November was quick to come and go, falling into December, where Christmas was soon to show about. Hogwarts took on a livelier, more celebratory mood as the day grew closer and closer. Snows were falling with full passions, but magic had made it so that the blizzards that would normally buffet the castle were instead trickled to be only the gentlest of snowfalls, offering a perpetually white season.
Albus had always thought that bit of magic was perhaps the greatest achievement that his predecessor, Armando Dippet, had gifted the school. Armando was the Charms professor for the school prior to his taking over as headmaster, and he'd spent much of his early life in the warm, tropical comforts of South Africa as a lad and apprentice. He'd never truly taken to the weather of Hogwarts, though he loved the school dearly, and set about on crafting permanent spells that would make what he considered horrendous to be tolerable once he was given access to the schools wardstone. The gusty winds and cold climate of Scotland still bled through the castle, but it was no longer needed for students to learn warming charms so soon, which was a statement all its own.
"Are you even listening to me, Albus?"
"I was a mite distracted, Minerva." He admitted, returning his attention to her. They were sat in his office, his desk cleared of clutter so they could sift through forms of note together. He picked one up in particular that had been facing her and grabbed a quill. "Old memories held my attention. We were going through the students staying, yes? From your house, I believe."
She nodded. "So far, from Gryffindor, there are seventeen students listed to stay in the castle. Three first-years, one second-year, four third-years, no fourth-years, two fifth-years, three sixth-years, and four seventh-years."
"And Pomona and Filius have already given us their numbers." As befitting of houses of hard work and intelligence, quite a few upper years were staying over the winter break to get handles on their NEWT and OWL projects. He'd have to have the house elves keep a keener eye on them. With many of their fellow students and staff gone for the holidays, it was likely there would be some delving into magics beyond their ken. It happened nearly every year, with few exceptions.
Albus just hoped there would be no need for students to go to St. Mungo's this time around.
"And Severus?" Minerva asked, noting something down on her clipboard.
"Nobody." Though the Slytherin students held a surly reputation, they were well known for looking out for one another, even when there was strife amongst their own. Those students who were intending to stay at the castle were invited to spend the holidays with their housemate's families, not only as an act of friendship, but also to keep the solidarity that Slytherin brought about in place. The house consensus was that there would be no students staying the break, no exceptions.
It was disappointing that this was the route that they were taking this year. Last year, there was a strong group of twenty-four Slytherin students actively staying for Yule. To trickle that number down to nothing was quite sad in the headmaster's mind.
Alas, this was a problem of his own making.
Perhaps next time, should he have to safeguard any other artefacts of great and terrible power, he will not warn the students that they could die horribly painful deaths. A gentler approach would be best.
Next time, should there be a next time, Albus would say that they would die quickly and painlessly.
"Well, that settles that then." She said, slumping into her chair. "Less students than normal, but all in all a fair number. I'll be organizing everything in my quarters, if that doesn't cause issue."
"None at all!" Albus said, allowing his eyes to brighten. "Do as you feel is best. All that matters is that the rest of the forms are given to me before daybreak tomorrow."
"Busy, I take it?"
He laughed. If there was one thing that was a constant for Albus Dumbledore, it was that he was always busy. "I will be proceeding an ICU session later that evening, and likely won't be back until the afternoon of the next day."
"Very well," she said, standing. She duplicated the Gryffindor list, left the copy on his desk, and left the room with only a short nod of acknowledgement. Albus found himself alone.
And in his lonesome, in his curiosity, he skimmed the list. More specifically, he skimmed the first-year section. The three names listed were Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter, and Neville Clawke.
All of the Weasley boys were slated stay for the break, so this was no surprise. Their parents had been offered to visit young Charlie at the Romanian dragon enclosure he was interning under, and Molly was loudly insistent on doing so. Harry was of poor relations with his aunt and uncle, Albus was sad to admit, and it had been entirely expected for him to stay the break as well.
It was Neville that held Albus's interest this time around, held his surprise. From what he could discern, Dorothy Clawke and her ward held an amiable relationship. Perhaps they were not especially close, but they were a happy enough pair. In all the ways that counted, they were family. It boggled at Albus that he would choose to be away from her. Family was important!
But then again, a lack of magic was what brought him under her care in the first place, and so it was sensible for the boy to want to be surrounded by magic for as long as he could.
He took a candy from a bowl of mixed colored items and suckled on the sugary treat, savoring the artificial cherry flavoring. Muggles made the best candies. And as he enjoyed his indulgence, Albus leaned back into his chair and began a small session of pondering.
As was tradition, he gave gifts to all the students who were staying at Hogwarts for the winter holiday. He enjoyed offering presents that held more seasonal flares such peppermint bark muggle treats and wreathes enchanted to dance and yule-singing musical devices and the like. There was a small closet filled with them that the house elves would give out on the day in question.
But this year, with the boys who were noted in the prophecy under his gaze, such generic and simplistic offerings felt, well… they just felt wrong.
Harry, Albus had decided, would be receiving his father's cloak, not only because it was beyond past time for the boy to have it, but also to give him a constant reminder of the world that his parents came from, that wished for him to stay.
It was a tad on the manipulative side, stretching the psychology of a young boy in such a manner, but Albus considered it an innocent enough gesture. There was no mind magic woven into the cloak, nothing added that could harm the Potter heir. There was not even a tracking charm added to the fabric. There would be no tricks, no meddling with the boy's faculties. Albus just wanted Harry to stay in the Wizarding World, where he believed the boy belonged.
He wanted the same for young Neville. However, in that case, Albus did not happen to have a family heirloom to throw at the boy. And knowing his past, even if there was one to offer, Albus was unsure if Neville would appreciate it. He'd actually have to think on his gift. What a dilemma.
Luckily, Albus was somebody that owned quite a few things he'd be happy to get rid of. And what better way was there to feed a young mind than with an especially interesting tome?
Suckling on his candy with slightly more force, he swiveled his chair around towards his bookshelf. Headmasters were expected to fill at least a few of their office shelves with books of value and rarity, donating them to the school upon their death or resignation or expulsion if such an event were to occur. And after his defeat of Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore became the owner of many, many Gringotts vaults from all over Europe, slated to be gifted to the man or woman that defeated the Dark Lord, filled not only with galleons and curious treasures, but also of old books and manuscripts. Upon his death, which would hopefully not be soon to come, Hogwarts would receive its largest donation of literature since the black plague.
The question was not if he had something Neville would want, but instead what manner of book to give Neville, such was the size of his collection.
Furrowing his brow, he twisted his mind magics, turning foggy memories clear and cut, vague conversations feeling to have now only occurred a scant few seconds ago. Truly, this was the greatest boon to a magical scholar there was: Augeomency, the mind magic that focused on the retention of information, making it so it was harder to forget incidents than it was to remember them. Combined with Occlumency, allowing him to organize emotions and thus control his mind better, it was a simple matter of noting conversations with which Neville either was a part of, or was the subject of.
It did not take long for him to find something worthwhile. During the Halloween feast, Filius had raved about the Gryffindor first year, happily proclaiming to the staff his brilliance. Evidently, Neville was advanced enough to perform some spells silently, and was curious about wands and why they were needed. That then brought them towards the topic of wand lore and the origins of what would later become modern day magic. Sadly, Filius stopped his happy rambling on the lad when Bathsheba summoned his bacon to her plate, and then a small game of magical tug-of-war began over a pot of stuffing.
He stood and made way to the shelf, focusing on the history subsection. Innocently sat between two thick dossiers denoting their own unique subject-matters was a thin, leather-bound journal of sorts. He took it out and stared at the runic inscriptions at the front.
Well, he thought, honestly a little baffled by how easy his task ended up being. That works.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
Christmas was a day that Neville had been cautious of this year.
The holiday often held confusion for him, being fair. With the Longbottom's, it was one that was overly decorated and celebrated beyond normality. Lights and streamers aplenty, their forest decorated in every manner of color there was, parties and people galore, Christmas felt a production in the manner. Later on, Neville learned that his family outdid themselves in hopes that it would inspire magic from him. Each year the show would grow more and more ostentatious in hopes that this would happen.
As if to hold to the opposite, Dorothy did not do much for the holiday. The night prior, she'd take him to mass, and then on the day itself she'd gift him twenty pounds and bake a small pie. A simple tradition, one that he found he preferred. He was not a showy person, and neither was she. It worked.
Hogwarts was different though. It was a school of magic, a magnificent castle that outstripped all others. Reputed as the best wizarding school in the world, run by the man that bested a Dark Lord and was feared by another, it was expected that Hogwarts celebrate things with a fervor.
And, because of this, Neville had been awaiting the holiday with growing worry.
Luckily, it appeared that he needn't have worried at all.
The morning began for him when Ron yelled for Harry to wake up, stating that there were presents. Both Harry and Neville were enjoying a lie in, thinking they'd not be getting anything, but Harry was pleasantly surprised to find himself wrong. Neville followed along, not because he thought he'd be getting much either, but because he was well awake by this point, and there was nothing to do for it.
There was a small tree in the Gryffindor common room, decorated with red and gold streamers. The rest of the students must have been getting breakfast already, for the trio of boys were the only ones there. Packages and wrapping papers were strewn all around the carpets and floors showing that though the others weren't there, they had been.
"Come on over Nev," Harry said, grabbing a pillow and patting at it. Neville did so, crossing his legs, and then they began.
Harry had a small handful of four gifts, and Neville had even less than that with three. Ron had the most between the three of them, a whopping nine presents. They decided that Ron would open his first, which he did with a gusto, happily taking in the candies and clothes he was given. Then, on his last gift, he found it was given to him by Hermione.
They'd all received a gift from Hermione, funnily enough, so they decided to open them all together. Ron was given a muggle homework planner, which he accepted with the exact amount of enthusiasm Neville expected. Which was none. Harry got a broom polishing kit from her. He was hopeful it'd knock out some of the dents from his first Quidditch game, when his broom went antsy and he'd landed it poorly after catching the snitch in his mouth.
Neville received a copy of Hogwarts: A History from her, which he'd honestly laughed at. Ron and Harry joined him a moment after reading the cover, all of them knowing how much she loved the book. It suited Neville fine though, because he gave her a copy of Law of the Land, the primer on magical laws he'd found useful. Not only was it a book that he knew she would use, but it was the book he'd leant her on the train to school, just as she'd leant him the book he now owned for the trip.
Flipping through it, he randomly began to read an excerpt denoting the Hufflepuff passages, a series of paths between the dungeon walls with their own sets of rules, similar to the moving stairwells.
"Woah," Ron exclaimed, taking Neville away from his book. He looked over and saw Harry was there, but not. His head was there, but his body was missing. Giddy, Harry unwrapped an invisibility cloak from his shoulders and held it like a plush doll. He didn't look ready to let it go at all.
"That's amazing." Neville breathed out. And he meant it. As far as he knew, invisibility cloaks were rare and difficult to make, requiring materials that involved the help of demiguise keepers and acromantula breeders to procure, as well as other uncommon magical plants that he didn't wholly know the names of.
"The note said it was from my dad," Harry said, smiling.
Neville whistled in admiration. "It's gotta be a relic then."
"Relic?"
"I think so, at least," Neville admitted with a shrug. "Invisibility cloaks last for around six years before losing their magic, 'least that's what I remember reading, though I'm sorry I don't remember where I read it. I'll look for it later. But if it was your dads then its gotta at least be ten years old. You know that saying, they don't make 'em like they used to? It's the same for magic. Artifacts and relics and heirlooms, some of them're better than what we have now because they were made different, and the ways they were made weren't always written down. That might be rarer than you know, Harry."
"Wicked." Both Ron and Harry exclaimed. Harry continued to play with the cloak, allowing both Ron and Neville a go at it. Neville found that while it was fun, his disillusionment spell felt more secure. Then Harry opened his last gift, a small envelope from his aunt and uncle that contained only a toothpick.
Having never seen that level pettiness before, Neville did not know what to say. And so, he kept silent.
"What have you got then, Nev?" Ron awkwardly asked, looking at the two parcels in his lap.
Thankful for the leave, Neville opened one of them. It was a book, with a tan leather cover and silver script, denoting a runic language he did not know. A small note was on top of it, scrawled with loopy handwriting.
I have been told you are curious about how magic was before wands.
Translate this journal, and you might find the answers you seek.
"That's the same writing from the package my dad's cloak was in." Harry said, frowning in confusion.
"Huh." He flipped through the book and was bombarded with symbols that were absolute gibberish. Nothing looked akin to the English alphabet. Deciding it would be best to save that bit of investigation for later, Neville put the book to the side and pulled out his other gift, a plain wrapped envelope, simple as could be.
Opening it, a professional stationary letter fell out along with forty pounds.
Neville,
I do not approve of this magic that you are taking up. You know this.
However, with you gone these past few months, I have had the chance to, as they say, "get over myself."
Just because I don't like it doesn't mean you don't. I want to support you, and so I will try to do just that.
There will be mistakes, I'm sure. And we will have our fights. Still, I believe we can get over this.
There's no pie this time around, but hopefully a little extra money in your pocket will make up for it.
Have a happy Christmas,
Dorothy
Harry and Ron tried to read the letter, curious on what was said, but Neville hastily tucked it into the pockets of his pajama bottoms.
He could not tuck away the smile that held for the rest of the day, however.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
When the winter holidays rolled away and the second semester began, it felt as if Hogwarts had finally taken to losing some of its luster. Only some, for it was still a beautiful, wonderful place.
With a methodical sort of flair, Neville whipped his wand out and swirled it through the air, carefully paying attention to the moving picture that showed the same wand movement, and pointed it at a button on his desk. Smartly, he was doing his level best to not say the incantation that went with this spell.
The button shimmied in place, as if struggling with itself, and then grew a pair of hairy legs, one vastly larger than the other. It attempted to move, but the imbalance had it instead doing something more reminiscent of an Irish jig, Without the coordination or fun music, that is.
Slumping, Neville reverted his spell, the button returning to normal. That was not only a failure, but a monumental one. The button was supposed to turn into a tarantula, not whatever that was.
But that was to be expected when working on third-year Transfigurations.
Normally, Neville wouldn't be trying this. In fact, it was quite a bit beyond his level. However, with Hermione distracted by Harry and Ron more and more, occupying his free time was more a matter a self-study as of late. Not that he was complaining, mind. He actually liked his dormmates, they were fun and interesting and had a habit of finding adventures in the dullest of things. Alas, whenever he tried to spend time with the three of them, joining them in the library, their conversations died out quick, and he wasn't slow enough to realize they had their own secrets. It was better to hang out with them when they weren't in the library, he decided. Much easier.
All the same, this gave him the chance to focus on other projects. Madam Pomfrey's talk from September had awakened a desire in him; he wanted to learn healing magic. Meaning he'd need to be better with Charms and Transfiguration. He did not, however, want to wait three more years before delving into her craft.
Even if he was getting nowhere faster than somewhere.
"I've been at this for too long," he muttered. Swiftly deciding that that was indeed correct, he packed his stuff up and grabbed the textbook. Shouldering his bag, he made way to the exit, pausing momentarily to bother Madam Pince.
She was sat at her work desk, heavily frowning over something or other. He cleared his throat, and she looked up quickly. Her frown turned even harsher.
"Yes, Mr. Clawke?"
"I'm sorry to bother, ma'am. I just wanted to return this."
"Then place it on the desk and leave."
"Er, I also wanted to know if one of the books I'd asked about was available."
"They are not," she shortly said.
"R-really?"
Huffing, she grabbed a ledger and leafed through it, pointing her finger at a scratched-out sentence, beckoning him to take a look. "Occluding the Occult was returned this morning at 6:06 am, and then checked out by a different party by 6:12 am. Books on mind magic are rare. It is among the most popular check outs for upper year students in the library, and since we only have three copies, all of which are checked out…"
She didn't need to say anything further. He understood. Mind magic offered a leg up to everybody that learned it, even at a beginner's level.
The thing that Neville didn't understand was why the Hogwarts library only copied books up to three times, regardless of how popular a text was. There might be some Arithmancy involved, three being a powerful number and all, but still, it seemed silly.
He did know better than to badger her about this line of questioning, however. That way lay misery.
"If you are so wanting to look through one of these books then I'd suggest figuring out who has a copy at this moment."
"Couldn't you just tell me?"
Madam Pince shook her head, her pinched expression growing even more pinched. "That is a breach of privacy that the school does not permit me to maneuver. Nor would I even if it wasn't against our policy."
"In that case…" Neville grumbled, rummaging through his bag. He pulled out his Christmas gift. Opening the journal, he offered the confusing script to her. "Do you know what language this is? And if you do, can I check out something to help me translate it?"
Madam Pince looked at the symbols with narrowed eyes. Scowling, she shook her head again. "This library holds magic that has already been appropriately translated for modern English speakers. If you need a cipher of some sort, go to the ministry. If not, check with Professor Babbling. Ancient Runes aren't the only old letters she knows."
Understanding quickly that that was the most sociability she would offer, Neville hastily put the textbook on her desk and scampered out of the library, suddenly hungry.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
Two days later he was escorted by Percy Weasley towards Professor Babbling's office, citing that it was his duty and privilege and a prefect of Gryffindor to establish relations with upper year educators.
Neville called a load of tosh on that. Percy just liked being a prefect.
There, the ginger fifth-year introduced his first-year counterpart to the Ancient Runes teacher, and left quickly after, mumbling something about penny's.
"So, what do you want?" Babbling asked. She had a pleasantly deep voice, with a weak accent Neville didn't recognize mixing with her words. "Hoping to get some early tutoring in my class?"
"No, ma'am. I just wanted to know if you could translate this." Neville said, handing over the journal. "Or maybe point me to somebody that could."
Humming, she took the proffered item and skimmed it, her eyebrows raising in apparent surprise. "I actually don't know this language, though the characters are similar to what could be found in Indo-European settlements… Interesting! Where did you get this?"
"It was a Christmas gift. I don't know who from, but the note said it had to do with magic from before wands."
"Fascinating." Breathed the professor. Her eyes glazed a bit. "Why don't you leave this with me? I'll try to find a cypher and then translate it proper later on."
"Are you sure?"
"Surer than I've been in a long time."
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
The coming months passed by in relative silence from then on. Quidditch was a much-loved distraction of the school, with numerous matches and fierce competitions. School work became much more interesting as well, new spells and theories and lectures taking place now that most safeties and basic rules had been hammered through. And Babbling hadn't yet offered Neville any more information on his as-of-yet untranslated journal, stating that she'd be able to properly look it over during the Summer hols, her time currently focused on her NEWT students and their final projects, which Neville understood.
With little else to do, and with Hermione in the library with Harry and Ron, forcing them to study for their upcoming final exams, something Neville felt smartest to avoid, a rare desire to be social overtook him, and he found himself spending his free time with older students like Katie Bell in the Gryffindor common room. She was more than happy to chat with the chubby first-year, and indeed was even willing share some of her hard earned second-year Charms knowledge with him in preparation for next year.
In exchange for information Neville considered dangerous, that is.
"So," she began, spreading her arms out wide over their book-laden table, leaning in with a conspiratorial air. "Do you know if he likes anyone?"
"Can we please go back to the ice summoning spell?" Neville begged.
Katie leered at him. "Not until you tell me everything you know."
Neville shook his head franticly. "I don't know anything!"
Katie groaned, flopping onto the floor with the grace of a fish. "That's no help, Neville! Gosh, but Dean, he's cute as a button. I wanna know if I have a chance! Harry didn't know either! Why don't you boys talk about these things?"
Merlin save him from boy-crazy girls.
Angelina Johnson, one of her teammates, snickered by her side. She and Lee Jordan took up the table next to them, and they were playing a fierce game of gobstones. "I thought you liked older boys. Didn't you join the Quidditch team because you wanted to be near Oliver?"
Katie flushed and slapped Angelina's thigh from the floor she occupied. "That was then! This is now! I know he's younger, but he's already taller than me and he's really nice and his drawings are so good!"
As the two chasers bickered over the benefits of boys, Neville and Lee traded wary gazes. Lee was a known prankster and all-around lover of fun, not of the same caliber as the twins but known all the same, and Neville was a known recluse, and normally their paths did not cross. But if there was one thing they had in common, it was the desire to dodge talks like these.
"My spider is gonna lay eggs soon," Lee said. "Want to see?"
Having played with the spider once before when the twins were trying to scare Ron, and knowing it was an evenly tempered creature, Neville simply nodded. "Yes please."
They left for the third-year boys' dorm, happy to escape their female companions.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
Neville ate well last night, his supper comprising two chicken breasts, three cups of butterbeer, a side of beets and a serving of shepherd's pie.
Unsurprisingly, he fell asleep quickly when his body hit his bed, and his sleep was deep and undisturbed.
Disturbed was how he felt, however, when upon waking up and entering the great hall for breakfast, he saw the giant hourglass that tallied Gryffindor's house points. It had been slowly but surely rising high all year long save for a few hiccups, sat in first place at 449 points, over thirty points higher than Slytherin's second place score of 415.
And now it was down one hundred and fifty points!
Neville was gobsmacked, as were most other students, and somewhat angry. He was aware the points didn't really matter all that much in the long run, winning or losing the cup didn't affect graduation, but it felt nice to earn house points, and he'd heard a rumor from Katie that the house that won the House Cup was given a private farewell feast in their common room. This was unsubstantiated, of course, seeing as how Gryffindor hadn't won the cup in six consecutive years and Katie was just a second year, but Neville was still excited at the prospect.
Now, their chance of winning was zero. They were in last place, and there was only a month until the term was done. There was no way they could make up those points.
He scanned his house table, looking for something, anything, that might explain what happened, intent on finding whoever ruined Gryffindor's chances at the House Cup. He was up quite early though, and the table wasn't even filled by an eighth. Some folk were angry, some didn't seem to care, and some seemed to find it funny. But only one person looked genuinely miserable.
Neville approached her, noting her red-rimmed eyes. She looked wretched, sniffling like a babe into her scrambled eggs. Neville didn't know if she was devasted over the massive point loss or if she was the cause of it. Taking a deep breath, Neville counted to ten and came to a decision.
He took a seat on her left, piled some eggs and sausage onto his plate, and turned to her fully.
"So, exams?" he prompted.
His decision was to simply not to bother asking about the points.
Hermione jumped at the question, her bushy hair looking particularly wild today, and after taking a second to internalize his attempt at conversation, burst into tears, found herself hugging at his arm for the rest of breakfast, nattering on about this and that an being generally distracting in a way Neville found pleasant.
Neville's ears were pink for the rest of the day.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
The final exams had come and gone, and the castle breathed a collective sigh of relief. Pass or fail, they were well and behind the student-body, and that was something worth celebrating. Some went to hidden parties with their closest friends, some skipped out of the castle, to Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley or wherever they felt like going, uncaring of the rules they broke, and most just took a nice, long nap.
Neville too was celebrating, though in a different manner than the listed majority. Upon completing his last exam in Charms, he raced out of Professor Flitwick's classroom, down the halls, through the winding stairwells, and into the library.
Madam Pince was strict with her books. Everybody knew that. And everybody also knew that, regardless of year or subject matter, no books were allowed to be checked out when exams were afoot. There were apparently spells that could let somebody memorize books for short periods of time, and the librarian was unwilling to let anybody risk her books with the possibility of faulty wandwork. But once exams were done, students could check out a book one final time, giving them a week of self-study before the school year officially came to a close.
Few people bothered to check out books during this time, wanting to distance themselves from that which they had just felled further.
Fewer still were rejected from even checking out one, singular book for the entirety of a school year.
Neville couldn't help but smile as he held this long-desired tome in hand, thick in size and smelling strangely like pickled cinnamon.
Finally, Occluding the Occult was his to read.
Occlumency awaited, and with it, his first steps into wandless magic.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
It was night, and the common room was slowly dying down. People were heading to their dorms, collectively tired from whatever revelries they had gone through for some end-of-term fun.
Few remained in the common room. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were among those numbers, separated but keeping busy. Hermione was going over some of her notes in a corner desk, likely seeing if she'd missed anything from her tests, and Ron and Harry were off in their own world. Ron was playing wizard's chess on his own on an armchair, and Harry was fiddling with a golden snitch, splayed over a couch.
Neville eyed them only idly, too caught up in his book to give them any real attention. It was a dull read in truth, with hard-to-understand verbiage and overly complicated explanations. Neville was not certain of what he'd read as of yet, and he would make sure to corroborate with Professor Flitwick to ensure that his comprehension was accurate before truly deep diving into the art, but from what he could tell, Occlumency came in three distinct steps.
The first step – and arguably the hardest – was the clearing of the mind. To shield the mind first required a quiet mind, and that is difficult to silence. Magic made things easier, as it did everything, but the process was different for everybody.
There were a handful of noted methods listed in the book on the clearing of the mind: focusing on the wick of a flame, a singular cloud in the sky, or a lonely island on a still sea as examples. Neville knew that he would not be looking forward to this.
The second step in Occlumency was the establishment of shields. Once the mind was clear of distraction, an occlumense could create shields of some sort that could repel Legilimency users. According to the book, this should be a natural process. Neville hoped it was accurate.
Which then led into the third step, reinforcement. Freshly established Occlumency shields are apparently notoriously weak, akin to a piece of paper. Legilimency is noted to be like a rapier, able to pierce with precision. Occlumency shields can be built stronger though, by simply repeating the first step for longer and longer periods of time.
The intent of this is to, metaphorically, stack the pieces of paper protecting the mind together, creating stronger, thicker barriers, able to repel Legilimency and even subvert it to some degree. In the process of this, the occlumense will be able to further control their emotions, eventually being able to call upon only the emotion they choose to, which will thus give them a clear magical advantage. Neville likened it to the difference between being able to rip a piece of paper and a phone book.
There was a far quicker, more brutal way to become an occlumense too, but Neville knew best to avoid this, even had the option been available to him, which it was thankfully not. If a skilled Legilimencer brutally and repeatedly violates the mind of a prospective occlumense, they would eventually instinctively learn to defend their mind and throw the invader out.
The problem with this method was that it only dealt with the creation of shields. The true benefit of Occlumency, the ability to control emotion, was lost using this process.
Neville closed his book and stretched, shaking his ink blotted hand. He had written enough notes and looked forward to testing out his skill.
Peering up, he spotted Harry rushing down from their shared dorm, his invisibility cloak in hand. Ron stood up and fell into step with him, and Hermione, after packing her supplies away and putting them in a cubby beneath her desk, joined them. They were the last four in the common room.
Neville approached them, curious, catching the tail end of Harry's frantically hushed voice. "…'d better put the cloak on here, and make sure it covers all three of us –– if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on its own –– "
"What are you doing?" Neville asked, feeling a mite worried.
"Nothing, Neville, nothing," Harry said, hurriedly putting the cloak behind his back.
Neville stared at their guilty faces. "You're going out again," he said, and it wasn't a question.
"No, no, no," Hermione franticly rejected, shaking her wild haired head. "No, we've not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?"
Harry was staring away from Neville as she spoke. Neville caught what the shorter boy's green eyes were looking at; the grandfather clock by the door.
"You can't go out," Neville blurted out. "You'll be caught, again. I don't know all that happened to lose us those points, but it's the end of the year. I don't want you to get in trouble."
"You don't understand!" Harry hissed, "this is important."
"So is saving your skins," Neville groused. He hurriedly stood in front of the portrait hole, belatedly cursing his choice to leave his wand in his nightstand drawer. "I won't let you do it."
"Neville!" Ron exploded, "get away from that hole and don't be an idiot ––"
"Don't you call me an idiot!" Neville snapped, having never be keen on the word. It brought him back to those first few weeks of muggle school, and he did not like it at all. "I'm trying to stop you three from breaking any more rules! I don't care what you do most of the time, but I won't let you three mess things up for Gryffindor any more than you already have!"
Ron took a step forward, getting in Neville's space, and Neville, calling upon old instincts, buried his foot through the ginger's chest. The kick sent Ron sprawling back-first onto the floor, moaning, and Harry whispered something furiously in Hermione's ear.
She stepped forward, eying Neville with pity. "Neville," she shakily said, "I'm really, really sorry about this."
Then she raised her wand, pointing it between Neville's eyes.
Neville's eyes widened, immediately understanding he was about to be subject to magic, but before his body could react to what his mind saw, Hermione cast her spell.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Neville's arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body went rigid, and he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his back, through the portrait hole, stiff as a board.
Hermione ran up to him, and Neville desperately wanted to give her a piece of his mind. To ask her why, to swear and rant, and then to ask where she learned this spell, but he couldn't speak, couldn't do much of anything. It was hard to breath, and only his eyes were moving, looking at her in horror.
"What've you done to him?" Harry asked.
"It's the full Body-Bind," Hermione said, miserably. "Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry."
Neville was of the impression that if she were really sorry, she'd undo her spell.
"We had to, Neville. There's no time to explain," Harry said, rushing out the portrait hole.
"You'll understand later, Neville," Ron wheezed, rubbing at his chest as he too followed Harry. Hermione dithered for a few moments, before stepping over Neville's prone body, following the pair out of the common room, leaving Neville lying there, motionless.
It was difficult to describe the level of anger Neville was feeling, along with the other emotions swirling through his body. Disappointed and inferior and resentful and helpless and abandoned, along with what felt like a hundred more sensations swirled through his body. Nobody was coming for him anytime soon, and that left Neville unable to not think on these things.
The night was long, and cold, and one Neville did not think he would ever forget.
Nor would it be one he would forgive.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
The end-of-year feast had finally come to Hogwarts, and spirits were high all around the Great Hall. The student body were enjoying the mid-morning feast, spent among their friends and family in some cases. Students milled about, ignoring the protocols of the house tables, enjoying one last chance to spend with their friends, for the Hogwarts Express would be coming tomorrow, and the school year would officially end.
Neville felt something like an outlier in this. He was not being unsocial, but neither was he with his friends. Harry and Hermione and Ron were together, happily chattering about, as if the trio hadn't been saddled in the hospital wing three days ago, as if Harry hadn't only gotten out yesterday.
As if they hadn't left Neville stuck as a statue all night.
He'd never been so embarrassed. Fred and George Weasley were the first to find him, intent on making mischief in the early morning, and they were not kind. They were not mean either, it should be noted, but kind? That, they most certainly were not.
The twins had, upon finding Neville, decided he would make a great tree, and used a series of spells to make him look like he was in a yew suit, right in the middle of the common room, to the laughter of the house.
Percy had to relieve him of their handiwork, thinking that the twins had also cast the body bind on Neville, and the first-year boy was unwilling to counter that claim. Better people think he was the unfortunate victim of the twins in the morning than a statue all night.
Neville eyed the red-haired twins from his seat at the back corner of the table. They were laughing and making silly faces to the exacerbation of Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet. Katie Bell was there too, needling Dean Thomas into what appeared to be a cheerful conversation.
He would get the twins back, Neville decided.
Next year, they'd best watch out.
At the head table, Dumbledore stood up and made his way to his gilded podium, clinking his knife against his empty glass of what once was champaign. The result was near instant, the hall quieting and the mismatched students returning to their designated tables.
"Another year gone!" he said cheerfully, his bright blue robes, swirling with silver, seemed to pulse with each word that came out of his mouth. "Hopefully yours heads are all a little fuller than they were –– you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year!
"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with 312 points; in third, Hufflepuff, with 352; Ravenclaw has 426 and to Slytherin, 472."
A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy, who had tried and failed to make this year miserable for so many students, looked beyond smug, surrounded by his cronies.
"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," Dumbledore said brightly, his beard twitching as he spoke. "However, recent events must be taken into account. I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see… yes…"
He cleared his throat and spoke clearly and authoritatively. "First –– to Mr. Ronald Weasley, for the best played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."
Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver with their noise. Percy Weasley could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! He got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"
"…chess set?" Neville mumbled, eyebrows furrowed, politely clapping along. He'd not heard anything about Professor McGonagall involving chess, but he supposed that if there was one person in Gryffindor that should take a crack at it, it'd be Ron.
"Second –" Dumbledore said, quieting the hall once more. "To Miss Hermione Granger, for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."
Hermione had buried her face into her arms, her neck pink and flushed from the cheers and good-natured shoving given to her from the table over. Neville was beyond surprised that they were up one hundred points.
"This – to Mr. Harry Potter," said the headmaster, to an unnaturally quiet hall brimming with the want to make noise. "For pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."
The cheers were deafening. Neville actually had to cover his ears, feeling them ring and slosh about such was the noise. But he understood, and definitely was happy for it, even if he were also conflicted. In one fell swoop, Gryffindor now had 472 points, tied with Slytherin for the House Cup. There hadn't been a tie for the cup in over two centuries, and it seemed Dumbledore was adamant to see that event enacted once more.
But then Dumbledore raise his hand, and the room fell silent one last time, bated breaths all over.
"There are many forms of courage," the headmaster said solemnly. "Some obvious, and some not so much. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much, if not more so, to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Clawke."
The hall roared.
Neville felt like he was in a dystopian of some form or another. At one moment, he was trying to keep to himself at his corner of the long-table, content to be a part of the revelries in his own way, and the next, he was hoisted onto the shoulders of a pair of particularly burly sixth years, hooting and hollering along with the screams of exultation of his house. Neville felt his entire face go red as a seventh-year girl gave him a fat smooch on his cheek, leaving a brown mark the color of her lipstick.
He was deposited next to Hermione, who nattered on at him happily, waving her hands spastically. The table was so loud that Neville couldn't even hear her from his position at her side. People congratulated him brazenly, offering favors and freedoms and praise, and as he looked around the hall, noting that it wasn't just Gryffindor that was happy, but all of the tables aside from Slytherin, Neville quickly came to a conclusion that was almost startling to an introvert such as he.
This is nice…
And the stricken look of horror on Malfoy's face from across the hall made it all the sweeter.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
A/N: Look at that, it's been two years since I updated this thing. Most probably thought it was dead.
Which is fair, since it basically was.
Ironically, this is the only story I've ever written where I had an outline prepped, even though I stopped working on it after two weeks. My normal writing style involves writing on the fly, thinking up new ideas in that process, and then attempting to implement them as I go. Basically, I think of something cool, and try to get there.
As can be seen by many of my stories, while this works out in some cases, the fact of the matter is that I rarely get to those moments. This can be construed to a lot of factors, but the end result is incomplete messes that bothers many, myself most of all. Which makes me shy away from FF further.
A Shift of Perspective was my first attempt at an outlined story. I wrote out how each chapter would go, bullet-pointed important scenes and specified the whys and hows of this story over everything else. I got to the halfway point of this outline, all the way to year six, when I decided it was time to start writing.
And then I lost my outline. And with that gone, so too went my willingness to write further.
Call it laziness or ineptitude or whatever you want, but the end result was me ignoring this story. The reason I have come back to it after two years wasn't because I found the outline, which is sadly still in the abyss, but instead because I found an old google account that I saved a bunch of FF chapters into, including the half-completed third chapter of Shift.
I won't lie to you, I had fun getting back into writing this. I remembered why I focused on this characterization of Neville as I attempted to finish the chapter, and I started to remember some of my major outlined events. I don't know if this is going to come back properly, whether or not I devote my time to it or if I just leave it in this variation is still up for debate.
Regardless of that all, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
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