Harry Potter and the Monster of Gryffindor

The upset Neville felt over the sudden news of his uncle’s misdoing was not about to dissipate. Although Harry was sworn to secrecy about the subject of their interview with Professor McGonagall, he gathered Hermione and Ron after class and led them down to the abandoned remains of Greenhouse 6. Neville had gone straight down, and they joined him as he was placing a tray of small terracotta pots onto the sole standing bench.

“I think we should grow some in pure… venom and some in a mix of venom and soil.”

“It’s not really venom,” Harry protested, having spent an instructive half hour in the library several weeks ago determining this.

“I’m not putting ‘slobber’ in a report,” Neville said, all his usual meekness gone around his beloved plants.

“You’re doing a report?” Ron asked, “I thought this was just some crazy idea of Harry’s.”

“That’s Professor Sprout’s condition for using the greenhouse. We give her a neat written report when we’ve finished.”

“Well, I would have suggested we take notes anyway. All the great scientists keep lab books. Just because we’re experimenting with magic doesn’t mean we shouldn’t follow suit.” Hermione took parchment and quill from her bag as she spoke.

“Uh-hunh,” Ron muttered, unenthusiastically.

Harry and Neville borrowed dragon-hide gloves from Professor Sprout and mixed soil and ‘venom’, keeping each head separate. Harry didn’t think there would be a difference, but ever since reading about runespoors he wasn’t about to take chances. To satisfy himself he also made a cocktail of ‘venom’ from each head and made a fourth set of samples. Ron followed behind them, carefully measuring seeds into each pot and saucer of pure ‘venom’ Harry placed in front of each pot.

At Hermione’s insistence they made three soil-venom pots of four conditions and, owing to constraints of Harry’s slobber gathering, one saucer of pure ‘venom’ for each. Ron surprised her by pointing out that, really, they should have a plain soil condition. This led to debate over whether they should use pure water in a saucer, or whether to use their own spit. Neville resolved the argument by fetching a sixth saucer. They all spat into it, Hermione with a look of disgust, and Ron sprinkled the seeds as before. Hermione re-drew her table to take notes on, Neville watered the whole lot, and the four of them returned to the castle.

Neville picked at dinner, Harry saw, but seemed a lot calmer for the hours spent surrounded by soil. There was a tricky moment when Ron asked, “So, what did McGonagall want?”

“Professor McGonagall,” interjected Percy, who was sitting near them.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Hermione admonished.

“Nothing really. Neville’s got to stay for the Easter holidays. So, I’ll have company!” Harry tried to sound as bright and offhand as he could.

“Oh, is your family alright, Nev?”

“Y-yes. It’s just-”

“They’re busy,” Harry said firmly over Neville’s obvious discomfort.

Seamus’s deadline for dealing with Nagara arrived the following day. As no further incidents had occurred since the morning with Trevor, and as it was clear that neither the toad nor Harry had suffered long term damage from the occasion, and as he could see that Harry and his friends were actively seeking a solution, the Irish boy dropped his threats, and Nagara was allowed to continue basking openly in the dormitory.

***

This turned out to be just as well, as the following day the Daily Prophet headline read “School governor investigated for child abuse”. Although not all the students took the newspaper, by the end of the day it seemed that everyone knew Neville’s family was the one in question. By the end of their second period the stares and whispers got too much for Neville and he hid in the dormitories. Harry and Ron took him lunch and a formal apology from Professor McGonagall and the WCS, both saying that they had no idea how the information had been leaked, and that an investigation into Rita Skeeter’s informant would be undertaken. This didn’t cheer Neville up.

“It’ll blow over,” Ron assured Neville. “My dad works at the ministry, and he says every headline only lasts a few days.”

“And it’ll make the WCS speed up. My uncle always said that the government couldn’t be trusted to do anything without the newspapers reminding them of their jobs,” Harry added. As a belated thought he appended, “no offense to your dad, Ron.” Ron merely shrugged.

These reassurances didn’t tempt Neville from the dormitory until just before classes ended, when, as Hermione ascertained, various portraits had seen him heading for the greenhouses. Professor Sprout, when the three friends trooped down there, stood in the doorway of Greenhouse One like a mama badger guarding her sett, and told them that Neville didn’t want to see anybody. She unbent enough to allow them to bring along some dinner later but sent them all to the library with a steely look they had never seen before in her round, cheery face.

***

Harry proved correct: the very next day Neville received a surprise at breakfast. The Gryffindor first years had been amused watching Suku’s increasingly boisterous attempts to disembowel a sausage. The little owl was flinging bits of sausage meat around, and those out of range found the squeals of those being spattered by flying meat rather funny. The attention of the table was diverted, however, by the flash of white appearing among the grey and brown of the other post owls. The white owl, a snowy owl, landed in front of Neville with a professional manner and held out a leg, to which was affixed a note.

Neville took the note gingerly and read it as the girls began cooing over the new owl. Suku, seeing that he wasn’t the centre of attention anymore, shook the sausage again to recapture attention. The snowy owl stretched out a wing and, seemingly co-incidentally, cuffed the little owl with it. Suku gave an indignant scream and fluttered up to Harry’s shoulder, wedging the remaining sausage behind Harry’s ear to eat it properly. Harry grimaced. The snowy owl clicked its beak and looked very superior. Harry couldn’t blame it in that instant.

Neville passed the note to Harry and began admiring the snowy owl as well. Harry read:

Dear Mr. Longbottom,

My name is Andromeda Tonks, and I have been assigned as your Wizarding Children’s Services representative. I am pleased to introduce myself to you now, although I regret the circumstances that have hastened this letter. Please be assured that we are looking into how information was leaked.

The owl who brought you this letter has been purchased for you by Hogwarts School. I ask that you please make use of her to write to me about anything that concerns you. Even if it is not concerned with your family situation, I will always be delighted to hear from you. My own daughter has just completed her years at Hogwarts, so I am not unfamiliar with the trials of growing up.

I have made an appointment with Professor McGonagall to be in the school on Saturday to interview you and some of your friends. Don’t be alarmed: we want to make sure that you are happy and healthy at Hogwarts while we make sure your home situation is also safe. I am sorry to take up your weekend, but I trust you will understand.

Yours,
Andromeda Tonks, Mrs.
Wizarding Children’s Services Case Worker

PS the owl does not have a name, so please feel free to give her whatever name you choose.

Neville’s look of uncomprehending but proud ownership lasted all the way up to the owlery and back down to History of Magic. The stultifying effect of Professor Binns’s droning lecture on the battle tactics of Emeric the Evil damped the mood of all the first years a little, but lunchtime, and the reminder of what had last occurred at the same table that morning brought a look of happiness back to Neville’s chubby cheeks.

That evening, as the Gryffindor boys got ready for bed Neville asked Harry how he had chosen Suku’s name.

“I wanted something to mean ‘family’. I’ve never got on with my aunt and uncle, so I thought, since Suku’s my new family… anyway, I asked around at the Leaky Cauldron and one witch told me that Suku means, sort of, found-family in Swedish or Finnish or something. I liked it.”

“It suits him. I want to find a good name for- for my owl.”

“How did you name Trevor?”

“Uncle Algie named him.”

“Ah.”

“Did you think about other names? Before you found out about Suku, I mean.”

“I thought about Hedwig, the patron saint of orphans, you know. But then she turned out to be a woman, so that was no good. Not exactly appropriate for you.”

“I don’t know,” Neville looked sadly at Trevor, who gulped wetly in his hands, “I don’t think there’s a patron saint of people whose parents have to be in hospital for the rest of their lives.”

Harry sat next to Neville on the bed. “Maybe not, but she’s your owl, not mine. You need to pick a name you like.”

“I like Hedwig, though.”

“Then call her Hedwig. I certainly don’t mind. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to call her that.”

“No, I want to.” Neville’s voice was a little stronger.

“Then tomorrow you and I will go and tell her that she has a new name.”

***

Ron also proved correct. Neville endured a week of interest before it became common knowledge and faded from the minds of almost all students. Harry, Ron, and Hermione continued to support him, and Hermione frequently reminded him to write to ‘Andi’, as Mrs. Tonks had introduced herself. Their interviews had been unremarkable. Andi had asked about how Neville spoke of his home, whether he showed signs of distress at the idea of returning, or, conversely, of remaining at Hogwarts. Harry told her that Malfoy was bullying Neville about the whole matter, and she promised to have a word with him.

The day after Andi came to interview them Ron celebrated his birthday, providing a brief distraction for the four. Despite his direful predictions of having potions and history of magic on his birthday, something their schedules did not permit, the day was a bright Sunday. Ron received a large cake from his mother which he shared with his three friends by the lakeside in the sunshine. Neville looked happier than he had done since meeting Professor McGonagall. They idly revisited the idea of meeting in Diagon Alley for ice creams on Neville’s birthday. Hermione wasn’t sure she’d be able to join them but promised to ask her parents.

Hedwig became a regular at the Gryffindor table, gliding in to see Neville every breakfast time. She put extra food on his plate when Malfoy had teased Neville green, and bridled in defence of her new master when Malfoy came uncomfortably to apologise a few days later. She took none of Suku’s mischief, and frequently chastened the smaller owl for what, it was evident, she considered unbecoming conduct.

Hermione took a weekend to draw up ‘revision timetables’ for them all. She told Harry and Ron that it was to distract Neville, but they knew that she was taking their studies very seriously. The finer weather pulled Harry, Ron and Neville outside, frequently to the ruins of greenhouse where their little aconite plants were developing daily. Hermione joined them on these excursions, but refused to lollygag by the lake, insisting she had to return to the library.

During the Easter Holidays Hermione, between nagging the boys about revision, doing the mountain of homework the teachers had suddenly piled on, and reminding Neville to write to Andi, was still working on the problem of Nagara’s eyes. Harry had suggested cutting a little bit off the invisibility cloak to wrap around her eyes, but Ron and Neville had been so horrified by the suggestion that Harry didn’t have the courage to do it.

Hermione had developed a theory, based on tests with a reluctant Harry and Nagara in a disused classroom, that there was something, to use her phrase, ‘beamed out from Nagara’s eyes when they get hot, but it gets absorbed by metals’. She had come to this conclusion after Harry and sat for hours watching Nagara in a mirror while she read their Charms textbook to him. A similar experiment the preceding day, accompanied by the Potions textbook, during which Nagara and Harry stared at each other face to face had resulted in Harry’s arms to the elbows turning to stone. He had been unable to go to dinner and had, as a result, been quite cross with Hermione.

Harry took to wandering the borders of the Forbidden Forest, after promising Hagrid he’d never go in. Nagara, under no such promise, slithered in and out of the trees, hunting larger prey than she could get in the castle. These hunts weren’t always successful, but in the evenings of the Easter holidays she was usually able to snatch a vole or small rat. Once she slithered down a badger sett and had to retreat hastily, and once she disturbed a nest of bowtruckles who would have hurt her quite badly had they not been small enough for her to freeze by looking at them.

Twice Harry had to hastily return to the castle at the sound of soft voices. One of them sounded like Professor Snape and, while the man continued to ignore Harry in potions class, he also suspected about Nagara. Harry didn’t want to give him any more reasons to investigate. He was almost sure the teacher could read minds. 

During several of their hunting trips Harry saw Hagrid cutting and stacking firewood. The weather was getting warmer, but the fire never seemed to be out in the gamekeeper’s hut. Harry wondered whether he was feeling poorly to want the cabin so hot, but reasoned that, if he were, he wouldn’t be out doing the hard work.

***

At the end of the Easter holidays the four noticed Hagrid’s absence from the staff table with concern. They decided to pay him a visit that evening to make sure he was alright.

Hagrid was cagey when he let them into his hut, glancing nervously at the fire, which was burning hot in spite of the weather. Ron and Harry looked at it too. A dark shape was just visible in the heart of the flame.

“Bloody Hell!” Ron exclaimed, inelegantly.

“You’ve got an ashwinder!” Harry said, delightedly, at the same time.

“That’s not an ashwinder.” Ron said, sounding strangled, “Hagrid, how did you get a dragon egg?”

“Won it,” answered Hagrid, proudly. “Got inter a card game down the pub, and won it off the bloke.”

“Hagrid, it’s against the law,” Neville croaked.

“I’ve bin ter the library, done some readin’. That’s a Norwegian Ridgeback. They’re rare, them.”

“Not a Peruvian Vipertooth, then?” Harry asked rhetorically, remembering an earlier conversation about Hagrid’s favourite dragon.

“I weren’t goin’ ter be picky, ‘Arry,” Hagrid sounded reproachful.

“Hagrid,” Hermione interjected, sounding like she was fishing for sanity, “you live in a wooden house. Dragons breathe fire, don’t they?”

“’Course. That’s why it’s gotta be in the fire, see. The mothers breathe on ‘em.”

“Hagrid, dragon keeping was outlawed by the warlock’s convention of 1709,” Ron said, showing an unusual knowledge of dates. He shrugged at Hermione’s surprised look, “Charlie told me.”

“Don’t you lot worry about it. They’re just misunderstood, that’s all.” Hagrid refused to listen to reason, saying that he had everything in hand, and had been reading about how to keep dragons, and that they were merely misunderstood, and that a little kindness went a long way with animals. Overall, the visit ended rather damply.

April melted away in a flurry of worry about Neville, and Hagrid’s dragon. They received a note from Hagrid informing them that ‘its hatching’, and were lucky enough to be there when it finally broke out of its shell. Harry thought it looked like an ugly leathery umbrella, but Hagrid was enchanted by it. Harry mentally measured it. Snout to tail it was about 18 inches. Nagara had almost trebled in size in her first month. That would give the dragon a length of…four and a half feet. He pointed this out to Hagrid as they looked at the hatchling.

Hagrid reached out a hand to stroke the dragon, and it snapped at his fingers, showing minute fangs. “I know ‘e can’t stay ‘ere, but I want ‘im ter have the best start in life.” The dragonet followed Hagrid’s fingers with its snout, turning right around on the table. “Bless ‘im, look. ’E knows ‘is mummy.”

Harry was well aware that he had an illegal serpent draped around his shoulders at that moment, so was, technically, in no position to argue, but he felt that there was a world of difference between Nagara and the dragonet. “What if someone reports you? Hagrid, it’s illegal. Prison levels of illegal.”

“When ‘e’s old enough I’ll get ‘im set up in the forest, but… look at ‘im,” he smiled fondly at the dragonet, which sneezed, sending sparks across the wooden table.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville all looked. Harry wondered whether Hagrid was seeing the same dragon they all were.