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Chapter Text

The entrance to Salazar Slytherin’s fabled 'Chamber of Secrets', where within dwelled a creature that a descendant of his who shared his views would purge the school of those "unworthy" of studying magic, is hidden within the girl’s lavatory.

At least, that was what Marvolo Gaunt claimed, but Ominis knew better than to think his opprobrious brother had told him the truth. After all, he had reasoned, if there was truly a monster, Marvolo would have set it on the students ages ago. No, chances are that Marvolo is hoping to embarrass him by setting him on the lavatory — as if Ominis, blind as he was, could actually see any girl he stumbled across.

Marvolo is the real embarrassment, not him. At least he was able to complete his N.E.W.T.s. rather than having getting drunk off his arse the night before the examination and tried to force himself onto some pureblood girl called Sinestra Lowe; in fact, Ominis is certain that his family’s connections are the only reason his brother had come out of the debacle with passing grades.

In any case, Ominis could bring that up to temper his embarrassment if word of this misadventure ever gets out. An unlikely scenario, but very much possible. Which is also why he elected to break curfew to make his explorations, where he was certain it would be empty.

Just to be on the safe side.

To be honest, he would prefer not to take this risk (or any other) in the first place. After recovering his aunt Noctua’s remains so he could give his favourite aunt a proper burial, after his last experience two years ago, Ominis had been steadfast in keeping his vow to stay away from the Dark Arts, regardless of the circumstances.

But circumstances have changed. In light of his latest spat with his father and in the face of possible disownment, he had found himself emulating his late aunt, searching for something, anything, to prove to the rest of his family who followed the pure-blood doctrine, to 'Niffler' (as he affectionately called his new friend) who had been growing more and more detached over her increasingly frequent trips down to the caverns below, to everyone else who still had doubts about him, that Salazar Slytherin was not infallible. That Ominis is not the outlier, that it is they who are wrong.

That his blood does not doom him to follow in their footsteps. He will not. He will not.

Guided by his wand, which emitted a periodic pulse of magic that shined a brief image of his surroundings into his mind, Ominis quickly located a sink that is different from the others. A faint outline was carved into the tap, something small, curved, and fanged. Even with careful fingers, the outline had most likely rusted over time and disfiguring it beyond recognition.

He frowns, deliberating, and pulls his hand away. He took a deep breath and a harsh hiss left his lips, commanding the entrance, however it worked, to open.

Tiles rattle beneath his shoes as the sinks fold themselves apart, revealing a hole. A pit, really, and one that goes down further than the limits his wand can overcome. Another deep breath, and the sense of smell-taste that comes with the innate fluency of speaking parseltongue, the language of serpents past, picks up damp mildew and a specific sort of reptilian musk — like old leather and moss.

The rationality and the self-preservation associated with students of Slytherin reared its head after the initial adrenaline rush faded. Now that he got a sense of just how deep this pit seemed, it’s entirely possible that Marvolo had been planning to push him inside and leave him to die. That’s just the sort of thing his foul-tongued brother would do to get rid of the 'mudblood-loving embarrassment'.

No turning back now. Another hiss, and Ominis is rewarded with the sound of stone grinding against stone. A set of stairs had protruded from the walls, granting him passage to what really could be the Chamber of Secrets.

He makes a face when he inadvertently put a hand to the wall of the pipe and discovered it to be covered in grime. A broad Scouring Charm only helps so much when he had to recast it every thirty-or-so steps, and he wipes his hand on his robe so many times that he’s quite certain it will never be properly clean again.

The trip down takes ages, and makes Ominis wish desperately that he’d brought gloves. His relief upon reaching the bottom is short-lived, however, as the wall behind him sees fit to close just as soon as he is off the last step. He whips around in a panic, scrabbling at the gaps between the stones as memories of his trip to the scriptorium wash over him.

Another of Salazar Slytherin’s secret chambers, only that one locked you inside unless you were willing to cast the Cruciatus Curse, an unforgivable curse that brought pain of the worst kind to the unfortunate victim. His aunt had died in that very passage because she’d entered it alone, and therefore had no one to cast a spell on. Ominis had been lucky — or unlucky enough, circumstances being what they were — to have a friend with him.

Ominis, intimately familiar with exactly what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that curse, knew he would never be able to dredge up the desire required to cast it. 'Niffler' had volunteered to be the one who damned a part of themselves by learning and casting the damned curse onto their mutual friend Sebastian, the sole reason why the three had been in that chamber in the first place.

Sebastian — now locked away in Azkaban, left to wallow in regrets — isn’t around for Ominis to blame this time. No, he’d foolishly decided to enter another one of Salzar’s secret rooms to prove a point. A point he may very well die trying to prove, should the chamber trap him inside like the other one.

Panic pulls him under. The existential dread of facing imminent death is a powerful thing, and the all consuming weight of that terror brought Ominis to his knees.

He is going to die here.

He is going to die here.

He is going to…

Die... here…? 

When Ominis can finally think again, he finds himself curled on the filthy stone floor, clutching at his chest. He is sweaty and trembling, his breath coming in short gasps. He has no idea how much time has passed. Fumbling for his wand, he forces himself to inhale slowly. When his heart is no longer hammering at his ribcage, he sits up.

He isn’t dead. That’s a promising sign.

Eventually he manages to stand. He feels more settled with his wand in hand. It emits a gentle warmth, as if trying to comfort him. He holds it close, soaking up that warmth for a long moment before working up the courage to cast a spell. 

A small wave of magic emerges from his wand, informing him of any obstructions in his path. Half of the tunnel is blocked by a large, hollow object. When Ominis reaches out to touch it, he is reminded of an especially dry roll of parchment. The texture is skin-like, dry and ridged. It could be scaly, Ominis supposes, if each scale is bigger than his head. Not a comforting mental image.

He purposefully steers his thoughts down a less terrifying path as he continues down the tunnel. It opens up into a large, damp chamber. Ominis can hear water dripping, and the stone floor is slick beneath his shoes. There is no way out but forwards, so Ominis goes. He can feel water dragging on the hems of his robes, weighing them down. His wand is not very good at detecting water, so he keeps his steps as straight as he can, hoping to avoid an unfortunate meeting with a stagnant pool. He is so focused on this that at first, he hardly notices the great gust of wind echoing throughout the cavernous room.

No. Not wind. The sound is too steady to be wind, too warm to be coming from the cold caverns below. It’s an exhale.

“Y’cower like prey, but ye meet me gaze without a shred o’ fear, don’t ye?"

Ominis freezes as something unspeakably large scrapes its way across the stone floor. He holds impossibly still as something long and dry flicks across his face and chest. There is a rattling hiss, so loud and close that it seems to vibrate Ominis’s very bones.

“S'hpeak, young o' me Salazar, or maybe one they know well enough,” the voice continued on, growing impatient by the moment. “Did the other hatchlings send fer ya? Speak up, or I’ll be havin' ya fer me dinner, just like I warned him, the disrespectful little scamp.”

Aaand that explains why Marvolo had given Ominis directions to the chamber at all. Probably thought he could trick Salazar's beast into performing 'the last solution'. And if not, serve it dinner. It’s terribly ironic that his blindness - one of many things his family looks down on him for - is the sole thing that is saving his life.

For now, anyway.

There are other ways a Basilisk could kill. The basilisk’s skin is rough and warm as it brushed against him, its head circling around the intruder to its nest, and he can feel it flex the powerful muscles of its tail rattle in contemplation. Something liquid dropped to the ground beside him, and it splashed into his shoes, corroding the soles with an acrylic smell. It’s enough to make him wonder if the pit he’d come down is actually basilisk-sized. A terrifying thought. 

He can think that later. When Ominis finally found his voice, it initially came out rather higher-pitched than he would have liked. Even in Parseltongue. “I am Gaunt. Ominis Gaunt.”

“Ah, so ye are o' me Salazar’s line. Why've ye come t' me nest just t' act like prey ?”

“I came here hoping to... hoping to prove that Salazar Slytherin was more than a maniac that judged others solely on the purity of their blood. That those who are of his descendants say he would be proud to watch them hurt others for sport like rabid dogs." The words stick in Ominis’s throat, but he forced them out with all his courage. "I didn’t know you were here.”

There is a long, angry hiss that has Ominis freezing in place once again. Maybe the basilisk did not enjoy hearing its master slandered. Or perhaps it was insulted at his ignorance. There is hot, stale breath in his face. He briefly wonders if this is the end. Instead, the snake’s tongue — for it could be nothing else — flickered across his face and chest. 

“An' why d'ya not know o' me?”

“My siblings did not find it prudent information to share,” Parselmouth or not, he would never have come here if he had known a basilisk was in residence. 

“..Ah, isn't tha' fascinatin'? Ye be here t'defend the honour o' me Salazar, are ye?" Not exactly, but Ominis is not about to correct that misconception. Not when doing so may get him eaten. He nods, and the basilisk continues. "That's mighty kind, but not needed, really. In his prime, me Salazar wielded 'is deadly magic by any means needed t'ensure th'younglings survive, till they could hunt fer themselves. He’s gone now, an' he won’t be back, not fer his honour, not ever.”

The basilisk sounds almost wistful, much to Ominis' surprise. He’d expected anger, not… this. The basilisk sounds almost rational, thoughtful in a way that many snakes aren’t. But then again, most snakes haven't lived for over half a millennia yet.

"But ye... are ye here fer me Salazar's honour, or yer own?" The basilisk's tone softened, and somehow seems more dangerous than when its earlier hissing had rattled the chamber. "Ah see ye're smaller than the rest o' yer brood. Underfed, ye are. Weak, too. Ye've no venom to brag about, and huntin' ain't in yer skillset. So, I’ll be askin’ ye again, why’ve ye come here? And don’t be tryin' to lie to me, puny young o' me Salazar."

Maybe that Hufflepuff girl 'Niffier' had became friends with — Sweeting, Ominis thinks is her name — was right. Beasts have no need for manners like people. They were honest — brutally so. He made a mental note to never attempt to lie to the basilisk. Whether it can or cannot guess at his truthfulness is irrelevant. 

"For both our honours. I am a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. My actions reflect upon his legacy. And because dead men can tell no tales, it falls to the living to tell their stories-"

He flinched as the Baslisk hissed again, and from the sound of snakeskin rapidly rubbing against stone, it seemed to be rearing up to strike.

"Ye are o' me Salazar’s line, I cannae deny it, no I cannae. But yer... different... to th' rest of 'em, aye. Off ye go, goodheart, an' don't be comin’ back. I’ll give ya th' same warnin' I gave t' th' other wee one, off ye go an' live yer truth, an' don't be botherin' me any longer."

Ominis wisely decided to heed the basilisk's warning. Slowly, steadily, he made his way back to the pit he had come down from. 

It's not until he's trying to find the steps up that he realised something. The basilisk called him 'goodheart'. He’s not sure if he actually has one, considering his family and history, even if he tries to be a good person.

But it does feel nice to be recognised by one of Slytherin's family - or pet, it supposed might have been the right analogue - to have one. 

Chapter Text

The first part of the summer had been calm in comparison to his rather turbulent first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Neville and Harry went back and forth to each other's residence quite a bit. He finally got a proper introduction to the Potters, who welcomed him into the family like their own. To his shock, Lily Potter had managed to talk down his Gran to allow weekly visits over at Godric's Hallow.

"Now Neville, remember what I said?"

"No magic in the backyard, and only under supervision from Harry's parents." Neville nodded as they made their way to Godric's Hallow.

"Hello, Neville!" James Potter said happily as he greeted the two. "Pleasure having you two here again."

"It is ours, Mr. Potter." Augusta said briskly. "Neville never tell me anything about what he’s been up to at school. I find it fortunate that your son has befriended him, the last thing I want is him getting mixed up in any sort of trouble."

Before James could say another word, there was the sound of barking before a large, tough looking dog the size of a small bear came pouncing out from the house. James looked startled as Neville was tackled to the ground, his face licked by the huge dog until Augusta pointed her wand and sent the beast flying back in. 

"Dear lord, what kind of animal is that?"

"Neville!" Harry's voice came as the boy leapt down from the stairs and hugged him. Harry had appeared to have been exhausted moments ago; Neville saw bags beginning to form under his eyes.

"Harry, what did we say? Same as you, Padfoot." James scolded the two.

It was then something odd happened, for the dog had began transforming. Neville watched in shock as the dog's huge coat shrunk back into its skin, as its jaw shrunk into a handsome face that reminded him of a aristocrat.

"Sorry, mate." The former dog gave a sheepish grin, having now become a tall, well-built, darkly handsome man with waxy skin and short lustrous black hair. "Couldn't resist."

"Sirius Black?!" Neville had never seen his gran look so outraged. "What did you think you were doing?"

"Greeting your grandson, of course." He stated as if it was the most obvious thing. 

"As a dog? You could have given him a heart attack!"

As Augusta began another of her infamous rants against Sirius, Harry grabbed Neville by the arm and led him out. "Who is that...er...dog?"

"He's my godfather, Sirius Black." Harry explained. "Just came back from Azkaban a few weeks ago."

"Black?" Neville was reminded of the name somewhere, but he couldn't place his finger. "That's an odd name."

"Odd? He's the last of the House of Black, the oldest Pureblood family." Harry looked incredulous. "You got to be a bit mad when you're part of that family."

The realization finally struck him. "Wait, THAT house of Black?!" 

He remembered Gran mentioning about that family when they were talking about his heritage, his great-gran was a Black if he remembered right. He couldn't remember everything, though. Was it that it was from her did Gran get her infamous iron will? Or was it that his great-granddad had took a lot of time to mellow her out?

"Either way, before Padfoot here interrupted us -it's not like they're looking for trouble, trouble finds them." James reasoned. "Anyway, mind for some gammon?"

After dinner, while the adults were engaged in another argument courtesy of Augusta, the two boys were starting a game of Exploding Snap in Harry's room when they heard a pop and a crash behind them. They turned and spotted an odd creature that had apparated into the dresser and crashed onto the floor.

"Dobby most apologizes for his entrance, sir,” He said. “He is not familiar with this place. It is not how he wished to meet the great Neville Longbottom."

They gaped at him in utter shock. He had large, bat-like ears, and bulging green eyes. "You’re a house-elf." Harry stared at him, bewildered. "I’ve never met one before. We can’t afford one here."

"Who-" Neville paused, wanting to phrase it just right. If he remembered things right, house-elves 1) were employed as servants by the richer families, 2) were fiercely loyal to those families and 3) took little regard for themselves; if he got it wrong, Gran might come up to investigate. "What is your name?"

"And uh, how may we help you?"

"I is Dobby sir, Dobby the house elf." He started. "I is here to tell Neville Longbottom - it is difficult, sir. Dobby wonders where to begin..."

"Try starting at the beginning." Harry suggested, exchanging another look of bewilderment with Neville. "What is it?"

"Oh, Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously later for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven for this. If they ever knew, sir-"

"Won't they notice unwarranted punishment?" Neville asked.

"Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, sir. They let Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they remind me to do extra punishments."

Neville gaped at him. He had heard some wizards were unfriendly to their house-elves but the inherent cruelty he described was horrific. He wanted to ask who his master was but he knew better than to ask such questions. "Why are you here?"

"Dobby has come to protect Neville Longbottom, to warn him, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven later..."

"Get on with it, will you?" Harry cut in. "You're not helping anyone by telling us how you're going to punish yourself."

Dobby narrowed his gaze at him and then turned back to Neville, his large wide eyes fixated on him. "Neville Longbottom most not go back to Hogwarts." 

He and Harry exchanged shocked looks and then turned to Dobby. "Why?" He tried to keep his voice even despite the chill that ran down his spine.

"Neville Longbottom must stay where it is safe. If Neville Longbottom goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

"If I don't know the reason for it, I can't see why I would be able to justify leaving all of a sudden." Neville insisted. "Not to mention I doubt Gran will allow it."

"It is not safe," Dobby told him, "Dobby has heard of Neville Longbottom's greatness and he must not let Neville Longbottom be put in danger!"

"He's in danger on a constant basis." Harry argued. "It seems to follow him wherever he goes, no matter what."

"Harry Potter does not understand." Dobby countered, trying to tell him something though incapable of doing so.

"Then tell us, so we can." Neville said in an authoritarian voice to Harry's amazement.

The house-elf was shaking like a leaf as he laid on the bed. "There is a plot, Neville Longbottom. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year." Dobby whispered helplessly. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Neville Longbottom must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

Neville took in what Dobby said before speaking again. "What terrible things? Don't you think I'm safest at Hogwarts where Dumbledore is?"

"Albus Dumbledore is the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts has had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But sir-" His voice dropped to a whisper. "There are powers no decent wizard-"

“And if he choses to do so anyway?” Harry's voice had gone eerily cold like he had flicked a switch or something, and Neville felt the presence of something powerful move in the room. Dobby must had felt it too, because he looked panicked.

“Dobby... Dobby will stop you, however Dobby must!” The creature glanced over at Harry for a brief moment, before finding himself thrown against the wall by something invisible.

“I will tell you only one time Dobby. If you so much as contemplate doing something about Neville, I will end you.” Shadows lengthened across the floor, the lights flickering ever so slightly as the boy's own eyes lit up with green flames.

It was like Harry had become possessed by something else.

“Dobby is not afraid sir, Dobby is used to death threats. Dobby wants to protect the great Neville Longbottom sir.”

"There are worse things than death." Harry said quietly, as the shadows faded. Dobby took one last look before vanishing with a loud crack. Neville looked back at the place where Dobby was standing mere seconds ago to Harry, who seemed to have calmed down.

"...What the hell was that all about?"

Chapter Text

Knockturn Alley was a place where only some of the more...suspicious wizards and witches hung around. Most people wouldn't even let their children enter due to its shady reputation, though for some it's a learning experience.

'No one interesting so far...' Talbott Winger, auror in training, thought as he kept himself a low profile.

Recently, the passage of the Muggle Protection Act, a combined effort of the Aurors and Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, was something of an uproar among the Pureblood and Trueblood community. it was made with the intention to protect Muggles from potentially harmful magical artefacts. He had been assigned to keep an eye for any suspicious activity from one of the most suspicious Purebloods, though so far there was nothing of interest yet.

His patience paid off, however, when a tall man with long, blonde hair step into the alley. Talbott recognized him as Lucius Malfoy, one of the Purebloods who, if he remembered correctly, was also a member of the Board of Governors back when he was at Hogwarts. 

"Talbott?" The auror trainee nearly broke character when someone touched his shoulder, relived to see a familiar though concerned face. "What are you doing here?"

"Auror duties." The loner spoke in hushed tones. "And I could ask you the same thing, Maya."

"Penny's looking for maws and Mackled Malaclaw Tails, figured I'll try my luck looking here. And don't pull the Auror card on me." Maya frowned. "Who are you watching?"

"Lucius Malfoy. We were planning on raiding his house next, I've got the honor to keep an eye on him." Talbott admitted. "Though I doubt my presence inside could tip him off further."

Maya looked back at the shop Talbott was looking at, where they could see the patriarch of the Malfoy family standing inside. "Y'know, I did make a good impression back during his inspection. and I do have a reason to go through the shop..."

"You sure?" Talbott's eyes narrowed. "I don't want to put you in unnecessary risk; nothing is more scarier than Penny's wrath." 

Maya simply patted him on the back with a laugh before stepping into the shop.

"...It’s the same all over." Mr. Borgin, a stooping man with oily hair who nowadays ran the most infamous shop of Wizarding Britain's black market, was saying. "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere-"

"Not with me." Lucius Malfoy agreed, his grip on his snake cane tightening. Maya wondered if his wand was still inside the snake head as they looked around.

Among the accessories were a glass case nearby that held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. 

“No, sir, nor with me, sir,” said Mr. Borgin with a deep bow, before he noticed Maya. "Excuse me, miss, how may I help you?"

"Oh, I'm looking for some...exclusive...materials." Maya hinted. "I was hoping to, y'know, try my luck here."

"May I inquire a name?" 

"Ah, no need." Lucius Malfoy turned and extended a hand with a bemused smile. "This is Miss Roland, a witch of exceptional talent and an friend of the Malfoys. I was not expecting to run into you."

"Likewise, Mr. Malfoy." Maya returned the gesture. "What's an esteemed person like you doing here?" 

"I'm merely doing a bit of business. Nothing illegal, of course." He laughed, and Maya noticed Borgin looking rather angry. "Anyways, I am in something of a hurry, Borgin; I’ll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods."

"But of course, Mr. Malfoy. And any friend of such...prestigious...customers is welcome in my, ah, humble shop." Borgin gave a haughty grin as Lucius bowed before leaving. "Now, what do you need?"

Neville found himself getting sick over the ride to his vault, he couldn't understand how anyone could stomach the experience. "How the hell can you stand that?" He asked Harry, perplexed at him and his dad's seemingly lack of reaction to the ride.

"Simple, it's just like riding a broom - a very rough one." Harry Potter responded, earning him a ruffle of his hair by his smiling father. Neville opened his mouth, before closing; the vivid image of Granger bushwhacking him with her wild broom was still fresh.

The walk to Flourish and Blotts was one that surprisingly ignorant of his presence; he felt almost guilty to even think of it.

C'mon Neville, you survived You-Know-Who twice now, a few people staring at you shouldn't be that hard!

The bookshop was unusually full compared to last year, with a majority of the customers being middle-aged women, he noticed. Among the few males he did saw were a group of redheads, and among them familiar faces.

"Ron! Fred! George!" He called out. The three turned around and lit up, relived of having something to talk to.

"Ah! James!" Behind them, a middle-aged gentleman with a head of red hair that was showing signs of balding greeted Potter Snr. "I've been meaning to speak with you - and who's this?"

"Arthur, this is Neville Longbottom." James smiled, patting Neville in the back. "Neville, these are the Weasleys - though I'm guessing you know Ron, Fred and George."

"Ah, but I bet you haven't met little Ginevra." One of the twins said, pulling a nervous looking girl from among the crowd who blushed red like her hair upon seeing Neville. "She's been talking about you all summer!"

While the adults began to chat, the kids managed to get a little closer to the front of the shop and Neville peered through the crowd to see what all the fuss was about. Standing behind a desk piled high with books a man, wearing absurdly bright colored robes and a smile that seemed to want to tear itself right off his face, was making a speech.

"... and then the great troll tried to smash down its club right on top of me." The man was saying. "But I was too quick for it and leapt aside. As it overbalanced, one simple jinx to its backside and the troll plummeted down the mountainside to its doom. I swept up the girl, jumped on my broom, returned her to her grateful parents and still made it to cut the ribbon at the Quidditch stadium opening on time." There was a generous round of applause as the man flashed a dazzling smile. "Thank you, thank you. The full story is found in chapter seven of my new autobiography."

He held up one of the books, the cover of which read Magical Me – by Gilderoy Lockhart. "On sale now for the bargain price of 5 Galleons, 6 Sickles, and a copy signed by my humble self is, believe me, priceless." His smile once again widened to disconcerting proportions and he smoothed back his hair as he gazed upon his adoring public, while a photographer pushed his way forward. Suddenly his eyes fell on Neville for a moment and a strange, quizzical look appeared on his face. 

"It can't be." His face lit up. "Neville Longbottom?"

Neville turned pink as everyone's attention was suddenly focused on him. Before he could react, the photographer had grabbed Neville by the collar and dragged him towards Lockhart. "Smile, Neville. You and I are worth more than the front page."

The camera flash nearly blinded him, though Lockhart himself seemed ignorant.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, what an extraordinary moment this is. When young Neville here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography, Magical Me, which I shall be happy to present him now - alongside all of my collected works - free of charge." The idiots in the crowd cheered as Neville was handed over a stack of books that were almost as tall as him. "He had, no idea, that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book Magical Me, which incidentally, is currently celebrating its 29th week on the Daily Prophet bestseller list. He and his classmates will have the honor of being next to me, as yes, starting from this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

While a woman who he quickly realized was Mrs Weasley joined the queue to get his collection to be signed, Neville pushed his way clear of the line and looked around for the Potters; he hated moments like this and didn't look up. And at that moment something struck him on the side of the head. It was a book, one that very fortunately wasn't by Lockhart. Looking up to see who threw it, he was horrified to see Draco Malfoy standing on the staircase with an grin of triumph on his face.

"Try ducking faster, Longbottom, or can't you get any lower?" Draco came down the stairs and loomed over Neville, being a good few inches taller. "Longbottom! What a stupid name, think I'll call you Short-arse. Much better." Neville bristled but said nothing.

"Draco, who are you talking to?" A smooth, oily voice asked. Draco span round quickly as if he'd had a shock. Neville looked up. Standing in the doorway was Lucius Malfoy, who Neville noted shared the same pale blond hair, the same cold look in their eyes and the same effortless air of self-importance as his son. He looked down on Neville and for a moment his eyes flickered with surprise before the veneer of disinterest returned.

"Well, well. Neville Longbottom." He said slickly, pushed Neville's hair back over his head to view his scar. "Delighted to meet you. Lucius Malfoy at your service." He offered his hand, which was not taken by Neville. His Gran had told him something about Draco's father, he couldn't remember what, but it hadn't been complimentary. "No need to be shy, Neville." continued Lucius, without a hint of offence. "I'm sure your grandmother has taught you most carefully about talking to strangers. I understand. Is she here?" Neville shook his head. "Hmm, pity. I would love to meet her."

"He's here with the Potters and the Weasleys." Draco spoke up. "And here they come..."

"Thank you, Draco." Lucius' mouth curled up to a smile. Ron was indeed coming out of the crowd alongside Mrs Weasley, Ginny still clinging to her hand. They were piled down with books, Ginny carrying hers in a heavily laden cauldron. "Well isn't this appropriate," Lucius sneered. "She's among Weasleys."

Mrs Weasley bristled angrily when she saw Lucius Malfoy. "Neville, come away from him," she said.

"Good morning, Molly," Lucius smiled, approaching Mrs Weasley. "I trust you and your family are quite well. I see you have found some other...charges to take care of." He gave a dismissive look down at Hermione, who looked very uncomfortable.

"Lucius, what do you think you're doing?" Mr. Weasley had now come over from where he had been talking to the Grangers, a look of contempt on his face. "Leave my family alone."

"Just engaging in a bit of polite conversation, Arthur. Busy time at the Ministry, I hear. I hope they are paying you overtime?” Lucius sneered, reaching into Ginny's cauldron and extracted a battered, second-hand copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration. "Obviously not." Lucius said with obvious disgust. “Dear me, what’s the point of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

The redheaded man turned a darker shade of scarlet than both of his children as he squared up to Lucius. "We have a different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Lucius; and speaking of disgrace, out of respect for everyone here, I suggest we continue this conversation outside."

Lucius smiled. "Why should we, Arthur? I am quite comfortable here. It is always so much of a pleasure talking to you."

By now others were gathering round to see what was going on. Harry, Ron, Fred and George had come out from the back clutching their newly bought textbooks, followed by James who had a hand on Harry's shoulder. Lucius spotted him and grinned. "And speaking of disgraces to pure-blood wizardry," he said, "here's none other than James Potter. Long time no see, I heard Bella sent her regards to you the last time you met."

"Very funny, Malfoy." James looked angry, but unlike Arthur, managed to keep a cooler tone. "Got nothing except petty words?"

Lucius looked down at the children around him and shook his head. "So many Weasleys, so little worth. And I guess you must be the kid who Lily had treated like galleons." he said, looking at Harry. "It's a shame you ended up among -"

"James!" yelled Mr Weasley in warning, but it was too late. James had lunged straight at Malfoy, arms outstretched as if to throttle him. They both crashed to the ground. Harry leapt in to strike Draco, joined by Ron, Fred and George. And just like that it into a free-for-all. Fists were flying left, right and center. A huge crowd was now gathered to see what was going on but no one tried to stop it. Even Ginny tried to get involved, but Mrs Weasley held her back.

Eventually Mrs Weasley herself managed to pull James and her husband back and the brawl was over. Everyone collected up their books in sullen silence. Lucius got to his feet, brushed down his robes, gave Ginny a slow, condescending pat on the head and, trailed by Draco, stalked out of the shop.

Somehow, Neville felt he hadn't seen the last of either Malfoy.

Chapter Text

September came around the corner, and soon Neville found himself back at King's Cross, waited for his turn to go through the barriers between 9 and 10. the Potters were already starting to say their goodbyes, while they stood just behind the Weasleys who were just now going through the barrier one by one.

"Make sure to have a teacher around watching you when you practice flying." Lily Potter warned Harry, who had been practicing under surveillance ever since he came back. "Or I'll make sure Uncle Severus will have you doing cauldron cleaning duty every day." 

"I will." He promised, giving her a hug and causing her to actually tear up.

"I'm going to miss you." She told them, before finally allowing him to go. To his surprise, instead of him simply going directly through, he crashed right into it, the barrier for some reason becoming totally solid.

"What the?" He gasped as Ginny, who was the last of the Weasleys still with them, went over to help him up, while Fred and George kicked the wall in mock protest. "The barrier's broken! How are we going to get on the train?"

Meanwhile James had noticed what happened and went to go inspect the barrier. "It appears the magic on it allowing people to go through seems to have blocked." He said. "Don't worry, I'll made a call to the Ministry and have it fixed in a second."

After a few wizards had arrived, with James double checking to make sure it was really fixed, he went with Harry to go through, followed by Neville with Lily.

"What took you so long?" Ron asked as they hopped onto the train.

"The barrier closed on us." Neville explained. "Fortunately Harry's dad was able to get some help."

"Yeah. Imagine if we couldn't get it open. Then we'll be forced to fly or take the Knight bus..."

Ginny was counting to ten as she traversed through the Hogwarts Express, trying to find her an unoccupied compartment to no avail. She was just just about to consider who she wouldn't mind sharing one with for the rest of the train journey when a high, ethereal voice with a faint hint of Irish called out.

"Hello, Ginny." The bewildered redhead turned around to see a girl with dirty blonde hair, a necklace made of a string of butterbeer corks, and what seemed to be a pair of earrings in the shape of beetle wings with her wand behind her left ear leaning out of one compartment. 

"Oh...uh...hi?" Ginny "You're...Luna, right? Luna Lovegood?"

Luna simply hummed, continuing to stare at her for some time.

"You seem lost." The blonde finally broke the silence. "Would you like to join my compartment? Most people seem to be avoiding it." 

Ginny pondered for a moment, before shrugging and followed the quirky girl. Inside, she found a small, mousy-haired boy, utterly absorbed in reading a copy of the wizarding magazine The Quibbler.

"This is Nigel Wompert," said Luna. "He's a first year, like us. We were just talking about the school houses. He's Muggle-born, you see."

"Oh..." Ginny stared at the magazine in his hand. From what she heard, The Quibbler's articles were hardly factual, if not entirely fictional. "Then why does he have a copy of The Quibbler?" asked Ginny.

"That's mine," Luna said brightly. "He wanted to find out more about the wizarding world, so I let him borrow it."

"Your world's really incredible!" Nigel said excitedly, looking up from the magazine. "I just never thought it would be this strange."

"Yeah..." Ginny quickly took the magazine from his hand and handed it back to Luna.  "Colin, I hate to say it, but it isn't as strange as you've read."

"Confuse him about what?" Luna asked innocently.

"You know, he'll think all this nonsense is real," Ginny explained.

"How do you know it's not real?"

"Because it's not," said Ginny, rolling her eyes. "Everyone knows The Quibbler is rubbish."

These words made Luna look shocked and hurt. She stared at Ginny for a long time and then took a seat, staring silently out the window. The expression on her face looked genuine to Ginny and she started to doubt this was an act. What if Luna hadn't been playing a practical joke on Colin when she gave him The Quibbler? What if she really did believe all that stuff in it and gave it to him thinking she was being helpful? Ginny hadn't thought there was anyone who actually believed the stories in The Quibbler, but Luna was pretty strange.

"What do you think of the editor of The Quibbler?" Luna asked suddenly.

"I — I don't know," Ginny said uncertainly.

"You think he's a fraud, don't you?" said Luna, almost on the verge of tears. "Or an idiot. Or just crazy."

"Do you know him?" asked Ginny. Luna considered it.

"Why does that make a difference?" she said eventually. "If my father wasn't my father, would it be okay for us to sit here and laugh at how stupid is?"

"He's your father?" Ginny asked in surprise.

"Dad warned me not everyone believes in The Quibbler, but..." Luna's voice trailed off.

"...Can we talk about something else?" suggested Ginny, thinking that at this point she might have preferred Fleeta's insults.

"How would you like it if everyone thought your father's work was worthless?" Luna asked rather hotly.

"Everyone does," Ginny answered. "My father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office." The two girls stared at each other for a rather long time.

"My dad's a milkman," Colin added cheerfully.

Upon arriving at Hogwarts Station, Neville and Harry approached what seemed to be a stagecoach. The latter glanced around for something that would pull them along but nothing was there. He furrowed his brows in confusion. "What is going to pull us along?"

"Honestly, Potter, don't you read Hogwarts: A History?" Granger's annoying voice came cutting in as she pushed past him to board one. "The carriages pull themselves."

Though Neville had tuned her out at this point, staring in shock at the beast in front of the stagecoach. If he had to give them a name, he supposed he would have called them horses, though there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats clinging to their skeletons, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, their pupil-less eyes white and staring and vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats sprouted from their backs. Standing still and quiet as they waited for their cargo to board in the gathering gloom, the creatures looked eerie and sinister. "...can't you see them?"

"See what?"

"That!" Neville gestured at the beast, though Harry looked confused. "Can't you see them?"

"If there is something, then no, I can't." Harry shook his head, and Neville decided to put the topic to rest. No need to waste their time.

The carriage trundled toward a pair of magnificent wrought iron gates, picking up speed once they passed through and trudged up the long, sloping path toward the castle, another year awaiting. 

"Lovegood, Luna!"

Luna cheerfully hopped onto the stool, humming softly to herself. Her peculiarity earned a soft shake of McGonagall's head and a quiet chuckle from the headmaster as the hat was brought down.

"Oh my." It whispered, before falling silent. Seconds stretched into a minute, and not a sound was heard in the Great Hall save Luna's hummed tune. McGonagall poked the hat.

"Oh, ouch, what?" It spluttered as it snapped back to the present. "What was I just doing?"

"Sorting Miss Lovegood. Now come on, we don't have all day."

"Ah yes, hmm…" The Hat appeared to be dazed, yet still managed to shout out a confused "RAVENCLAW?" where Luna merrily skipped to the blue table as if nothing unusual had happened.

From the Gryffindor table, Harry noticed that Ginny looked sad by this decision, perhaps wishing to be with Luna for a roommate.

“Weasley, Ginevra,” McGonagall said at last.

Ginny stood up straight and walked forward calmly to sit on the stool. The Sorting Hat barely even touched her head before it shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The entire Gryffindor table stood and applauded. The Weasley Family’s reputation in that house was legendary by now. Ginny ran over and hugged each of her brothers in turn and took the empty seat between Fred and George. Ron leaned close to Neville and said, “Figures she’d be the most Gryffindor of all of us.”

Chapter Text

The next morning at breakfast, on the first day of term, the Weasley Twin's unorthodox arrival was a popular topic of conversation on the Gryffindor table, though not everyone was thrilled.

"Of all the things you had done." Percy's shouting among the chatter. "You decided to come by a flying car? Do you know how many laws you'd have broken?! Not to mention the House Points!"

"Oh, sod off, Percy." Fred dismissed the near hysterial Prefect. "The year hasn't even started. A shame, actually."

The Weasleys' mother, however, apparently had disagreed, for when the morning mail came, Neville recognized what their owl was carrying.

Sure enough, the red letter the owl had carried was shouting at the Twins hysterically, though not before also congratulating Ginny's sorting. Fred and George merely pointed their wands at the Howler, setting it aflame while Ginny looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. Harry, surprisingly enough, decided to be the gentleman and comfort her, earning teasing remarks from Seamus and Dean to Neville's exasperation. 

Suddenly there was a bright flash in front of his eyes and he blinked hard. When the spots disappeared, Neville's eyes focused on a small, brown-haired boy who was excitably bobbing up and down on the spot as if he was desperate to go to the bathroom or something. In his hands he held an old-fashioned camera. “All right, Neville?” he asked breathlessly. “You are Neville Longbottom, right? I’m Colin Creevey, I got sorted into Gryffindor yesterday. I just wanted to say how great it is to meet you. I’ve heard all about you."

“Uh, hi,” said Neville. Great. he thought. Yet another fan.

“I hope you didn’t mind the photograph. I’m sending them home to my parents. They’re keen to learn all about Hogwarts."

"Didn’t they come here, then?"

"No, they’re not wizards. No one in my family is, as far as we know, except maybe my little brother. This is all new to me. Isn’t it fantastic?"

"Uh..." Neville wondered for a moment whether or not such a display would be a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy, the most important law of the Wizarding World that divided it from the Muggle World. "Colin, listen, I'll love to stay and chat, but uh, I need to head to my classes. Maybe later?"

To his relief, the bubbly Gryffindor nodded before running off, while Neville decided to check his schedule. 

"Granger." He raised his head to see Harry grabbing a piece of parchment from Granger that had some sort of red marks drawn on. "Why the hell do you have Lockhart's lessons in hearts?"

"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" Professor Sprout exclaimed cheerfully, leading the Gryffindors to the classroom of the day.

There was a murmur of interest; greenhouse three housed some of the more interesting and dangerous plants. Neville couldn't wait to see what they were going to be exploring. Herbology, by far, was his favorite subject. He smiled as he caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer, perhaps because of his Uncle Algie, it never failed to comfort him. He was about to follow his friends inside when a hand shot out, revealing it to be a part of Lockhart. "Neville! I've been wanting a word - you don't mind if he's a few minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"

Judging by Professor Sprout's scowling lips, she did mind, and Neville said a quick 'Sorry, but I'd rather not hold back the class' and slammed the door in Lockhart's face. Professor Sprout looked proud before she made her way behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse.

About twenty pairs of different-colored earmuffs were lying on the bench next to a hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. 

"Welcome to Greenhouse Three, second years!" Professor Sprout chirped happily, a complete one eighty to her previous attitude towards Lockhart. "Today, we'll be re-potting mandrakes. Now, who can tell me the properties of mandrake root?" She asked as she heaved a large pot onto the table, and Neville's hand shot up automatically. "Yes, Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville took a deep breath before answering. "The mandrake is a magical and sentient plant whose roots resemble a human and are used as a powerful restorative. It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state. Mature mandrakes are also dangerous, as their cry is fatal to those who hear it."

"Excellent explanation. Twenty well-deserved points to Gryffindor," Professor Sprout beamed. "Now-"

“But professor,” Granger interrupted, “doesn’t that make them far too dangerous to keep anywhere near people?”

Professor Sprout looked confused for a moment. “What do you mean, Miss Granger?”

“Well, I’m sure the cry can carry a long way. If someone wasn’t careful they could wipe out an entire village just by mishandling one, let alone with malicious intent. And if it had an amplifying charm on it, like a Howler-”

Most of the class gasped, and the muggle-raised students started to swoon just like she had.

“Hermione! How could you think of such a thing?” Neville demanded.

“Because it’s obvious, Neville! I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be morbid, but muggles are very concerned with something that are called as deadly as that! Why, in the last-"

“Please calm yourself, Miss Granger,” Sprout said impatiently, as most of the class started backing away - the wizarding raised from Hermione and the Muggle-raised from the mandrake seedlings. “Mandrakes, while very rare and carefully controlled, are not nearly so dangerous as you claim - you'd think that we don't assign our curriculum based on the students ability or something." 

"So much for being the smartest witch of her year." Harry muttered under his breath.

"...so would everyone come back to the bench and stop looking at their pots like they're a dungbomb about to go off?"

The class calmed down, but they still eyed their respective targets warily.

"Now, as I was about to say, the Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. Now, as ours are only seedlings, their cries only knock you out instead of killing, which is why I've given you all a pair of earmuffs for auditory protection. So could you please put them on right away?"

There was a scramble over earmuffs as Neville put them on. The sounds were almost silent except for the extremely faint whisper.

'Watch me closely.' Neville barely made out what Sprout was saying. "You grasp the mandrake firmly, you pull it sharply out of the pot-!' There was a muffled cry that caused Neville to wince, looking at the vaguely humanoid plant bawling at what he guessed was full volume. 'Now, you dunk it to the other pot and pour a little sprinkle of soil to keep it warm.'

As she filled the pot, Neville noticed out of the corner of his eye a slightly dizzy Granger, before she fell down unconscious. "Granger's been neglecting her earmuffs." Professor Sprout shook her head in disapproval. "And after all that..."

"No ma'am." Seamus stood back up after examing her. "She's just fainted."

"Yes, well, just leave her there." Sprout waved an arm in dismissal. "Right, on we go. Plenty of pots to go around - compost in the sacks over there - and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it's teething."

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long green tendrils that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth but they didn't want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth. Neville was nearly sent sprawling to the ground several times at first. By the end of the class, however, he managed to realize that they liked it when one gave their head a bit of a rub. It was a bit of an accident, one that he did went to get Professor Sprout and demonstrated what he had done.

She clapped and gave him a thumbs up. It was still not safe to take off their earmuffs. She scurried away, trying without success to get the attention of the rest of the class. It wasn't until the Mandrakes were successfully planted that they were able to take off their earmuffs, but which point she informed them of Neville's discovery, awarding him fifteen points for Gryffindor. He couldn't help but feel a burst of pride as everyone looked at him with awe, except for Granger who looked sour, probably because she hadn't thought of it first - not that she could when she was unconscious for the majority of the lesson.

When he entered the DADA classroom Neville immediately noticed the place had apparently been redecorated. In contrast to the dark, garlicky atmosphere of the room under Quirrell’s tenure, now it was light, bright and airy, with the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows. The walls were lined with pictures, every single one of them featuring the beaming smile and impeccably tended features of Lockhart himself. The pictures seemed to be staring across the room at each other and ignoring the entering students.

Everyone found their seats and waited. They waited for a long time. Eventually, with a nonchalant air and without the slightest hint of concern, Lockhart breezed into the room, his bright cloak swishing behind him like the tail of some great tropical bird. Levitating behind him was a small cage, covered with a cloth; It rattled and rocked as it was set on the desk. Lockhart turned away and faced the class, folding his arms ostentatiously across his chest as the ridiculous smile that was everywhere back in Flourish and Blotts was kept on.

"Let me introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. " He announced. "Me, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Arts Defense League, and ten-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award - but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

Neville noticed that most of the girls were there looking at him with lovestruck faces, including Parvati, Lavender and even Hermione who both sighed as he handed each of them a pink carnation. This guy was seriously milking his looks for all they're worth...

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books. Well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about. Just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in. You have thirty minutes. Go!"

It hadn't been a few seconds when Harry quietly snorted. "Look at these questions. They're all about him!"

Neville picked up the paper and began to read the first few questions. He looked down at his paper and read:

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition? 

3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

On and on it went, over almost eight sides of paper, right down to:

77. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and read through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut - hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac - I say so in Year with a Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully - I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples - though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!"

Neville was honestly stunned as Lockhart gave the class another roguish wink. Ron was staring at the DADA teacher in disbelief, while Seamus and Dean were shaking in silent laughter. Granger, on the other hand, was listening with rapt attention and beamed proudly when he mentioned her name.

"...but only Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions! Good girl! In fact, full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

"H-here, sir." Granger raised a trembling hand, blushing furiously.

"Excellent! A hundred points for Gryffindor! And now-" Lockhart went behind his desk and pulled out a covered cage.

"Now what you are about to see next may alarm you, but I must ask you not to scream, you might provoke them." Lockhart cautioned dramatically, lifting the cover off of it, revealing a cage full of small black hairy creatures about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing.

This earned a laugh from Ron, "Pixies?!" He choked out between guffaws.

"Freshly caught Doxies, actually." Lockhart clarified. "Devilishly tricky creatures much cunning than you think, I think they would be perfect for a practical lecture on this subject." Lockhart claimed, only for Ron to laugh harder, with other boys joining him. "Well let's see what you make of them."

He opened up the cage and doxies began to fly out and immediately wreak havoc, obviously not being too pleased with being cooped up into such a small cage, and proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino, grabbing ink bottles and spraying the class with them, shred books and papers, tearing pictures from the walls, up ending the waste basket, grabbing bags and books and throwing them out of the smashed window. Within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks(which included Ron) while the rest bolted out of the classroom, with only a minority trying to stop the infestation.

As Parvati tried to swat one away with her book, Harry managed to take the two down that were trying to hoist Neville up onto the chandelier and keep him from hitting the ground too hard.

"Come on now - round them up, round them up, they're just pixies." Lockhart rolled his sleeves, brandished his wand and bellowed. "Peskipiki PesterNOMI-!" 

He faltered when one of the Pixies snatched his wand and broke off the dragon skeleton hanging from the ceiling, sending the bones shattered over the remaining class. Seeing this, he rushed back to the staircase, stopping momentarily where the Pixies steal a portrait of Lockhart and he tries to get it back, only to nearly fall off alongside said portrait. "I, uh, just let any volunteers nip the rest of them back to their cage." He said meekly before scrambling into his office.

"Can you believe him?" roared Ron, as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear. "Bloody coward!"

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience." Granger said before spinning on the spot and flicked her wand. "Immobulus!"

A quick flash of blue had the entire room perfectly still, with all of the pixies moving in slow motion. "Hands on?" repeated Neville, grabbing back his wand from a nearby pixie, who was slowing retracting its tongue in. "Granger, he didn't have a clue what he was doing!"

"That's rubbish!" Granger retorted. "Honestly Neville, you really should read more. You’d enjoy it, I’m sure. Gilderoy Lockhart’s done more for wizardry in his lifetime than a hundred other people put together. It’s all in his books. He’s a legend for all the things-"

"-he says he's done."

After subduing them all and putting them back into their cage with a bit of help from Seamus and Dean, Duncan Ashe - the showed up, no doubt having heard the commotion. "Aw, shucks. Looks like I missed something."

"Actually Duncan." Harry began, heading over to whisper into his ear, causing the ghost to look all conspiratorial, before he grinned and picked up the cage. Neville had five seconds to realize what Harry had said before the door opened, the cage tossed in, and a screaming Lockhart evidently discovered the pixies now loose in his office.

"Open this door at once, ghost!" Lockhart demanded shrilly, by now desperately trying to escape. Duncan, who kept his head partially through the door, kept up a running commentary for each of the students, clearly enjoying being able to describe the display as he kept a grip onto the doorknob.

"Now the pixies are smashing all of his framed photographs of himself." Duncan commented with glee. "He really has too many, I'll have to get some once the pixies are done with them, make him look more distinguished."

"Now the pixies just ripped his pants off, did any of you know he has pink underwear? Oh, Lilac, my mistake."

"Now...well I won't tell you what just happened but let's just say there's no fixing that underwear."

The brilliant commentary done by Ashe caused howls of laughter from the students, minus Granger, who was rather put off that her crush was being humiliated in such a way.

Chapter Text

Arthur Weasley was not having a good week. First, he had been with that dastardly Lucius Malfoy in Flourish and Botts, then he received news that his sons - out on a whim, even - decided to take his precious trophy car to take to school and, even though it had not been spotted by muggles, had been used by Malfoy as a attack to pull down his Muggle Protection Act.

"Cheer up, Arthur." James said sympathetically as he greeted the Weasley patriarch outside of Crouch's office. "It's Malfoy; that Pureblood's not going to stop until the Purebloods are safely tucked away from the muggles."

"Tell me about it." Arthur sighed. "And I suppose that's on me for forgetting to take the key out of the car's engine."

"...I think you mean the ignition switch." James sweatdropped. "Either way, it was either that or the Knight Bus, I suppose. They did take awhile to get here."

"Speaking of the boys." Arthur frowned. "I simply can’t understand it. The barrier shouldn’t have ever closed in the first place. Who could have been responsible?”

"It's hard to tell - the barrier is made up of incredibly strong magic. Only way to interfere with it is if you're from the Ministry." James shrugged. "I've made an inquiry over it, and they've had the balls to say it was tampered by a house-elf. Could you believe it?"

"A House-elf? Who the bloody hell would order their house-elf to sabotage it?"

"I dunno - and that's the strangest thing." 

Before they knew it, it was the weekend. During breakfast, Neville noticed Harry's absence.

“Early Quidditch practice,” Ron explained through bites of toast. “Wood’s gone even more mental than usual. We can go out to the Pitch and take a look.”

When they did get to the pitch, Neville nearly had to duck as the Snitch zoomed past him; the excitement of watching them only lasted a few minutes, though, as the Slytherin Team strutted onto the field.

“Uh oh, Malfoy’s with them,” Ron said. “I smell trouble. Let’s go down there.”

By the time they got down, Wood was having a bitter argument with the Slytherin Captain Flint as a crowd gathered.

"...gave us permission to train our new seeker."

"Who?!"

Flint pointed to Draco, who was standing among those in the Slytherin Quidditch Team with a smug expression.

"I'm Slytherin's new Seeker, Weasel." He stated, shrugging nonchalantly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father bought for the team."

Neville saw Ron's jaw drop as all seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the sun.

"Good, aren't they? Very latest model, only came out last month; unlike some, my family can afford the best." He smoothly stated. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives, I'm sure a museum would bid for them."

"Well, at least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way onto the team," said Granger, her tone sharp. She glared at Malfoy and placed her hands on her hips. "They all got on the team due to pure talent."

The smug look on Draco's face flickered momentarily; seething at her insult towards him.

"No one asked your opinion, Granger, you filthy, pathetic, little Mudblood." He hissed coldly, his eyes swirling with the outward anger he was trying to reign in. "Why do you even bother to try and speak to other people, mudblood? You're a failure, a reject that clings to the hope that Longbottom will save you like some damsel in distress. If you got on that train right now and went back to your filthy Muggle house, no one would care, nor would they remember you. You're nothing but a disgrace! A disgrace of a witch, now get out of my sight before I hex you sixty feet into the ground, where you rightfully belong!"

There was an instant uproar on the field. Flint had to dive in front of Draco to stop Fred and George jumping on him, one of the Gryffindor Chasers shouted, "how dare you!", and Neville found himself standing with his eyes narrowed and his mouth gaping open.

Granger looked ready to burst into tears before she ran, while Ron and Seamus pulled their wands out of their robes, ready to strike. Wild sparks came out of Draco's wand and Seamus blasted backwards into the ground, his hair and robes were considerably singed, while Ron began throwing up slugs.

There was a pause and then the rest of the Slytherin team burst into laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his broomstick for support as he praised Draco, who had a smug look on his face. Things did not go well when a sudden camera flash came. "Wow! Can you turn him around, Neville?"

"No, Colin, get out of the way!" Neville shouted as he hauled Ron by the arm as he belched another slug. "C'mon, we'll get you to Hagrid's - he'll know what to do."

"Well, this calls for specialist equipment." Hagrid said cheerfully, plunking a large basin in front of Ron. "Nothing to do till it stops, I'm afraid. Get 'em all up, Ron. Better in than out." 

There was another flash of light, followed by the excited shriek from Colin, whom Hagrid elected to ignore. "Who's Ron tryin' curse, anyway?" Hagrid elected to ignore the excited muggle-born.

"Malfoy-" Ron managed to say before he threw up another slug, followed by another flash. 

"Apparently, he called the Granger girl...something." Colin was saying as he checked his film. "What was it? Cause everyone went wild." 

"He called her a mudblood." Neville said grimly. 

"He did not!" Hagrid looked either shocked or outraged, Neville couldn't tell.

"What's a mudblood?" Colin asked, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

"It means dirty blood." Neville was holding back his temper. "It's the foulest slur to someone who is muggle-born. Someone like you, Colin."

"He's right. There's some wizards like the Malfoys who think they're - blurgh - better because they're what known as Pureblood, or even the rarer Trueblood. That's for people who've descended from at least seven generations of purebloods without marriage from even Half-bloods. That's - blurgh - someone with at least one muggle parent or grandparent. " Ron grumbled between throw-ups, looking sympathetic at Colin's horror-stricken face. "Just look at Neville, er, no offense, mate-"

"None taken."

"-but he's - blurgh - not greater than a muggle born or half-blood. Blood these days means nothing other than - blurgh - family."

"Oh, that reminds me." Hagrid said abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. "Gotta bone to pick with yeh. Heard you've bin' givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"

Neville looked dumbstruck. "I haven't! If Lockhart's been spreading around-"

"Relax, I knew yeh hadn't, told Lockhart yeh didn't need teh when he's came o'ver teh give me advice on getting kelpies out of a well and bangin' on about some banshee he banished. Come an' see what I've been growing."

He led them out to the back of his vegetable patch, where more than a dozen pumpkins larger than what Neville knew were possible lay.

"Fer the Halloween Feast." Hagrid said happily while Colin snapped a dozen photos. "Should be big enough then."

"Is this an engorgement charm, Hagrid?" Neville said as he crouched down to examine one of them. "Well, you did a good job."

"That's what his little sister said." Hagrid looked sideways at Ron. "Said she was jus' lookin' around, though I reckon she was hopin' ter run inter someone-"

"Oh, shut - blugh!"

Chapter Text

Hi Gran.

Classes have been going on well. I even scored extra marks for Herbology! Defense Against the Dark Arts is the one that's a problem. Professor Lockhart's a complete phony - I don't know how he got the position. Maybe it's something to do with his books?

Yours, Neville.

Since the incident with the Doxies, Lockhart had elected to stop bringing in live creatures, instead choosing to perform live reenactments of his achievements in his books, to every male student's displeasure. Most of the girls, however, were too caught up with Lockhart's looks to bother with discrepancies.

However, the DADA professor did not forget about the after class incident from Peeves, and so...

"Ooh, this one's appears to be from a young maiden in France." Lockhart plucked yet another letter from the gargantuan pile. "My reputation exceeds that of just Britain, you know." He winked, before reading out the contents. "Bonjour M. Lockhart. Je suis Gabrielle..."

Harry mumbled incoherently, already bored and, to be honestly, suffering from second hand embarrassment. Lockhart's detention of 'helping' him answer his fan mail was nothing short of torture. To make matters worse, Lockhart had seemingly purposefully scheduled the detention on the Samhain dinner. And it seemed as if the hours were slipping away...

"Great Scott, look at the time! We’ve been here nearly four hours! Time has flown! Why, I ought to have left you earlier, but you know.”

"You didn't have to," Harry's stomach growled in protest. "I could have went to get the leftovers from the kitchens."

"Nonsense, Harry! Wait, did I ever tell-"

Harry had never been so glad to be out of an office in his life. Tossing the quill away to another pile, he immediately bolted out of the door with a look of relief. Halfway on his jog back, he was met with a familiar face.

"That's very Hufflepuff of you, Neville."

"I know." Neville grinned sheepishly, his hands filled with pastries of all sorts. "The feast is almost over, so I went and saved as much as-" 

Come...come to me...Let me rip you...Let me tear you...Let me kill you…

Neville jumped to his feet in alarm. HIs head swerved around as he tried to locate the odd voice that seemed to be echoing around the corridor.

"Did...did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Harry looked confused. 

"That... that voice." Neville repeated, his glances focusing at the walls, slowly moving towards the odd sound.

Let me rip you... Let me tear you...

“Oh god!” Neville hissed. “It’s going to kill someone!”

“What are-!” Harry began, just as the sound of metal crashing onto the floor made both jump. They turned around to see, indeed, one of the statues had its head broken, but also a figure at the end of the corridor.

"Hey!" Neville called out. "Was that you?"

The figure simply sprinted off, prompting Harry to finish stuffing the food in his mouth as quickly as possible, drawing his wand and chasing after it. Neville had no choice but to go after him. A brief vision of what had happened last Samhain floated to his mind. Was it happening again? Was Professor Lockhart maybe, Merlin forbid, evil as well?

They turned into a dead end. The last passage ended with no sign of the figure or the murderous voice had been chasing. The only thing down there was Myrtle’s bathroom, and…

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

"What is that hanging beneath?" 

Despite his better judgement, he moved closer with the rest of the lot, nearly slipping in the large puddle of water. Neville's eyes fixated on the dark shadow beneath the writing. Water sloshed around him as he took a large step backwards, realizing what is was.

It was Mrs. Norris, hanging by her tail on the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

Curiosity killed the cat. Literally. He winced, remembering it was a Muggle phrase he heard as a child, warning of the dangers of unnecessary investigation. Well, guess whatever Ms. Norris was looking for that taught her a lesson.

But it was too late. A rumble, as though distant thunder, told them the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment students were crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter died almost instantly as they spotted the hanging cat. Both silence and screams erupted from the crowd. Neville was sure he heard someone shout "You'll be next, Mudbloods!"; Granger, who had pushed herself to the front of the crowd, turned so red she looked purple when she heard it. The duo looked like they were going to say something but another voice interrupted them before they had the chance.

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. He let out a screech as he clutched his face in horror at the sight of his cat.

"You!" He yelled, pointing at Longbottom. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll-"

"Argus!" Dumbledore's voice came through the crowd as he and the rest of the teaching faculty - minus Lockhart - had arrived. "Argus, I believed I have-"

They stopped, noticing the scene. In seconds, Dumbledore had swept past the trio and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Good news, Filch. Your cat is not dead." Dumbledore let out a sigh of relief, yet his face was no less grim. "Bad news is, she has been petrified."

"No..." Someone among the Hufflepuffs stammered in shock. "There's another-?"

"I do not believe that there are any more Cursed Vaults, Miss Haywood." Dumbledore said sympathetically, turning his glance briefly towards the speaker. "All of them have been terminated by Miss Roland before she graduated - though it suggests another worrying thing."

"Ask him!" Filch screamed, still pointing at Harry.

"Perhaps, Longbottom and Potter were at the wrong place at the wrong time - although, I will not deny that the circumstances are suspicious." Snape stepped forward. "For instance, I, for one, do not recall seeing Potter at dinner."

"Ah, I believe that would be my fault, Severus." Lockhart appeared out of nowhere and clamped a hand on Harry's shoulder, startling him. "You see, Potter was helping me answer my fan-mail. Lost track of time, you know how many of those I receive on an hourly basis."

"And that's why I went looking for Harry." Neville said slowly. "By the time I found him, we thought we heard something-"

"And that's how we ended up here." Harry finished, looking directly into Snape's eyes. 

"Veritaserum!" Filch yelled, still not convinced. "If not him then his companion! Ought to be beaten and expelled like the freaks they are!"

It was after those words did Neville realize that Harry paled, shaking in fear as if Filch's words put a curse on him. Seeing this, Snape put both of his hands on his shoulders and glared at Filch.

"Filch, control yourself. There is a reason why corporal punishment... has been banned from Hogwarts, you will not lay a hand... or even look... at him in a harmful manner. Do I make myself clear?"

Filch growled and shook his head. "Those devil children deserves to get beat! They're freaks! They need it beaten out of them!"

Harry uncharacteristically wailed, something which was not a good sign as students crowded over.

"Please don't hurt me, uncle! I'm good I promise! It wasn't me!" Harry mumbled as he collapsed to the floor. "I'm not a freak, I'll be normal." Tears were streaming down his face. Snape immediately took one look at Dumbledore who casted a Shield Charm and began moving people away.

"Harry. Like you practiced. Deep breaths." Neville heard Severus said. Harry nodded and tried gasping for air, but now Neville could see the wisps of ash falling from his wrists. 

"What a faker! FREAK!" Filch laughed manically. Harry shook his head quickly, still looking down, pupils blown apart.

"I've been good, I swear! Please don't hurt me again, uncle! Please!!" Filch growled and lunged at him. Harry looked terrified before something unthinkable happened.

He exploded into a dark oleaginous cloud and Filch was practically obliterated as he was thrown into the air while the remaining students broke into a panic and fled. Filch was bleeding everywhere; His legs were nothing more than bloody stumps and his whole shoulder was missing, torn off from the exposed bone. His face was covered in scars, and he didn't look alive.

Neville watched in horror as the dark cloud that was Harry Potter fled into the corridors of the school, tearing off bricks and stone off the walls as his haunting wail echoed further.

Harry was eventually found the next day, crying in the Quidditch Pitch. It had taken some coaxing from Severus before he reluctantly headed to the Hospital Wing.

Neville, for his part, decided to visit him, bringing over snacks from the dining hall as well as a Mandrake pot.

"...straight, Dumbledore. My son, my obscurial son, was just harassed, and used pure raw magic to practically kill his harasser."

Neville stopped; he recognised that voice.

"To our good fortune, she didn't kill him. Filch was rushed towards St. Mungos immediately, and they have begun immediate treatment. Though that brings me to the reason why I have asked for you two." Neville clasped a hand to his mouth. Damn. Harry almost killed someone.

"My question is how powerful is Potter." Drawled McGonagall. "The only known case of an Obscurial with that amount of power was... was..." 

"Dumbledore's very own nephew. Yes, Minerva." Lily snapped. "When I learnt what my poor baby had suffered under my sister's family, I made sure to learn everything about Obscurials. Can you believe that most don't even survive to ten?" There was a moment of silence, before he heard crying. "My poor baby...trapped with a monster in his own body..."

Neville took a hesitant peek around the corner. He could see Professor McGonagall reassuring Mrs Potter by giving her a hug, while Dumbledore stood on the opposite side.

"Once again, I must apologise for my...ill thought decisions. We were fortunate when Severus went to check on young Harry that he had only began developing the Obscurial, had it been any later, or if worse, the Dudleys were crueler..." Dumbledore closed his eyes. "I admit, if I knew-"

"If you knew?" James shouted at him accusingly. 

"James." Lily interrupted. "It's not his fault. The last time we talked...I thought that she had moved on. Really." She took out a handkerchief and wiped her tears. "But now is not the time for that. Dumbledore, do we have to-?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "Young Harry has made friends here that would, undoubtedly, help neutralise the Obscurial's influence. If only...if only I had known about..."

He trailed off, no doubt having been caught up in a memory.

"No matter." He shook his head. "I suppose the choice right now is yours. I do not blame you if you would like Mr. Potter withdrawn from Hogwarts. If Argus weren't currently in St. Mundos I'd have removed him, though as it is Hogwarts will need a new caretaker."

The Potters looked at each other and sighed. "As much as I would want to pull him out, he's made wonderful friends here, and I fear that I might be overreacting..." Lily sighed. "But I want to make sure that my baby isn't going to be treated like a monster."