Harry Potter and the Exchange Student
by Christine Morgan
christine@sabledrake.com
http://www.christine-morgan.org



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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.
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For Becca, with love.
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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."

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Continued in Chapter Eight -- Mysteries and Mistletoe



2001 / Christine Morgan / http://www.christine-morgan.org / christine@sabledrake.com