AN: In this chapter I began developing Neville's character considerably, which became a great source of satisfaction to me. I couldn't shake the conviction that Neville's Mum was named Aurelle, even though I couldn't find it in HP4.
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Chapter 2: The Opposition Verse
The next day, Dumbledore led Harry and Neville to a large, windowless room. In the torch-lit gloom they could make out several doors in addition to the one they had used to enter. Next to what appeared to be a closet door, Harry noticed a painting in a dusty carved frame, showing an empty rocking chair with an open book on the seat, and a pair of spectacles resting on the pages. It looked as if someone had been sitting there reading and was planning to return.
Neville tensed visibly when Snape came into the room. Harry heard him muttering "Riddikulus" under his breath, no doubt trying to imagine the hook-nosed Potions master dressed in his grandmother's clothes, complete with vulture hat and large red handbag.
Snape had obviously been briefed. "So," he sneered when he, Harry, Neville, and Dumbledore were seated around the table in the middle of the room, "The great, the famous, the powerful Potter thinks that he can do what no other wizard has been able to do in the past twelve years—wave his wand and cure the incurable."
Dumbledore said mildly, "It's not Harry who thinks so, but Frank Longbottom himself."
Snape sniffed. "Delusions of a madman," he scoffed. "How could a half-grown wizard, who's so full of himself that he thinks he can break any rule he fancies, who swaggers around the school as if he owns it, do anything remotely useful for the likes of Frank Longbottom?"
Neville sat, trembling, as he listened to Snape, then appeared to come to a difficult decision. He stood up, cleared his throat squeakily, and stuttered, "What—what makes you so sure he can't, sir? If there's any hope that my Dad can get well—or even a little bit better—I can't just sit and listen to your—your insults. They're not remotely useful." Neville gulped and his knees threatened to buckle, but he hung on to the back of his chair and pulled himself upright. He said more forcefully, "You should be honored to be asked to help my Dad, when no one else has been able to—not even Professor Dumbledore." Neville sat down again, round-eyed with horror at what he had done, but determined not to back down.
Snape's jaw sagged in shock. When he recovered his powers of speech, he hissed, "Longbottom, your cheek will cost Gryffindor house twenty points." Harry was sure that if Dumbledore had not been in the room it would have been forty.
"And your loyalty to your father and your friend earns twenty-five points for Gryffindor, Neville," countered Dumbledore, giving the petrified student a look of great warmth. The headmaster stood up and said, "Clearly everything is going as it should, and you don't need me anymore. So I'll leave you to it. Just one more thing. No more points will be taken from any Hogwarts house by anyone in this room. This is not a Hogwarts affair; what happens here is separate from the school as such." And he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him.
Harry broke the silence, speaking for the first time. "You're right, Professor Snape," he said. "I can't do this alone. I need help. Teach me what I need to know."
Snape gave Harry a long, measuring look. "Very well, Potter," he said. "We'll see what you are capable of learning."
"You can still give us detention, sir," Neville said helpfully.
"Indeed," agreed Snape. "So the two of you had best mind what you do." The professor paused, his fierce black eyes fixed sternly on both of them. He rose from his seat and paced back and forth a moment, drawing his wand through his fingers and scowling to himself. Then he turned his scowl to Harry and Neville again.
"Now," he said, "we'll get down to work. Potter, I have been informed that you attempted the Patronus charm against the Curser in what remains of Frank Longbottom's mind. That was not a particularly wise or effective choice. A Curser is not a dementor." Snape said this as if it were so obvious and elementary that it pained him even to have to mention it.
"As a necessary part of learning the spells that will disable a Curser, you must master something else." Snape's voice dropped to an ominous whisper. "You must learn to defend yourself against the Cruciatus Curse."
Harry's eyes, locked on the Professor's, widened with alarm. Of the three Unforgiveable Curses, the Cruciatus Curse was perhaps the one Harry had the most reason to fear. As a baby he had, against all odds, thrown off the Avada Kedavra, the killing curse; last year in Defense Against the Dark Arts he had developed his ability to resist the Imperius Curse, which compelled obedience to any command. But Harry could all too easily imagine Professor Snape calmly striking him down with the Cruciatus Curse and observing the resulting agony with indifference, or even enjoyment. For a wild moment he wondered if that was why Snape had never held the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. But no, surely not; Dumbledore trusted Snape.
Was Snape waiting for Harry to beg not to be struck with the curse? Would that give the Potions master satisfaction? Harry was spared the necessity of coming up with a response, anyway; Neville was croaking, "Sir—no—you can't! You wouldn't!" He looked horrified, and well he might.
"Mr. Longbottom," Snape addressed him with icy dignity, "I have no intention of cursing any of my students, even those who may richly deserve it. The Unforgiveable Curses, as you know, are not permitted at Hogwarts, and although some teachers have been known to flout this rule, I will not stoop to such invidious tactics. Please calm yourself, Longbottom. Fortunately there are less drastic practice methods for building up resistance. Allow me to demonstrate."
Snape raised his wand. Harry caught an unmistakable look of anticipation on his teacher's face, and braced himself for he knew not what. Snape exclaimed, "/Titillo/!" and Harry exploded with uncontrollable laughter. He felt invisible fingers tickling him all over, and he squirmed helplessly in his chair, clutching his midsection and gasping, "Oh ha, ha, no, please, hee hee heeee, oh help." He doubled over, banged his forehead smartly on the table, and added, "Ow, ha, ha, you're killing me, ho ho ho." Snape watched Harry flop around like a hooked fish for a while longer, and then, with seeming reluctance, lowered his wand.
"This is no ordinary Tickling Charm," he informed them, while Harry recovered himself, breathing deeply and wiping his eyes. "The charm you are familiar with is one-handed; this one employs an unlimited number and distribution of phantom fingers."
Neville whispered, "Are you okay?" and Harry nodded weakly.
"It is useful for disarming a hostile opponent," Snape went on, "and also for teaching self-command under a range of circumstances. Anyone who wishes to master the Tickling Charm must learn to stand up to it first. For that purpose we will begin with a simple exercise. Potter, Longbottom, repeat after me:
"/You may think you can tickle me into submission,
And force me to realize your fondest ambition.
It's true that I'm placed in an awkward position
When faced with the power of your ammunition,
But that only strengthens my sworn opposition
To all you would gain from this grim inquisition/."
Harry and Neville stared at Snape rather blankly, and his nostrils flared with impatience.
"You may think you … er …" faltered Harry.
"You can tickle an awkward position," supplied Neville.
Snape glared at them in withering silence. "Very well, we will take it one line at a time," he conceded with long-suffering contempt.
Neville raised his hand. "It would help if I could see it written down, sir."
Snape turned to a blackboard hanging on the wall, flourished his wand, and said, "Scripto versum!" The words he had recited to them started appearing in fiery letters until all the lines were complete. "Now," he growled, "I trust we can get on with it."
Going through it line by line, it didn't take Harry and Neville very long to memorize the verse. Soon they were each able to rattle it off, even after Snape had made the words disappear from the blackboard.
"The next step," the Professor directed them, "is to recite the verse while in the power of the Tickling Charm. Are you ready, Potter?"
Harry wasn't ready at all, but he wasn't going to admit it. He straightened up in his chair and nodded. He heard, "/Titillo/!" and burst out laughing as the tickling overtook him. It was a moment before he remembered what he was supposed to do. "You may ha, ha, think you can ha, ha, haaaa …" he choked. "Tickle me into hee, hee, ha ha." There was no way he could get through the entire verse; he couldn't remember it anymore anyway. Snape waited grimly until he had reduced Harry to a quivering heap on the floor, and lifted the charm.
"You'll have to do better than that, Potter." Snape was clearly disgusted, but also seemed faintly gratified at Harry's lack of success.
"I know, sir," Harry answered, still giggling feebly. He sucked in breath and managed to stagger back to his seat.
"Your turn, Longbottom," Snape said to Neville, who looked apprehensive, but much less agitated than he had been at the thought of watching Harry undergo the Cruciatus Curse. To Harry's considerable surprise, Neville kept his seat and hiccuped his way through the verse without losing the thread more than six or seven times, though near the end he had to pause for a long time to pound the table and howl with mirth.
Snape pursed his lips, not admitting to being impressed. "Not good, Longbottom," was his verdict, "but not as bad as Potter." From Snape that was hight praise, and Neville looked pleased. He looked sideways at Harry to see his reaction, and Harry winked back, mouthing the words Way to go, Neville, while trying to ignore a small sting of hurt pride.
"Clearly Mr. Potter needs remedial work in the Tickling Charm," Snape observed. "Fortunately it is possible in this case to make a speed adjustment." He sounded as if he were offering Harry a bike with training wheels. "We will make another attempt." His wand came up again, and he pronounced, "Ti …ti …llo!" This time the invisible tickling fingers only moved half as fast as they had before, and Harry got through /You may think you can tickle me into submission/ about as well as Neville had at with the charm at full speed. Snape nodded and said, "A slight improvement. Now it remains to increase the speed gradually."
At this point Neville spoke up, surprising Harry all over again. "Don't you think that's enough tickling for today, sir?" he asked. "You can tickle us some more at our next session." Then, as if suddenly realizing how impertinent this sounded, he added, "I mean, you could tickle me again if you want, sir, I've only had it once and Harry's been through it three times …" He trailed off in confusion.
Snape appeared undecided at how to react to this upstart student telling him his job. He couldn't take points from Gryffindor, and Harry rather expected him to sock Neville with a whopping detention. But Snape's eyes brightened as a new idea occurred to him, and he merely responded, "Perhaps you are right, Longbottom. I believe it's time to move onto a different exercise, also very useful for learning to deal with the Cruciatus Curse." He rubbed his palms together, rolling his wand between them, and Harry felt another stab of foreboding.
"/Aquafrigida!/" A jet of water sprayed out of the tip of Snape's wand and hit Harry with the force of an industrial pressure hose. It was, of course, icy cold and highly unpleasant. Harry gasped and shivered under the blast.
"The operative word here is 'drench,' Potter," Snape told him as he played the water over Harry for maximum impact. /The operative word?/ Harry puzzled as his robes got soaked. Then he understood what was expected of him and recited through chattering teeth,
"/You may th-think you c-can drench me into sub-submission,
And force me t-to realize your f-fondest ambition/. …"
It wasn't fun, but it was a shade easier than being tickled. Harry finished the verse and the water stopped spraying, but it still dripped from his hair and clothing, although the room and furniture appeared to have escaped the effects of the spell. He fished out his wand, whispered, "Desicco," and was instantly dry, but he still shook with cold. He knew it was no use expecting Snape to offer him a mug of hot butterbeer, but at least the professor was less scathing in his assessment. He did say, "Next time put more conviction into it, Potter."
Neville didn't do well with the jet of frigid water. He yelped and cowered under the table, trying to avoid the icy gush, but it was relentless and so was Snape, until it became obvious that Neville wasn't going to make it past the second line of the poem.
"So. Another remedial case," Snape noted with relish, as Neville emerged above the tabletop and Harry dried him off with a flick of his wand. Neville shuddered violently, chillled to the bone, and Harry wondered if there was anything he could do to stave off the next step, in which the Professor would no doubt strike Neville with the drenching spell again, at a slightly higher but still arctic temperature. Harry checked his new watch, a Christmas gift from Ron, and found to his relief that an hour had passed and the hands pointed to a picture of a table with steaming dishes of food on it. "Sir, it's lunchtime," he said. "May we be excused?"
"Is it really that late?" Snape asked in amazement. "So it is. I had no idea so much time had passed. I'll see the two of you tomorrow at the same time; don't be late." Snape had apparently enjoyed himself and was feeling almost mellow. "We have a great deal of work ahead of us." The prospect made Snape show his teeth in a satisfied smile.
As Harry and Neville walked slowly down to the Great Hall for lunch, Harry asked, "How did you get so good at being tickled?"
Neville ducked his head and said, "I wouldn't say exactly good. Just …"
"Just 'not as bad as Potter,'" Harry concluded glumly.
"Well, when I was younger, the family in the house across the street had a teenager who was a real bully. When he was home for vacations he used to pounce on me whenever he got the chance and tickle me. The harder I laughed, the more he tickled. After a couple of years I kind of … got used to it." Neville shrugged. "It doesn't take magic. Just practice."
Harry felt exhausted. His ribs and stomach hurt from laughing so hard and the rest of his muscles ached from shivering with cold. He still felt chilly. He wasn't looking forward to the next day's tutorial with Professor Snape, and he didn't imagine that Neville was, either.
"Neville, there's something I need to ask you before we go in," Harry said in a low voice as they paused just outside the Great Hall. "I promised Ron and Hermione that I'd tell them everything as soon as I could, and Professor Dumbledore said it would be all right. But I want to make sure it's okay with you too. After, it's your Dad who's involved."
"Harry, I don't care who knows about my Mum and Dad if there's a chance it will help them. It's just … hard for me to bring it up myself."
"I know what you mean," said Harry.
At lunch, which was still attended by only a few scattered pupils, Harry suggested that Ron, Hermione, and Neville join him in a visit to Hagrid at his gamekeeper's cottage on the Hogwarts grounds. They could hold a council of war there.
"A council of war, huh? So we're finally going to find out what all this is about?" said Ron through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "What's Neville got to do with it?" He pointed with his fork.
"A lot. Trust me," whispered Harry, "but it'll have to wait." He looked down at his own plate and wondered how much he would be able to eat with the soreness in his stomach.
"You look done in, Harry," Hermione remarked as she watched him listlessly pick up his knife and fork. "What have you been doing this morning?" She noticed that Neville was pale and shivering. "You too, Neville. Have you been out in a thunderstorm or something?"
"Almost," said Neville. "Actually, that would have been more fun than what we did do."
Hermione gave it up, shook her head, and turned her attention to the library book she had brought to the table. She was reading about healing draughts and potions, including, of course, hellebore. "Veratrum viride," she murmured. "Green hellebore. It says here that the leaves are very poisonous, but you can make a soothing brew from it."
"Lucky for me," said Harry.
* * * * * * * *
Later, at Hagrid's little cabin by the Forbidden Forest, Harry felt his stomach finally begin to unclench as he sat in an armchair before a roaring fire with a mug of ginger tea. His lunch settled a bit and a wave of warm drowsiness washed over him. Neville, sitting across from him, was getting his normal color back. Hermione had insisted that they toast themselves without delay while she and Hagrid got the tea ready and Ron brought in more firewood. Hagrid settled himself with a creak on a chair, looking at Harry and Neville keenly with his beetle-black eyes in their thicket of hair, and demanded, "So Harry, what's this I hear abou' a council of war?" (Ron had taken to the phrase and mentioned it when the four of them appeared on Hagrid's doorstep.) Fang the boarhound, after greeting them all boisterously, had subsided onto the hearthrug at a stern word from Hagrid. Ron and Hermione found seats and looked at Harry expectantly
There was nothing for it but to tell the whole story, and Harry did just that, starting with seeing Frank Longbottom with Neville and his Gran, while Neville added a few things about his parents. Harry also repeated what Dumbledore had told him last year about what had happened to the Longbottoms.
"I knew 'em," said Hagrid. "I'd just come on as gamekeper here at Hogwarts when they came. Frank's a Gryffindor. He was Head Boy in his seventh year, an' he always made sure the younger students was treated right and felt at home here. Heard abou' what You-Know-Who's followers did to him an' Aurelle, after he got to be an Auror. Yeh know, someone who catches Dark wizards. Never saw 'em again and haven' thought much abou' them for years. But Harry," he went on, leaning over and putting a hand on Harry's shoulder, "if yeh could do anything for 'em—anything to bring 'em back to sanity—it'd be the greatest thing yeh could ever hope ter do. Any wizard 'ud be proud to think he'd done somethin' like that."
"I don't know if I can," said Harry. "So many people have already tried and failed."
"But you're getting help with that, Harry, aren't you?" asked Hermione. "What is Professor Snape teaching you, anyway?"
"Yeah," said Ron, "that's what I want to know. What's it like, being tutored by that old git who hates your guts?" Hagrid, swigging his tea, shot a warning look at Ron over his mug.
Harry sighed deeply. "Worse than any detention I ever had," he admitted. "Except maybe the Forbidden Forest." He described the Tickling Charm and the Drenching Spell, and he and Neville recited together,
"/You may think you can tickle me into submission,
And force me to realize your fondest ambition.
It's true that I'm placed in an awkward position
When faced with the power of your ammunition,
But that only strengthens my sworn opposition
To all you would gain from this grim inquisition/."
"So the two of yeh are bein' tutored together," Hagrid commented. "Neville, why are yeh learnin' all the stuff that Harry's bein' taught? Are yeh th' understudy?"
"Well, it is my Dad we're trying to help," said Neville, "but mostly I'm just keeping Harry company, I guess."
"It would have been a lot worse without Neville there today," said Harry, grinning at Neville. "He was terrific. Almost as amazing as your Dad when I saw him, Neville," he added.
Neville's face changed; he looked close to tears. "You really think he's … ?" he began, and couldn't go on.
"Yes I do," declared Harry. "Inside he's still the man he was when he refused to tell anyone where Voldemort had gone, even under torture. And he's going to know that you stood up to Snape for his sake, because I'm going to tell him, and someday he'll look at you and know who you are." Harry surprised himself as much as anyone with his outburst. He had no idea where his sudden surge of confidence and conviction had come from. But there it was.
"You told off Professor /Snape/?" Ron marveled. Neville nodded a little sheepishly. "Good on you, Neville!" Then he added gloomily, "There goes the House Cup." He was thinking of the points Gryffindor House would lose to Snape's irritation.
Neville explained about Dumbledore forbidding Snape to take off House points. "But I even reminded him that he could give us detention, and he didn't give us any!"
"Yeah, I can't understand why he was so …" Harry paused and took a sip of tea, searching for the right word. "I could tell that he liked having us at his mercy and having a good excuse for making us suffer. But he didn't really let himself go as much as he could have. Neville sort of kept him in line …"
"Wish I'd seen that," muttered Ron.
" … but I think it was more than that."
"Well, you said it yourself, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "What Professor Snape is doing to you is already worse than any ordinary detention. And we know he's still got his eye on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. This is a perfect opportunity for him to prove himself, but if he's too hard on you, Professor Dumbledore won't consider him for the post. He might even take this nice, plummy assignment away."
"Oh, Snape wouldn't want that," said Harry. "He's so looking forward to tomorrow."
"/Professor/ Snape to yeh, Harry," Hagrid reminded him.
"But, Hermione, Snape probably knows that Harry won't go running to Dumbledore to snitch on him," argued Ron as if he hadn't heard. "Harry's got too much pride for that."
"Well, he doesn't know that about me," said Neville triumphantly. "In fact I'm supposed to report to Professor Dumbledore regularly about our sessions."
"No pride at all, huh, Neville?" Ron teased him.
"Nope," Neville replied serenely.
"I'm still not sure why Professor Dumbledore chose Professor Snape to tutor me, except that he won't be too easy on me," Harry puzzled. "But I know there's something more, about Snape's past, that Professor Dumbledore's not telling me. I have a feeling I'm going to find out, though Professor Snape's not about to tell me either."
"Well, Harry, just remember that we're all here to do anything we can for you," said Hermione. "It's like Hagrid said, this could be the greatest thing you ever accomplish in your life. We want to do our part for Neville's Mum and Dad."
"Thanks, Hermione. All of you, especially Neville," said Harry. "We can talk more about all this later." He put down his mug and leaned back in Hagrid's armchair, his eyes closing in spite of themselves. In a few minutes he fell asleep, curled up by the fire, and it was almost dinnertime when he woke up and found the room empty except for Hagrid. The half-giant was sitting at the table, peeling potatoes for a solitary supper. He looked up when Harry stirred and stretched. "I reckon I'd better be going," said Harry, standing up. He was a little surprised at himself, falling asleep in the middle of the day without meaning to, like some tired old man, but his appetite had returned and he was ready for dinner. "Thanks for letting me stay."
Hagrid looked at Harry for a long moment. "Yeh've picked a hard road ter walk, Harry," he said.
"Not as hard as— Hagrid, I can't let them down—Frank and Neville—after all they've been through. I won't fail them. I'll do whatever it takes."
"Good man," said Hagrid, nodding. "Tha's the spirit. Come over an' talk to me whenever yeh've a mind to, Harry."
"I will," said Harry. "You'll see a lot of all of us. We want to make this our headquarters, if you'll let us."
"'Course I will, Harry. It'd be an honor. Now go and get yer dinner before it gets any later."
Harry had a lot to think about in bed that night. Inside the curtains, by the dim light of his wand, he looked at the album with photographs of his parents in it that Hagrid had given to him almost four years ago. He knew all the pictures of James and Lily Potter by heart, but he was looking for something he hadn't noticed before, and found it: a picture of Frank Longbottom. It was part of a group photo with lots of people in it, perhaps taken on graduation day at Hogwarts, small and rather blurry at first glance, but clear enough to show a likeness to the wreck of a man he had just met. The eyes of the tall, fair-haired man drew him, and as Harry continued to gaze at him the image grew larger and clearer. Next to Frank stood a shy-looking, round-faced girl who reminded Harry strongly of Neville. She apparently was, or would become, Aurelle Longbottom. As Harry watched, Frank squeezed her around the waist and they both waved to him.
Harry studied the faces of Neville's parents for a long time. Anger against Voldemort and his followers churned in his stomach, and with it came even greater determination to find out who had tortured the Longbottoms, and to rescue the victims at all costs. He felt a sudden, sharp wistfulness that no power on earth could bring back his own parents, but he couldn't honestly wish them in the place of Neville's father and mother.
AN: In Chapter 3, "Something in Autumn," Harry and Neville continue their challenging course of study. A magical device introduced in HP3 enters the story, and a certain Slytherin girl re-enters.
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Chapter 2: The Opposition Verse
The next day, Dumbledore led Harry and Neville to a large, windowless room. In the torch-lit gloom they could make out several doors in addition to the one they had used to enter. Next to what appeared to be a closet door, Harry noticed a painting in a dusty carved frame, showing an empty rocking chair with an open book on the seat, and a pair of spectacles resting on the pages. It looked as if someone had been sitting there reading and was planning to return.
Neville tensed visibly when Snape came into the room. Harry heard him muttering "Riddikulus" under his breath, no doubt trying to imagine the hook-nosed Potions master dressed in his grandmother's clothes, complete with vulture hat and large red handbag.
Snape had obviously been briefed. "So," he sneered when he, Harry, Neville, and Dumbledore were seated around the table in the middle of the room, "The great, the famous, the powerful Potter thinks that he can do what no other wizard has been able to do in the past twelve years—wave his wand and cure the incurable."
Dumbledore said mildly, "It's not Harry who thinks so, but Frank Longbottom himself."
Snape sniffed. "Delusions of a madman," he scoffed. "How could a half-grown wizard, who's so full of himself that he thinks he can break any rule he fancies, who swaggers around the school as if he owns it, do anything remotely useful for the likes of Frank Longbottom?"
Neville sat, trembling, as he listened to Snape, then appeared to come to a difficult decision. He stood up, cleared his throat squeakily, and stuttered, "What—what makes you so sure he can't, sir? If there's any hope that my Dad can get well—or even a little bit better—I can't just sit and listen to your—your insults. They're not remotely useful." Neville gulped and his knees threatened to buckle, but he hung on to the back of his chair and pulled himself upright. He said more forcefully, "You should be honored to be asked to help my Dad, when no one else has been able to—not even Professor Dumbledore." Neville sat down again, round-eyed with horror at what he had done, but determined not to back down.
Snape's jaw sagged in shock. When he recovered his powers of speech, he hissed, "Longbottom, your cheek will cost Gryffindor house twenty points." Harry was sure that if Dumbledore had not been in the room it would have been forty.
"And your loyalty to your father and your friend earns twenty-five points for Gryffindor, Neville," countered Dumbledore, giving the petrified student a look of great warmth. The headmaster stood up and said, "Clearly everything is going as it should, and you don't need me anymore. So I'll leave you to it. Just one more thing. No more points will be taken from any Hogwarts house by anyone in this room. This is not a Hogwarts affair; what happens here is separate from the school as such." And he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him.
Harry broke the silence, speaking for the first time. "You're right, Professor Snape," he said. "I can't do this alone. I need help. Teach me what I need to know."
Snape gave Harry a long, measuring look. "Very well, Potter," he said. "We'll see what you are capable of learning."
"You can still give us detention, sir," Neville said helpfully.
"Indeed," agreed Snape. "So the two of you had best mind what you do." The professor paused, his fierce black eyes fixed sternly on both of them. He rose from his seat and paced back and forth a moment, drawing his wand through his fingers and scowling to himself. Then he turned his scowl to Harry and Neville again.
"Now," he said, "we'll get down to work. Potter, I have been informed that you attempted the Patronus charm against the Curser in what remains of Frank Longbottom's mind. That was not a particularly wise or effective choice. A Curser is not a dementor." Snape said this as if it were so obvious and elementary that it pained him even to have to mention it.
"As a necessary part of learning the spells that will disable a Curser, you must master something else." Snape's voice dropped to an ominous whisper. "You must learn to defend yourself against the Cruciatus Curse."
Harry's eyes, locked on the Professor's, widened with alarm. Of the three Unforgiveable Curses, the Cruciatus Curse was perhaps the one Harry had the most reason to fear. As a baby he had, against all odds, thrown off the Avada Kedavra, the killing curse; last year in Defense Against the Dark Arts he had developed his ability to resist the Imperius Curse, which compelled obedience to any command. But Harry could all too easily imagine Professor Snape calmly striking him down with the Cruciatus Curse and observing the resulting agony with indifference, or even enjoyment. For a wild moment he wondered if that was why Snape had never held the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. But no, surely not; Dumbledore trusted Snape.
Was Snape waiting for Harry to beg not to be struck with the curse? Would that give the Potions master satisfaction? Harry was spared the necessity of coming up with a response, anyway; Neville was croaking, "Sir—no—you can't! You wouldn't!" He looked horrified, and well he might.
"Mr. Longbottom," Snape addressed him with icy dignity, "I have no intention of cursing any of my students, even those who may richly deserve it. The Unforgiveable Curses, as you know, are not permitted at Hogwarts, and although some teachers have been known to flout this rule, I will not stoop to such invidious tactics. Please calm yourself, Longbottom. Fortunately there are less drastic practice methods for building up resistance. Allow me to demonstrate."
Snape raised his wand. Harry caught an unmistakable look of anticipation on his teacher's face, and braced himself for he knew not what. Snape exclaimed, "/Titillo/!" and Harry exploded with uncontrollable laughter. He felt invisible fingers tickling him all over, and he squirmed helplessly in his chair, clutching his midsection and gasping, "Oh ha, ha, no, please, hee hee heeee, oh help." He doubled over, banged his forehead smartly on the table, and added, "Ow, ha, ha, you're killing me, ho ho ho." Snape watched Harry flop around like a hooked fish for a while longer, and then, with seeming reluctance, lowered his wand.
"This is no ordinary Tickling Charm," he informed them, while Harry recovered himself, breathing deeply and wiping his eyes. "The charm you are familiar with is one-handed; this one employs an unlimited number and distribution of phantom fingers."
Neville whispered, "Are you okay?" and Harry nodded weakly.
"It is useful for disarming a hostile opponent," Snape went on, "and also for teaching self-command under a range of circumstances. Anyone who wishes to master the Tickling Charm must learn to stand up to it first. For that purpose we will begin with a simple exercise. Potter, Longbottom, repeat after me:
"/You may think you can tickle me into submission,
And force me to realize your fondest ambition.
It's true that I'm placed in an awkward position
When faced with the power of your ammunition,
But that only strengthens my sworn opposition
To all you would gain from this grim inquisition/."
Harry and Neville stared at Snape rather blankly, and his nostrils flared with impatience.
"You may think you … er …" faltered Harry.
"You can tickle an awkward position," supplied Neville.
Snape glared at them in withering silence. "Very well, we will take it one line at a time," he conceded with long-suffering contempt.
Neville raised his hand. "It would help if I could see it written down, sir."
Snape turned to a blackboard hanging on the wall, flourished his wand, and said, "Scripto versum!" The words he had recited to them started appearing in fiery letters until all the lines were complete. "Now," he growled, "I trust we can get on with it."
Going through it line by line, it didn't take Harry and Neville very long to memorize the verse. Soon they were each able to rattle it off, even after Snape had made the words disappear from the blackboard.
"The next step," the Professor directed them, "is to recite the verse while in the power of the Tickling Charm. Are you ready, Potter?"
Harry wasn't ready at all, but he wasn't going to admit it. He straightened up in his chair and nodded. He heard, "/Titillo/!" and burst out laughing as the tickling overtook him. It was a moment before he remembered what he was supposed to do. "You may ha, ha, think you can ha, ha, haaaa …" he choked. "Tickle me into hee, hee, ha ha." There was no way he could get through the entire verse; he couldn't remember it anymore anyway. Snape waited grimly until he had reduced Harry to a quivering heap on the floor, and lifted the charm.
"You'll have to do better than that, Potter." Snape was clearly disgusted, but also seemed faintly gratified at Harry's lack of success.
"I know, sir," Harry answered, still giggling feebly. He sucked in breath and managed to stagger back to his seat.
"Your turn, Longbottom," Snape said to Neville, who looked apprehensive, but much less agitated than he had been at the thought of watching Harry undergo the Cruciatus Curse. To Harry's considerable surprise, Neville kept his seat and hiccuped his way through the verse without losing the thread more than six or seven times, though near the end he had to pause for a long time to pound the table and howl with mirth.
Snape pursed his lips, not admitting to being impressed. "Not good, Longbottom," was his verdict, "but not as bad as Potter." From Snape that was hight praise, and Neville looked pleased. He looked sideways at Harry to see his reaction, and Harry winked back, mouthing the words Way to go, Neville, while trying to ignore a small sting of hurt pride.
"Clearly Mr. Potter needs remedial work in the Tickling Charm," Snape observed. "Fortunately it is possible in this case to make a speed adjustment." He sounded as if he were offering Harry a bike with training wheels. "We will make another attempt." His wand came up again, and he pronounced, "Ti …ti …llo!" This time the invisible tickling fingers only moved half as fast as they had before, and Harry got through /You may think you can tickle me into submission/ about as well as Neville had at with the charm at full speed. Snape nodded and said, "A slight improvement. Now it remains to increase the speed gradually."
At this point Neville spoke up, surprising Harry all over again. "Don't you think that's enough tickling for today, sir?" he asked. "You can tickle us some more at our next session." Then, as if suddenly realizing how impertinent this sounded, he added, "I mean, you could tickle me again if you want, sir, I've only had it once and Harry's been through it three times …" He trailed off in confusion.
Snape appeared undecided at how to react to this upstart student telling him his job. He couldn't take points from Gryffindor, and Harry rather expected him to sock Neville with a whopping detention. But Snape's eyes brightened as a new idea occurred to him, and he merely responded, "Perhaps you are right, Longbottom. I believe it's time to move onto a different exercise, also very useful for learning to deal with the Cruciatus Curse." He rubbed his palms together, rolling his wand between them, and Harry felt another stab of foreboding.
"/Aquafrigida!/" A jet of water sprayed out of the tip of Snape's wand and hit Harry with the force of an industrial pressure hose. It was, of course, icy cold and highly unpleasant. Harry gasped and shivered under the blast.
"The operative word here is 'drench,' Potter," Snape told him as he played the water over Harry for maximum impact. /The operative word?/ Harry puzzled as his robes got soaked. Then he understood what was expected of him and recited through chattering teeth,
"/You may th-think you c-can drench me into sub-submission,
And force me t-to realize your f-fondest ambition/. …"
It wasn't fun, but it was a shade easier than being tickled. Harry finished the verse and the water stopped spraying, but it still dripped from his hair and clothing, although the room and furniture appeared to have escaped the effects of the spell. He fished out his wand, whispered, "Desicco," and was instantly dry, but he still shook with cold. He knew it was no use expecting Snape to offer him a mug of hot butterbeer, but at least the professor was less scathing in his assessment. He did say, "Next time put more conviction into it, Potter."
Neville didn't do well with the jet of frigid water. He yelped and cowered under the table, trying to avoid the icy gush, but it was relentless and so was Snape, until it became obvious that Neville wasn't going to make it past the second line of the poem.
"So. Another remedial case," Snape noted with relish, as Neville emerged above the tabletop and Harry dried him off with a flick of his wand. Neville shuddered violently, chillled to the bone, and Harry wondered if there was anything he could do to stave off the next step, in which the Professor would no doubt strike Neville with the drenching spell again, at a slightly higher but still arctic temperature. Harry checked his new watch, a Christmas gift from Ron, and found to his relief that an hour had passed and the hands pointed to a picture of a table with steaming dishes of food on it. "Sir, it's lunchtime," he said. "May we be excused?"
"Is it really that late?" Snape asked in amazement. "So it is. I had no idea so much time had passed. I'll see the two of you tomorrow at the same time; don't be late." Snape had apparently enjoyed himself and was feeling almost mellow. "We have a great deal of work ahead of us." The prospect made Snape show his teeth in a satisfied smile.
As Harry and Neville walked slowly down to the Great Hall for lunch, Harry asked, "How did you get so good at being tickled?"
Neville ducked his head and said, "I wouldn't say exactly good. Just …"
"Just 'not as bad as Potter,'" Harry concluded glumly.
"Well, when I was younger, the family in the house across the street had a teenager who was a real bully. When he was home for vacations he used to pounce on me whenever he got the chance and tickle me. The harder I laughed, the more he tickled. After a couple of years I kind of … got used to it." Neville shrugged. "It doesn't take magic. Just practice."
Harry felt exhausted. His ribs and stomach hurt from laughing so hard and the rest of his muscles ached from shivering with cold. He still felt chilly. He wasn't looking forward to the next day's tutorial with Professor Snape, and he didn't imagine that Neville was, either.
"Neville, there's something I need to ask you before we go in," Harry said in a low voice as they paused just outside the Great Hall. "I promised Ron and Hermione that I'd tell them everything as soon as I could, and Professor Dumbledore said it would be all right. But I want to make sure it's okay with you too. After, it's your Dad who's involved."
"Harry, I don't care who knows about my Mum and Dad if there's a chance it will help them. It's just … hard for me to bring it up myself."
"I know what you mean," said Harry.
At lunch, which was still attended by only a few scattered pupils, Harry suggested that Ron, Hermione, and Neville join him in a visit to Hagrid at his gamekeeper's cottage on the Hogwarts grounds. They could hold a council of war there.
"A council of war, huh? So we're finally going to find out what all this is about?" said Ron through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "What's Neville got to do with it?" He pointed with his fork.
"A lot. Trust me," whispered Harry, "but it'll have to wait." He looked down at his own plate and wondered how much he would be able to eat with the soreness in his stomach.
"You look done in, Harry," Hermione remarked as she watched him listlessly pick up his knife and fork. "What have you been doing this morning?" She noticed that Neville was pale and shivering. "You too, Neville. Have you been out in a thunderstorm or something?"
"Almost," said Neville. "Actually, that would have been more fun than what we did do."
Hermione gave it up, shook her head, and turned her attention to the library book she had brought to the table. She was reading about healing draughts and potions, including, of course, hellebore. "Veratrum viride," she murmured. "Green hellebore. It says here that the leaves are very poisonous, but you can make a soothing brew from it."
"Lucky for me," said Harry.
* * * * * * * *
Later, at Hagrid's little cabin by the Forbidden Forest, Harry felt his stomach finally begin to unclench as he sat in an armchair before a roaring fire with a mug of ginger tea. His lunch settled a bit and a wave of warm drowsiness washed over him. Neville, sitting across from him, was getting his normal color back. Hermione had insisted that they toast themselves without delay while she and Hagrid got the tea ready and Ron brought in more firewood. Hagrid settled himself with a creak on a chair, looking at Harry and Neville keenly with his beetle-black eyes in their thicket of hair, and demanded, "So Harry, what's this I hear abou' a council of war?" (Ron had taken to the phrase and mentioned it when the four of them appeared on Hagrid's doorstep.) Fang the boarhound, after greeting them all boisterously, had subsided onto the hearthrug at a stern word from Hagrid. Ron and Hermione found seats and looked at Harry expectantly
There was nothing for it but to tell the whole story, and Harry did just that, starting with seeing Frank Longbottom with Neville and his Gran, while Neville added a few things about his parents. Harry also repeated what Dumbledore had told him last year about what had happened to the Longbottoms.
"I knew 'em," said Hagrid. "I'd just come on as gamekeper here at Hogwarts when they came. Frank's a Gryffindor. He was Head Boy in his seventh year, an' he always made sure the younger students was treated right and felt at home here. Heard abou' what You-Know-Who's followers did to him an' Aurelle, after he got to be an Auror. Yeh know, someone who catches Dark wizards. Never saw 'em again and haven' thought much abou' them for years. But Harry," he went on, leaning over and putting a hand on Harry's shoulder, "if yeh could do anything for 'em—anything to bring 'em back to sanity—it'd be the greatest thing yeh could ever hope ter do. Any wizard 'ud be proud to think he'd done somethin' like that."
"I don't know if I can," said Harry. "So many people have already tried and failed."
"But you're getting help with that, Harry, aren't you?" asked Hermione. "What is Professor Snape teaching you, anyway?"
"Yeah," said Ron, "that's what I want to know. What's it like, being tutored by that old git who hates your guts?" Hagrid, swigging his tea, shot a warning look at Ron over his mug.
Harry sighed deeply. "Worse than any detention I ever had," he admitted. "Except maybe the Forbidden Forest." He described the Tickling Charm and the Drenching Spell, and he and Neville recited together,
"/You may think you can tickle me into submission,
And force me to realize your fondest ambition.
It's true that I'm placed in an awkward position
When faced with the power of your ammunition,
But that only strengthens my sworn opposition
To all you would gain from this grim inquisition/."
"So the two of yeh are bein' tutored together," Hagrid commented. "Neville, why are yeh learnin' all the stuff that Harry's bein' taught? Are yeh th' understudy?"
"Well, it is my Dad we're trying to help," said Neville, "but mostly I'm just keeping Harry company, I guess."
"It would have been a lot worse without Neville there today," said Harry, grinning at Neville. "He was terrific. Almost as amazing as your Dad when I saw him, Neville," he added.
Neville's face changed; he looked close to tears. "You really think he's … ?" he began, and couldn't go on.
"Yes I do," declared Harry. "Inside he's still the man he was when he refused to tell anyone where Voldemort had gone, even under torture. And he's going to know that you stood up to Snape for his sake, because I'm going to tell him, and someday he'll look at you and know who you are." Harry surprised himself as much as anyone with his outburst. He had no idea where his sudden surge of confidence and conviction had come from. But there it was.
"You told off Professor /Snape/?" Ron marveled. Neville nodded a little sheepishly. "Good on you, Neville!" Then he added gloomily, "There goes the House Cup." He was thinking of the points Gryffindor House would lose to Snape's irritation.
Neville explained about Dumbledore forbidding Snape to take off House points. "But I even reminded him that he could give us detention, and he didn't give us any!"
"Yeah, I can't understand why he was so …" Harry paused and took a sip of tea, searching for the right word. "I could tell that he liked having us at his mercy and having a good excuse for making us suffer. But he didn't really let himself go as much as he could have. Neville sort of kept him in line …"
"Wish I'd seen that," muttered Ron.
" … but I think it was more than that."
"Well, you said it yourself, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "What Professor Snape is doing to you is already worse than any ordinary detention. And we know he's still got his eye on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. This is a perfect opportunity for him to prove himself, but if he's too hard on you, Professor Dumbledore won't consider him for the post. He might even take this nice, plummy assignment away."
"Oh, Snape wouldn't want that," said Harry. "He's so looking forward to tomorrow."
"/Professor/ Snape to yeh, Harry," Hagrid reminded him.
"But, Hermione, Snape probably knows that Harry won't go running to Dumbledore to snitch on him," argued Ron as if he hadn't heard. "Harry's got too much pride for that."
"Well, he doesn't know that about me," said Neville triumphantly. "In fact I'm supposed to report to Professor Dumbledore regularly about our sessions."
"No pride at all, huh, Neville?" Ron teased him.
"Nope," Neville replied serenely.
"I'm still not sure why Professor Dumbledore chose Professor Snape to tutor me, except that he won't be too easy on me," Harry puzzled. "But I know there's something more, about Snape's past, that Professor Dumbledore's not telling me. I have a feeling I'm going to find out, though Professor Snape's not about to tell me either."
"Well, Harry, just remember that we're all here to do anything we can for you," said Hermione. "It's like Hagrid said, this could be the greatest thing you ever accomplish in your life. We want to do our part for Neville's Mum and Dad."
"Thanks, Hermione. All of you, especially Neville," said Harry. "We can talk more about all this later." He put down his mug and leaned back in Hagrid's armchair, his eyes closing in spite of themselves. In a few minutes he fell asleep, curled up by the fire, and it was almost dinnertime when he woke up and found the room empty except for Hagrid. The half-giant was sitting at the table, peeling potatoes for a solitary supper. He looked up when Harry stirred and stretched. "I reckon I'd better be going," said Harry, standing up. He was a little surprised at himself, falling asleep in the middle of the day without meaning to, like some tired old man, but his appetite had returned and he was ready for dinner. "Thanks for letting me stay."
Hagrid looked at Harry for a long moment. "Yeh've picked a hard road ter walk, Harry," he said.
"Not as hard as— Hagrid, I can't let them down—Frank and Neville—after all they've been through. I won't fail them. I'll do whatever it takes."
"Good man," said Hagrid, nodding. "Tha's the spirit. Come over an' talk to me whenever yeh've a mind to, Harry."
"I will," said Harry. "You'll see a lot of all of us. We want to make this our headquarters, if you'll let us."
"'Course I will, Harry. It'd be an honor. Now go and get yer dinner before it gets any later."
Harry had a lot to think about in bed that night. Inside the curtains, by the dim light of his wand, he looked at the album with photographs of his parents in it that Hagrid had given to him almost four years ago. He knew all the pictures of James and Lily Potter by heart, but he was looking for something he hadn't noticed before, and found it: a picture of Frank Longbottom. It was part of a group photo with lots of people in it, perhaps taken on graduation day at Hogwarts, small and rather blurry at first glance, but clear enough to show a likeness to the wreck of a man he had just met. The eyes of the tall, fair-haired man drew him, and as Harry continued to gaze at him the image grew larger and clearer. Next to Frank stood a shy-looking, round-faced girl who reminded Harry strongly of Neville. She apparently was, or would become, Aurelle Longbottom. As Harry watched, Frank squeezed her around the waist and they both waved to him.
Harry studied the faces of Neville's parents for a long time. Anger against Voldemort and his followers churned in his stomach, and with it came even greater determination to find out who had tortured the Longbottoms, and to rescue the victims at all costs. He felt a sudden, sharp wistfulness that no power on earth could bring back his own parents, but he couldn't honestly wish them in the place of Neville's father and mother.
AN: In Chapter 3, "Something in Autumn," Harry and Neville continue their challenging course of study. A magical device introduced in HP3 enters the story, and a certain Slytherin girl re-enters.