Unplottable

8 - Neville

Once upon a time, the list of Neville Longbottom's deepest and most heartfelt desires had been fairly short. As he was growing up, he found the list was becoming longer, not shorter. As a boy of ten, he had believed that the misery would ooze out of his life if only he showed sufficient signs of magic to be accepted at Hogwarts. Two years later, already a Hogwarts student, he could only re-formulate this wish, and as such it had stayed on top of his list a long, long time: He wanted to show sufficient signs of magic to be accepted at Hogwarts, as in, accepted as one of them.

The closest he had ever come to the fulfilment of this wishes were the post-full moon days, when due to Professor Varlerta's audio magic and the power of the stone circles, Neville had felt magic run through his veins like a strange form of enhanced fuel. That was how a true wizard must feel, Neville realised, one who was sure of his powers, one who never worried about being publicly revealed as a squib.

Of course, just as every wish fulfilment gave birth to new desires, Neville could not help wishing that he might always feel just like he felt after a night dancing and playing at the stone circle, that he would always feel so empowered, so sure of his strength. However, another wish had gradually started to overshadow the habitual desire of finally fulfilling his family's and teachers' expectations. This was something he wanted for himself, and it even felt as if this wish was the true reason behind Neville ever wishing to be a real wizard: He wanted Ginny Weasley, wanted her as his friend, his magical companion and his girlfriend. He wanted to share with her the amazing discoveries of music magic, wanted to play with her and gain power together with her. He wanted to open his heart to her, tell her about his childhood, about his dreams, about things he had never talked about with anybody. He wanted to walk hand in hand with her so everybody would see she was his girlfriend. And oh, yes, although he was thoroughly embarrassed by the thought, he wanted to be close to her, to touch her.

Neville might be a squib, an incarnation of clumsiness, an accident waiting to happen, but he was no fool. It was obvious that Ginny Weasley was not in love with him, that in fact she had a habit of bestowing her affection onto whatever male was sufficiently unattainable. Neville had to accept that and hope that time would better his chances if he acted tolerably sensible in the meantime; humbling himself with an embarrassing, sloppy-sounding confession would not do any good at all. All he could do was to wait, to be a good friend, and to trust in the improbability that any of Ginny's idols would ever take notice of her. Maybe one day would be his day; up to that moment, all he could do was try to preserve his dignity. A few times in his life, his deepest desire had been fulfilled, or rather, partially fulfilled; maybe once again, his wishes might come true if he only waited patiently.

However, recently Neville had been subject to another feeling, no, to an urge, which permitted no delay. What he wanted now, what to his confusion he craved with the same force as he had craved his other deepest desires, was to play in Ginny's band. He wasn't really into pop and rock music, besides borrowing the odd CD from Professor Varlerta, but the minute he had heard about it, he realised that he would much rather play in this band than even to earn great-uncle Algie's or his grandmother's respect. When the Magic Mushrooms had played a concert at Hogwarts, since he had seen his classmates, had seen all students of Hogwarts cheering and enjoying themselves, he had felt an overwhelming yearning for a place up there on the stage. When he closed his eyes at night, just before he went to sleep, he saw himself standing there, everybody's eyes on him, and then he would play. He would show them that he was worth something, that he could enchant them with his own, special kind of magic. Only then, Neville was convinced, would he have found his place in the world, would have found his place at Hogwarts.

Playing in a band was a dream. Playing in Ginny's band - that was a special, a very sweet dream. He loved playing music with her, loved to be around her, and had already become enamoured to the scant amount of glory the band had so far accumulated. Julian Hengert's refusal of the post of Quidditch captain for the sake of the band was nothing short of amazing. On weekends, Neville could see the three band members sit together somewhere on house-neutral ground, the centre of attention, almost heaven. This was where he wanted to be, and if Hermione was to be believed, he would, or rather, he might be welcome there soon.

He understood - well, he almost understood that the band did not need him as a flute player, so his ambition had to be to become the band's singer. When he had asked Ginny, she had declined politely and kindly. Then, Hermione - merciful, altruistic, miraculously kind Hermione - had asked her again. Later, she had given Neville one of her gentle, pitying looks and reported about her conversation with Ginny:

"She just gave me one of those ironic looks of hers and said: 'Yeah, right - Robert Plant, John Garcia, Maynard James Keenan, Neville Longbottom.' I have no idea who she was talking about, but I am afraid she did not mean it kindly. Teenage rebellion, if you ask me - sometimes I wish Ginny was maturing a little faster."

Neville had thanked Hermione for her effort, biting back the remark that as a Muggle-born, she should at least know who Robert Plant was. Hermione wasn't into music at all, that much was sure; however, her memory worked extra-ordinarily well, so she could correctly recount everything Ginny had related to her. As far as Neville's knowledge about music was concerned, at least he had found his personal equivalent for what the library was to Hermione - he had discovered Professor Varlerta's extensive CD collection. The teacher had expressed her approval of Neville's intention, had lent him a portable, magic-powered CD-player and whatever CD he asked for, remarking that all her possessions were bound to her by an auto-return spell.

"It would be nice if you two played in a band together, I think," she had commented. "Of course, I don't want to get involved - accepting you or not accepting you must be the choice of Ginny and her band members. However, if I can be of assistance to you in any way, just ask me: I don't see how this could harm either you or the band."

Neville had withdrawn into the empty classroom where he usually practiced playing his flute. There he had listened to Varlerta's CDs and had found the three songs the band was currently practicing. He had written down the lyrics where the booklet did not supply them, and then he had tried to sing along with them, hoping that nobody could hear his first attempts.

One thing was certain: He sounded neither like Robert Plant or John Garcia, and he certainly did not have a voice as expressive as Maynard James Keenan, either. He tried to judge his own voice, to make a realistic self-assessment, but found this immensely difficult. Was his voice any good at all, or was it embarrassing? Would all the band members laugh at him this afternoon, when he would attend their practice in way of an audition? Neville was not sure of himself at all. - At least the dreadful period when his voice had broken was over, he reminded himself, but that was little comfort.

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During the first few weeks of the school year, Neville found Professor Varlerta mainly focused on revision with her apprentices; she had taught them some things that had to do with music rather than with magic, and she had prepared Ginny for tutoring her year mates in Coaxing. She had also taken the two students to a different stone circle after deciding that after the attack of last spring, it was not safe to return to the one they had used before. At the new site, she had checked out the area with a magical device that found traps and ambushes before she, Neville and Ginny had once more walked a stone circle on the night of a full moon to fill themselves with the power these places had to offer.

Soaking up stone circle magic once more was in itself a very satisfying experience. Still, Neville could not help feeling that their education had not really started for this year, that Varlerta was killing time, just as if they were still waiting for something. When the teacher met her apprentices right in front of her building for that day's lesson, he knew from her eyes and her posture that she had something important to tell them; the wait was up, it seemed.

"Over the holidays, I have done some serious thinking about how to continue your teaching," she told them after a short exchange of greetings. "As you are sure to have guessed, you two have very special talents which should prove useful not only for yourselves, but hopefully also to the magical community as a whole, maybe even in our fight against Voldemort. In this context, there is only one logical next step, even if it is a dangerous one. A friend of mine provocatively called it 'turning you into weapons,' but I wouldn't go as far - I rather see it as a way of arming you two for the difficult situations you will undoubtedly have to face."

Neville bit his lip; next to him, he could hear Ginny's sharp intake of breath. Of course, he knew that like all teachers, Varlerta claimed that her teaching would make the two of them useful members of society; he also knew that presently, the threat of Voldemort and his supporters was one of the foremost problems of the magical society. However, to hear it in such bland terms that Varlerta was teaching them her music magic as a means of fighting Voldemort was a bit shocking. Of course, he had always known that one day, they would expect him to be an adult; his participation in a fight against ten Death Eaters last spring might have been a first step towards assuming the responsibilities of a grown wizard. Still, that fight had been a spontaneous act done at need; to consciously learn skills which were to be used in the fight against Voldemort was another matter altogether. Varlerta's expectation in her two apprentices showed him that even a near-squib as he could not hide in the merry realm of youth forever, such as there was. Whatever she was going to teach him now, and whatever use he would be expected to make of her teaching, neither would be child's play.

"Call me silly and superstitious," Varlerta continued, "but I believe it no accident that I chose you two for my assistants, and that you chose your particular instruments to play. Oh well -" the teacher grinned and rolled up her eyes in a slightly self-ironic gesture, "maybe all it means is that I, as well as you, chose well. As you maybe know, the drum and the flute are among the oldest instruments ever used for magical purposes - perhaps because they are among the oldest instruments ever made. Although there are immense cultural differences around the world, the drum is a traditional female instrument and the flute a traditional male instrument in many shamanic cultures. This, of course, does not have to mean a thing, but I cannot shake off the feeling that your studies with me mean more than a bit of research assistance and an extra credit for school. As critical as I am of Divination, prophecies and such things, I believe you two were meant to learn these things with me. That's why I started thinking about teaching you things that are definitely not on the regular curriculum.

"When I came here this summer, I had my mind all made up," the teacher continued. "Then the school year started, and I reconsidered my decision, maybe for no better reason than cowardice. Now I have changed my mind again - I will teach you what I believe you will need to learn, though let us all keep in mind that we are dealing with a very dangerous and touchy matter here. What I want to teach you is to use your music to Coax living beings, that is, to Coax animals and later even humans, to get them to do your will."

Neville and Ginny exchanged a stare of awe. Neither knew what to say. Finally, Ginny broke the silence. In a small and shaky voice, she asked: "But isn't that forbidden, at least where humans are concerned?"

Varlerta emitted a short and not altogether joyful laugh. "Technically speaking, it is not forbidden. There are no laws for audio magic, neither in this country nor in most others, as music is a branch of magic which is still largely neglected. While most ways to interfere with other people's minds or willpower are strictly forbidden - be they illusion charms or love potions - the Dark Arts Regulation Act of 1946 does not even mention music, or Coaxing. Therefore, what I'm going to teach you is dangerous, and may even border on the unethical if misused, but it is not illegal. As I told you, I am not altogether comfortable with teaching such methods, because they involve a number of risks for you as well as for all of us, Professor Dumbledore finally convinced me that these are risks we have to take. If you handle these skills well, you might one day be able to change the mind of a Death Eater who is raising his wand to kill just by playing music at him. The mere possibility that you could learn such a thing should be reason enough for us to take a few risks.

"Coaxing people with music is a very old, a very powerful and a very dangerous branch of magic. I will teach you the basics as far as I mastered them because I trust you, but also because I am convinced that if you ever feel the desire to manipulate people to do your will, you will find a way to do it, whether by spell, potion or music, whether or not I teach you these skills. All I can do is hope that my trust in your abilities as well as in your conscience are as great as I believe."

She must indeed think his skills to be greater than they actually were, Neville thought, if she believed him capable of manipulating anyone with a charm or a potion. Neither subject had ever been among his few talents, and having dropped out of Potions after his fourth year did not help, either. As far as his conscience was concerned.... The thought of being able to Coax another person into doing his will was simply outrageous. He could.... he could Coax Ginny into accepting him as a singer, could even Coax her into kissing him. But no, these thoughts were forbidden thoughts. Neville tried his best to unthink them while Varlerta went on:

"Have you ever heard about the Pied Piper of Hameln?" Without waiting for Ginny and Neville to shake their heads, she went on: "It is an old legend about a little medieval German town, but I believe it tells us a true story. In the town of Hameln, there was a rat plague. There were rats everywhere; they ate what they would find, and the citizens went hungry. The town was threatened by famine, so the mayor announced that anyone who could free the town of the rats would get a bag of gold as a reward. Even better, this person would be accepted as a citizen of Hameln, would be protected by the city laws, instead of being an outcast without any rights whatsoever. As it happened, there was a Spielmann in the town, a wandering musician of low birth, but with certain magical abilities. The Spielmann Coaxed the rats into following him by playing his flute; he lead them out of the city, and none of them were ever seen inside its walls again.

"When the rat-catcher came back to the town for his reward, at first the mayor was overjoyed to be rid of the rats. However, the plague was apparently banned, and with an impending famine and everything, the town didn't exactly have money to burn. So the mayor and his staff of advisors decided to use the Spielmann's outlaw status against him. Instead of accepting him as a citizen, they kicked the magician out of the town without a copper penny. Of course, the Pied Piper took revenge: One night he returned, and when he played his flute that night, he was not Coaxing rats - he was Coaxing children. The Spielmann led all children out of the town of Hameln, and never returned. No matter how hard the citizens looked for their sons and daughters, none of them was ever seen again."

Neville did not know what to say. Varlerta had only told them a little story, a legend, but it seemed to have a sinister lining of truth. "Were the children alright?" Ginny finally asked.

Varlerta shrugged. "Nobody ever found out. The Pied Piper might have led them to a better, more honest town, or he might have led them all into death, we do not know. What we do know, however, is that although the Pied Piper had been wickedly cheated, his revenge was not justified, because he punished mostly the innocent. What happened to him was not the children's fault, probably not even the fault of most of their grieving parents. His situation was one I consider a living bomb - an excess of magical power paired off with an absolutely powerless social status. And now think - one day, maybe in a few years, maybe even in a few decades, you might find yourselves in a similar situation. What I ask of you is promise me here and now that whatever power I might teach you, you will not abuse it even in a time of need, not even when you feel that injustice has been done to you."

Neville found his throat dry. An absolutely powerless social status - well, he knew how that felt. An excess of magical power - well, that was something he would probably never possess. Making a promise would be absolutely safe then.

"I promise," he replied even before Ginny could say the same.

"Very well." The teacher fixed both of them with her stare. "We will start with a bit of meditation and some musical exercises today. If we have covered the basics of the basics, so to speak, which will hopefully be two weeks from today, we will move on to Coaxing animals. You will learn to be a snake charmer, a bee charmer, a horse charmer - any of these useful charms which witches and wizards have practiced for ages even among Muggles without being seen as a threat. By the way, of course this is all top secret - you are not to blab about it to your classmates, and it won't really help if you tell your families any details before Dumbledore has owled them to explain everything and to obtain their permission. As for Coaxing humans, I will learn alongside of you, because I certainly do not consider myself an expert in this area yet. However, if we work hard -" she moved her hand in a circle, indicating the forest, "that realm of magic over there will be our playground soon."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he left Varlerta's classroom, the thought of Coaxing living beings filled Neville's mind; it even banned all thoughts of the band for a while. However, as the day wore on, he found that he was suffering from terrible stage fright, or rather, from practice room fright. At lunch, Neville felt as if he had devoured a battalion of pixies burping red hot chilli peppers: His stomach was buzzing with cramps. Mashing the cake on his plate into pulp, he acknowledged that he could not eat a thing. Instead, he berated himself for having initiated the audition that was to come. They would not want him in their band, that much was certain. Why, oh why, did he have to create this embarrassing situation for himself, when he knew that he was doomed to fail? Only pride kept Neville from running away these last two hours before the start of band practice.

He took out the CDs holding the three songs which, according to Hermione, made up the band's current repertoire and played them one last time on his portable CD-player. Certainly he wouldn't tackle Soundgarden's "The Day I Tried To Live" as his first song - that would have been the equivalent of a vocal self-mutilation, and whatever cure Neville might envision for his numerous problems in life, he was completely devoid of suicidal tendencies. Anyway, deep in his heart he doubted that the band would be able to play this particular song any time soon, as it wasn't particularly easy. It wouldn't be a good idea to pick The Weird Sisters' "She's like a Demiguise" as his first song either - he could only sing the melody properly if the whole song was transposed down for about a quart, and he did not want to ask the band to do so for the very first song he'd sing. No, there was really no question what he would sing first.

To have any chance at all, he had to make a good impression straight away. They would make their decision regarding him after the first song he sang, he was sure of it: Either they would send him away, or they would - send him away. "Nevermind," Neville told himself bravely as he walked down the corridor on slightly wobbly legs - fail he might, fail he would, but at least he would have tried.

The band room in the castle's west wing had been out of use for a while; for some reason unknown to Neville, its cleanliness was a trifle below house-elves standards. Peeking through the door that stood ajar, Neville could see that the band had decorated the walls with a few posters of bands, most of them prints of strange, lifeless Muggle photographs. Julian and Rhonda were sitting on the windowsill, while Ginny had pulled up the stool that usually stood behind her drum set. All three band members were dressed a bit more casually than the dress-code of Hogwarts allowed; they had obviously discarded their school robes for band practice. Julian wore black leather pants and a black t-shirt which sported a picture of a tortoise bubbling out the words 'Transfigure me, baby!' Both Ginny and Rhonda wore Gryffindor cardigans with black denims; Neville was once more struck by the violent clash between the official Gryffindor scarlet and Ginny's hair. Embarrassed, he looked down at his own, boring school robes, which were wrinkled as usual and sported the odd hole; work as they might, the house elves could not mend his clothes as fast as he managed to tear or damage them. Neville felt significantly uncool and badly dressed, felt like an intruder in this oasis of subculture; he fought his urge to sneak away before any of the band members would notice him. Unsure whether he should go inside or to go back to Gryffindor Tower, he listened to the conversation in which the three musicians were totally absorbed.

"Yes, but I just don't think it's fair," Julian said with feeling. "She's been through a lot last year, with her boyfriend dying and everything, and she's worked hard to overcome her momentary lapses. Most importantly, she's proven a number of times that she's a great Seeker. She's also won us the cup last school year, and it's not like that shouldn't count for anything. In my opinion, she deserved to be team captain at least as much as me. Plus, she's in her last year, so if she hadn't gotten the position now, she'd never get another chance. I don't see why Ragnar and Richard are giving her such a hard time now, especially as she certainly has captain qualities - organisation, pep talk, you know."

"It's Ragnar's last year, too," Rhonda reminded him meekly.

Julian made a face at her. "Ragnar is a bad loser, that's all there is to it," he replied. "We all know that we can have only one captain at a time, and as a team member, I am rather glad that this one captain is not Ragnar. You see, if I had suggested a bloke in my stead, anyone of the other four except maybe Richard, who is still a bit young for the post, nobody would complain. Neither would they be so hard on Cho if she was a boy. They are just mindless machos - they do not like to have a girl as a captain, that's the real problem. As it is, they are just being bad sports about it - if Cho ever makes a mistake, they really let her feel it, remind her of it again and again - they do what they can to put loads of pressure on her. That's hardly a way to be a shnirking team, if you ask me!"

"Gryffindor's had a girl for a team captain last year, too," Ginny commented, almost but not quite on topic.

"Oh, Joolz, why do you always have to use those bad words?" Rhonda said in a teasing manner. "I bet you don't even know what 'shnirk' means."

"Sure I do," Julian replied in a very superior tone.

"So what does it mean? I don't, as a matter of fact. Please share your expert knowledge with us!" Rhonda teased, leaning back on the windowsill with feline grace.

Julian, the cool Joolz, actually blushed under his dreadlocks - Neville could see it clearly from where he stood.

"Er," Julian replied hesitatingly, "something dirty, at any rate. I'd rather spare you two the details, because I wouldn't want to offend your dainty ears with such verbal scum."

"Never mind, Joolz," Ginny said with the excitement of anticipation in her voice. "Just tell us what it means! Tell us the worst at once!"

Julian sighed. "Okay, okay, Gin, I admit it - I don't know exactly. It's certainly something very, very dirty, I know that much. Read Quidditch in Bed if you desperately want to know, maybe the book explains what 'shnirk' means."

"It doesn't," Neville quietly said before he could check himself.

All three heads turned towards him. "Hey, Neville," Rhonda said and waved as if he was welcome. "Hi, mate," Julian said rather pleasantly. Ginny, however, looked at him as though he was a three-headed dog.

"You've read Quidditch in Bed??" she gasped.

Neville felt himself blush scarlet. It hadn't been the cool thing to say, he realised. Admittedly, he had read the famous old standard volume about, well, about the facts of life, as his grandmother would term it. He had found the book among his parents' old things, and although he had felt like he was committing a sacrilege, he had consumed it eagerly this summer during the lonely nights in the half-empty Longbottom mansion. Knowledge was power, that much he had learned from Hermione, and in spite of his round face, which was moreover adorned with a handful of spots, he had not entirely given up hope that he might need this particular kind of knowledge one fine, remote day.

Julian saved Neville by sliding off the windowsill, walking over to him and giving him a manly clap on the shoulder. "Cool that you came, mate," he said, disregarding the two girls' severe attack of giggles.

"Hi Julian," Neville said shyly. "Hi Rhonda, hi -" for some absurd reason, his voice almost failed him, "hi Ginny."

Ginny snorted, perhaps because they had just seen each other a few hours ago. Neville banned all thoughts of Varlerta's announcement regarding Coaxing humans from his mind and went over to the microphone. He fiddled with the stand and self-consciously uttered a few words into the microphone so Ginny could adjust the volume on the small, battered sound mixer Varlerta had lent them. When Rhonda strapped the bass guitar over her shoulder, he recognised it as a possession of the teacher as well; the same was true of all the amplifiers in the room.

"I want to do Radiohead's 'Creep' first," he said hoarsely.

"Good choice, I love that song," Julian said. The girls nodded; Rhonda fiddled with her notes, which were not music notes, Neville noticed, but rather a couple of letters and cryptic rhythm symbols jotted down on a piece of parchment.

"All set, everybody?" Julian asked after Ginny had taken the stool back to her drum set and had sat down on it. Rhonda and Ginny affirmed briefly that they were; Neville merely nodded, feeling his throat closing up. How could he sing like that? They would really hate it, that much was certain.

Ginny indicated a count to four with her sticks; the band plunged into the intro. Neville could not help noticing that while Julian and Ginny were doing nicely, Rhonda had a little problem with the rhythm of the bass line although it was already simplified to suit her beginner's skills. In spite of this, the band already sounded like a band; the intro was certainly recognisable as the beginning of a piece of music that Neville rather liked. 'Creep' was a song he could identify with, in fact, a song that had touched something inside of him when he had first heard it. During the seventh bar of the intro, Neville closed his eyes, took a deep breath and correctly came in on the pick-up notes in the eighth bar:

When you were here before (the first line sounded quite alright when he sang it, actually)
Couldn't look you in the eye (because some of these days he couldn't look anybody in the eye, it seemed)
You're just like an angel (admittedly, other parts of the lyrics were just a little exaggerated)
Your skin makes me cry (because why should anybody's skin - well, never mind that now!)
You float like a feather (he managed for once not to think of Flitwick and to concentrate on the melody instead)
In a beautiful world (to emphasise the lines to come, he had practiced to make his voice sound understated here)
And I wish I was special (this line expressed his situation quite well - hey, why was Julian staring at him?)
You're so fuckin' special (yes, Ginny certainly was - he closed his eyes again and put all his feelings into the song)

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo (a simple statement of truth - but he mustn't forget to breathe here after the long notes)
What the hell am I doing here? (he knew the feeling very well, but for now, funnily, it had evaporated)
I don't belong here (he loved this chorus - even if he didn't belong here, this once he'd sing the song with all his heart.)

The rest of the song went by in a kind of blur - the lyrics he had practiced and even memorised streamed freely out of his mouth, into the microphone and out of the speakers. In between lines, he noticed how well Julian and Ginny increased the musical tension without overdoing it, which would have ruined the overall feeling of the song. The band supported Neville's voice like a gust of wind; while singing "she's running out again," he felt as if he had finally learned to ride a broomstick properly. Even the occasional blunder of Rhonda could not throw him off course. When he finished the song, when the last notes died on the instruments' strings and faded into the general static hum of the magic-powered amplifiers, he knew that whatever anybody else might say, he had done well. Anxiously he looked around.

"Hey mate, I think that was pretty cool. If you ask me, you're on!" Julian addressed him with an appreciating nod.

"Cool," Rhonda said. Neville had the impression that she was mainly parroting Julian, but this might be because she had been so pre-occupied with the task of mastering her instrument that she hadn't been able to really listen to him.

Neville cast a shy look at Ginny. To him, it was her opinion that really counted. She did not look up at him, but fiddled with her snare drum and a small drum-tuning tool.

"Gin?" Julian asked softly, twisting a dreadlock between his fingers.

Finally, Ginny looked up and into Neville's eyes. He felt his heart miss a beat. "That was really great, Neville," she said. "I apologise for saying you couldn't sing rock, and if it's okay with the others, I would really like to have you in the band."