The Mark of Courage

The Mark of Courage

Chapter Four

Neville woke early the next morning, before the rest of his roommates. Yawning, he dressed for class, stuffed his books, parchment, and quills into his bag, checked his list to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything (he hadn't), and slipped from the dormitory before the other boys began stirring from sleep.

Once outside Gryffindor Tower, he made his way to the owlery. At this early hour, the corridors were nearly deserted. Even Peeves was still dozing. Neville tip-toed past the poltergeist very carefully to make sure he stayed dozing.

The owlery was quiet and dim; the only sounds that of rustling feathers. He looked around and eventually located Winston, who gave him a soft hoot of welcome. Neville fed him an Owl Treat and fastened the letter to Winston's leg.

"Go and make Gran happy," he whispered, as the bird soared out into the clear morning light. He waited until the owl was a tiny speck in the distance before turning to go.

More students were awake and moving as Neville made his way towards the Great Hall. He passed by the new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, glancing furtively at her as he went by. Up close, her resemblance to Severus Snape, the Potions instructor, was unnerving. At least she appeared able to wash her hair, which fell halfway down her back in a sleek black curtain. Engrossed in her notes, she didn't see him as he moved away.

Once in the Great Hall, he sat down at the Gryffindor table and poured himself a cup of hot tea before selecting breakfast. Pulling his Herbology textbook from his bag, he opened it up and began reading, pausing occasionally to take a bite of toast or a sip of tea.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron joined him about ten minutes later. Harry glanced at Neville's textbook as he took his seat. "I should have known that you'd take Herbology at N.E.W.T. level," he said.

"It's always been my favorite class," Neville answered agreeably, turning a page. "Gran said once that my dad took it his sixth year. It's useful knowledge, even for Aurors." He didn't mention that one of the reasons he was taking Herbology was as backup, in case his dream of becoming an Auror didn't turn out as planned. He already knew that everyone else expected him to fail with his newest ambition.

Still, it was his favorite class, and he truly had not wanted to give it up.

"I thought about Herbology," Hermione said, buttering a scone. "I decided to go with Arithmancy, instead. It's such a fascinating subject, and you don't end up with dragon manure under your fingernails afterwards."

"No, you get your head all stuffed with numbers instead," Ron said. "We're all mental, taking so many classes. My head will probably explode by Christmas."

"What about you, Harry?" Neville asked. "What did you decide on?"

"Care of Magical Creatures," Harry replied. "I know that Hagrid will make it interesting, at the very least."

"Yeah, that's what I decided on, too," Ron said. "Who knows what creatures he'll come up with this year?"

Hermione took a large swallow of pumpkin juice.

Before she could reply, though, Ginny hurried into the Great Hall and sat down next to her, looking slightly flushed. "Sorry, all," she said. "First day of term, and I overslept. I can't believe none of my roommates woke me up!" She grabbed an apple and bit into it. "Has McGonagall come by with the schedules yet?"

Neville looked down to the end of the table. "It looks like you're in time," he replied. "She's just arrived."

He had finished his breakfast by the time Professor McGonagall reached them. Neville glanced at the schedule she handed to him, and shared a groan with Harry and Ron.

"Double Potions, double Transfiguration, double Care of Magical Creatures, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts today," Ron read aloud. "Double everything, all week long. When are we going to have time to study?"

"Even worse, we have double Potions every morning after breakfast until Friday," Neville said sadly. "I'll have nothing to look forward to in the mornings."

"Remember what we talked about on the train," Harry said. "If things get too hairy, just think of Snape's reaction when you get a potion right."

Neville closed his eyes, picturing Snape keeling over in shock, and smiled. "Okay. I think I'm ready now. At least, as ready as I'm ever going to be." He bent down for his book bag.

When he looked up again, he discovered that another student had joined the group. Although he didn't know her well, Neville recognized Katie Bell, a seventh year Gryffindor student; and the only remaining Chaser from last year's Quidditch team.

"Oh, I'm glad I caught you before class," she said, her attention on Harry, Ron, and Ginny. "Listen, I've been made Captain this year. I need both of you at the tryouts this weekend. We have a lot of positions to fill, with Angelina, Alicia, and the twins gone, and I'm going to want input from both of you. Ginny, you made a halfway decent Seeker last year after that Umbridge woman got Harry banned. Could I convince you to try out for one of the Chaser positions? I'll bet you'd be great at it."

"You don't have to convince me at all," Ginny replied. "I was already planning on trying out."

"Marvelous!" To Harry and Ron, she said, "I've booked the Quidditch pitch for Saturday afternoon, right after lunch. I expect to see both of you there. Do try not to get detention from Snape, won't you?"

"Which one?" Ron asked, earning a glare from Katie.

"Well, I've got to get to class," Katie said. "I'll see you Saturday." She hurried away.

Reluctantly, the others grabbed their books and left the Great Hall. Ginny had Divination as her first class, so she said good-bye outside Professor Firenze's classroom, while Neville, Harry, Ron, and Hermione trudged towards the dungeons.

As they queued up outside the door, Neville noticed that he and his companions were the only Gryffindors taking Potions this year, and only three Slytherins. Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy was one of the three. He also recognized Padma Patil and Lisa Turpin from Ravenclaw; and Susan Bones and Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff. Apparently, of all the students from his year, only eleven had chosen to brave Severus Snape again and take advanced Potions.

Neville licked his lips nervously as they filed into the classroom. He took a seat and retrieved parchment, ink, quills, and his Potions textbook from his bag. He was glad he hadn't eaten much for breakfast. The way his stomach kept flipping, flopping, and twisting, he wouldn't be surprised if his first act of class would be to sick up on Snape's boots, just before his cauldron melted on general principle, of course.

He opened his copy of Concentrated Magic: Advanced Drafts and Potions by Galen Starlion and tried reading the preface in hopes of calming his nerves, but he couldn't get past the first paragraph. His mind seemed capable only of repeating I will not melt my cauldron over and over, as if the mantra might succeed in protecting it from evil forces. Giving up, he closed the book, only to catch it with his elbow and knock it onto the floor. He heard Malfoy snicker at his clumsiness and felt the all-too-familiar burning in his cheeks as he bent to pick the book up.

Book in hand, he straightened on his work stool. Placing the book carefully back onto the table, he picked up a quill instead, twirling it agitatedly between his fingers. It was happening again; he could feel it. Snape hadn't even entered the classroom yet, and already he was shaking and sick to his stomach, quivering in anticipation of some grand display of pathetic ineptitude. Great good gods of old, if he couldn't face a school professor without wanting to run and hide, what made him think he could become an Auror? He shouldn't be here. He didn't deserve to be here. He was stupid, pathetic, incompetent...

Stop it!

His hand clenched. The quill snapped, still caught between his fingers, the splintered ends jabbing painfully into flesh. He shook the broken pieces free with a small hiss of frustration. Clumsy, too, mustn't forget clumsy...

STOP IT, DAMMIT!

Both hands were fisted now. He glowered at them, trying to will himself back to some semblance of calm. He could do this. He had to; otherwise all the hours spent this past summer carefully crafting his plans would be completely wasted.

The dungeon door creaked shut as Snape entered the classroom. Neville's breath hitched slightly at the sound, yet he didn't look away from his hands. He could see a small trickle of blood from one finger where the broken quill had poked deeply enough to break the skin.

"Settle down," Severus Snape said coldly, though there was no reason for the command; all fidgeting had ceased the moment he entered the dungeon. He walked over to his desk and stood behind it. Neville could hear the soft swish of fabric as the professor's robes swirled around his ankles. He didn't dare look up, not yet.

"I see a handful managed to earn the O.W.L. required for this class," Snape continued. "Doubtless one or two of you earned it on actual talent, while others got by on sheer dumb luck." Neville didn't have to look up to know Snape was looking at him while he said this, so he kept his head down.

His voice sank to that piercing whisper only he could do with such baneful effect. "Unfortunately, in order to pass this course, you will need more than mere luck. If you believed yourself hard-pressed in past years, you can have no idea of the rigors I will put you through this year. The brewing of potions is an art and a science, requiring a delicacy and finesse that I frankly find lacking in most of you. However you managed to find your way into this class, rest assured that nothing but your best efforts, pitiful as they may be, will be accepted. Anything less and I will have you dropped from the class."

Neville looked up at those last words, and his gaze locked with Snape's. The professor's eyes were dark, cold, and utterly contemptuous as he stared down his nose at Neville. Neville stared right back, and didn't look away. It was a silent battle of wills, a soundless skirmish completely unnoticed by the other students. It was a war that seemed to last lifetimes, but ended in seconds as the planes and angles in Snape's face altered subtly, flickering almost invisibly from condescension, to puzzlement, and finally to bewilderment at this wholly unexpected response from the boy before him.

Abruptly, he turned away, finding a new target in Justin Finch-Fletchley, who apparently had not been hanging on to Snape's every word. Five points were consequently taken from Hufflepuff for the crime of inattention.

Neville exhaled quietly in relief. Professor Snape would never know how close he had come to winning what was almost certainly the first of many such contests of will. He felt much as he had the previous evening after taunting Draco, quivery and slightly nauseous from the huge amounts of adrenaline surging through his bloodstream. Running a shaking hand through his hair, he tried to pay attention to Snape's lecture, hoping he wouldn't be called upon to answer a question. In his current state, he didn't think he'd be able to string a coherent sentence together if the fate of the world depended on it.

The gods granted his request. Snape didn't call on him once during the lecture.

The potion he assigned them was, as usual for the first day back, a tricky, temperamental concoction, where a single misstep meant almost certain disaster. Neville felt Snape's gaze lingering on him as the instructions for the Blindness potion appeared on the board and the cupboard opened up. Reminding himself that deep breathing was not the same as hyperventilating, Neville got the necessary ingredients from the cupboard and returned to his work desk.

Carefully, he read the instructions on the board. This is just like a list, he told himself. Follow it step by step, and you'll be fine. You've become quite good at lists, remember?

"I remember," he whispered. He poured the prescribed amount of rainwater infused with the light of a blue moon into his cauldron, set it to boil, and began cutting Devil's Snare roots into precise pieces. Adding the roots, he turned the heat down to a slow simmer, added powdered onyx, and stirred clockwise twenty-eight times.

It was a delicate, painstaking process. Neville concentrated on following the list. If he just followed the list, all would be well...

Finally, he added the last ingredient, three drops of oil of deadly nightshade, and stirred counterclockwise. The mixture turned pitch black, with no light reflecting from its surface. That was good. However, it was supposed to have a rich, creamy texture. His was closer to the consistency of maple syrup.

Where did I go wrong?

There was nothing he could do about it now; less than ten minutes of class remained, and Snape would be calling for the students to bottle their samples at any time. He read through the instructions on the board one last time. To his knowledge, he had followed them perfectly. It must have been a matter of the temperature being just a tad too high or too low for a tad too long. Neville sighed as Snape gave the order to bottle and cork the results.

It could have been worse, he told himself. At least he didn't have to gouge the potion from his cauldron. The cauldron itself was in one piece. He wasn't covered in boils. In the grand scheme of things, today was probably the best he'd ever done in this class.

He still wasn't satisfied. He knew he could do better.

Corking his flask, Neville joined the other students crowding around Snape's desk, stealing surreptitious glances at the other students' results. He was pleased to note that Draco's sample was closer to a deep charcoal gray than black, and that Lisa Turpin's glimmered with an iridescent sheen. Hermione's, of course, was perfect.

Someone shoved him from behind. Neville stumbled, arms windmilling as he tried to regain his balance, and lost his grasp on his potion sample. In horrified fascination, he saw the small bottle arcing up into the air, the glass glimmering brightly against the inky substance within, before beginning its fatal descent. He reached out for it desperately, knowing that he could never catch it in time before it smashed on the stone floor...

...and it was caught, in the eyeblink moment between salvation and destruction. Harry straightened, the flask safe in his grip, green eyes twinkling.

"Thanks, Harry," Neville said shakily.

"Quidditch practice isn't until this weekend, Neville," he said with a smile as he handed the sample back. Neville accepted it gratefully and turned back to Snape's desk.

The Potions instructor looked decidedly displeased, his mouth twisted into a moue of disgust. "Five points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "With such grace as you've demonstrated just now, it's no surprise that your House hasn't won the Quidditch Cup these past few years."

"But, Professor, it was an accident!" Draco protested

"If that was an accident, then my name is Albus Dumbledore," Snape replied coldly. There was a titter of laughter in the background, quickly stifled before the guilty party could be identified. "You have already lost five points from your House. Do not force me to take more."

Draco subsided, looking mutinous. The look he gave Neville was one of glacial fury as he threw his sample onto Snape's desk and left the classroom.

Neville bit his lip. First the incident last night at the Hogsmeade Station platform, and now this. If he wasn't more careful around Draco, he'd end up in the hospital wing yet.

Handing his sample to Snape, he was struck by the icy glitter in the professor's already cold gaze. It must have been quite painful for him to subtract points from the House he headed, especially when those points came at the expense of his favorite student. Not only was Neville on Draco's wrong side, he had confounded Snape twice in one morning. No wonder he looked so dyspeptic. He ducked his head and made way for the next student. He could feel Snape's gaze following him as he walked out of the classroom.

As soon as he made it safely into the corridor, Neville leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He had survived the first day of Potions intact. He felt incredibly tired and drained; and it wasn't even mid-morning yet.

He shivered slightly, remembering the look in Snape's eyes. They had been cold, yes, but he had seen colder. Snape's expression had been contemptuous; but Neville had seen worse. There has been derision and condescension, yes, oh yes...

...but Snape's gaze was nothing compared to the insane joy he had seen in another pair of dark eyes not so long ago...

...it was nothing compared to the hooded triumph he'd witnessed as he'd screamed and writhed in the bonds of a forbidden curse...

...it was nothing compared to the blank stares and slack faces of his Mum and Dad, forever lost in the prisons of their minds...

"Neville? Are you all right?"

He jumped, startled out of his dark reverie. Harry, Hermione, and Ron stood in a semi-circle around him, each wearing expressions of concern.

Neville looked back at them and smiled. "I've never been better," he replied. "Thanks to you and your Seeker instincts, Harry. I thought I'd lost that potion for certain."

"It was a lovely potion," Harry replied, shrugging. "I couldn't bear to see it smashed on the floor."

"You have studied over the summer," Hermione said admiringly. "I couldn't see anything wrong with your sample at all."

They started down the corridor, heading towards the stairs and daylight. "It wasn't as good as it should have been," Neville said. "It was too thick. Snape'll take points off for it. He's already unhappy with me after what happened with Draco."

As they walked away, Neville took pleasure in one final thought.

Compared to Bellatrix Lestrange, Professor Snape was...nothing.