Harry Potter and the Missing Memories

Chapter 9

Dreams

The noise of the crowd was deafening. Harry sat on his Firebolt high above the Quidditch stadium, watching the game below and searching for a sight of the Golden Snitch. Gryffindor had taken an early lead in the match, but now the Ravenclaw team was pulling back fast. Their Chasers had just scored four goals in short succession to bring the teams neck and neck, and, try as he might, Ron seemed unable to stop them.

"Come on, Ron!" Harry yelled down at him. Ron looked up and waved in acknowledgement, but even as he did so, one of the Ravenclaw Chasers shot in from the left at an incredible speed and put a fifth goal past him. There was a loud groan from the Gryffindor stand and jubilation in the Ravenclaw and Slytherin ranks.

"Oh man! Another goal to Ravenclaw," came Lee Jordan's magnified voice, sounding very disappointed. "Perhaps Potter should rethink his team strategy after this. Ravenclaw now lead by fifty points to forty."

Cho Chang pulled level with Harry.

"He's right, you know. The buck stops with you now," she said, before flying off again.

The only thing that could save the game for them now was the Snitch. Harry scoured the skies and ground below for that familiar glimpse of glittering gold. Finally he spotted it hovering low near the base of one of the Gryffindor hoops. He dived towards it as fast as he could. But Cho Chang had seen it too, and it was a close thing who was going to get there first. As they neared the ground and pulled out of their dives, Harry was marginally ahead. He could see the Golden Snitch a short distance away. He stretched out his hand to catch it. But suddenly he heard a loud screaming. He turned to look, and a Bludger hit him straight in the side, knocking him from his broom. Harry lay on the ground with his eyes closed, winded. But the screaming did not stop. It grew louder and louder until it filled his head and became painful to his ears.

Harry awoke with a start, panting. His hand flew up to his scar, but he found it wasn't hurting him. And it wasn't him who was screaming. Not this time. The screaming continued, and the dormitory lights went on. Harry reached for his glasses and pulled back the curtain round his bed to see what was happening. Dean, Seamus and Ron were all gathered round Neville's bed, which was where the noise was coming from. Harry went over to them.

"Neville! Neville! Wake up!" shouted Dean over the din, shaking Neville by the shoulders.

Neville did not respond. He lay there, his eyes wide open and staring, screaming with all his might at a terror only he could see.

"Keep trying to wake him up," said Ron, "and I'll go get Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey."

He hurried out of the room, pulling on his dressing gown as he went. The rest of them tried everything they could think of to bring Neville round. They shook him, called to him, waved their hands in front of his open eyes, but nothing worked. They even tried clapping in front of his eyes to make him blink and putting a cold flannel on his face. Still Neville continued to scream, oblivious to their presence.

After what seemed like an eternity, the dormitory door opened and in came Professor McGonagall, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey and Ron. A few curious faces peered through the open doorway, and a crowd was gathering behind them; Neville's screams had obviously woken half of Gryffindor Tower.

Professor McGonagall hurried across to Neville's bed, looked down at him, then round at their concerned faces. As Madam Pomfrey swept past her and began checking Neville's pulse, temperature and breathing, she said to the students in the doorway, "Come now, back to bed. There's nothing to be seen here. Off you go."

With that she shooed them away and shut the door firmly. Then she took out her wand, cast a Silencing Charm on the dormitory and went back over to the bed.

"Well, Poppy, what do you think?" she whispered urgently.

" It's certainly more than a nightmare," Madam Pomfrey answered. "I want to take him to the hospital wing for observation. But first we have to stop him screaming."

Madam Pomfrey tried a few spells on Neville, none of which worked. Eventually, she sighed and pulled out a small bottle of potion.

"Some water please, Mr Finnegan," she said brusquely, and Seamus obliged. "I don't like force-feeding students, but if needs be..."

She put a couple of drops of the potion on Neville's tongue, tipped some of the water into his open mouth and forcefully clamped his mouth shut, holding his nose to make him swallow it. Neville coughed and spluttered for a moment, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp. In the ensuing silence, their ears continued to ring from the screaming. Madam Pomfrey conjured up a stretcher and put Neville onto it.

"Boys, is Mr Longbottom prone to nightmares?" she asked.

"No, Miss, it's the first time anything like this has happened," replied Dean. Harry, Ron and Seamus nodded in agreement.

"Very well," she said, "let's get him to the hospital wing before the potion wears off."

Madam Pomfrey pointed her wand at the stretcher, and it slowly moved forward and out of the door as she followed behind. Professor McGonagall looked at the boys over the top of her glasses.

"I'm sure Mr Longbottom will be just fine. Now try to get some sleep - you still have your lessons in the morning."

Harry, Ron, Seamus and Dean all climbed wearily back into bed. Professor McGonagall turned off the lights and left, closing the door behind her. Harry lay there in the dark for quite a while afterwards, listening to Dean's snores and the heavy, even breathing of Ron from the next bed and trying to remember what he had been dreaming about when Neville had woken him up.

*

The following morning, the fifth year Gryffindor boys were the last into breakfast, and they only just made it to Potions in time, running up the corridor as the last of the other students filed in past Professor Snape. Snape raised his eyebrows as the dishevelled boys skidded to halt in front of him.

"So you decided to take the trouble to join us this morning," he said coldly, a gleam in his dark eyes. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your tardiness."

"But we're not even late yet!" Ron blurted out.

"And a further five points for answering back, Mr Weasley," he added.

The boys sulkily filed in and took their seats. Professor Snape shut the door behind them and walked down to the front of the class.

"Is Mr Longbottom not with us this morning?" he asked, his eyes falling on the empty chair next to Hermione. Seamus raised his hand.

"He was taken ill last night, Professor, and he's still in the hospital wing."

"I see. He obviously became feverish at the thought of proving himself in potions again."

The Slytherins sniggered, glancing round at the Gryffindor students, who were all scowling. In spite of all his faults, Neville was very well liked.

"I think we shall take this opportunity to revise the seating and working arrangements in this lesson," Snape continued. "Mr Malfoy, if you would kindly move to the seat next to Miss Granger."

Draco Malfoy opened his mouth to protest, but Snape cut across him and continued, "Mr Potter is to work with Miss Parkinson, Mr Weasley with Miss Bulstrode, Miss Nott with Miss Brown, and Miss Zabini with Miss Patil. Mr Crabbe and Mr Goyle, you may continue to work together, but reserve a place next to you for Mr Longbottom when he returns. Move now."

With groans and muttering, the class moved around in accordance with Professor Snape's instructions. Harry picked up his cauldron and bag and slumped resignedly into the seat next to Pansy Parkinson, who gave him a look of utter disdain. As Harry looked around at the disgruntled students now getting out their rolls of parchment and quills, he suddenly realised what Snape had done: he had paired the students according to ability. Malfoy and Hermione were by far the most proficient students in the class, Crabbe, Goyle and Neville by far the least. He, Ron, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode were all about the same level of ability, so he could only assume Snape had split them up out of sheer vindictiveness.

"Settle down quickly," barked Snape. "This morning we will be continuing our work on cold remedies. Madam Pomfrey has requested more stocks of Pepperup Potion for the school hospital, and as it is not a particularly complex potion, it is ideal practice for students of your level. The recipe is on page eighty-nine of your text books, and all the ingredients can be found in the student store cupboard."

Harry opened his book at page eighty-nine, and he and Pansy set to work on the potion with the bare minimum of verbal communication. Harry could see Ron scowling, the edges of his ears turning pink, as Millicent corrected the way he was chopping the dried nettles. Malfoy and Hermione were talking heatedly in clipped tones, discussing the relative merits of ready-powdered scarab beetles over the freshly crushed variety, while avoiding direct eye contact. In fact, the only students who seemed comfortable with the new arrangements were Lavender Brown and her new partner, Tabitha Nott, who were quite happily chatting about the Weird Sisters' latest hit and Gladrags' new fashion range as they worked.

Apart from the lack of camaraderie, the double lesson passed without incident. Between them, the class produced forty-two bottles of Pepperup Potion for Madam Pomfrey, and even Professor Snape seemed satisfied with the results.

Their Divination lesson that afternoon, however, proved to be far worse. Professor Trelawney was delighted by Neville's absence, which she took as a vindication of prediction the previous week.

"But my dears, there is yet more to be revealed," she said in her mistiest voice. "That was but a half of the whole. I foresaw two events pertaining to this lesson, and the Inner Eye is never wrong. So pray tell me, which of you is suffering the inner turmoil of a broken heart?"

Parvati Patil gripped Lavender's hand supportively and glared across at Harry.

"It's Lavender, Professor," she said.

"Ah, my poor dear girl!" exclaimed Professor Trelawney, raising a hand to her forehead with a dramatic flourish. "How callously you have been treated! But you shall rise up again with pride and dignity, I assure you."

Next to him, Harry heard Ron stifle a laugh. "How can you take her seriously when she comes out with crap like that?" he whispered.

Professor Trelawney then demonstrated the basics of card reading, using Harry as her guinea pig. Predictably enough, the cards he picked out of the pack showed nothing but doom, gloom and disaster.

"I see hardship and loss in your past, and broken friendships and suffering in your future, yes, in the very near future," she said, her eyes widening in feigned shock as she laid the cards out one by one in the traditional Celtic Cross. "Class, note the combination of these two cards here, which signify a desire to protect others, but an inability to do so."

She continued to lay out Harry's cards one by one, commenting on each one and shaking her head mournfully at the fresh portent of doom each seemed to bring.

"The last card is an indicator of the final outcome, of the solution," she said as she turned the tenth and final card over into its position. She looked down at the card and sprang to her feet with a loud shriek that made them all jump, her thin hands clasped to her cheeks. "Death! Oh my dear boy! Death awaits you!"

Harry looked around at the pale, shocked faces of the other students who were staring at him, dumbstruck.

After a very awkward silence, Harry said hesitantly, "We all have to die someday, don't we? It's everyone's final outcome."

"Yeah, if you've got to go, you've got to go," Ron chimed in airily, nudging Harry with his elbow and forcing a grin.

Professor Trelawney frowned at them.

"Yes, well... Now class, break into pairs. One of you is to choose ten cards from the pack on your table, the other is to interpret them. I will come round to each group to help with the interpretation."

For Harry, the end of the lesson couldn't come soon enough. The other students avoided eye contact with him for the rest of the afternoon, and Professor Trelawney deducted five points from them when she found they were playing Snap with the cards instead of doing Ron's reading. He was very glad of Ron's repertoire of quips and jokes to take his mind off it all.

"Why does she always have to pick on me?" he stormed, as he and Ron went back to Gryffindor Tower to find Hermione and drop off their things before tea. "I mean, the first twenty times she predicted my death were bad enough, but just because Neville's ended up in hospital, everyone's taking her seriously again."

"Ah, the Inner Eye is never wrong," said Ron, imitating Professor Trelawney's misty voice extremely well, "I predict treacle sponge and custard for tea. Yes...yes...I can see it in my mind's eye."

Harry smiled at Ron's impersonation of their Divination teacher. He could imitate several of the teachers quite well.

"You'd better watch it though, mate," Ron added, as they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady, "or Parvati will have measured you up for your coffin by sunset."

"Yeah, and the way things are at the moment, Lavender will have me nailed up in it before morning," he said with a grimace. "Cauldron cakes."

"Lovely with a dollop of whipped cream and a cherry on top," said the Fat Lady, as the painting moved forward to reveal the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

*

Neville Longbottom was allowed out of the hospital wing the following morning, only when Madam Pomfrey was satisfied that he had a proper night's sleep behind him. He still looked rather pale and subdued when he joined them for breakfast at the Gryffindor table.

"Are you alright, Neville?" asked Seamus, as Dean and Parvati moved to make room for Neville between them.

"Yes, I suppose so," replied Neville vaguely, helping himself to some sausages and bacon.

"You really had us scared, you know," said Dean. "I've never seen you like that before. What on earth were you dreaming about?"

"Can't remember," answered Neville glumly. "Madam Pomfrey kept asking me that as well, but all I remember is waking up in the hospital wing yesterday morning feeling as if someone had hit me over the head with a sledgehammer. It's probably nothing."

"You were screaming so loud you woke everyone up, like you'd just seen a monster or something," said Seamus. "I'd hardly call that nothing."

Neville scowled. "Call it what you like. Just stop going on about it."

With that, he picked up a piece of toast, got up and stalked out of the Hall, leaving his bacon and sausages untouched.

"Ooh, tetchy, isn't he?" said Parvati, as they watched him go.

Harry could quite understand how Neville felt. He could remember very clearly how the others had treated him after his scar had hurt in Divination in his third year and on other occasions when he'd had nightmares, like they were walking on egg shells round him. Harry had hated it, and he expected Neville felt the same.

"I'm going to go after him," Harry said to Ron and Hermione after a few moments.

"I'll come with you," replied Ron, getting to his feet.

But just then Professor McGonagall approached them.

"Mr Weasley, could I see you in my office for a moment please?"

"I'll see you later then," Harry said to Ron, as Ron followed Professor McGonagall through the teachers' side door to the Great Hall. Then he hurried out of the main door after Neville.

Harry eventually found Neville in the deserted Gryffindor common room, sitting on one of the window seats and looking out of the window down into the grounds.

"Hello Neville," said Harry tentatively, sitting down on the other window seat.

"Oh, hello Harry," Neville replied, glancing across at him, then back out of the window again, his uneaten slice of toast resting on his knee.

"Listen, Neville," said Harry, after a minute of wondering whether he should have come after Neville at all and what he could say that would do any good, "I know you don't want people making a fuss about what happened..."

"Then don't!" snapped Neville, looking round at him sharply in a most un-Neville-like manner.

"Look, I know how you feel - have you any idea how tired I am of being the Boy-Who-Lived?" Harry blurted out, rather more abruptly than he intended. "All the stuff that's happened to me, as a baby and in the last few years, I didn't ask for any of it. But trouble just seems to follow me around. I'd much rather be plain old Harry!"

Neville just stared at him, wide-eyed at this unexpected admission. Harry took a deep breath and continued.

"The point is, Neville, that no matter how much fuss people make, it soon dies down again. What doesn't change is that your friends care about you, and even though you may hate the attention now, don't push us all away. You know, if there's anything we can do to help, anything I can do ..."

Neville nodded mutely biting his bottom lip, his eyes averted. They sat in silence for a while. Then just as Harry figured they had sat there long enough and went to get up, Neville spoke.

"I'm scared, Harry. I don't know what happened Monday night, and it's freaking me out," he said timidly.

He paused, then continued in a rush, "I'm fed up of being Neville Longbottom, the forgetful one, the one who's bottom of every class, the one who can't dance, no matter how many times he's been taught, the one who's so scared of everything that he's even frightened of his own shadow. Why on earth I'm in Gryffindor, I don't know - perhaps the Sorting Hat made a mistake. I'm the laughing stock of the school. Heck, I can't even remember a nightmare that was so bad it put me in hospital!"

"Some things are best forgotten," said Harry quietly.

"I want to be able to remember, not be like them."

"Like who, Neville?" asked Harry, realising even as he was speaking what Neville's answer was going to be.

"My parents," came the reply.

There was another pause.

"My parents were tortured and driven mad by Death Eaters when I was just over eighteen months old. They can't remember anything. They can't even remember me," continued Neville in little more than a whisper. "I don't want to be like that. I want to remember."

"Why didn't you tell us before?" asked Harry.

"I don't want people's sympathy," Neville replied, "I don't want their pity. I thought you of all people would understand that."

Harry nodded, a strange, knotted feeling in his chest.

The portrait door opened, and a stream of Gryffindor students came in, returning from breakfast.

"Harry, don't tell the others about my parents, will you?" asked Neville, a pleading look in his eye.

"Not if you don't want me to," answered Harry, getting to his feet and patting Neville encouragingly on the shoulder.

Ron and Hermione climbed through the portrait hole, spotted Harry and headed towards him. Neville scuttled off upstairs to get his bag from the dormitory.

"How did it go?" asked Hermione.

"Okay, I suppose," replied Harry.

"So what did he say?" she probed further.

"Just that he's scared. And that he's fed up of having such a bad memory. Ron, what did McGonagall want with you?" said Harry, anxious to get off the subject of Neville so he wouldn't be tempted to say anything out of turn about his parents.

"She wanted to talk about Neville," he replied with a sigh. "Apparently they're still worried about him, and it's my Prefectly duty to keep an eye on him. Sounds like snooping if you ask me."

"Of course it's not, Ron!" said Hermione indignantly, her arms folded. "Being a Prefect isn't all about rosters and privileges, you know. It's about taking responsibility for what happens to those around you. And it's about helping the teachers act in loco parentis. How can Professor McGonagall act in Neville's best interest if she doesn't know what's going on?"

"I still don't like the idea of running to McGonagall telling tales on people," said Ron, frowning. "I'll end up being like Percy, and I don't want to give Fred and George the pleasure of being right on that one."

"And what's so wrong with Percy?" retorted Hermione, her eyebrows raised. "He just takes his responsibilities seriously, that's all. That's not such a bad thing."

"If you admire him so much, why don't you go get your hooks into him? Just don't think you're going to turn me into his clone!" replied Ron angrily, his face and neck turning crimson. Then he turned sharply and ran up the staircase to the boys dormitory, taking the steps three at a time.

"Well honestly!" exclaimed Hermione, throwing her hands up in the air and heading off towards her dormitory.

Harry stood there in the middle of the common room somewhat bemused, watching his best friends go. He had thought that both being Prefects would have drawn them together, but instead it seemed to be driving them further apart. He hoped they would work it out soon, for all their sakes.

*

Over the weeks that followed, there were several more occasions when Neville woke them up with his screams; his 'night terrors', as the rest of them dubbed them. Each time it happened, he would scream wildly with his eyes wide open, unable to be woken up, until Madam Pomfrey arrived to administer the Knockout Drops. Neville never had any memory of what had happened the following morning, except for a thumping headache. After a few times, the fifth year boys became quite adept at Silencing Charms and conjuring stretchers.

In the end, after taking Neville to the Hospital Wing for observation a couple more times, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall decided that it was causing too much disruption to call them and remove Neville from the dormitory each time. Ron and Dean were therefore shown how to administer the drops when Neville had an attack, and he was left to sleep it off in his own bed. Although this disrupted the life of Gryffindor Tower as a whole far less, it did take its toll on the fifth year boys, who often appeared late at breakfast, bleary-eyed from a broken night's sleep.

"It's like having a baby," moaned Ron one morning, after he'd had to get up at four-o'-clock to see to Neville.

"Hardly," said Hermione acerbically. " So if you had a baby that woke you in the night, you'd get up, force some drugs down its throat and go back to bed again, would you?"

Ron scowled at her. "You know full well what I mean, Hermione," he answered wearily.

"Let's just hope," interjected Harry, " that this doesn't continue all year."

*

Amid the bickering and the broken nights, there was one piece of good news. It arrived one windy Saturday morning in early October.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting in the Great Hall having breakfast when the owl post arrived. Among the varying shades of brown of the owls, Harry saw a glimpse of white flying down towards them. It was Hedwig. She had been missing for about ten days, and Harry had started wondering where she had got to. Hedwig swooped down and landed on Harry's shoulder, looking decidedly pleased with herself. She gracefully raised one claw so that Harry could untie the letter that was attached to it, took the piece of toast he offered her and flew off again.

Harry looked at the envelope in his hands and a wide smile broke out on his face. On the front of the envelope there was a nothing except a big, muddy paw print.

"It's from Snuffles!" he hissed to Ron and Hermione and tore open the envelope. They came round to his side of the table and leaned over his shoulder to read.

Dear Harry,

My apologies that I haven't written to you sooner. I hope you will understand that I just haven't had the opportunity to do so before now. Hedwig turned up here a couple of days ago, obviously hinting that you were due a letter, so I have duly obliged - a smart owl you've got there.

I'm afraid I can't say anything about what I'm doing, except that I am fine and that you don't need to worry about me. I hope you can say the same to me.

I am aiming to be in the area in time for your Hogsmeade visit on 1^st November. Meet me by the stile at the far end of the village as usual. If you need to write back to me in the meantime, please use a different owl, as Hedwig is rather distinctive.

I'm looking forward to seeing you again soon,

Snuffles

PS. Remembering our conversation on your birthday, have you managed to get anywhere with the young lady in question?

As he read the last paragraph, Harry choked on his toast. He quickly crumpled up the letter in his hands, but not quickly enough. He glanced up at Ron and Hermione to see them staring back down at him mischievously.

"So who's the lucky girl?" asked Hermione in a whisper.

"Yeah, you've been keeping that one quiet," grinned Ron.

Harry could feel his cheeks burning. He didn't want to tell them. It wasn't like there was even anything to tell yet. He shook his head, unable to speak and wishing the ground would open up and swallow him.

"Oh well," said Hermione with a smirk, "we'll just have to find out for ourselves, won't we? Come on, Ron, we'd better get to that Prefects' meeting."

And they left the Hall, whispering conspiratorially. Harry looked down at the crumpled letter in his hand. Come November the first, he would have a bone to pick with Mr Padfoot.