Chapter 4

Neville paid extra attention to his godson during the boy's afternoon Herbology class. It was the Monday after James had seen the Shadow, and during lunch the other teachers had commented on how quiet he had been all morning.

As he passed James's table, he noticed the boy was staring down at his textbook while his cousin, Fred, was handling the Puffapods. The third occupant of the table, Cian Finnegan, had somehow set a Puffapod on fire and was busy trying to douse it. From the looks of things, Puffapod seeds would soon be sprouting across the greenhouse floor. Oh, well. The boy had inherited his father's talent for setting things on fire. There was little to be done except to teach him as many water and extinguishing charms as were appropriate.

Neville turned his attention back to James. Laying a hand on the boy's shoulder, he leaned down and said quietly, "James. You need to participate. Come on, Fred and Cian can't do all the work."

James jumped and met his godfather's eyes for a moment before glancing away again. "Sorry, Professor," he mumbled and reached for the bowl of Puffapods.

The boy wasn't completely involved with his work, but harvesting Puffapod seeds was not especially dangerous. He might not earn full marks for the day, but the seeds would not be difficult to clean up if he dropped them. Neville left the table to its work and continued prowling amongst the others.

At some early point in his teaching career, he had finally mastered prowling between desks and was eternally grateful to his former Potions professor for demonstrating such an intimidating tactic. There were rarely discipline problems in the Herbology classes; the students either loved the class or were frightened enough of retribution that even the Potter-Weasley duo caused little trouble during lessons.

At the end of the hour, the third years packed up their books and returned the leftover Puffapods to their trays. As the room cleared, Neville noticed that James was still fighting with a particularly resilient pod. Fred and Cian were hanging back at the door of the greenhouse, unsure whether or not they should leave their friend. Neville waved them on and went to take a seat next to his preoccupied godson.

"James?"

The Puffapod chose that moment to break open, scattering seeds across the greenhouse. With a groan, James flung the pod at the wall and let his head fall to the table. Neville let him be for a moment before reaching over and brushing the seeds out of James's hair and off of his robes.

"You're not usually so inattentive," he said quietly, "Have you heard from your dad today?"

"Last night," answered James. He sounded a bit bitter, and Neville frowned.

"You don't sound too happy about it."

James stood abruptly and started cleaning up the scattered seeds. "He basically told me to be a good boy and let the adults handle it. Didn't even say what they were doing about it. I can't even go to the showers by myself; everywhere I go, someone's watching me, and I hate it. It's like I'm a three year old they're afraid is going to break something," he ground out. His breathing was slightly hitched.

Neville knew the problem went beyond Harry's buddy system tactic, but he also knew James was thirteen and still trying to figure out how to deal with issues appropriately. The boy was still upset over his encounter with the Shadow, and he figured he was too old to ask an adult for help with his fears. On the other hand, he was still young enough that he wanted that comfort from someone. He apparently wasn't getting that reassurance from Harry's letters. Usually, Neville's godfather persona was on holiday during the school year, but he decided to make an exception.

"James, your dad's under a lot of pressure right now with this entire case, and he's worried sick over you," he began, "But you know as well as I that the safest path for now is to stay with someone else. Safety in numbers and all that. And since you're so uncomfortable with your dorm mates being your guard detail, I'll have a House-Elf pop up to Gryffindor Tower to retrieve your trunk."

James blinked at him as he dropped the last of the sprouted seeds in the bin. Confused, he said, "Sir?"

"You can stay in my spare room until this situation gets sorted," Neville continued, "Not only will you get a bit more alone time without actually being alone, you'll get to tell all of your friends what sort of accommodations a Head of House gets. I believe there are some bets on whether or not we have private swimming pools…" The surprised look on his godson's face was quickly replaced with a calculating one. He could have what he wanted without having to ask for it. Neville could see the exact moment James decided to let him think he'd won.

"I guess," James muttered. He packed up his book bag and started towards the doors.

Neville stood to follow him. "Hold up," he said, "You still get an escort while you're out and about. Now, where to?"

James sighed and replied, "Library," before leading the way towards the castle. Neville smirked and followed.

Neville had walked with James to the library where he had joined Fred and Cian at their table. After reminding him of their arrangement, he decided to pay a visit to the headmistress's office and see if Snape had discovered anything yet.

Contrary to what most people seemed to believe, Harry Potter was not the only person to whom Severus Snape's portrait would talk. Neville had been surprised the first time he had heard Snape's voice directed at him after he had accepted the Herbology position. The man's voice had retained his trademark sneer, but the words had carried something akin to acceptance. He had commented on Neville's early mastery of his subject and immediately warned Neville against ever bringing up the hidden compliment again.

"No one would believe you even if you did," Snape had thrown back at him as he moved deeper into his painted library.

Now, Neville stood in the headmistress's office, waiting for Snape to decide it was time to talk. Minerva was away for a meeting with the school governors, and he had the office to himself for a while. He watched the portrait for a while, not wanting to interrupt the man when he looked to be in research mode.

"Mr. Longbottom. Come for an update, I assume," Snape said eventually. He placed several ancient-looking books on his desk and moved to lean against the front of it.

Neville nodded once, "It's only been two days, but James isn't coping well. I don't think Harry's investigation is going anywhere. James is feeling a little…trapped, I think. I was hoping you'd have something I could tell him." He moved closer to the portrait, trying to read the titles of the books.

"Innate Magic and Original Magic are the two I'm most interested in at the moment," Snape, noticing where Neville's attention was, held up the top two books, "I suspect the others will confirm what they tell me." He opened Innate Magic to a marked page and began to read.

"Innate magic resides within an object or individual and is determined by the magic of that which created it. All humans possess innate magic, but a select few possess a higher concentration. The higher concentration of innate magic produces those given the name of witch or wizard. These are able to wield their magic through a natural channel. Even fewer are those who possess a concentration high enough that no channel is necessary.

When speaking of the innate magic of an object, one considers what created it. Natural objects set a standard by which this magic is measured. Those who cannot channel magic will create objects of less magic than natural objects. Those who can will create objects of more magic, and the power of the object determined by the power of the creator. However, because an object created by a powerful mage contains such a high concentration of magic, a human of lesser ability may still interact with the object. The reverse is also possible."

Neville frowned. What did any of that have to do with the Shadow? He was a Herbologist, not a Magical Theorist, for Merlin's sake. He was also fairly certain that Snape had just translated all of that as the title of the book certainly did not look like English.

Snape noticed his confusion immediately. He snapped the book closed and opened the other one.

"The first mages learned to harness the energy of nature around them. In time, they began to understand how to manipulate that energy and discovered it also existed within themselves. As they continued to learn, they created objects by which they channeled the energy. This original magic was raw, barely contained. The mages quickly realized that such powerful energy was too difficult to maintain, even through their tools.

Another method was created to tame the energy. They proposed to form a container using the energy before encasing it within the object. Having fortified its own prison, the energy was unable to escape and began to build on itself. As time passed, the energy reached such concentration that the mages felt it too dangerous to unleash it. It was agreed that the objects would be destroyed and the energy returned to nature, but the containers proved too effective. They could not be damaged. Worried for their safety if the objects remained together, the mages agreed to take them and hide them as far away from each other as could be done."

Snape placed the book back with the others. He stared expectantly at Neville, watching as he worked through the information.

Slowly, Neville pieced together what Snape was trying to say. "You think the Shadow is from one of those objects? That's why no one can figure out what it is?"

The Potions Master smirked and folded his arms over his chest. He replied, "The Dark Lord was once very interested in the idea of original magic. You can understand why, of course. That level of raw power was a strong temptation."

"That's why you said it sounded familiar," said Neville, "Harry had mentioned that the magical residue from the attacks held an intense magical signature. The Aurors had nothing to compare it to; it simply registered too high. It reminded you of…that business." He was feeling a bit relieved. The Aurors had worked on the case for months without a break, and now they had possibly found what it was.

Snape cocked his head and raised an eyebrow at "that business" but continued, "I did quite a bit of research on original magic when the Dark Lord decided he wanted it, but my results were disappointing. Three of the objects had been located and stored away by the Ministry. If there are any more, they are hidden so well that their magic is muffled. One was found in a desert. Time had brought it to the surface of the sand. Another passed around all of Europe for centuries; those who held it either thought it brought good fortune or held a demon. The last one was found after an earthquake opened a large chasm. That was only sixty years ago and likely the one that caught the Dark Lord's attention." He moved to sit behind the desk, steepling his fingers and leaning towards Neville.

Neville paced the office for a moment. "What are they? What do they look like?" he asked.

"Large orbs. Black as pitch. Impossible to lift by hand; they're too heavy. The Department of Mysteries was in charge of managing them."

Turning in a circle, Neville glanced back at the portrait. "Harry should be stopping by tomorrow to check on James. I'll let him know you have information. He needs to hear this and get it on record."

Snape waved at him dismissively and pulled one of the other books to him. "I'll be sure to recommend a good book when he drops in," he muttered. Looking up to find Neville still watching him expectantly, he said, "We will have this discussion again tomorrow, Mr. Longbottom. For now, I suggest you return to your quarters. I expect young Mr. Potter will be waiting there for you."

Neville gave in and headed for the door. "Good evening, Professor Snape, Professor Dumbledore," he sighed as he closed the door behind him.

"You've certainly done your research, Severus," said Dumbledore, "I must say I'm quite glad you're getting along with Neville now." He sidled into Snape's portrait to return his book and choose another.

Snape glanced up from the book he was attempting to read and rolled his eyes. The man pretended to sleep for the entire discussion and then wanted to congratulate him for not skewering his former student. He returned to his reading, hoping the old man would find a book to keep himself occupied. The last thing he wanted to do was yet again review his preferences on discussion partners. With a shake of his head, he focused on his book and the known counters for original magic.