Chapter 16: What Are You Playing At?
"Gather 'round!" Lockhart's simultaneously sonorous and obnoxious voice drew everyone towards the platform that had been constructed in the center of the Great Hall. Students rushed in to converge along the sides, most of the girls looking enraptured, the boys more curious than anything else – particularly to see if the prancing blonde peacock might make an ass of himself. Neville knew he would want to see that, congregating close along with Ron and Harry. "Gather…. round." Lockhart flashed his pearly whites, clearly enjoying every second of his holding court. "Now, in order to better prepare you for the dangers you might face as young wizards…. or witches…" He paused with almost dramatic timing to flash a grin at Hermione and some of the other second-year girls, all of whom looked about ready to faint dead away in ecstasy. "I've decided to devise a little Dueling Club so you can sharpen your skills!"
Ron leaned in to whisper to Neville. "Or, he could just, I don't know, teach us all of this in his actual class?" Within earshot, Harry snickered. It had been several weeks since the incident with Mrs. Norris, and Lockhart still had not taught them one useful or practical spell, defensive or otherwise. Neville was starting to wonder exactly what qualifications this man really had, other than the self-promoting feats he had apparently accomplished. Many of the boys their year too were wondering the same thing, and not just out of some pettiness that Lockhart seemed in real danger of stealing all their women, age differences and straight-up age of consent be damned.
"He's probably scared shitless of this Chamber of Secrets business. All the teachers are. If he's going to prove that Dumbledore wasn't off his rocker hiring him, he has to do something!"
Ron's half disgusted, half baffled expression didn't change, and certainly not at the prospect that Neville might be defending the man. Neville knew he was far from a Lockhart cheerleader, or even a Lockhart-apologist. "Again: this is stuff he could just as easily be teaching us in Defense Against the Dark Arts!"
Harry cringed. "I'd rather he not. If he can't control magical creatures, how do we know he's even aware which end of a wand points up?"
Ron blinked at the revelation that Harry Potter could, in fact, show a little snark. He finally threw back his head and roared with laughter, slinging a friendly arm over the diminutive, black-haired boy's shoulder. "You know, Potter, you're all right. You're all right."
Lockhart, meanwhile, was demonstrating the swagger of any star at a rock concert, as he removed his cape and casually tossed it into the audience. Gasps and coos of delight went up from the girls and a catfight soon broke out that left the seemingly precious artifact in danger of being ripped to shreds, Hermione among the grapplers. Eyes picking her out of the crowd, Ron looked fit to be tied, which Neville chalked up to wonder about later.
"As dueling often requires a partner…." (Ron rolled his eyes) "….. Professor Snape has graciously agreed to join me in a demonstration."
The oily Potions Master vaulted onto the platform, looking dark and brooding. Uneasy whispering percolated through the students, even among the boys, though they shared weak, uncertain grins. Lockhart and Snape faced each other, flashing their wands in a show of customary chivalry. Then they bowed to each other, and paced off to opposite ends of the platform. Whirling back to their opponent, they struck poses to prepare and face off.
"On the count of three:" Lockhart commanded. "One. Two –"
"Expelliarmus!" Snape didn't even wait for three before firing off a Disarming Spell that sent Lockhart pin-wheeling to the far edge of the platform and indeed almost over it. Pretty much every Hogwarts-aged boy in the vicinity erupted in laughter.
"That was cheating!" Hermione squeaked with outraged fury, dashing over to where her best friends were practically holding their sides. The pretty brunette bit her lip with concern. "Do you think he's all right?"
"Lockhart? Who ruddy cares?" Ron chortled. "And to think I'd ever have a reason to like Snape…." Hermione's bow lips pursed with anger and she even stamped her foot a little, which only caused Neville and Harry to laugh even harder. Though interestingly, Ron did seem to ease up in his mirth just a little, upon seeing how much it seemed to displease her.
Lockhart was struggling to his feet, and managed to put on yet another masterful performance, this one trying to slough off Snape clearly showing him up, no matter who might have violated any rules. "Though a tad over-eager, Severus, that was excellent form!" Many a boy had to muffle chortles. "Now, it's your turn!"
"Bollocks. Once again, the worthless louse didn't teach us anything!" Ron grumbled.
"Except maybe how to land on our arse," Harry pointed out.
"We will need two volunteers!" Lockhart called loudly. It was quite remarkable, Neville noted, how the man's bright eyes seemed to somehow pick him out of the crowd almost instantly, then, almost as if aware how obviously nepotistic selecting the Boy Who Lived would be, Lockhart's gaze shifted just a tad bit to the left. "Uh….. Mr. Potter, is it? If you would like to partner up with Mr. Weasley?"
"Weasley's wand does damage with the simplest spells," Snape seemed unusually quick to dash forward and veto the motion, though his tone remained characteristically dry as toast. "We'd be sending Potter to the hospital wing in a matchbox. Though I daresay it would be quite a show to see which of them would collapse…. last." Harry looked deeply insecure, which was par for the course with him. Ron appeared about the same, though with a simmering undercurrent of resentment and anger. "Might I suggest someone from my own House? Malfoy…. perhaps?" Snape then plucked Malfoy out of the crowd and hauled him onto the platform without giving the greasy blonde git any choice in the matter. Knowing how far afield the Slug Story had spread, if Neville didn't know any better, he figured Snape was trying to set Ron up to get beaten once more by the same bloke who had humiliated him.
But if Snape knew how Ron's wand backfired, why would he be at all concerned about Harry getting hurt, yet feel no such compunction about possibly putting Draco in the line of fire, even as (likely) accidental collateral damage?
However, Lockart seemed to take Snape's counter-proposal as permission to pivot away from both Ron and Harry and instead select the candidate he had clearly wanted all along: "An excellent suggestion, Professor Snape! And to make things interesting…. Longbottom. You're up."
Neville heavily mounted the platform, not really wanting to be put in the spotlight like this again, despite how his Gryffindor pals were giving him eager looks. All his legend aside, he knew about as little of dueling as (he hoped) Draco did. Malfoy sneered at him as they flashed wands and bowed.
"Now, your goal is going to be to disarm your opponent – only to disarm!" Lockhart warned.
"Yeah, so we can all look as pathetic as he just did!" Ron's voice was barely below a stage whisper.
"On the count of three: One. Tw…."
Like his mentor, Malfoy didn't wait for three, and hardly even for two. "Everte Statum!" Neville couldn't block the spell in time and he was blasted back, crashing in a concave heap on the far back corner of the platform. He felt eager hands grab for him and haul him to his feet, Lockhart all but pushing him back into the fight. He bellowed the first thing that came into his head:
"Rictusempra!" He was immensely satisfied when he immediately landed a hit, his spell sending Malfoy pirouetting through mid-air like a kind of ballerina until he landed, hard on his butt, right at Snape's feet. The Potions Master looked displeased, turning Malfoy loose and back into the fray almost as roughly as Lockhart had Neville.
For the first time, Neville could see how Lockhart's pretty-boy façade had dipped just a bit. "I said DISARM ONLY!" His plea fell on deaf ears.
"Serpensortia!" Malfoy's shout heralded a bang and a kind of rope seemed to release and coil from his wand, landing roughly in the middle of the platform. Then the rope moved, lifting its head, and a hiss could be heard. Gasps and a few screams went up.
Time seemed to slow down as Neville watched, while the snake turned its head and reared up, its beady eyes picking out the first prey it could see: little Harry, now frozen stiff with terror. Next to the small lad, Ron's limbs were moving with jerky indecision, like he wanted to succumb to some big-brotherly instinct and protect the boy, except his own horror was clearly winning out.
With a calmness he shouldn't have had, and couldn't explain, Neville prowled forward. He couldn't hear anything, as though he was submerged underwater, and it was only after questioning later that he learned that he actually said something and what was said:
"Hi non see heth!" The snake turned its gaze on him suddenly, rattle quivering rebelliously. "Hi non see HETH!"
The snake, remarkably, backed down. All Neville could remember later was how chilly and emotionless his expression had been, the hard set to his jaw and mouth.
"Impara….. Evanesca!" Snape's voice actually sounded shaken when he cast the spell, causing the snake to burn up, rattler to fangs. Silence was ascendant.
It was ironically the most timid child in the school who broke it.
"What are you playing at?" Neville seemed to come up out of some kind of trance only to find Harry Potter looking at him, repulsed. But he was even more disturbed when he took in the faces of his two best friends only to realize:
Ron and Hermione appeared…. afraid of him.
The Trio burst back into their Common Room, all of them appearing too dazed to speak.
"What was that?" Neville wondered aloud.
"I was hoping you would know!" Ron threw out. "You're a Parslemouth? Why didn't you tell us?"
"I'm a what?"
"You can talk to snakes!" Hermione offered up.
"No, I couldn't! Who can do that? Trying to yell at an animal just seemed like all I could do at the moment. I didn't have a spell to repel it, so I just kind of…. desperately told it not to attack Harry." For lack of a better plan, his strategy now seemed rather pathetic. Indeed, it had all the makings of a high-stress story one could look back on and laugh about.
"Oh, so that's what you said to it?" Ron still appeared deadly serious.
"You were there!" Neville frowned, bemused and on the way to annoyed. "You heard me!"
"All I heard was you speaking Parsletongue! Snake language?"
"I…. spoke a different language?" Neville glanced between his friends, not liking the wariness in their expressions at all. "Wait, this doesn't make any sense: how can I speak a language without knowing I can?"
"I don't know, Neville, but whatever you said, it sounded like you were egging the snake on or something," Hermione worried her bottom lip.
"Why would I do that?"
"Well, let's think back to the other recent attack in the castle, shall we?" Ron half-muttered.
"Now just a minute!" Neville snapped, voice hard from loss of patience. "You're not suggesting…?"
"Nev, you're not listening to me!" Hermione stressed before Ron was put in the awkward position of having to explain himself. "After Miss Norris's attack, I went to McGonagall for more information about the Chamber of Secrets. It's a legend in which Salazar Slytherin supposedly created a chamber somewhere in the school and housed a deadly monster there. Salazar Slytherin was also a Parslemouth. He could talk to snakes too!"
"Exactly! Now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-grandson or something!" Ron blurted.
"But I'm not! …. I can't be!" Neville tried to deny.
"Your family is one of the Sacred Twenty Eight, Neville. That means families who have a direct ancestry traced back to one of the Four Founders," Hermione pointed out.
A pregnant silence as Neville gaped at her. "That doesn't mean I'm directly descended from Slytherin!" The very thought horrified him – and also made no sense. His parents had both been in Gryffindor, as had Gran; if he was related to any one of the Hogwarts Founders, he could make a better case that he was descended from Godric Gryffindor.
Hermione eyed him with sympathy. "Slytherin lived over a thousand years ago. For all we know…. you could be."