Harry Potter and the Sect of the Serpent

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: Disappointments

Hermione remained in the infirmary for most of the week. Not only had her healing charms failed to cure her flu, but she had made herself worse by suppressing the symptoms. Madam Pomfrey admonished Hermione strongly, reminding her that a simple head cold could have become pneumonia had Ron, Harry, and Dor not brought her to the hospital wing when they did.

Ron spent most of his breaks and mealtimes visiting Hermione in the infirmary bringing her schoolwork to catch up on. Dor smirked a great deal when Ron animatedly told the others how much better Hermione was looking, and when Harry asked Dor what was so funny, he merely rolled his eyes and muttered, "Boys."

By Thursday, Hermione was eager to attend classes, and Madam Pomfrey grudgingly let her sit in Defense Against the Dark Arts, where they were practicing writing simple spells. The nurse, however, refused to allow her to go outside for Care of Magical Creatures, as the weather was still chilly and damp. She met up with them again in the Entrance Hall on the way to Transfiguration.

"Here, let me carry that," Ron said, quickly shouldering her school bag. "Ugh," he grunted, readjusting it, "what have you got in here, rocks?"

"I'm terribly behind, even with the work you've been bringing me," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "I need all those extra books to catch up." She coughed at the end of her sentence and Ron looked stricken. Dor grinned brilliantly.

Gwyn rushed up to join them. "Hullo all," she said. She slipped her hand easily into Harry's and gave it a little squeeze as they walked.

"Everybody's pairing up this time of year," Dor observed thoughtfully as the five of them made their way through the crowded corridors. Indeed, it seemed that most of the older students were walking through the halls hand in hand, paired off boy-girl, boy-girl.

"Feeling lonely, Dor?" Gwyn asked kindly. "Why don't you ask Luna to go with you to Hogsmeade?"

Ron let out an enormous "HA!" and almost knocked Hermione over with her own bag as he turned to see Dor's face. "That's a brilliant idea, Gwyn!" he crowed happily. "You were so worried about hurting her feelings, Dor -- now's your chance to make sure she has a good time."

Dor rolled his eyes. "Sod off, Weasley," he muttered.

"Don't you like her?" Gwyn asked. Her voice was still sweet but her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Oh, 'course I do," Dor said hastily. "It's just, with this leg, I'd only slow her down. I wouldn't be any fun on a date," he stammered. Ron continued to snicker. Hermione rolled her eyes and coughed.

Entering the Transfiguration classroom, the five of them quickly took their seats, Ron with Hermione, Gwyn with Harry, and Dor sitting by himself in the row behind. Harry busied himself getting out his parchment and ink when he felt Gwyn stiffen next to him. He looked up.

Malfoy was standing in the doorway to the classroom, his expression dark and mutinous. Harry glanced at Gwyn. She stared Malfoy directly in the eye and did not move for a long minute, her back straight, her head held high. Harry frowned.

"Take a seat, Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall scolded. "I'd like to begin the lesson."

Malfoy wrenched his gaze away from Gwyn and Harry and scanned the room; his eyes narrowed. The other Slytherins had already paired off, leaving no room for him. The only available seat was with Dor, directly behind Gwyn. Dor grinned at Malfoy, a malicious glint in his eye.

The rest of the class quieted as Malfoy adjusted his school bag and walked purposefully towards his seat. Harry snatched a quill and a scrap of parchment and quickly scribbled a note to Gwyn.

Alright? Want to switch seats?

Gwyn glanced the little piece of paper, crumpled it neatly between her fingers, and flashed Harry a quick smile before turning away. Her hair fell forward and obscured her face, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if she was as okay as she seemed.

The lesson proceeded normally. McGonagall set them to practicing what she called "subtle transfigurations," which were apparently more difficult to master than the more garish transformations they had so far been practicing.

"Heard you got kicked off the Quidditch team, Malfoy," Dor said. Harry glanced over his shoulder and tried to catch Dor's eye, but the other boy was staring intently at his partner. "I heard you got stripped of your prefecture and your Hogsmeade privileges and have to serve detentions for the rest of the year. S'that true?"

Harry looked over at Gwyn. She was twisting a fold of her sleeve between her fingers, not meeting his eyes. Her transfiguration text was open on the table, but she was not reading either. Harry hadn't heard anything about Malfoy's punishments and wondered whether Gwyn already known.

"Shut it, cripple," Malfoy growled under his breath. "You don't know anything about... anything."

"Maybe not," Dor replied with a shrug, "but what I would like to know is why you didn't get expelled. Your father pulling strings for you from prison, is he?"

Harry watched Malfoy's fists clench under the desk. What did Dor think he was doing?

"Or maybe Dumbledore didn't expel you because he doesn't want you out of his sight," Dor whispered, menacing. "Maybe he's got you right where he wants you, where he can keep a close eye on you."

Malfoy's head shot up at this, his eyes blazing with anger.

"Maybe he wants you where we can all keep an eye on you..." Dor hissed.

"Mr. Tucker," McGonagall called from the front of the room. "I hear talking but no of spell work coming from your desk. Do you need me to clarify the instructions?"

"No, Professor," Dor said without taking his eyes off Malfoy's face. "I was just having a little chat with my partner."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "I see. Well. Less talk and more work if you please."

Dor nodded curtly and busied himself with his textbook, but Malfoy's face had gone noticeably white.

Harry couldn't understand why Dor was taunting Malfoy, but he didn't like the look of the glances Malfoy kept shooting at Gwyn. She appeared not to notice them, but Harry couldn't imagine how. By the time the lesson was finished, he was determined to walk Gwyn to dinner and back to her dormitory himself, lest a furious Draco Malfoy try to follow her.

"Mr. Potter, a moment please," Professor McGonagall called after him as the rest of the class hurried to go. Harry glanced at Dor, who shrugged, and then at Gwyn.

"Go with Ron and Hermione," Harry said to her in a low voice.

"Harry, I..." she began to protest, but he shook his head.

"I'll see you in the Great Hall for dinner," he said.

Reluctantly, Gwyn followed Ron and Hermione out of the classroom.

"You may wait outside, Mr. Tucker," Professor McGonagall said dryly. "I'll speak to you later."

Dor blinked at her for a moment, obviously surprised, then shrugged and went to wait in the corridor. McGonagall finished writing and placed her quill neatly back into its stand.

"Is everything alright, Professor?" Harry asked, curious now as to why she would send Dor outside.

"I'm afraid it isn't. What I'm about to tell you is for your ears only, Mr. Potter, and it won't do for you to repeat it -- not even to Mr. Tucker or your friends . Professor Dumbledore insisted that you swear to secrecy before I tell you anything."

Harry nodded, even more curious than before. McGonagall sighed and laid her hands flat on the top of her desk. She took a deep breath.

"In keeping with his promise, Professor Dumbledore has asked me to tell you that Remus has not checked in with the Order in more than three weeks."

Harry's stomach fell down to his toes.

"He has missed two scheduled meetings with the Headmaster," McGonagall continued smoothly, "and no one has been able to reach him."

Harry felt as though his blood had stopped moving through his veins. He couldn't think. He couldn't lose Remus. "W-where was he?" Harry managed to ask. "What was he doing?"

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows at him. "That is none of your concern, Mr. Potter. Suffice to say that everything is being done to locate him--"

"What?" Harry demanded. "What's being done? I want to help."

"Out of the question," McGonagall replied automatically. "In light of recent events, it is more important than ever that you exercise caution." She paused, studying Harry closely across the desk. "And on that note, I'm afraid I cannot allow you to go to Hogsmeade with the rest of your class on Saturday."

Harry stared at her, dumbstruck. "But Dor--" he protested.

"Mr. Tucker is sufficient protection while you are inside the castle and on school grounds, but it has been decided that she -- he -- would be ill equipped to defend you, alone, in a place like Hogsmeade. Especially in his current condition."

"This isn't fair!" Harry shouted. "Remus is missing! What am I supposed to do? Sit back and relax while life goes on without me?"

McGonagall pressed her lips together sternly. "These precautions are being taken specifically so that your life can go on, Mr. Potter."

"What kind of a life is it, though?" he demanded brashly. "Is this how it's always going to be? Someone says 'boo' and I run for cover?" He kicked the leg of the nearest desk in frustration and it scraped loudly across the floor. "I just want to feel normal, to live my life like anybody else."

McGonagall sniffed and stood as she began gathering up her papers on her desk. "Very well, Mr. Potter," she said blandly. "You show me someone with a 'normal' life, and I'll see what we can do about getting you one just like it."

Harry huffed and considered kicking the desk again for good measure.

McGonagall looked up at him over the top of her spectacles. "You may go," she said, "unless you feel that more of my furniture needs putting in its place."

Furious, Harry stormed towards the door. "If there's any word of Remus," he said, pausing with his hand on the door, "anything at all, I want to know right away." He turned and looked over his shoulder at McGonagall. She gave him a curious look, but nodded, and he stormed out of the room.

Harry's mind swirled, his thoughts inching towards the inevitable connections being made in his brain. Remus is in danger because of me! Sirius was in danger because of me... Suddenly, with the thought of Sirius, Harry knew what he could do.

Passing Dor with barely a glance, Harry headed straight back towards Gryffindor Tower. He could hear Dor huffing along behind him, trying to keep up, but he didn't care. Shouting the password at the Fat Lady, he vaulted through the portrait hole and dashed for the stairs to his dormitory. The sound of Dor clomping lopsidedly echoed in the staircase as he threw open the door to his room and rushed to his bedside table.

Beneath the clutter of books, parchment, and dirty socks, Harry quickly found what he was looking for. Snatching the little square mirror, he held it up to his face and said, "Remus Lupin," as clearly and calmly as he could manage. The image of his own face slowly blurred into a sort of grey mist, then resolved. He was still staring into his own worried green eyes.

"Remus Lupin," he repeated forcefully. Again, the mirror tried to locate Remus and apparently failed. The grey mist swirled and darkened until the little mirror went black. Harry couldn't make out anything in its depths. Remus' mirror was probably in a pocket or stowed away in a trunk somewhere that Remus couldn't hear it -- but he wouldn't do that. Angrily, he gripped the looking glass until its edges began to press painfully into his hand, and searched desperately in the darkness for some clue to Remus' whereabouts.

"Harry?" Dor called a bit breathlessly from the doorway. "Alright, mate?"

Harry quickly dropped the mirror to his side. "Alright," he said gloomily. "What was all that waffle with Malfoy about?" he demanded, hoping to change the subject. "Were you trying to provoke him? What if he takes it out on Gwyn?"

Dor stumped over towards Harry's bed. "He's a bully, Harry," he explained. "Once somebody starts bullying them back, they lose their zeal for it. I was just giving him a taste of his own medicine." He looked down at Harry enquiringly. "You left McGonagall's in an awful hurry," he prodded gently. "What did she want to talk to you about?"

"She told me that--" Harry faltered, remembering that he had given his word to stay silent about Remus. As a member of the Order, would Dor already know? He decided not to chance it. "She isn't going to let me go to Hogsmeade on Saturday," he finished lamely.

"Ah," Dor said, plopping down onto his own bed, facing Harry. "I thought it might be something like that."

Harry scowled and turned away. Of course he was angry that he couldn't go to Hogsmeade, but his worry over Remus' disappearance burned stronger. It made him even angrier that Dor clearly didn't understand, that no one believed he had anything more important to think about than his Hogsmeade privileges.

Harry glanced down at the little mirror clutched in his hand; a spot in the corner seemed slightly lighter than the rest. He thought he could almost make out shapes in the darkness.

"Er, look. I really just want to be alone for a few minutes," he said hastily to Dor.

Dor nodded, an annoyingly sage expression on his face. "Yeah, sure. I'll just wait outside, okay Harry?"

Harry nodded quickly, hoping to speed Dor on his way. As soon as he heard the dormitory door shut, he carried the mirror over to the window to study it in the fading evening light. "Remus!" he called again, desperately.

Suddenly, the image in the mirror shifted again. A bright light flashed, and Harry winced. Then, something that might have been a hand closed over the other mirror, wherever it was. Harry watched, his stomach sinking, as his own reflection reappeared in the glass.

Frustrated, he turned and hurled the mirror at his bed. It bounced off the duvet and clattered down onto the top of his trunk. A deep weariness settled onto Harry's shoulders as he scuffed across the floor to his bed, picked up the mirror, examined it for chips or cracks, and then opened his trunk to put it away.

It was no good. Remus was missing, probably in danger. It was his fault, and no one would let him do anything about it. Harry frowned as he shifted aside piles of clean socks, intending to wrap his mirror in his Invisibility Cloak for safekeeping.

They're probably worried I'll do something rash, he thought bitterly. Probably worried I'll try to save Remus and get him killed in the process. His scar began to sting as he thought, Well, they don't have to worry. I know better than that.

Frustrated, Harry tossed a pile of clean clothes onto the floor, looking for his Invisibility Cloak. It wasn't under his jumpers; it wasn't under his clean school robes. Becoming more frantic by the moment, Harry quickly emptied his trunk entirely. His Invisibility Cloak was not there.

That night, Harry slept fitfully, plagued by disturbing dreams of Death Eaters breaking into his dormitory and stealing his things. He awoke clutching his pillow, which, in his dream, had been his last pair of clean shorts that a hoard of masked creatures had been trying to steal.

Neither Ron nor Hermione admitted to any knowledge of the whereabouts of Harry's cloak. Dor said, "Don't look at me," when Harry turned to interrogate him, and added, "Though, I'd have a good reason -- and every right -- to take it after what you pulled last week." Harry quickly changed the subject.

Dejectedly, he made his way to Professor Lindell's office for his Occlumency lesson. It was funny that they still called it Occlumency, he mused, when he rarely spent more than a few minutes actually practicing that particular skill any more. Their lessons now focused more on basic Legilimency and lucid dreaming.

"Mr. Potter." Professor Lindell greeted him with an incline of her head as she let him into her office. Once again, she had replaced her desk with the battered wooden worktable, covered today in what looked like potions ingredients. A cauldron bubbled at one end near a large marble mortar and pestle, and Harry recognized several of the herbs and barks. Suddenly, something in his brain clicked.

"Aconite, silver, monkswood -- you're working on that spell for Remus, aren't you? Have you heard from him lately?"

Professor Lindell gave him a shrewd look as she cleared up, vanishing objects from the table rapidly.

"Actually not," she said simply, "on both counts. My last communication from Mr. Lupin was several weeks ago, and in it he mentioned that he receives a supply of the Wolfsbane potion from Professor Snape." She sniffed distastefully as she said the name. "I thought if I could duplicate the potion myself, I could save him the... trouble of requesting it from the potions master."

Harry nodded as he dropped down into his chair. "Remus likes Snape almost as much as you do," he said cagily. Lindell looked at him sharply then sighed.

"Is it that obvious?" she asked, sinking down into her own chair and raising an eyebrow at him. "Or have you been nosing about in my mind during our lessons again?"

Harry smiled. "I don't need Legilimency to know that you and Professor Snape don't like one another," he said simply.

Lindell shook her head. "No," she replied. "I suppose not."

"But you have a good reason," Harry added cautiously. Her expression was unreadable. "I asked Remus about what happened to your sister," he admitted.

Professor Lindell studied him thoughtfully for a moment before answering. "That was a long time ago," she said quietly. "You should learn from my mistakes and try not to let your past rule your present." She drew her wand from the folds of her dark blue robes and rolled it experimentally between her thumb and forefinger. "How has your practice been coming? Any dreams that you've been able to control?"

Harry looked away a tad guiltily. "Erm..." he said noncommittally.

Lindell pursed her lips. "No dreams, or no luck controlling them?" she asked.

"I've plenty of dreams," Harry said unhappily, staring down at the scarred wood of the table, "but I can never seem to remember that I'm supposed to be trying to control them."

"It will come," Professor Lindell said gently. Harry looked up at her curiously as she laid her wand on the table. "You have a rare gift, Mr. Potter, in your natural aptitude for the magicks of mental manipulation, and I've no doubt that given enough time and the correct impetus you will be able to master lucid dreaming just as well as you have mastered Occlumency and Legilimency."

"I haven't really mastered--" Harry protested, but Lindell held up a hand.

"That said," she continued, "I must ensure that you understand the seriousness of the lessons we undertake here, and the very real danger in which you live." She looked earnestly across the table at Harry.

"I do take it seriously," he replied defensively.

"Is that why you chose to sneak away from your bodyguard this week?"

Harry started, staring at her in surprise. "How did you know about--?"

Lindell arched one of her expressive eyebrows. "Perhaps I'm a better Legilimens than you give me credit for," she suggested. Harry blanched. "Or perhaps Professor McGonagall told me when I enquired about young Mr. Tucker's highly advanced knowledge of Defense Against the Dark Arts," she added, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The hint of a smile faded as soon as it had come.

"As for the sneaking away..." Lindell continued. She shrugged. "I may be ancient in your eyes, but I'm not blind, you know. You and your friends pass quite a lot of notes in my lessons."

Harry's face reddened.

"I'm sick of living my life like a fugitive," he huffed quietly. "I just wanted to feel normal for a while."

"Be that as it may, I do not tolerate people who waste my time nor those who are thoughtless or reckless. So, I must ask you, Mr. Potter," Professor Lindell said, sitting back in her chair and folding her hands neatly in her lap, "are we wasting our time here? Are you more concerned with being normal or with staying alive?"

Harry scowled, but the professor continued. "Do you intend to take your own safety -- and, might I add, the safety of everyone close to you -- seriously, or shall we call off these lessons altogether?" She looked at him sternly, her icy grey eyes accusing.

Harry stared down at his lap, feeling ashamed of his own foolishness and shortsightedness. He'd never really thought of it that way; putting himself in danger might be one thing, but he had sworn he'd never endanger his friends again.

"No Professor," he said, "I don't want to give up the lessons."

"Good," Lindell replied briskly. "You are a great many things, Mr. Potter, but I would never have said that a quitter was one of them. Let's get to work."

The grey walls were familiar. Rough floorboards under his feet, and an eerie silver light, tracing the outlines of broken furniture, cracked banister, splintered stairs. At the top of the stairs, he found himself in a room that was also strangely familiar. He turned towards a corner, expecting to see Ron, but saw Sirius instead.

Young. Maybe fifteen or sixteen, looking like he had in the pensive dream. Laughing, tossing his head, he turned to look at Harry.

"I've got it! " he shrieked. He took a step towards Harry and his form shifted, blurred, liquid, and moving, until he was Padfoot. Snuffles. A great black dog with a shiny coat and silver eyes, wagging its tail and dancing around the room on four soft feet. He shifted back into Sirius, continuing his dance, screaming a primal yell of triumph and joy. "I've GOT it! " he cried again, punching the air with his fists.

He swung around to face Harry, and Harry saw a golden amulet on a chain swinging from his neck. Well? Sirius said expectantly. What do you think?

"There's..." Harry said uncertainly, his voice sounding strangely loud and hollow, "there's something I'm supposed to do..."

Harry woke with a start in the blackness of midnight. It took him a moment to recognize that the curtains around his bed were not the grey walls of the Shrieking Shack from his dream. He closed his eyes tightly, desperately trying to recapture the thread of the dream and the image of Sirius' happy face, but he realized that it was futile as fresh waves of grief prickled the backs of his eyes and regret stung in his scar.

When Harry woke again, it was late on Saturday morning. His eyes were heavy with sleep, his head aching, and his mood decidedly gloomy. He stumbled out of the empty dormitory in his pajama bottoms and a tee shirt to find Hermione, Ron, and Dor thoroughly entrenched in the common room. Ron was on the hearthrug, polishing his broom; Hermione was curled up under her flannel blanket in an armchair, stacks of books as high as the chair itself towering over her on either side; and Dor was stretched out on the sofa reading The Daily Prophet.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, dropping down to sit cross-legged on the floor next to Ron. Ron shrugged, not looking up from his broom.

"You didn't think we'd leave you here by yourself did you?" Hermione chided with a smile. "Hogsmeade isn't any fun when we can't all go."

Harry glanced at Ron who met his gaze reluctantly, but Harry couldn't read his expression. He looked up and saw Dor gazing at him over the top of the paper. Dor smirked.

"You knew I wasn't going anywhere," he said matter-of-factly. "What's a seven letter word for 'your worst fear'?"

"So..." Harry asked Ron under his breath. "You and Hermione..."

Ron shook his head, not looking up from his broom. "Apparently she doesn't remember anything before waking up in hospital."

"And you didn't remind her?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged again.

The four of them spent a pleasant enough morning doing nothing in the common room. For once, Hermione didn't insist that the boys do their homework with her, so Harry and Ron spent most of the time working on their brooms. They were surprised to discover that Dor knew quite a bit about racing brooms when he started talking about an article in the paper about the new Comet S-Series.

Harry was starving by noon when they all made their way down to the Great Hall for lunch. The Hall was eerily empty with only the first and second years to fill it; even the seats at the high table were mostly vacant, as many of the professors were down in the village, chaperoning.

"I feel like Gulliver in Lilliput," Hermione laughed as they passed a group of tiny first years talking animatedly over their lunch.

"Who's Gulliver?" Ron asked, snatching an apple from a bowl as they walked.

"Looks like we're not the only giants in Lilliput," Dor said in a low voice. Harry followed his gaze across the Hall to the Slytherin table. At the far end, Malfoy was sitting alone, hunched over his plate.

"Is it true that he's not a prefect any more?" Hermione asked.

Dor nodded gravely. "That's what McGonagall said. Apparently she voted to have him expelled."

"Who else voted?" Ron asked.

"The four heads of houses," Dor replied. "It was a tie, and Dumbledore had to make the final decision."

Harry was only half listening. His eyes remained focused on the back of Malfoy's white blond head. A little way down the Slytherin table, a knot of second years had their heads together. They kept punching one of the boys in the arm, goading him to do something. Grinning at each of them, the boy grabbed his wand and sent a glob of mashed potatoes directly at Malfoy's head. It struck him in the temple, and the second years burst into enthusiastic laughter.

"I don't think the school punishments really mean anything to him," Harry said, watching as Malfoy reached up to wipe the mashed potatoes out of his ear. "But he's lost respect. They don't fear him anymore."

"Obviously not," Ron snorted.

Suddenly, there was a rush of noise from the Entrance Hall, and students began pouring in through the doors looking flushed and agitated, talking rapidly.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked. "They're not due back for hours."

"Harry!" Padma cried from the crowd. "Harry, I did it!"

"Did what?" Harry yelled back, frowning.

"Harry!" Neville shouted, trying to push through the crowd. His face was white and drawn.

"Good job, Neville!" Dean said, clapping him soundly on the back.

"We really showed 'em, eh mate!" Seamus agreed.

"What are you doing back so soon?" Hermione asked as Ginny dropped heavily onto the bench next to her.

Ginny's face was almost as pale as Neville's, her freckles standing out across her nose and cheeks. "Dementors," she breathed.

"What?" Harry demanded, leaning across the table. "Where?"
"In Hogsmeade," Padma said, sitting down on the bench next to Harry. She still clutched her wand tightly in her left hand. "There were so many of them." She shuddered.

"But I did it, Harry," she said, brightening a bit. "I cast a Patronus! A wildcat."

"Harry!" Neville yelled again, looking around wildly. Colin Creevy was shaking his hand while Dennis took their photo.

"Over here!" Harry said, waving his arms so Neville could see. Neville spotted him and headed for the table. Luna Lovegood was following Neville closely, clinging to his hand.

"Harry!" Neville panted. "Dementors! In Hogsmeade!"

"We told him," Padma said tersely.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, noticing how shaken Neville seemed. He started to shake his head, but Luna interrupted.

"He was wonderful," she said, her eyes wide as she stared at Neville. "He saved me."

"Neville?" Ron said incredulously.

"Yes," Luna replied, never taking her eyes off Neville. "His Patronus drove away four that were coming after me!"

"Four?" Dor repeated, letting out a low whistle.

"Is this the first time you've done one?" Hermione asked.

"Neville!" Ernie McMillan called. "Good show, sport!"

Neville nodded unhappily, looking like he'd like to disappear. "Harry, what were they doing here?"

"I don't know," Harry said uneasily, "but you can bet it was nothing good." He looked around. "Hey, where's Gwyn?"

Padma shook her head. "Did she even go to Hogsmeade? I haven't seen her."

"Luna," Harry said, though his eyes were busy scanning the crowd, "did you see her at all?"

"No," Luna said airily. "I was walking by the woods when they all came at me, and I got so cold." She shivered. "So cold. And I could hear my mum."

Harry's eyes snapped back to her in an instant. She was worrying one hand slowly in the folds of her robe, her other still gripping Neville tightly. "I could hear her crying," Luna continued, her eyes downcast and hooded. Then her face brightened noticeably. "And then Neville came."

"Can we, er..." Neville said, looking around nervously at all the eyes watching him, all the fingers pointing his way.

"Yeah sure," Harry said, quickly getting to his feet. "Let's go back to the Tower."

As they pushed their way towards the door, people stood aside to let them through. Everyone seemed to know that Neville and Padma had cast Patronus charms to drive away the dementors. In fact, now that he looked around the room, several other members of the DA had attracted crowds of curious onlookers: Justin, Seamus, Hannah and Ernie, and even Cho.

"Neville," Harry said quietly as they hurried out of the Hall and towards the stairs, "what was it?"

"Huh?" Neville asked, looking confused.

"Your Patronus -- what was it?"

Neville blushed and looked at his feet. "You have to promise not to laugh," he said somewhat uncertainly. Harry nodded quickly.

"It was a Venomous Tentacula, Harry. Biggest one you ever saw..."