Showtime at Hogwarts

On one of the last days before the new school year began, Harry Potter woke up to the sounds of his Uncle Vernon Dursley pounding on his bedroom door. He squinted at the watch on his wrist to see that it was nearly half past ten. Not too early, but he would’ve liked to sleep a little bit longer. His owl Hedwig was hooting contentedly once she saw Harry stirring. He slipped on his glasses and slumped out of bed, walking over to her cage.

“Morning Hedwig,” he said through a yawn, unlatching the cage and stroking her white feathers. She nipped at him affectionately before he closed it back up. “You know I can’t let you out during the day. Sorry.”

“POTTER!! Stop messing with that ruddy pigeon and get out here!!” Mr. Dursley yelled at him. Harry scratched his head unconsciously while walking over to the door. He opened it reluctantly and stepped out into the hallway to see what his uncle wanted from him.

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t you ‘yes, sir’ me you little ingrate!” Mr. Dursley growled at him. “I need you to scrub the floor in the entry way and kitchen. Then you need to dust in the living room. Then I’ll have you go out in the front lawn and pick the weeds - and no funny business when you’re out there!” Harry rolled his eyes. “Just attend to your duty at hand. The McGee’s are coming over for dinner tonight, and I want this place tidy.”

“Anything else?”

Mr. Dursley appeared as though he were about to nod, but scrunched up his nose instead, trying to think of something else he could tell his nephew to do. “Er- yes. Dudley needs some new things at the store, so when we get back, come back and see me when you’re finished with those tasks,” he said, and as Harry turned, he was sure he heard him mutter, “I’ll have thought of something by then.”

Harry was about to retreat back to the privacy of his own room for a few minutes when his uncle bellowed at him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to change. Is that all right with you, or would you rather have me picking weeds in my pajamas?” Harry asked coolly.

“Fine! But be quick about it!” Harry’s uncle trudged past his room and down the stairs as he was slamming the door shut. He couldn’t believe it. This was not the kind of day he had had in mind. And since when did Dudley need anything from the store? He had just had a two-months-after-his-birthday party! Harry went down the stairs as the Dursleys were walking out the door, fixed a bucket of floor cleaner and water, grabbed a sponge, and walked back out to the foyer, slamming the bucket on the floor. He opened his mouth and started muttering in melody.

It's the hard-knock life for me!
It's the hard-knock life for me!
'Stead of treated I get tricked!
'Stead of kisses I get kicked!
It's the hard-knock life!

Harry stood up and kicked the bucket over, spilling the contents over the rest of the floor.

Got no folks to speak of, so,
It's the hard-knock row I ho!
Cotton blankets 'stead of wool!
Empty belly 'stead of full!
It's the hard-knock life!

Walking into the living room, not caring that his wet shoes were leaving marks on the carpet, he lay down on the sofa and looked up at the ceiling.

Sometimes it feels like the wind is always howling,
Sometimes it seems like there's never any light!
Once a day, I just wanna throw the towel in,
It's easier than puttin' up a fight.

He stood up and slowly walked back to the entryway to continue scrubbing.

No one's there when my dreams at night get creepy!
No one cares if I grow or if I shrink!
No one dries when my eyes get wet an' weepy!
From all the torture you would think this place would stink!
Ohhhh!!!!!!!

Harry’s hands were raised in the air, sponge in his right hand, when Mr. Dursley opened the door quickly. He stood aghast at Harry, who quickly brought his arms down, looking away from his uncle.

“I er… forgot my hat.” Mr. Dursley walked up the stairs and out of sight to his bedroom, then came back down shortly, hat in place on his head. “Enough of this singing rubbish,” he said. “Get back to work.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry answered, face slightly pink. Mr. Dursley shut the door once more. Harry squatted back down onto the floor, and continued to scrub in silence, but merely muttering, “I hate this place.”

* * * * *

Later that night, Hermione Granger had found herself lying on the bed in her room. She was all ready for bed, and sipping on some green tea. She had two stacks of books setting on her desk: one pile of books which she wanted to complete before holidays were over, and one pile that were books she’d already finished. The book she was reading at the moment was called Madam Quinchell’s Tales of the Heart: Love Stories for the Teenage Witch. Ron had been surprised at her when she told him in her most recent letter that she was reading it.

“You’re reading a fluffy book about love?! What, isn’t Vicky fulfilling your romantic fantasies well enough? Besides, since when do you read anything that’s not non-fiction?” he had written back. She simply smiled and shook her head at this.

“You’re so jealous,” she said out loud after reading Ron’s letter. But she wasn’t entirely sure. She was just going off of her instinct, which was normally pretty accurate when it came to tests and recalling information she’d read. But when it came to boys, it was usually quite wrong. Love wasn’t something you could just memorize facts about; there were no proven theories in the realm of love. It was oddly similar to Divination, a subject that Hermione hated. This is why she also never bothered with love. It was too cloudy, and made her uncomfortable.

But for a while now, since the last few months of fifth year, her feelings for Ron were growing stronger than ever. They’d been friends from their first year of course, but she really started to appreciate her time with Ron more than with Harry. She even felt guilty because she often found herself wanting Harry to leave the two of them alone. She had known she had liked Ron since their third year, but never admit to herself that she did. She didn’t want to deal with love. But when things started to develop between her and Victor Krum during the Triwizard Tournament their fourth year, she knew that she really wanted Ron, and couldn’t deny it any longer.

She looked up from her book for the umpteenth time and sighed. She just couldn’t concentrate on that book. She’d read the same sentence over three to four times before comprehending anything. Her mind had been swirling with all sorts of different thoughts, mainly on Ron. Every story she had read in that book so far had made her wonder about him, and this one wasn’t any different. It was hopeless. She put the bookmark back in, slammed the book shut, set it on her bedside table, and broke out into song.

I just can't get you out of my head,
Boy your loving is all I think about!
I just can't get you out of my head,
Boy it's more than I dare to think about!

Every night, ev-er-y day,
Just to be there in your arms!

Hermione sat up in her bed, turned to where Ron would have been if he was in the room, and continued.

Won't you stay?
Won't you lay?
Stay forever and ever and ever and ever..

The beat in her head was too much for her to handle lying down in her bed. She swung her legs over the side and stood up in the middle of her neatly kept room, and started doing some risqué choreography she’d seen on a music video once.

I just can't get you out of my head,
Boy your loving is all I think about!
I just can't get you out of my head,
Boy it's more than I dare to think about!

There's a dark secret in me
Don't leave me locked in your heart

There was now music all around, and she shut off the lights in her room, and turned on the half-broken disco light Ron’s father, who was fascinated with muggles, had given her at the end of last term. She continued to dance around the room.

Set me free,
Feel the need in me!
Set me free,
Stay forever and ever and ever and ever….

I just can't get you out of my head,
Boy your loving is all I think about!
I just can't get you out of my head,
Boy it's more than I dare to think about!

Hermione could’ve gone on and sang that catchy chorus forever, but she suddenly realized she was out of breath. She opened the door of her room and walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. When she came back to her room, she fell onto her bed, quite worn out from all the exertion she had put forth, and fell asleep on top of the covers, the disco light still flashing and whirring all about.

* * * * *

Neville Longbottom, however, was wide-awake under his covers in his own room at that very moment. That day he had went with his grandmother, whom he lived with, to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries to visit his parents. They had been driven insane when followers of the Dark Lord Voldemort, otherwise known as Deatheaters, tortured them with the Cruciatus curse for information. The result was devastating to say the least.

Neville had been especially effected by this visit, his mother, Alice, had given him a hug before he left. He had smiled and walked out of the room calmly, but as soon as the door had closed, he sat down on the bench in the hallway and broke down into a silent fit of tears. He hated that his parents were forced to live this way. He hated that he had to suffer because of the bastards that followed Voldemort. And most of all, he hated that his couldn’t even recognize him as their own son.

He lay in bed, staring unfocussed at the ceiling, thinking of that hug. As much as he wanted that hug to mean that she finally realized who he was, he hadn’t needed the doctors to tell him she just thought him a friendly face that visited. But then it hit him. The time was coming when he’d finally make it up to them. It was time for him to stop being timid, stop being so self-conscious. If Voldemort and his followers were coming back into power, he needed to make some changes. But he’d be ready for them.

“This is the moment,” he whispered. “This is the day when I send all my doubts and demons on their way.” His voice slipped into a soft baritone as he heard the all too familiar tune floating through his head.

Every endeavor,
I have made ever -
Is coming into play,
Is here and now - today!

He sat up in his bed, determined.

This is the moment,
This is the time,
When the momentum and the moment
Are in rhyme!

Give me this moment -
This precious chance -
I'll gather up my past
And make some sense at last!

Throwing his comforter off and getting to his feet, Neville walked to the door, and began walking down the hallway.

This is the moment,
When all I've done -
All the dreaming,
Scheming and screaming,
Become one!

This is the day -
See it sparkle and shine,
When all I've lived for
Becomes mine!

For all these years,
I've faced the world alone,
And now the time has come
To prove to them
I've made it on my own!

Even more determined than before, he slowly started climbing the stairs to the second floor, smiling proudly at the pictures of his parents on the wall.

This is the moment -
My final test -
Destiny beckoned,
I never reckoned,
Second Best!

I won't look down,
I must not fall!
This is the moment,
The sweetest moment of them all!

He turned the corner into the guest bedroom, the room that had once been his father’s. While the key was soaring up once more, he made a jog over to the French doors leading out to the balcony, swung them open, and belted out his proclamation.

This is the moment!
Damn all the odds!
This day, or never,
I'll sit forever
With the gods!

One foot in front of the other, Neville walked to the edge of the balcony. He placed his feet on the lower rung of the railing and stepped up, not wavering or faltering one bit, and took a deep breath.

When I look back,
I will always recall,
Moment for moment,
This was the moment,
The greatest moment
Of them all!

With the final note being belted to it’s end, Neville stood propped up on the railing. He stepped down with care, and stared out into the night.

“Neville!! Neville Longbottom!! What are you doing out there?” his grandmother shouted at him in fear. He turned around and ran over to her. “I saw you standing on the railing!! Are you okay? Oh, Neville,” she said, embracing him. “You poor thing! I know that your parents are - it’s such a horrible situation, their lives are just dreadful I know, darling, but Neville,” she said through tears. “You mustn’t end your own life!”

Neville pulled back from his grandmother. “I know Gran! I know. I wasn’t doing that at all! I’ve never even thought of doing that! But Gran, it’s time to stop grieving. It’s time to stop hoping against hope that they’ll one day be all ri-”

“Stop hoping? Neville! What are you saying?!”

“No! That’s not what I meant!” Neville cried. “I mean hoping isn’t enough anymore. It’s time to do something. Now is the time. This is the moment, Gran!”

Mrs. Longbottom pulled away from him, still holding his hands. “What do you mean?” she asked, shocked at this revelation.

“Voldemort is the reason for their suffering, Gran - for Mom and Dad’s suffering - and for everyone else’s as well. That’s why I’m going to make a difference. I’m going to be out there,” he pointed out into the dark city, “helping to take him down. I’m going to make it it up to them, Gran.” He looked down, took a deep breath, and looked back to his grandmother. “He’s coming back, but this time… this time he’s not getting away with it. This time, he’s going to get his arse kicked.”

* * * * * * * * * *