*
Author's Note: the characters of the Harry Potter novels are the property
of their creator, J.K. Rowling, and are used here without her knowledge
or permission. All other characters property of the author, with the exceptions
of Becca Morgan and her parents, who are themselves. November 2001. 35,000
words.
*
For Becca, with love.
*
Chapter Seven – The Grim Fate of Neville Longbottom
Harry spent the next couple of
days in the infirmary, along with Madame Hooch, the scorched and drenched
witch, and a Ravenclaw who'd gotten hurt falling down a flight of steps
in the rush as the spectators mobbed the playing field.
The time passed pleasantly enough
except for the nasty-tasting medicine he had to drink every few hours to
chase the scorpion-ant venom out of his system. His friends visited as
often as it was allowed, bringing him the news, and even Dumbledore stopped
by.
The Slytherin team had not only
lost the game but, because of their attempt to cast a spell on the referee,
been disqualified for the rest of the year. Two of them were expelled –
regrettably, Draco Malfoy wasn't one of them – and the rest had been given
detention and had to spend the next month scouring out the sewers under
the supervision of Mr. Filch. In light of this, Fred Weasley magnanimously
offered to waive the wager, and didn't make the Slytherins sing the House
song with underpants on their heads. They seemed to regard this as small
consolation.
Even Professor Snape had been
disciplined. Ron couldn't wait to tell Harry about it once he found out,
but Snape had gotten in trouble for giving students after-hours access
to the Potions classroom, which was where and when the poison that had
felled Madame Hooch had been made.
Snape had denied all knowledge
of it and Dumbledore apparently believed him, but it had been a blow to
Snape's pride all the same to be assigned to the duty of organizing all
the Hogwarts files, which dated back hundreds of years. This task kept
him so busy that he was hardly ever seen except during class, and for once
he didn't seem to blame Harry for his troubles. For once, in fact, his
anger was directed at the Slytherins. Not so much for what they'd done
but for getting caught.
The only blow to Gryffindor came
a few nights after Harry had been released from the infirmary and allowed
to go back to the dorm. He and Ron were playing wizard chess and others
in the room were engaged in a multi-player game of Wizard War, when the
portrait of the Fat Lady swung open in response to a sniffled, sobbed password
and Neville Longbottom came in crying.
This brought everything to a halt.
"Neville?" Harry asked. "What's
the matter?"
Even Trevor the toad looked miserable,
as Neville took him out of a pocket and set him on the table. Neville blew
his nose with a honking sound, and looked around at them with tears streaming
down his face.
"I'm being transferred," he said,
and sniffled again. "Transferred out of Gryffindor."
An immediate outcry greeted this.
"No!" Ron bumped the chessboard
in his hurry to rise, knocking pieces over. They laboriously got up and
moved back to their proper places. "Why?"
"It's my Gran," Neville said.
"She wants me in Hufflepuff."
"You were Sorted into Gryffindor,"
Harry said. "We all saw it." As he spoke, he remembered how long the Sorting
Hat had taken to decide with Neville, though, and might have finally done
the equivalent of a coin flip.
"Can your grandmother really do
that?" asked Seamus.
Neville nodded. "I've just come
from Dumbledore's office. She's been after him ever since the Open House,
sending him letters, wanting to have meetings. You don't know what she's
like when she sets her mind to something. She thinks I'll do better in
Hufflepuff."
"I don't see why," Ron said. "It
won't make your grades any better."
"That's not helping, Ron," Hermione
said. "And this isn't about grades."
"Well, there's got to be some
reason," Becca said, giving Neville a box of tissues. "Didn't she say anything?"
"Yes." Neville scuffed his feet
and couldn't meet any of their eyes. "She thinks … she thinks … that Gryffindor's
a bad influence on me."
"What? Never! That can't be!"
several students said at once.
"It's true." Now Neville was so
studiously not looking at Harry that Harry instantly knew this was
somehow his fault. "She says there's too many daredevils here, too many
risk-takers and rule-breakers, and that it'll give me ideas. When do I
ever have ideas?"
Ron started to say something and
Hermione kicked him in the ankle. "What did you say, Neville? Did they
even ask you?"
"Well, I couldn't very well tell
Gran she was wrong, could I? Disagree with her? She hates that. Once, my
Uncle Roger contradicted her, and she made him sleep in the attic for a
year."
Harry, who had slept in a cupboard
under the stairs for the first eleven years of his life, sympathized. But
that didn't help Neville's plight. "You've friends here, Neville. Doesn't
she understand that?"
"Not that there's anything wrong
with the Hufflepuffs," another boy added at once. "They're all right and
everything."
"But it's not easy being plopped
in with a bunch of new people," Becca said. "I know that better than anyone.
I was scared half to death when I came to Hogwarts. You'd all started out
together and gotten to know each other. How would it be for Neville, suddenly
being thrown in with the Hufflepuffs? Sure, he'd know them from class and
stuff, but it's not fair to take him away from his friends. From his House.
The speech I got from McGonagall said that your House was like your family.
You can't just switch families."
"You don't have to convince us,
Becca," said Hermione. "We all understand. It's Neville's grandmother and
Professor Dumbledore that don't."
"I can't believe Dumbledore would
do it," Harry said. "Or McGonagall. I wonder if they asked her what she
thought."
"It wouldn't matter," Neville
said, sinking into a chair. Trevor hopped onto his knee and looked up at
him with bigger, sadder eyes than any toad should ever have. "Once Gran's
made up her mind, there's no going back."
"You've got to stand up to her,"
Becca said. "I mean, jeez, Neville, you're old enough to have some say
in your own life."
"She only wants what's best for
me, really. And she's taken care of me ever since my parents … since my
parents couldn't anymore. It'd be awfully ungrateful, after all she's done
for me."
"What's best for you?" Ron snorted.
"That's what they always say, sure, but what they really mean is
what's most convenient for them."
"No, honestly," Neville said.
"She thinks I'll get in trouble if I stay here. Poke into things I shouldn't.
Make enemies. "
"Act like me, in other words,"
Harry said, remembering the cold glare Neville's grandmother had given
him at the Open House.
Neville mumbled, "Uh-huh."
"But that's ridiculous" Hermione
burst out. "Harry's not dangerous!"
"He's gotten us into it often
enough," Ron said.
"Thanks, Ron."
"And there was that time you petrified
Neville, Hermione."
"Shut up, Ron," Hermione said,
blushing.
Neville heaved a huge sigh. "So
it's settled. I'm to gather my things and meet the Hufflepuff prefect tomorrow.
This is my last night here."
"That is so totally unfair!" Becca
said. "Nothing bad is going to happen to you."
"She just wants me to be safe."
"She just wants to keep you under
her thumb," Becca countered. "Believe me, I know the type. Control freaks.
Like my mom."
"Your mom?" Harry asked. "She
seemed all right."
"Yeah, until you butt heads with
her over something." Becca laughed ruefully. "Then, let me tell you, it's
look out below and take no prisoners. I should sic her on Neville's grandma."
Neville looked flatly horrified.
"Please, Becca, don't!"
"Oh, don't worry, I wouldn't.
It's not like my folks can Apparate over here. They have to fly on a plane."
Ron snickered. "And didn't my
dad have tons to ask them about that!"
"What are we going to do about
Neville?" Hermione broke in. "That's what we should be thinking about."
"What can we do?" Dean
Thomas shrugged. "We all like Neville, but --"
"Maybe Harry could do something,"
said Colin Creevey. "Dumbledore will listen to him."
Ginny Weasley jumped up and down
excitedly, clapping her hands. "That's the best idea yet!"
"No, it isn't," Harry groaned.
"It's because of me that she wants Neville out of here."
"It's all right, everyone," Neville
said. He was crying again, but through the tears looked absurdly touched
that his friends would be sticking up for him so. "I'll still see you at
meals, and in Hogsmeade, and places. We'll still have some classes together.
Don't worry about me."
They talked about it until lights-out,
leaving their various games unfinished, but no one could come up with a
plan that would change the iron-clad mind of Neville's grandmother. Harry
heard Neville tossing and turning far into the night, muffling his sobs
in his pillow. He suspected that no one in their room got much sleep, but
nobody wanted to intrude on Neville's grief and so they all lay in uncomfortable
silence.
The next morning, Neville packed
his trunk and shuffled down to breakfast. His last meal at the Gryffindor
table was full of patches of silence interspersed by the occasional stab
at cheery chatter, and Neville's face was long as a wet weekend. When the
dishes vanished, Professor McGonagall put a hand on his shoulder. Her smile
was sad but kind.
"I'm sorry to see you leave our
House, Neville," she said quietly. "I'm sure your loyalty will be as much
a credit to Hufflepuff as your stalwart courage was to Gryffindor."
The rest of them sat with heads
down, hardly able to stand it as Neville got up and went with the Hufflepuff
prefect. He'd been excused from morning classes to get settled into his
new dorm and learn a new password that he'd have forgotten by lunch, Rememberall
or no Rememberall.
The first half of the day dragged
by. All of the Gryffindors were too conscious of Neville's empty chair
to concentrate on their lessons, so much so that Harry and Ron forgot to
tether their stirge in Care of Magical Creatures and the long-beaked bird
got away, last seen winging its way out the window and off toward the Forbidden
Forest.
Lunchtime arrived, and when Neville
came in he automatically went to sit at the Gryffindor table. He turned
bright pink, stammered something, and shuffled over to sit with the Hufflepuffs.
They were a friendly enough bunch; it wasn't like Neville had been transferred
to Slytherin; but he still looked glum.
Herbology after lunch was with
the Hufflepuffs, so Neville got the chance to tell them about his new room,
trying hard to sound optimistic. He didn't fool any of them.
After Herbology was Divination.
Harry's best efforts to get Professor Trelawney to tell them what she'd
meant by her cryptic remarks to himself and Becca back at the start of
term had met with failure. She'd just shake her head and cluck her tongue
and congratulate him for being so brave in the face of such certain, looming
tragedy.
So it went, as the year moved
on toward Christmas. As usual, Harry would be staying at Hogwarts rather
than returning to the Dursleys. He'd had enough Christmas mornings watching
Dudley open dozens of presents while Harry got one if he was lucky, and
being given the turkey neck for his dinner. Becca was staying too, since
it cost so much to fly back and forth. Once again, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley
were using the holiday to visit their oldest sons, but this time Ron, Fred,
George, and Ginny would be going with them.
The last week of classes before
the break was an easy one, with all of the teachers except Snape relaxing
and not giving quite so much homework.
After months spent perfecting
their fist-making and the speed with which they could utter their command
words, nearly all of them had managed to cast a Great Ward at least once
in Professor Winterwind's Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He promised
them that they'd finally test their abilities before they went their various
ways, and most of them thought it was high time. Harry was beginning to
suspect Hermione was right – his reputation regarding that one spell was
good, but it seemed to be the only one he could cast.
"Do you think it's a conspiracy?"
Ron asked as they were on their way to class on the appointed day. "That
we keep getting nutcases for professors in this one?"
"What are you going on about?"
Hermione looked like she would have liked to protest and stick up for Gilderoy
Lockhart, but in the end he'd been proven a nutcase too, so she didn't
have a leg to stand on. "Why would it be a conspiracy? For what?"
"A conspiracy by Dark wizards,"
Ron said, with exaggerated bugging eyes. "We never get taught properly,
and then, pow! We're defenseless."
"Oh, come on," Harry said.
"I think it's more that the only
people who could really teach Defense Against the Dark Arts were those
who knew about the Dark Arts," Becca said. "And Dumbledore doesn't want
to hire any Dark wizards."
"He's already got one," Harry
said, and quickly looked around. He was getting too jumpy. It wasn't like
Snape was there every time!
Nor was he there that time. They
got to Winterwind's classroom and he promptly divided them into pairs.
Ron and Hermione wound up together, and Harry was teamed with Becca.
"Now, then," Winterwind said.
"As we all saw at that regrettable, regrettable Quidditch match, one problem
with a Great Ward is that while it's top-notch protecting the caster, it's
a bit hard on the bystanders."
Harry could tell he wasn't the
only one remembering that witch bursting into flames. Hermione sniffed
scornfully. She was getting worse about that, about criticizing teachers.
As if the more she learned from books, the more she thought she automatically
knew more than anyone else. He hoped it didn't get her into trouble one
day.
"Thus, we're off to the target
range. Don't forget your cloaks." With that, Winterwind pulled on his own
thick green cloak and led the way.
The Hogwarts target range was
usually used for practice of attack spells, like lightning bolts and fireballs.
It consisted of three long alleys with eight-foot-high walls and was on
a lower floor just above Snape's classroom, not quite dungeon but certainly
deeper than basement. Targets could be hung at the far end, but today there
were none. Professor Winterwind ushered the first three pairs of students
into alleys, and raised his voice so they could all hear him.
"It's very simple," he said. "You
all know how to Ward, and I'm assuming you all know some variety of spell
that can be used on another person. Take turns. One casts, one Wards."
Hermione raised her hand.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"What sort of spells should we
be casting on each other?" She wasn't able, or didn't try, to keep the
skepticism from her voice.
"Whatever you feel most comfortable
with. The object of the lesson is to see how well your partner Wards."
He went to a lever and threw it, which caused a fine smoke to whirl through
the room. "This smoke will make all magical energy visible, so those of
you watching be able to see the deflection. Mr. Potter, Miss Morgan, you're
up."
Harry looked at Becca and she
looked back at him, and he saw an impish gleam in her hazel eyes.
"What are you thinking?"
"Nothing," she said with such
innocence that he was tempted to Ward himself already. "You want to go
first?"
"No, ladies first, go ahead."
"Ready?" At his nod, she brought
out her wand, thought for a moment, and grinned fiendishly. "Amphibius
Morphus!" A beam of swampy green flew at him.
Harry clenched his fist. "Avertus!"
A bubble of gold light formed
around him. He couldn't see anything except the inside of it, but when
Becca's spell struck, he saw the dent and the discoloration. Then he heard
a startled cry, and opened his fist.
The swampy green had bounced back
right at Becca, and it looked brighter and faster, as if it had gained
strength. She cast a quick Ward herself, and disappeared inside a ball
of light as purple as the amethyst at the end of her wand. The green line
rebounded toward Harry, now thick as his arm and fast as a Snitch.
He Warded. It was flung right
back at Becca. Evidently she realized, as Harry did, that they could be
stuck table-tennising the confounded spell all day as it got more and more
powerful, because rather than Ward, she threw herself flat and it passed
over her.
Unfortunately, when it did that,
it screamed out of the target range and right into the watching group of
their classmates. Some of them dove for cover, Professor Winterwind among
them. Others tried Wards of their own, and Harry and Becca watched, aghast,
as the spell caromed from one to the next, increasing speed, like a pinball.
Finally, almost too fast to be
seen, it bounced right out the open door and into the hall and was gone.
Slowly, carefully, the class came out of hiding and lowered their Wards,
looking around to see that everyone was all right.
"Nreeeeeebit!"
The croaking noise came from the
hallway. Becca covered her mouth with her hand, eyes huge. She and Harry
bumped into each other running for the door, pushing past everyone else.
The spell she'd cast had been a Transfiguration one, person into frog.
Sure enough, there was a small, hopping creature on the stone floor.
"Oh," said Harry. "It's only Trevor."
"But look," said Becca, pointing.
Because there, beyond Trevor,
was a frog. A particularly pudgy and confused-looking one, sitting on top
of a bathroom pass from Snape's Potions class, which the Hufflepuffs and
Ravenclaws had downstairs right this minute.
Hermione elbowed in between them
and gasped as she saw what they saw. "It isn't … it can't be …"
"It is," Harry said. "It's Neville."
**
Continued in Chapter Eight -- Mysteries and Mistletoe
2001 / Christine Morgan / http://www.christine-morgan.org
/ christine@sabledrake.com |