Dulce Et Decorum Est

Chapter Three: A Malfoy Maligned

That morning, the Howler came.

Draco had not slept well the night before, expecting its arrival. A Malfoy was always prompt when punishment was involved, and his father was no exception to that rule. If the Howler came, it would undoubtedly come not from his mother, but from his father, as if Lucius knew how much more his son respected him than his wife. Certainly the thought of his father's shame made Draco's own increase exponentially.

When Draco had at last fallen asleep, surrounded by the snores of Gryffindor boys - of the other Gryffindor boys, Draco's mind reminded him nastily - he had rested for only a few fitful hours. In the early hours of the morning, the sunlight at last rescued him from his agitated dreams. Though he was the first Gryffindor awake, he dreaded the Howler's arrival enough that he was also the last to arrive in the Great Hall for breakfast.

Draco wasn't the only student who received an owl that morning. He was, however, the only student to receive a Howler. With no amount of bravery at all in his trembling fingers, he picked it up from behind his empty plate and just held it for a long, long minute.

"That's rough," Ron said around a bite of toast. Draco felt too ill to listen for signs of scorn or sympathy in his voice.

"Better to open it right away, I hear," a first-year boy with an Irish accent - Seamus something, Draco remembered from the sorting - told him. "Or else it's worse." Draco nodded. He'd heard all the stories, same as the rest of them. They didn't understand how different it was, applied to oneself.

"Here goes," he murmured.

"Brave man," Seamus said, encouraging.

Draco had never been embarrassed publicly, before. The Howler shrieked at him - no, no, boomed at him; bellowed at him - for a full five minutes, his father's voice ringing out through the Great Hall, which had otherwise fallen completely silent. With every student in the room staring at him, Draco didn't know whether to be mortified by the attention of his peers or terrified by the anger of his father. The hesitation did do something to take the edge off each, but not much. Somewhere during the third minute he resolved himself that there was nothing he could do to stop this torture. With that hopelessness in mind, he allowed each fresh insult, waiting for the agonizing remainder of the reprimand with the knowledge that it would soon have to at last be over and done with. In the end, with one final volley of insults and a parting, infinitely cutting reminder of Lucius' utter disappointment in his son, the Howler destroyed itself. Engulfed by flames, its ashes fluttered down to rest in harmless innocence on the tabletop. Draco swallowed thickly, staring at his plate. He refused to acknowledge the eyes fixed on him, the whispers that began as normal sound slowly returned to the Great Hall.

Ron cleared his throat nervously. "That was rough," he said. With sympathy, Draco noted. He inspected a fingernail.

"It's all right," he muttered. "I was expecting as much."

"I don't know what I'll do if I get one of those," Neville said. "Pass the sausages?" Draco did so mutely. The heaping portion of eggs, bacon, fried bread and toast with marmalade made Draco's stomach flip sickeningly. "I'm sure gran'll send me one when I least expect it," he mumbled. His brow drew together in worry, then smoothed out with the next mouthful of bacon.

"Let's stop talking about it," Draco snapped. He burned his tongue on his tea moments later and winced. It wasn't shaping up to be a very good morning, or a very good year, or a very good life, for that matter. The last thing he wanted now was constant reference to his father's rage, his own failure. If he was lucky, it would end with the single Howler, though from the sound of things, he'd be lucky if it ended with a hundred Howlers.

"Sorry," Neville mumbled, shamefaced. "I didn't mean to--"

"Doesn't matter," Draco interrupted. "just eat your sausage." Neville blinked at Draco, then down at the food in his plate. His face fell. He debated whether or not to apologize again, but Draco's murderous expression decided from him that it would be best just to leave things alone. After all, Neville knew all too well how it felt to be embarrassed. If Draco wanted to pretend he didn't exist, that was his choice to make. Neville did as Draco had suggested and finished his sausage, then had another, because it had been awfully good.

On his last bite, Ron elbowed him in the ribs while hurriedly wolfing down the last food on his own plate.

"Must have been one long Howler," he said, once he'd swallowed. "'Cause if we don't finish right now, we're going to be late. To our first class!" Not already, Neville thought. He finished his toast in two large bites and washed it down with an entire cup of milk. In the scrabble to gather up all his things, he nearly toppled a pitcher of juice, two platters of bacon and an older boy's plate.

"Sorry--sorry!" he apologized. The older boy gave him a sympathetic look, followed by a scrutinizing one, once he'd gotten a good look at Neville's face. Neville was at least used to that sort of reaction by now. If only the scar had been less noticeable...

"That's all right. Don't mention it. This is your first year, isn't it?" Neville nodded. "Thought so," the boy continued. "I'm Oliver. You're...Neville, right?" Neville flushed, and nodded again. "What class d'you lot have first? I'll show you to it. Always best to be on time for your first class." Ron's face flooded with relief at the offer, while Neville could only manage sheepishness.

"Transfiguration," he said, "with McGonagall - er. Professor McGonagall, I mean." He blushed, ears turning bright pink.

"Stern old bird, Professor McGonagall is. And she'll skin you alive, too, if you're late, especially if you're late right off. C'mon, follow me. If we hurry, you should make it." Neville and Ron, trailed closely by Draco, followed Oliver gratefully through the winding, complicated corridors and the rearranging staircases that made Hogwarts all the more impossible to navigate. Even with Oliver's help, they barely made it into the classroom on time. If it hadn't been for Oliver, Neville was sure he'd never have made it to class at all.

As they hurried in and took their seats, McGonagall gave all three of them stern, disapproving looks, before she cleared her throat and began their very first lesson.

By the end of the day, Neville wanted nothing more than to just go home.

It started as McGonagall commenced a speech that made Neville's stomach turn into ice water. There was to be, she lectured, no foolish behavior in her classroom, for Transfiguration was at once one of the hardest skills to master and one of the most dangerous. It would take supreme concentration and dedication to so much as pass the course, and yet more to excel in it. Already, Neville knew that he was doomed.

Their next class was Charms, which was no better. Professor Flitwick, who was shorter than almost all the students, started them immediately on the Lumos charm, which Hermione had mastered within moments, and which all of the Gryffindor first years had full control of by the end of the period - all except Neville, of course. Intimidated by Transfiguration and completely defeated by Charms, Neville was sure he was hopeless by lunch. He picked as idly at his food as Draco had that morning at breakfast, while Draco, slightly heartened by his own success at Charms, had two helpings of dessert. Neville only managed one.

After lunch they had History of Magic. By the end of the period, only Hermione was still awake and taking notes eagerly.

"I'm never going to make it out of that class alive," Ron groaned.

"You'll always be able to catch up on sleep," Draco pointed out.

"Really," Hermione grumped, "you have to be the laziest lot I've ever seen."

"Suck up," Ron returned. "We're not bothering you, are we?" With a deeply aggrieved sigh, Hermione put on a burst of speed and hurried off to their next, and last, class of the day - Herbology. Neville approached the class with as much trepidation as he had the others and was surprised to find that not only was he interested in the class but, by the time it was over, that he hadn't failed a single part of it. He hadn't excelled, either, but as it had been a long day full of enough defeats and disappointments to sink a ship, Neville was thrilled by this minor success. His mood was improved enough by dinner that he ate himself sick, and didn't even mind that as much as he might have done, otherwise.

"Have a good day, I take it?" The older boy who had helped him that morning - Oliver - slid into a sit next to Ron's older brother Percy, across from Ron and Neville.

"I'm doomed," Neville replied. He sounded, however, far too cheerful for his words to be all that grave.

"At least you're not bothered by it," Oliver grinned.

"Can't be bothered by anything at dinner," Neville said.

"I'll second that." Ron leaned across Neville for the pumpkin juice. "And I thought mum was the best cook in the world - but this stuff is amazing."

"Hm," Hermione ruffled. "It's your first day at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry and all you can think about is the food!"

"Shh," Ron admonished, mock-prim, "Dumbledore's going to say something, it looks like." He pointed to the teacher's table, where Dumbledore was now in the process of standing, looking about the room as he waited for absolute silence and complete attention. Hermione quieted immediately. Soon after, the whole hall was hushed, waiting. Dumbledore smiled.

"I would like to announce," he said, "that as of now, the third floor corridor is entirely off limits to all students. If you are caught there despite this warning, the consequences will be most severe." He let the words linger on the air for a long moment, giving them added importance. Then, he clasped his hands together and smiled. "Carry on, then!" he exclaimed, and sat without any further conclusion.

"What d'you suppose that means?" Ron asked Neville, once normal conversation had begun again.

"Whatever it means," Hermione said, "it's not any of your business, now is it! Am I correct?" No one answered her. A scowl formed on her lips, and she busied herself suddenly with the engrossing task of cutting something into little pieces on her plate.

"Whatever it means," Ron mimicked, "it sounds exciting. Don't you think?"

"Uhm" Neville admitted, "I suppose. But - I mean - Hermione's right. It's not any of our business. Is it?"

"There," Hermione muttered savagely.

"I think it sounds exciting, too," Draco said unexpectedly. He'd been so quiet earlier that Ron had even forgotten he was there. Ron looked at him warily for a long moment, remembering Draco's earlier insults. Finally, he brightened.

"See?" he said. "Exciting! I wonder what's there," he continued, "on the third floor, that is. Wonder if we'll ever get to know." Draco opened his mouth to say, 'I'll ask my father' but then thought better of it, for more than one reason.

"Maybe," he said instead, "we'll find out." Ron grinned widely. It was a friendly expression. Draco's internal scorn faltered, almost flickered out entirely.

"Don't go looking for trouble," Hermione snapped. "That's just stupid." Ron rolled his eyes.

"Don't," Neville agreed. "You don't know what's there. It could be anything."

"Isn't that the point," Draco said, but no one heard him. Oliver had brought up the topic of Quidditch, and everyone was talking suddenly and very excitedly about how this year, Gryffindor was going to win the Quidditch cup at last.

~*~

Full and weary, Neville made his way more slowly than the others back to the Gryffindor Common Room. Though he hurried to keep up with Ron, his friend had gone on ahead with his brothers, quarreling and laughing both amongst themselves. Hermione had hurried after them, searching, it seemed, for reasons to reprimand them or keep them from getting into trouble. That left Neville and Draco behind in the dark, empty halls, navigating the complicated staircases and corridors. They had lapsed into a silence which was somewhat uncomfortable, but Neville was ultimately glad for the company despite that. It was always comforting to know that, should he get lost, he wouldn't be alone.

They passed under high-arched ceilings, beside paintings and portraits, tapestries and tall suits of armor ominously posed against the walls. It was lonely and intimidating to be in Hogwarts at night. Thoughts of the third floor, off-limits, crept unbidden into Neville's mind and made him shiver. He dared a glance toward Draco, wondering if he was the only one unnecessarily spooked. Draco's face was tight, expression remote. Neville remembered the Howler from that morning and suddenly felt sorry for the pale blonde, though he had done well in every class, and he had gone through the entire day without showing any of the worry which had haunted Neville's eyes relentlessly. Now, Draco's face was pinched and his lips tight. He looked as tired as Neville felt.

There were worse things, Neville supposed, than imagined - or even real - ghosts.

"I'm so tired right now, I don't know if I'll even be able to start the History of Magic assignment," Neville attempted.

Draco said nothing in return, but he did shrug.

"That class really boring," Neville tried again. "I fell asleep. Twice."

Draco gave him something of a reproachful look. It managed to both embarrass Neville and make him feel sorrier still.

"I think we're lost," Draco said abruptly. "One of the staircases must have changed during dinner. I don't know where we are. Haven't, for a while now, though I might have been able to figure it out if you hadn't been talking so much."

"Oh," Neville said. He swallowed weakly, feeling suddenly very small. "We're not - uhm - on the third floor. Are we?"

"I don't think so," Draco replied, sounding honest for a mere moment. "But I don't know. Like I said - we're lost."

"Oh," Neville repeated. He looked nervously up at one of the large, looming suits of armor, which seemed to appear out of nowhere by his side. He gulped, noting the battleaxe in its left metal-glove hand, which hung at an angle just above his head. "Draco," he began, "I don't think--" But then he cut off, eyes widening. As he turned back to where Draco had been just moments ago, Neville found that Draco was no longer there, leaving him completely alone in the unfamiliar hallway.

~*~

Harry had one hand clamped around Draco's wrist, the other over his mouth. "Sh," he said in Draco's ear, and Draco was quiet, relief trying to calm the crazed pounding of his heart. He watched, wide-eyed, from the shadows of a hidden doorway, as Neville looked all around him, desperately trying to find where Draco had gone. The panic stamped on his face was at once comical and somewhat touching. Harry's fingers tightened, his wild hair tickling at Draco's cheek and neck, and Draco found the comedy prevailed. He grinned against Harry's fingers.

"Draco?" Neville was asking thin air as he wandered further down the hall. "Draco, where are you? Draco?" Draco's name continued to echo over the walls, growing more and more muted as Neville disappeared from view. Only after he was long gone did Harry drop his hand from Draco's mouth. Draco turned to face him.

"Don't do that," he whispered, cheeks flushed. "You terrified me!" Harry let go of Draco's wrist, shrugging. In the face of Harry's nonchalance Draco felt embarrassed to have admitted how frightened he'd been before he'd realized it was only Harry sneaking up on him.

"C'mon, it wasn't that bad," Harry scoffed. "Besides, did you see the look on Longbottom's face? It was great. It was priceless."

"I suppose," Draco murmured. Curious, he asked, "Why'd you do it?"

"You were heading towards the third floor," Harry said. He mussed his hair absently, from the back of his neck up. "Why would you want to go there, anyway, without knowing more about it?"

"I didn't know." Draco fought with a blush and the blush won. "We got lost." Harry snorted, and Draco's blush deepened. He was glad of the dark shadows which hid his face from full view. What would his father say, if he knew?

Unfortunately, Draco knew what his father would say if his father knew. His father had already said most of it, after all.

"Really," Harry said. "Isn't that just a little embarrassing?"

"It was his fault," Draco muttered.

"That makes sense." Harry peered out into the empty hallway. "All right - everything's clear." He took Draco's wrist again, tugging him out into the flickering light. "There are teachers there," he explained, "on the third floor. At least, it only makes sense that there will be." Draco opened his mouth to ask Harry how he'd figured that out, but Harry spoke again before he could get a word out. "Better to go there when you're sure you're not going to get caught. If you want to go there. Right?" Draco nodded. "Follow me," Harry continued. "I've got something to show you." He led Draco down the hall in the opposite direction from the way Neville had gone. Draco hurried along behind him, nervous but eager. At last, they ducked into an empty classroom, where Harry leaned against a desk and unfurled a multicolored cloak he'd held, rolled up up and hidden, beneath his sweater.

Draco blinked.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Just watch," Harry assured him. Unceremoniously, he flipped it around and settled it around his shoulders. Draco stared. Only Harry's head now remained, suspended over empty air.

"Where did you...?" Draco asked, disbelieving.

"My dad sent it to me this morning," Harry said. He materialized again, pulling the cloak off and folding it up against his chest. "At breakfast. It used to be his. Isn't it great?" Draco nodded. Something akin to jealousy - though he had never felt such envy before in his life - stabbed deep into his belly. Harry's eyes flashed behind his glasses.

"It's great," Draco agreed.

"I thought you might like to see it. He used to wear it all the time when he went here. He never got caught once." Jealousy again, Draco realized. He was awed by it, awed by Harry.

"Why are you showing me?"

Harry shrugged.

"Dunno," he answered. "Didn't think anyone else could keep it a secret."

"Oh."

"Didn't want to tell anyone else, either." Harry grinned. Pride mingled with envy in Draco's chest.

"Well," Draco said. He could think of nothing else to say, leaning against the doorframe, trying to understand in his own limbs the lazy and uncaring grace with which Harry stood.

"Anyway," Harry said, "it'll be useful, maybe. If you ever want to know what's there." Only minutes earlier at dinner, Draco had been eager to find out what was being kept so secretly on the third floor. Now, just thinking about it made him anxious. Determined not to let it show, he nodded and grinned. "If you're trying to get back to the Gryffindor Common Room," Harry added, as an afterthought, "you'll want to go the other way. The direction you were going in would have taken you to Slytherin." Harry's eyes, so green they almost burned to behold, flashed a second time. Draco almost couldn't bear to look at them. He also couldn't bear to look away. "See you tomorrow," Harry finished, starting off down the hall. "We have Double Potions together."

"Goodnight," Draco called after him. Harry didn't turn around or even lift a hand in recognition. Staring after Harry until he disappeared around a corner, Draco at last started off in the direction Harry had indicated, Neville's predicament entirely forgotten.

~*~

Neville had, he had decided, never been more hopelessly lost in his entire life. It seemed he had been wandering for hours. Perhaps, he thought, all panic faded now into miserable resignation, he was now doomed to wander Hogwarts forever, and never be found again. Probably no one would know he was even missing. Or, if they did notice, they knowledge wouldn't bother them much, and certainly not enough for them to do anything about it.

Finally, realizing it was pointless to keep wandering, his legs already too tired, Neville sat down cross-legged on the floor. A chill crept along his spine in the silence that followed. What now? he asked himself. Where was he? From behind a closed door to his left and through the stifling silence he thought he heard a low, growling sound. While it could just have been an over-active imagination causing him to hear things, Neville decided then that it was a good time to panic again. The fear that had been growing in his belly slowly suddenly drew itself up like a tidal wave and threatened not just to drown him, but to crush him beneath it. He gulped, mouth dry and throat tight. The growling sound came again. For an almost deadly length of time, Neville stopped breathing.

The sound came a third time, louder, from behind the wall directly at his back, and though it was muted through the stone it was unmistakable - it was there.

Neville had never wanted to run more in his life. Unfortunately, his legs were as useless as pudding would have been for running. He found he could barely stand on them, much less run.

He closed his eyes, hands clenched at his sides in trembling fists. The sound was moving around, agitated, back and forth and back and forth again, behind him; he was sure of it. He focused all his energy on calming his pounding heart, keeping his breaths steady and slow. Whatever was there was separated from him by a thick, stone wall. He was completely, totally, one hundred percent safe, he assured and reassured himself. No question of it. Hogwarts was the safest place to be in the entire Wizarding World, except for Gringotts Bank. Maybe, Neville tried to convince himself, he was just imagining things. There was nothing big and growling kept in Hogwarts!

At least, he didn't think there was.

Well, no one had ever said there was, had they? So there couldn't be.

Unless this was indeed the third floor corridor Dumbledore had warned every one of them against visiting earlier, in which case, it was very possible a big and growling something was being kept here. Right here. Right behind him.

Neville's stomach convulsed with fear. It was unlikely, he knew, but he was unlucky. His knees shook but he managed, with a great exertion of strength and willpower, to open his eyes. At that very moment, a rat chose to streak by from underneath the doorway to his left and disappeared around a corner, scaring a startled yelp from Neville. Moments later, there was an answering call of "Who's there?" A thin man Neville recognized from the professor's table at dinner came hurrying into view. His eyes were dark and his face tight with danger, until he saw Neville, and his expression softened. The accusation in his eyes lightened with relief.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. His eyes narrowed once more and he took a quick step closer. "This floor is off-limits - you should know that." So it was the third floor. Neville's stomach dropped into his toes. Still, even the idea of getting into terrible trouble for being found here was preferable to being lost here, alone, all night.

"I didn't know," Neville answered miserably. "I mean, that this was the third floor. I got lost, "he explained, "Draco was with me but then suddenly he was gone and we were lost already. And then I got more lost looking for him. And then I was here and I heard this growling and I saw a rat and I didn't mean to be here or want to be here, I swear I didn't, I just wanted to get back to Gryffindor House and do my homework because it's going to take me all night if I'm lucky and even then I might not even finish half of it." Neville gasped for air at last, finding the time to scramble to his feet as everything in his mind rushed past his lips in one great and wild outpouring. He dared a look at the man standing before him once he had caught his breath, and saw that he had begun to smile.

"It seems," he said, "that this has all been a misunderstanding; am I correct?" Neville nodded vigorously, disbelieving, as the man's smile widened. Having expected sudden death rather than a kind expression and understanding tones, Neville wondered if he wasn't actually dreaming. He didn't often have incredible bouts of good luck. He didn't ever have incredible bouts of good luck.

"I honestly didn't mean to come here," he said, breathless. "I'd have done anything not to come here." His face turned sheepish. "It's just so hard to know where you are, around here. There aren't any maps or anything!"

"Well," the man said, "I remember my first day well enough. I almost got lost more times than I could count. I thought I'd never get the hang of things." He ran his fingers through his gray streaked brown hair, his smile gentle. "I don't believe we've met," he continued. "I'm Professor Remus Lupin - I teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. And you're...?" Neville was surprised to find Professor Lupin didn't already know his name. He had to have seen the scar on his face, had to have known that he was Neville Longbottom, the famed Boy Who Lived, because of it. But if Lupin had noticed and did already know, he showed no signs of it. Neville felt more relieved than he did disappointed.

"I'm Neville," he said, holding out an awkward, chubby-fingered hand. Remus took it, and shook it warmly. "Neville Longbottom. I'm in Gryffindor. I've already gotten lost three times earlier today. I've been couting," Neville added. His cheeks flushed.

"Well then, Neville," Lupin said, "it's a good thing I've found you, isn't it?" Neville nodded emphatically. "You're not that far from Gryffindor, though you have made a few wrong turns. I can take you back - but how about a cup of cocoa first?" Neville licked his lips, brow furrowing in wonder.

"I have a lot of work," he said. His voice was an endearing mix, Remus thought, of reluctance, confusion and hope.

"You said you were having some trouble with it, didn't you?" Lupin asked. Neville nodded again. "Perhaps I might be able to help? So long as it's not a Potions assignment - I've never been good at Potions, unfortunately. I used to be the terror of every Potions professor who taught that class when I went here." He shook his head, smiling wryly.

"Would you really?"

"Help you?" Remus blinked. "Of course. I'd be glad to." Neville's face was filled once more with disbelieving relief. He blinked wide eyes up at Remus.

"That would be - I mean, are you sure it's allowed?" Remus nodded. "That would be incredible," Neville admitted. "I'm not much good at anything, it seems." He rubbed nervously at the scar on his jaw, and Remus looked away politely, folding his hands in front of him.

"We'll have to see about that," he soothed. "And everything looks better over a cup of cocoa, don't you agree? Come on. I promise you that we'll get this done with time to spare for sleep." Neville shrugged, venturing a smile.

"If you say so," he said. "Now how do we get off this floor?" Neville looked nervously over his shoulder. "It's just me, isn't it? The growling behind that door?" Professor Lupin blinked at the door. Something passed over his features, a shadow of thought, and disappeared as he returned his gaze to Neville.

"I believe so," Lupin murmured with a slight shrug. "It could also be the wind, you know, or Peeves playing a practical joke on you. He's awful about that. Often he needs to be taught a lesson right off, to keep from scaring the first years senseless. I'm sorry you've had such a scare, though." Neville found himself grinning with giddy relaxation. The smile was contagious, for Lupin's widened with its appearance. "Perhaps I'll change the lesson plan for this year around a bit - start you all off with a simple spell to show him you mean business. How does that sound?"

"Great," Neville said, letting Remus lead him off down the hall, and meant it. He thought to himself that Remus was his favorite person in the entire world. Certainly, he'd never in his life met anyone so nice to him, and hadn't ever expected to. Lupin even walked at just the right pace so Neville could get off the third floor as quickly as he'd been wanting to, but could keep up with the man's longer stride without feeling hurried or left behind. Again, Neville wondered at his luck. Not only had Professor Lupin rescued him, but he was going to help him with his homework. Feeling at last as if Hogwarts wasn't going to chew him up and spit him back out in a matter of days - perhaps, he thought idly, he might last an entire month, with Remus' help - Neville squared his shoulders and allowed himself to look forward to the prospect of cocoa late and night, and Remus' kind, reassuring voice saving him from certain death at the hands of Professor McGonagall.

Remus' rooms were neat and clean, simply furnished, even more simply decorated. Neville stared in silenced awe at a shelf of books which covered an entire wall from floor to ceiling.

"I have a complete library in here, I know," Remus said. He motioned towards a little table in the center of the room, and Neville sat shyly. "Now - let's see - I like my cocoa sweet. Do you?" When Neville nodded, Remus continued. "Ah. I thought so. I've a tabletop stove I normally use for cocoa, but it broke over the summer - we'll have to make do with magic, though it's hardly as good, unfortunately. I don't like to bother the House Elves." He undid the top on a bottle of milk, tapping it twice to heat it. Neville watched as he briskly mixed cocoa powder with the hot milk into two big mugs and thought he'd never be able to do even that much - the simplest of magical tasks were beyond him. "Here," Remus said, holding out the bigger mug. "There's no bad day that hot chocolate can't fix; at least, I've never had one so bad. Now, tell me," he pulled up a chair, leaned his elbows against the table and smiled encouragingly at Neville, "what is it you have to work on?" He nodded towards a roll of unused parchment, an unopened bottle of ink and a brand new quill resting on the tabletop between them. Neville realized it was lucky Professor Lupin had all these new supplies - he didn't have his own with him.

Neville swallowed the comforting cocoa and sighed as it warmed his belly.

"We have a research paper on the founding of Hogwarts for Magical History," he began. "And I've got to try and practice this Transfiguration spell if I'm ever going to get it right. Everyone else figured it out before class ended," he added. "Professor McGonagall told me I needed to perfect it by next class."

"Well then; let's start with the research paper." Lupin put down his cocoa and stood, walking over to the bookshelf on the other side of the room. "How long does it have to be?"

"One and a half feet of parchment," Neville said.

"Ah; a short one to begin with. Well, that shouldn't be so hard." Running his fingers over the rows and rows of old book bindings, Remus at last plucked a large, leather-bound volume from its place. "A History of Wizarding Schools has a chapter devoted to Hogwarts and its four founders. It's the most comprehensive, I think; and the most comprehensible." Neville nodded blankly as Remus returned to the table. He set the book down on the table, opening it to chapter seven, entitled Four Houses - Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Neville read.

Any study of Hogwarts must commence with its founding in the context of World History - Wizarding and Muggle alike. In 981, the Sylvan school had been destroyed by the Viking raids, and the nearest Wizarding school for miles was in Rome, a place to which many simply could not travel.

By 991, Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin had been fighting together for more than twenty years, trying to drive the Viking witches and wizards from British shores. It was indeed a time of turmoil, and had been for more than one hundred years. The founding of a school was an illogical venture, but Godric, who is rumored to have first presented the idea, has been widely considered a somewhat illogical man. His point was clear, however, and one that Salazar agreed with: it was impossible to fight foreign forces with mere rabble, a group of young and untrained men.

"I never knew any of this," Neville murmured, continuing.

"And I'm sure this is hardly even half the story," Lupin replied. "There are many indications that the Gryffindor and Slytherin - not to mention the Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff - we have come to know are far from the people we ought to."

Neville listened, rapt, as Lupin spoke. "In any case," Remus went on, coming back to himself and coloring just slightly, "I've always meant to study the subject beyond what was taught as core curriculum in History of Magic. Not that the core curriculum itself wasn't a fascinating story in its own right. I just don't know if I entirely believe it. But that's hardly what you're here to discuss, is it?"

"No," Neville admitted, "thought I'd really much rather it."

"Can't be helped, sometimes." Remus smiled ruefully. "I'll make another cup of cocoa and leave you to your work. I've a lesson plan for my fifth years to finish." As Remus bustled about, Neville returned to the big book open before him. The reading, which he thought at first would take forever - it was after all the longest chapter in the book - flew by in what seemed to be mere moments. He read with lingering interest of the battles waged by Godric and Salazar and the friendship forged, all the way through the murky facts of some devastating dispute, which at last led to Salazar's departure. Despite the late hour at which he finished, near on ten o'clock, he was no more tired than he had been when he'd started. With Lupin's help he finished the essay in almost no time, almost rueful he didn't have to write more. After all, the longer he spent on the essay, the less time he'd have for the Transfiguration assignment, which he was dreading.

"I'm not good at it," Neville told Remus when he had finished the essay. Remus warmed him up some more milk and cocoa powder. "It isn't just that I'm not good at it, I'm no good at it."

"To tell you the truth, neither was I. It's not a simple class to start on. You believe too much that what's in front of you has always been the way how you first saw it. More than anything else, it's your own mind that's tripping you up." Lupin sat, sipping at the cocoa in his mug. "But you have to think beyond your first impressions. Beyond what you are told with your eyes to believe. That's the principle. Professor McGonagall explained that to me once, when I was much younger. It was always rather silly of me, I realized later, that I of all people would be so fixed upon appearances that it would prevent me from becoming any better in her class. Now," he went on, picking his wand up from the table, "what is it you're trying to do?"

"Professor McGonagall said she was going to start us on an easy task - we just have to transfigure something. Anything. All we have to do is change something before us into something else, and it doesn't matter what so long as the difference is clear."

"Ah," Lupin said. "Perhaps the problem for you is that the assignment is too vague?" Neville blinked. "And you don't know what to focus on," Lupin clarified. "Nothing's going to happen if you're focusing on too much, just as it might not if you're focusing on too little. If your mind wanders, or if you're worrying about the details, or about failing, then the odds are hardly in your favor." He set his mug down before him, lifted up his wand, and tapped its lip twice with the wand he held gracefully in his hand. With a shifting of the air around it, its form shifted, changed, and became a goblet. Neville leaned forward in his seat, peering inside, and saw a deep red liquid within. "Now," Lupin continued, "you know that's a mug of cocoa, don't you?"

"It was," Neville replied, "just seconds ago, before you changed it."

"Exactly," Lupin said. "Now you try. You know it's a mug of cocoa. All you have to do is convince yourself it is." Neville gave Remus an uncertain look, but, tugging his wand out of his robes, he steeled himself. All he had to do was remember that that goblet of wine was actually a warm, plain mug with very good cocoa in it. He knew it was, after all; Remus had changed it was a simple Transfiguration spell. Just two taps of his wand and a slight furrow of his brow and Professor Lupin had turned porcelain into bronzey-gold. It had looked so simple, after all. But that was Professor Lupin. He was only Neville Longbottom, who hadn't gotten a single thing right, save for in Herbology, all day long. He could hardly expect to do what Lupin could, and certainly not so easily.

Even though Lupin had told him it was simple.

Gripping his wand in tight, shaking fingers, Neville concentrated very, very hard upon the wine glass. He lifted his wand, touched it tentatively against the side. This was a mug of cocoa, he thought. You are a mug of cocoa, and you know it. His brow furrowed together and he fought down a nagging voice that told him no matter what he did and no matter what Professor Lupin told him he could do, he was still and always would be a failure. You are a mug of cocoa, he thought again, harder, and tapped the wine glass twice.

The air around it shimmered as it had just moments before. Neville held his breath hopefully. Mug of cocoa, he thought, mug of cocoa. Remus leaned forward, eyes brightening, and after a few long and breathless seconds the goblet at last returned to what it had been, with slow deliberance.

"And it really is as simple as that," Remus said. His eyes were bright. Neville looked up at him, completely disbelieving.

"I did it," he said. "I really did it."

"Of course you did," Remus assured him. "The only thing keeping you from doing it in the first place was a very odd misconception you seemed to have - that you absolutely under no circumstances could do it. I'm glad you finally see the error in that." Remus' eyes were unfailingly kind. Neville leaned back in his chair, staring at the mug that rested, still and gloriously ordinary, on the table between them.

"I can't believe it," he said.

"Well, you're going to have to start believing it," Lupin replied. And, when Remus Lupin said it, Neville almost thought he might.

~*~

Neville woke refreshed and ready to face whatever the day had planned for him. After all, he told himself, how could anything be worse than getting lost on the third floor? Even though Remus had saved him, Neville was quite sure that nothing could possibly try to be worse than the beginning of his first day. And even if it was just as bad, he had high hopes it would work out just as well.

Unfortunately, both Gryffindors and Slytherins had Double Potions together first period. Its disastrous outcome was both incredible and epic, enough to prove Neville's assumption completely wrong.

Severus Snape, though he was Professor Lupin's age, was otherwise absolutely nothing like the kind man Neville now worshipped above all other deities. His eyes were dark and unkind, his features sharply angled, his skin sallow and his hair lank and unwashed. The only thing graceful about him were his hands, slim and precise in each movement they made. The rest of him was terrifying. Even the way he stood, a scowling black-robed figure at the head of the classroom, was intimidating.

Neville arrived not late but barely on time and therefore slid into the only seat remaining: the one next to Harry Potter. Looking around the classroom Neville saw that Ron sat next to Hermione - both of them were glaring at one another - and Draco sat next to Seamus, refusing to meet Neville's eyes. Neville was reminded of Draco's sudden disappearance the night before, and felt a strange pain in his stomach of anxiousness. Had it been on purpose? Had he left Neville there to be lost? Had he known that they had lost themselves on the third floor and soon they would be in that corridor, off-limits to all students on punishment of expulsion?

Luckily, Neville had little time to be plagued by his thoughts. As he made himself comfortable in his seat, Professor Snape cleared his throat and all noise in the classroom hushed immediately.

"Well," Professor Snape spoke at last, eyes running over every last one of the. Neville shifted uncomfortably, as if that piercing black gaze saw right through him and beyond. Perhaps it did, which was hardly a comforting thought. "I see that all of you are as wholly uninspiring as I expected you to be. I see also that none of you are even remotely aware of what an art it is to be skilled at Potions. I'm hardly surprised." Snape's eyes stopped at Neville's table as they made a second round. There was something more chilling, more frightening than ever in the professor's eyes. It was more than a scowl, more than contempt, far more than simple disdain. If Neville didn't know any better, the look was pure hatred, unfiltered and unchecked. However, Neville couldn't tell if Professor Snape was looking at him that way, or at Harry, sitting comfortably next to him. Harry, however, did not appear perturbed by the attention. He met Snape's gaze evenly and without any reaction whatsoever. A minute passed of this, the class quiet, the air crackling with tension. "You are here," Snape said suddenly, his gaze traveling on, "to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." The speech was a well practiced one, and, despite Neville's fear, he drew closer, entranced by it. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldren with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses....I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Silence followed in the wake of this speech. Neville's eyes darted curiously to Ron, who looked nervous, then to Draco, who looked fascinated. Hermione was taking notes furiously, but trying to keep her quill quiet against the parchment. Next to him, Harry appeared unmoved and uninterested. Professor Snape notice as much at the same time as Neville, and moved forward suddenly, lunging towards there desk. Neville's heart slammed against his ribcage in startlement.

"Tell me, Potter," he said, as Neville, stunned with relief, wondered how he knew Harry's name, "does this bore you?"

"Hardly, Professor Snape," Harry replied. Something in his manner brought a flush of angry color to Snape's cheeks. He leaned closer.

"Then tell me," Snape said, tone dangerous, "what you might achieve if you were to mix powdered silver with monkshood?" Harry blinked. Thoughtfulness clouded his features. The entire class held its collective breath, watching, waiting.

"Nothing," Harry answered finally, "of any importance."

"And if you added to that St. John's Wort?" Snape challenged.

"The core of a Wolfsbane potion," Harry returned. The response was even and without pause. "Which you discovered, I think, not so long ago." Again, rage mottled the color of Snape's cheeks for a moment hatred he was unable to hide. Neville hoped - prayed - that he would never do anything that would make this man hate him. The look in Snape's eyes made Neville's stomach churn, sharp shards of ice somewhere within.

"Correct," Snape said. He straightened, turned away; when he faced the class once more, his face was calm and closed, nothing but intense annoyance upon it.

It was in this way that their first Potions lesson continued. Professor Snape set them to the task o making a simple potion, as he called it, though Neville found it was nearly impossible. He was glad he was paired with Harry, who seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and when he should do it, and why. Snape hovered over them, watching, until there was an accident at the opposite corner of the room - an overflowing cauldron, it seemed. Neville watched in dread and curiosity both as Snape hurried over to clean up the mess. Harry continued with their potion, adding the proper ingredients and stirring at the proper times.

"Here," Harry said, tapping Neville's shoulder and interrupting his thoughts. "You ought to do something. Put this in." Without waiting for Neville's response, he gave him a handful of porcupine quills. "You just put them in now," Harry assured him. "That's all. It's the last ingredient of the potion."

"Well," Neville murmured, "all right." Harry's confidence was enough for him. It would have to be. Neville didn't like fire and he didn't like the look of the bubbling substance in the cauldron and he didn't like that nagging feeling he got that even the slightest step in the wrong direction meant total disaster. "Thank you," he added, smiling weakly at Harry. "I don't know what I'm doing." Harry nodded, encouraging, and Neville dropped the porcupine quills into their near-finished potion just as Professor Snape returned to linger near them, watching Harry's every move.

"No!" Snape warned, but by then, it was far too late.

Foul green smoke and a dreadful hissing sound filled the dungeon classroom. Neville watched in horror as his cauldron was eaten up by the potion within, now overflowing with acid intent. The stench was nauseating. He stumbled back, but not quickly enough to avoid a bit of the potion getting on his hands. It stung. Nothing had ever stung quite as much in all his life - and he'd once stepped by accident in a hornet's nest. He jerked back, tripping over his chair, while the potion continued to ooze over their desk and across the floor.

"Fool!" Snape exclaimed. He grabbed Neville by the collar with one hand and cleared the potion away with the other, brandishing his wand competently for all that he was clearly livid. Harry had managed to sidestep the potion's path completely, and stood now beside his chair once more, inspecting the burnt cauldron.

"Lucky that was your cauldron, not mine," he said. Professor Snape whirled, enraged, upon Harry, but as he did so Neville whimpered pain, hands covered with boils. Snape wavered between immediate punishment and seeing to it that the boy in his care got to the hospital wing. He chose the latter at last, pointing at Hermione and Ron, who were closest to them.

"You two," Professor Snape snapped, "take him to Madam Pomfrey. I don't trust this boy," he motioned angrily to Harry, behind him, "with anyone else's well-being. Well? What are you waiting for? Go!" Ron and Hermione scurried to do as they were told, bustling Neville out towards the hospital wing. Professor Snape turned his attentions once more on Harry. "Well?" he asked, voice clipped. "Do you have an explanation?"

"I told him not to put the porcupine quills in yet, Professor Snape," Harry replied. "I told him we needed to take the cauldron off the fire first, but it was too late. I couldn't stop him." Snape watched Harry, lips in a tight, thin line, eyes flashing with dark comprehension.

"Carry on," Snape said at last. He turned back to the rest of the class. "What are you doing, standing about and gaping like idiots? Carry on! Finish your potions! Now!" Everyone hurried to do as Professor Snape ordered them to. "And you, Potter," Snape continued, "will start again. I expect perfect results." While it was unnecessary to ask what would happen if Snape didn't get what he expected, Harry was nonetheless unfazed.

"Yes, professor," was all he replied, before he turned calmly back to his cauldron and began to weigh dried nettles.

~*~

"You did that on purpose."

Harry turned at the sound of Draco's voice. The halls were near empty. A group of Slytherin girls whose names he didn't remember passed by, waving at him. He waved back, then focused his attention on Draco once more.

"Did what on purpose?" he asked.

"Today. In Potions." Draco fixed Harry with a look he hoped was telling, a look he hoped said he knew that Harry knew exactly what Draco was talking about. Harry shrugged, offered Draco the shell of a grin.

"I suppose I did, then. What of it?"

"Nothing. I just thought - anyway, I was right." Draco fell into step beside Harry as Harry started walking again. "Why did you do it? That's what I wanted to ask." Harry shrugged again.

"I don't know. Thought it would be funny. It was, sort of."

"But Professor Snape," Draco began.

"Was so angry I thought his head might explode. Wasn't it great?" Harry's cheeks flushed slightly. His grin borrowed some depth from the excitement of remembering.

"But he might take points off," Draco reasoned.

"Not from his own house."

"I suppose." It was hard to remember always that he wasn't in Slytherin, as he was supposed to be. It was hard to think of himself in a different house from the boy he was walking with now. It was hard to imagine being on an opposite side of the one he was raised. He wondered how Harry could be so carefree about it. Then again, Harry hadn't gotten a Howler at breakfast his first day. And even if he had, Harry didn't seem the sort of boy who would let it trouble him all that much. "It's just," Draco continued, "I know Snape. When he gets angry, he stays angry."

"I know," Harry said. "My dad went to school with him. You should hear the stories."

"What stories?"

"Well," Harry said, "you can't be frightened of a man whose school nickname was Snivellus, now can you?" Letting that sink in, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, looking around him idly.

"Was that really his nickname?"

"Everyone used it. My dad's friend Sirius made it up. If you think telling Neville Longbottom to put porcupine quills in at the wrong time is bad, you should hear what they used to do to Professor Snape." Draco didn't know if he wanted to hear. Part of him remembered where his loyalties should lie - with friends of his family, friends of the Malfoy house. Part of him wanted to hear that not all friends of the Malfoy house were worth being friends with. Then again, he'd known Severus Snape for a long time; he was friends with Draco's father. "Maybe I'll tell you some other time," Harry said, interrupting Draco's thoughts. "This is Slytherin."

"Oh," Draco said. "Right."

"I'll see you tomorrow," Harry said. "You won't tell anyone about Neville, will you?"

"Of course not!" Draco seemed shocked Harry would even have to ask.

"Good. I didn't think so."

"You can trust me," Draco promised.

"All right. 'Night, then."

"'Night." Harry turned off in the opposite direction, leaving Draco now completely alone with himself and his wonderings. Draco made his slow way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, at last distracting himself with how his and Seamus' potion had succeeded only because he was competent enough for the both of them, and quick enough to undo all of Seamus' mistakes. It was a small triumph, but Professor Snape had seemed pleased enough with it. As Snape had known Draco since Draco's birth, had also expected him to be a Slytherin, just as his father and as his father's father and as all the Malfoy men before him, just as his bloodline dictated, it was a triumph also that he saw fit to praise him on a potion done properly.

And Severus Snape was hardly, Draco knew, in any way a forgiving man.

~*~

Neville recovered from his 'accident' in time for his first Defence Against the Dark Arts class. The classroom was a clean one, with windows wide open and cheery sunlight streaming in. In the front of the room, Professor Lupin looked older than Neville remembered him, a few silver hairs illuminated by the sun, but no less kind. The Gryffindor first years, who had approached the class warily, were impossibly relieved to find a teacher who looked at once welcoming and excited. "Come in," Lupin told them all, "come in, and sit down." They did as they were told, filing into the room and choosing their seats eagerly. Ron slid in beside Neville, asking him how he was doing.

"Fine," Neville mumbled. He showed Ron his bandaged hands. "These'll have to stay on for a while, though, Madam Pomfrey says. Itches like mad."

"That's rough," Ron said.

"I really thought Harry knew what he was doing," Neville replied.

"I bet you he did," Ron replied murderously. Before Neville was able to ask Ron what he meant by that, Professor Lupin cleared his throat at the front of the room.

"Good morning to you all," he said. His smile was the most encouraging thing Neville had seen since Potions class. "And welcome," he went on, "welcome. I'm Professor Lupin, and this," he gestured around him, "is Defence Against the Dark Arts. I shall begin here as I always do; to understand how to defend yourself against something, you must first understand that something. The Dark Arts themselves encompass a variety of subcategories - Dark Magic spells, or Curses; Dark Magic items, which come in all shapes, sizes and purposes; and Dark Creatures, who are not, despite how it may sound at first, animals at all. Rather, Dark Creatures are themselves a physical embodiment of Dark Magic; the Dark Arts made manifest in a corporeal form." He paused, as Hermione Granger's hand had shot into the air. "Yes?" he asked, smiling. "What is it?"

"But not all Dark Creatures are evil all the time. Isn't that true, Professor Lupin?" Lupin blinked, then nodded.

"Why, yes, that much is true."

"Vampires and Werewolves, for example," Hermione continued, encouraged by Remus' receptiveness, "are both considered human for part of the time. The majority of the time, in the case of the Werewolf; diurnally, for Vampires." Remus nodded again. He was still smiling.

"And yes again, Miss Granger," Remus replied. "Fifteen points for Gryffindor for such unexpected and also sensitive knowledge." Hermione beamed so brightly that it seemed she might engulf all the sunlight in the room.

"There'll be no living with her after this," Ron muttered in Neville's ear. Secretly, Neville was pleased. Remus Lupin could do no wrong in his eyes, and Hermione deserved a bit of encouragement, if only because no one else gave it to her.

"However," Remus continued, "we shan't be talking about Werewolves or Vampires just yet. They are for a far more advanced class - perhaps Sixth, or even Seventh year, shall bring talk of such Dark Creatures. For now, I thought perhaps we might begin by discussing the Banshee." Next to Hermione, Seamus shuddered. Remus noticed this, and smiled at the boy. "Again," he repeated, "the best way to conquer one's fear of something is to understand it better. In learning all we might about a Dark Creature, so shall we know how to overcome it. And in overcoming the creature itself, so shall we overcome our fear of it. Who can tell me what, exactly, a Banshee is?" Hermione's hand shot once more into the air. "Miss Granger, then." Remus nodded towards her, sitting behind a desk. He folded his hands before him, leaned forward, and listened as she spoke, more attentive than Neville had ever seen any teacher be.

"Gilderoy Lockhart's Dark Creatures of the World says," Hermione began, "that the Banshee is a Dark Creature who assumes the appearance of a woman thin as a skeleton, with long, black hair. Its screams can and will kill, without proper protection against them."

"Excellent," Remus said, "excellent again. Ten more points for Gryffindor. You clearly know a good deal, Miss Granger. Do you also know what this 'proper protection' as you so phrased it is?" Hermione shook her head, looking crestfallen. Lupin smiled at her still. "I've never met a first year who has, and it's all the better, as if you did my lesson for today would be quite dull for you, I'm afraid."

The rest of the class was spent with each and every first year paying close attention to everything Lupin had to say. He was as clever and interesting a teacher as he had been that first night with Neville. By the end of the class, Seamus was boasting about how he'd never have to worry about Banshees ever again, and Hermione was walking on clouds far above them all.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say she fancies him," Ron muttered. "Though it's better than Perce, that's all I have to say." It was hard to imagine anyone not liking Professor Lupin. He had a gentle way of talking and a welcoming air that made Neville feel comfortable in his own skin, and likewise in Lupin's classroom. In the days that were to follow, Defence Against the Dark Arts would be the one class, aside from Herbology, which brought Neville hope and relief.

It would be almost enough to combat the humiliation of Double Potions.

Almost.

But not quite.