on purpose, mate," said Ron, who looked a little green. "These things happen."
"What things?" Harry demanded.
Snape stepped aside just then and Ron no longer needed to answer.
Neville sat on the floor holding two pieces of his broken wand.
"Potter!" snarled Snape. "If you cannot control your emotions and redouble your efforts to make your wand movements more precise, you have no business casting nonverbal spells."
"I'm sorry, Neville," Harry managed, but he knew it wasn't enough. He had heard Sirius complain more than once that he still missed the wand he'd had as a child.
"S'okay." Neville climbed shakily to his feet and returned to his desk, one half of his wand in each hand. The dragon heartstring core had shredded and spilled messily out of the wood.
Harry spent the rest of the class in a horrified haze. He had no idea what Snape assigned for homework. (Not that it mattered; Hermione would certainly tell Harry later.) He was barely able to fit his books into his bag.
This was as bad as the time he had hit Cedric full in the face with the Conjunctivitis Curse.
No, it was worse. Cedric had agreed to let Harry cast spells on him and Lupin had been ready with an antidote. Neville hadn't had a choice because he and Harry were Snape's favorite students to humiliate.
Harry gestured for Ron and Hermione to go on ahead. He needed to talk to Neville alone.
"It's all right," Neville repeated when Harry apologized a second time. His eyes were distant and his voice hollow. "You did the only thing you could do. Snape told you to do it. I told you to do it."
"But I never meant to break your wand!" said Harry. Not that what he had meant to do mattered at all. Ron had had a terrible time trying to cast spells properly in their second year when his wand had been broken, and Neville's wand was worse off— it had snapped clean in two. "You need a new one now. I'll go to Ollivander's with you and pay for it if you like. They have to let us out of school for long enough to get you a new wand, don't they? You can't carry on with just the pieces."
"I can't be much worse with just the pieces than I was before," Neville replied darkly.
"I'd hate to lose my wand." Harry remembered, as if it had been yesterday, the wonderful moment when he had first held his holly and phoenix feather wand."The day my wand chose me in Ollivander's was one of the best days of my life."
Neville exhaled audibly. "I've never been there."
Harry was surprised. He'd thought that everyone at Hogwarts got their wands from Ollivander's. "Then how—"
"It was my dad's wand."
Harry couldn't have felt worse. He'd offered to pay for a replacement for an heirloom that was irreplaceable. He imagined what it would have been like to have had a small piece of one of his parents in his hand each time he'd cast a spell…
"My gran is going to kill me," Neville continued.
"I'll apologize to her, too," said Harry. "She should kill me, not you. It was my fault."
Neville didn't seem to hear him. He was still toying with the broken pieces of the wand. "My dad was a great wizard," he said after a moment.
"I know," said Harry. "Both of your parents were Aurors, weren't they?" Neville looked up in surprise. "Sirius told me. You know, my godfather."
"I know."
"He told me how much he admired them both, how good they were at their job. He really liked them, I think, and he doesn't always like everyone."
"I talked to him once, when he called you with that mirror last year and you weren't in the dormitory." Harry remembered. "He was all right," Neville continued. "You seem happier since you've been living with him."
"I am happier since I've been living with him." He'd have been even happier if Sirius hadn't asked for a few extra days before telling him what was going on. But Neville didn't need to know that. "I wish I'd had him for my whole life," Harry said instead. "You know, that night that you answered the mirror, he told me—"
"Told you what?" asked Neville warily.
"Told me that if he'd been my guardian before I started Hogwarts, you probably would have been round twice a week to play with me."
"Oh." Neville sounded more than a little relieved. "About my mum and dad, Harry. You-Know-Who. It wasn't You-Know-Who like with your parents."
"It was Bellatrix Lestrange. Sirius' cousin."
"Did Sirius tell you what she did?"
Sirius had told Harry that what had become of Frank and Alice Longbottom was Neville's story to tell. But Harry decided that Neville was close enough to telling it. "Yes," said Harry. "But I've never mentioned it to anyone else."
"Thanks," said Neville. "It's not that I'm ashamed of them."
"Of course you're not. But it's hard to explain and it's not anyone's business."
"Thanks," said Neville again.
Harry wanted to tell Neville that Harry was the one who ought to be saying thank you because Neville wasn't furious at Harry for breaking the wand or blaming Sirius for what Bellatrix had done. But he didn't know how to say any of that, so instead he guided Neville silently toward Professor McGonagall's office.
Professor McGonagall seemed to have been expecting them.
"I've had message from Professor Snape," she told them crisply. "I've already taken the liberty of speaking to your grandmother, Longbottom. She will meet you at Ollivander's in Diagon Alley tomorrow morning to purchase your new wand."
"Was she angry?" asked Neville just as Harry asked whether he might go, too.
McGonagall looked from one to the other. "Longbottom, your grandmother has seen enough in her life to know that even the best wands can be shattered under the most unlikely circumstances. I'm given to understand that neither one of you was engaging in horseplay when this happened?"
Harry and Neville shook their heads.
"I'd still like to buy Neville's new wand for him," said Harry.
"That isn't necessary," said Neville.
McGonagall glanced between them again, and this time Harry thought she looked rather softer. She removed a tin from her desk and held it out to them. "Have a biscuit. Both of you."
Neither Harry nor Neville knew quite what to make of the rather unexpected offer, and so they accepted the biscuits obediently. The biscuits turned out to be chocolate and delicious.
"Good," said McGonagall. "Longbottom, would you like Potter to accompany you tomorrow? Many wizards find a friend's opinion helpful when choosing a new wand— or being chosen, as I'm certain Mr. Ollivander would say."
"Yes," said Neville after a moment, and Harry couldn't help grinning. He was dreadfully sorry to have broken Neville's father's wand, but he thought that he would like to see Mr. Ollivander's shop again after so many years. He had known so little about the wizarding world when he had first visited.
"Very well. Longbottom, return to my office first thing tomorrow morning. Potter, a word before you go."
Neville left, and McGonagall nudged the tin of biscuits toward Harry. "Have another, Potter."
Harry sat up straighter in his chair and nibbled at the edge of the biscuit, wondering if now that they were alone McGonagall was going to punish him properly for destroying Neville's wand. Instead, McGonagall asked whether Harry had ever met Neville's grandmother.
"Not really," said Harry. "I've seen her a few times. She's… formidable."
McGonagall laughed. "She is, at that."
"I didn't want Neville to have to see her alone if she's angry about the wand, since I'm the one who broke it. I know it was Neville's father's wand. I thought if I apologized she wouldn't be so hard on Neville for not doing the same things with the wand that his dad did…"
Harry trailed off, feeling rather foolish. What did he know of grandmothers? He didn't have any.
McGonagall was looking hard at Harry, but not the way she did when she was angry. (Having passed notes to Ron during her class more than once, Harry was well-acquainted with what McGonagall was like when she was angry.)
"Well, Potter," said McGonagall at last. "I held you back because I wanted to be certain that you were properly prepared for your unexpected trip tomorrow, but it seems that you are better prepared than I could have hoped. And for what it's worth, I do not think Augusta will blame you for the destruction of the wand. I, however, would like to remind you that when you cast nonverbal spells, wand movement and emotional regulation become all the more significant. You wouldn't cast a Patronus Charm without a happy memory, and you certainly shouldn't cast a stunning spell without focusing your thoughts."
And with that, she waved Harry out of her office.
As Professor McGonagall had predicted, Neville's grandmother did not seem to blame Harry in the slightest for the destruction of her beloved son's wand. Instead, she seemed pleased that Neville had decided to invite a friend to accompany them. It was a short walk from the fireplace they'd used to travel from Hogwarts (a special one-off connection to the Floo Network, apparently) to Mr. Ollivander's shop.
Neville tried half a dozen wands with sometimes comical results and sometimes no results at all. "I'm almost a squib," he told Mr. Ollivander apologetically. "It might be that none of the wands will choose me because of that."
"Do not say such things, Neville," rounded his grandmother rather imperiously.
"I tried half the wands in the store before I found mine," said Harry. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I think Mr. Ollivander enjoys it more the longer it takes."
"I do believe you're correct about that, Harry," Mrs. Longbottom whispered back as Mr. Ollivander snatched yet another wand out of Neville's hand and replaced it with a new one.
It took about fifteen minutes— though Harry appreciated that it seemed longer to Neville— before Mr. Ollivander declared a perfect match.
"Cherry is one of the most unusual woods for a wand," Mr. Ollivander explained. "A cherry wand will have a strange power— a lethal power in the wrong hands, though the unicorn hair will mitigate that. Did you know that student in the Mahoutokoro school in Japan who wields a cherry wand has a special prestige?"
"Maybe I should transfer there," said Neville as Harry tried to place seven galleons on the counter and Mrs. Longbottom ordered him to put them away.
As they stepped into the winter sunlight, Mrs. Longbottom told Neville that they had time before lunch to visit Neville's parents. "Neville has told you about his parents, hasn't he?" she asked Harry sharply.
"Yes," said Harry as quickly as he could, because he didn't like to think how Mrs. Longbottom would have reacted if she suspected that there was the slightest chance that Neville didn't praise his parents at every opportunity. "Both Aurors, weren't they?"
"And very well respected within the wizarding community," said Mrs. Longbottom with an approving nod. "Highly gifted, the pair of them. They gave their health and their sanity to defeat You-Know-Who." She spoke without interruption about the many accolades Frank and Alice Longbottom had received until they reached the Spell Damage Ward on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Neville, meanwhile, looked thoroughly depressed. It wasn't hard for Harry to understand why, and he felt even sorrier for Neville when he came face to face with Frank and Alice Longbottom.
Frank Longbottom didn't rise from his bed. His skin, grey beneath a day's growth of beard, twitched slightly as his mother spoke to him. He showed no sign of recognizing Mrs. Longbottom or Neville, and certainly no interest when Mrs. Longbottom introduced Harry. ("Lily and James Potter's son, you know, born one day after Neville.")
Alice Longbottom was more aware of her surroundings, but only just. She stood up in her nightdress and edged toward Neville. Her face was thin and worn. Her eyes seemed overlarge, and her white hair was wispy and dead-looking. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions toward Neville. Neville automatically held out his hand to accept an empty Droobles Blowing Gum wrapper. "Thanks, Mum," he said quietly as Alice began to hum to herself.
Harry didn't believe he had ever felt sorrier for anyone in his life.
By the time they sought out a restaurant for lunch, Harry had no desire to eat. Neville, too, was as subdued as Harry had ever seen him. Mrs. Longbottom, by contrast, seemed only to have gained energy from visiting her son and her daughter-in-law. She appeared to be completely unaware of Neville's cowering misery as she asked what he would like to eat. "The slow cooked new forest venison and red wine casserole, Neville?" she asked. "That's what you usually have."
"That's fine," said Neville.
"I'll have that as well, please," said Harry, relieved to find himself spared from attempting to figure out what he ought to order.
"So polite," said Mrs. Longbottom approvingly. "I see that fame hasn't ruined you. Of course, Neville has always spoken so highly of you that I'm not surprised in the slightest."
"I think highly of Neville as well," said Harry. It had never been more true.
"He's not as clever as his parents, of course." The casual comment hit Harry like a physical blow. He suspected that he wasn't as clever as his parents, either, but Sirius and Lupin never came out and told him so. "He won't make an Auror, Neville won't."
"He's best in our year at Herbology, though," said Harry. He wasn't at all sure whether that was true, but Herbology was by far Neville's best subject, so it might have been. "I'm thinking of becoming an Auror, and there's no one but Neville I'd rather have growing the plants that might save my life."
"Well— that's very kind of you, Harry," said Mrs. Longbottom as Neville eyed Harry suspiciously. "Are you really thinking of becoming an Auror?"
"I don't know whether my marks in Potions will be high enough."
"You need to apply yourself, then." Harry had already known as much and didn't find the reprimand particularly helpful. "I understand that Horace Slughorn is teaching Potions this term. Horace is a fine teacher. He adored both Frank and Alice. Dumbledore was quite right to encourage him to return, as odd as some of Dumbledore's other decisions might have been. Bringing in a werewolf to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts— I ask you—"
Harry set down his fork. He hadn't been enjoying the casserole anyway. "Professor Lupin was my favorite teacher," he said as calmly as he could. "And he would never have let the accident with Neville's wand happen."
"He was the best Defense professor we ever had," Neville added. "He's so easy to learn from. Even for me. My marks were so much better after he came in third year."
Mrs. Longbottom looked at her grandson as if she expected to see someone else. "I suppose that's the case," she said after a moment. "You may be right. I may even tell Dumbledore so when I see him next."
"Write him," said Harry, even though he knew he was pushing his luck and Neville might not thank him for it. "Some of the students are writing to the school and the Ministry and the newspaper, and it would help if some of the families would write, too."
"I admire a young man who knows what he's about," said Mrs. Longbottom after a long moment. "I'll consider it. Do you suppose I ought to, Neville?"
"I really do, Gran."
She nodded. "Then I shall."
That night, after Harry had closed the red curtains around his bed, he pulled out the well-worn photo album Hagrid had once given him. His parents smiled at him from every page.
Forever healthy.
Forever young.
Forever happy.
Their eyes would never grow vacant. Lily's hair would never be stringy or grey. James would never want for the energy to sit up.
He knew he had been right when he'd told Sirius, last spring, that James and Lily Potter had been luckier than Frank and Alice Longbottom.
There are fates worse than death, Lupin had explained when he'd taught the students about the dementor's kiss back in Harry's third year.
Harry wondered again just what Sirius was putting off telling him.
To be continued.
Disclaimer: The beginning of Snape's first lesson as Defense professor, and particularly the description of the room, is quoted from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Description of Alice Longbottom quoted from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
Author's Note: No pressure to review; you've got enough stress (i.e. abject terror) in your life without deciding what to say. If you do comment, please be kind; I've got enough stress (i.e. abject terror) in my life without the other sort of comment. Stay safe.
Recommendation:
Honestly, Headmaster by Meteoricshipyards. It is story ID number 3191147 on this site.
Summary: Harry has to explain what happened last night to Headmaster Dumbledore.
In the event that you're in need of 3000 words of crack fic… that somehow seems just as sensible as anything that canonically happens at Hogwarts.
