Chapter 4 Tearing Down, Building Up

The first weekend at school arrived and Lockhart was tempted to prevent the Slytherins from taking the field from Gryffindor. Then he realized it was a perfect opportunity to deepen the divide between Ron and Harry. So, early Saturday morning he was visiting with Hagrid, nattily dressed and wearing robes of palest mauve, cheerfully explaining how to keep kelpies out of a well, how Hagrid could ask for his advice anytime, and how he had banished a banshee. He wanted to maintain the fiction of Gilderoy being a right prat for a little while.

After hearing Oliver question Colin's presence in the Quidditch stands through his listening charm on Harry, Lockhart hustled right on over, using a Notice-Me-Not charm in case he arrived too soon. His timing was exquisite, he arrived just as Ron started coughing up slugs and missing the insult to Hermione. He allowed his Notice-Me-Not charm slowly to dissipate as he walked up.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," said Harry to Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the pair of them pulled Ron up by the arms.

"What's all this then," Lockhart interrupted, beaming his brightest smile at the two teams. "Did I see this idiot actually hex himself?" The Slytherins, trying to appear sombre in front of the Professor, dissolved into laughter again. The Gryffindor team, still angry, were nonetheless gritting their teeth to avoid laughing at Ron's predicament — especially his twin brothers.

"We were just going to take Ron to Hagrid's to see if he could help with . . . this," Hermione explained.

"No need for that, no need at all! I, the great Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor can take care of this without any trouble at all! This is right up my alley!"

As Gilderoy leaned closer and pretended to study the young man, Ron, despite the slugs he was coughing up, got a panicky look in his eyes. Harry looked almost as panicked as Ron did, but Hermione appeared thrilled.

Lockhart looked down at Ron's broken wand, which was still spitting tiny sparks. "Oh, dear," the Professor said. "If that was the wand you used, I think I should take you to Madam Pomfrey. There's no telling what the actual spell was that hit you. Your . . . wand . . . might have malfunctioned and changed the spell substantially. And as any Witch will tell you, a defective wand is a serious issue. You should always keep your wand well-polished and in perfect working order, right ladies?"

The Witches present all blushed as they nodded in agreement. Ron may have blushed as well, but his slugfest had already turned his face red so it was difficult to tell. The Wizards were all laughing, except Harry who looked puzzled.

The Professor straightened. "Naturally, I could fix this myself. But it is Hogwarts' Policy to take a student to the Resident Healer in such a situation. And I wouldn't want to violate policy, now would I?" He glanced at the students waiting for the nods affirming that he shouldn't do that. "What kind of professional would I be if I did that in front of students? Even we Professors must obey the rules, you know." He smiled and raised an eyebrow, as if confiding in friends.

Hermione looked conflicted between following rules, and a Professor's lead, and wanting immediately to help her friend who had tried, and failed, so chivalrously to defend her.

Gilderoy took Ron's arm from Harry, preventing them from leaving before Lockhart was ready.

He looked over at Colin Creevey and smiled, artfully turning Ron so that in any pictures it would appear that he was helping the poor child.

"Now that we have that sorted, why don't you get back to your pickup game?"

"What?" said Oliver. "We had the field booked for practice this morning and now these Slytherins are trying to steal it from us!" The other team members all nodded.

"We have a note from Professor Snape saying we can use the field to train our new Seeker and work with our new brooms!" declared Flint, his team nodding behind him. He waved the note.

Lockhart's smile broadened. "Why, I don't see the problem with that in the slightest." Both teams looked at him as if he were barmy.

"I'm sure that both teams," he turned his beaming smile on them as he placed a hand on his hip and struck a pose while maintaining his grip on Ron's arm with the other, "need practice now that summer hols are over. Even the professional teams spend a few weeks just reviewing their old plays, working the kinks out, and getting back into shape before they try anything new at the beginning of their season," he said, again as if confiding a secret.

"In fact," he said cheerily, "I think you should have a practice game. What better way to work off the summer doldrums than a jolly good friendly match!"

He ignored the evil eyes each team gave the other while the captains stared at him, aghast at the thought of cooperating.

"Yes, that's just the ticket!" he said. He waited a moment. "Well, what are you waiting for?" He made shooing motions with his free hand. "Get to it! Gryffindor can take this goal," he pointed to his left. "And Slytherin that one," he pointed to his right. "Go on. I have no doubt you all will have a fabulous time!"

Neither team was happy with the Professor, but both knew better than to object. Less than a minute later, both teams were on their brooms and in the air.

It would have been hilarious to remain and watch as the two teams tried to beat each other half-to-death without a referee to stop them, but he knew that no real harm would come. The Slytherins would need weeks of practice before they completely adapted to their new brooms, throwing off their timing and aim. They would spend more time today avoiding crashing into the stands and each other than trying to hit the other team. And those same handling problems would keep the Slytherins safe from the Gryffindors — they would never be where the Gryffindors expected them to be. Any accidents would be just that. And most likely self-inflicted.

Hermione began to follow them as Harry/Gilderoy started dragging Ron off to see Madam Pomfrey. He planned to use the longest route possible, of course, while also walking as slow as he could manage without it being obvious.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" he said over his shoulder, giving her a brilliant smile showing his perfect teeth. "You can remain here. Your concern for a fellow student does you credit, even if he is unworthy of it. I assure you that Mr. Weasley is in my very capable hands. I will deliver him to Madam Pomfrey safe and sound, I promise.

"If you don't want to watch your boyfriend, Mr. Potter, why don't you visit with Hagrid?" She blushed red again at his insinuation of her relationship with Harry. "I was just at his hut, telling him an exciting story out of my book Break with a Banshee, he was quite interested. He's such a nice fellow and he told me he's so looking forward to seeing you and Mr. Potter this morning." She stopped uncertainly, and he waved her off towards the Quidditch stands. "Mr. Weasley will re-join you in no time at all, I'm sure!" he said as the two headed for the Castle.

As soon as they were inside, he surreptitiously cast a spell that reinforced the slug spell. That made the boy temporarily impervious to low-powered healing spells, making Madam Pomfrey's job much harder. Knowing the woman as well as he did, Gilderoy knew Ron wouldn't get out of the Infirmary until dinner at the earliest. He might not get out until after supper this evening.

Then he conjured a bucket for the boy, "Don't want to upset Mr. Filch, do we?" And while appearing solicitous of the boy's condition, he actually did his best to delay their arrival at the Hospital Wing. The stairs were amusingly cooperative in that respect — they went past the third floor at least four times.

Along the way, he said, "What a delightful couple Mr. Potter and Miss Granger would make, don't you think?" What a great prank, asking questions while the victim couldn't answer. Hermione's dentist parents would be proud of him.

"She's so smart — a perfect match for him, don't you agree? Plus, she's going to be quite pretty in a few years and unlike yourself, Mr. Potter can easily afford to buy her the things she deserves. She's rather a bookworm, I've been told, and he is quite rich." He paused, and then continued as if just struck by the thought, "Why, he can buy her a whole library if she wants and barely dent his fortune! And her wardrobe! Ha! He can dress her in the finest Acromantula silks out of his daily pocket money."

Ron made a choking sound, but Gilderoy wasn't certain if it was because of his comment or a particularly large slug. Not that he cared.

"And he shows such restraint, keeping his grades only a little better than yours when he could easily out do you, like she does. I can tell such things, you know. Finding monsters all over the world gives you the ability to measure people accurately when you meet them. You must be great friends, right?"

There was that peculiar noise again. Maybe not as great friends as they had been five minutes ago.

"Although I do wonder why he hasn't offered to buy you a new wand, considering how rich he is. He could make it an early Christmas present." The walked a few steps in silence except for Ron's regurgitating slugs. "That's what I would do if I were your best friend," said Gilderoy. "Best friends buy each other presents at Christmas, and as many knuts you get as an allowance, why Harry has ten times — no, a hundred times — that many galleons! Did you realize that? He could buy a wand and not miss the galleons he spent, no more than you would miss spending a knut to buy a candy. But I'm sure you don't care, do you? You're just that kind of friend, never jealous or upset that your friend has so much more money and fame than you ever will have. You're such a good friend to be perfectly happy to stand in his shadow, knowing you'll never have it as easy as he does. Yes, as famous as Mr. Potter is, things will just naturally come his way without him even having to try to get them. People will shower him with attention, gifts, and opportunities simply because he is Harry Potter. Why, with his fame, I'm sure he could get the Seeker position with Chudley Cannons without even having to attend a tryout session, as you would have to do. Imagine just what you would do if you had what he does!"

Yep, definitely, Ron was trying to say something but the slugs were coming too fast. And based on the look in his eyes, he hadn't anything nice to say.

"Unless," and here Gilderoy/Harry stopped. He had had a brainstorm! "Unless you're one of those Wizards who secretly enjoys pain and being humiliated." He stared innocently at the boy. "Do you believe he lets you hang around him just so he can look better because you are so pitiful at casting spells and studying? That would be right humiliating, wouldn't it? For those who appreciate such things, why that would be the perfect relationship!"

Ron looked horrified at that thought, getting out a frantic "No!" even as he coughed up another slug.

The Wizard ignored the boy's frantic denial. "Well, never fear, my young Wizard, your secret is safe with me! I wouldn't dream of spreading gossip like that." They resumed walking.

Ron managed to say, "I'm . . . ," before another batch of slugs burst forth.

"However," Gilderoy/Harry continued, blithely ignoring Ron's struggling protests, "I will have to tell the Headmaster and your Head of House of your predilections so that they can keep an eye on you. We wouldn't want those little humiliation and pain games of yours getting carried away and actually causing you permanent physical harm!"

Ron looked positively desperate, "No! No!" And was again interrupted by more slugs.

"Excellent, I'm so glad you agree."

The Hospital Wing doors finally came into sight. "Ah, here we are," Harry/Gilderoy, guiding the sick boy with his nearly full bucket of slugs through the doors. "Madam Pomfrey," he called loudly and jovially, "We have need of your assistance."

As the Witch hurried over, the Wizard turned to the boy and added, loudly, "You should seriously consider confiding in your only two friends. I'm sure they would understand your unique needs. If you want, I can even broach the subject to them for you so they can properly maintain the best levels of humiliation and not leave you unsatisfied."

Ron looked like he might faint at any moment.

Harry knew Madam Pomfrey passionately hated people telling her how to do her job, which he proceeded to do. She chased the irritatingly and apparently useless Professor out of her ward in under a minute. The hex he dodged from her as he reached the doors was surely just an accident. She was a Healer, after all.

(◎_⊙)

Sunday, the last day of Harry's detention and after a gruelling evening addressing letters and listening to his D.A.D.A. Professor discuss his books, interspaced with advice on how to woo Witches, especially a certain bushy-haired bookworm know-it-all, Harry heard a voice, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

§Come . . . come to me. Let me rip you . . . . Let me tear you . . . . Let me kill you . . . .§

"What?" the student said loudly.

"I know!" said Lockhart. "Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!"

"No," said Harry frantically. "That voice!"

"Sorry?" said Lockhart, pretending to look puzzled. "What voice?"

"That — that voice that said — didn't you hear it?"

Lockhart looked at Harry in high astonishment.

"What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you're getting a little drowsy? Great Scott — look at the time! "We've been here nearly four hours! I'd never have believed it — the time's flown, hasn't it?"

Gilderoy sighed as the door closed behind Harry, rubbing the side of his face tiredly. Now the game began in earnest.

(⊙_◎)

Breakfast Monday morning was another win for Lockhart. He hadn't planned to do this particular task until much later, but when opportunity appears . . . . And knowing he was helping Neville so early helped assuage his guilt at seeing the boy die defending a Muggle-born family and giving him time to escape after destroying the Hufflepuff Cup's Horcrux.

"Merlin, Hermione! This year is going to be awful," the human garbage disposal said. "What with all the extra work from that git D.A.D.A. professor, and in addition to all our other classes, I think that before the year ends I'll be in the magically exhausted section of the Infirmary," complained Ron as they entered the Great Hall ahead of several Slytherins.

"Actually, it's not that difficult, Ron," Hermione admonished. "All Professor Lockhart told us to do was re-read a book we all read last year.

"We have a wonderful professor in Professor Lockhart. One with vast field experience, and more than willing to share that knowledge with us. You should watch and learn from Harry. He is doing quite brilliant and winning points for our House instead of losing them like you do." She missed the darkening expression on the redhead's face at that comparison as she turned to her other best friend. "By the way, Harry, you're doing very good. You should do that in our other subjects."

"Er, hmm," Harry said eloquently. "Thanks, Hermione. But D.A.D.A. is easy for me. Just like Herbology is for Neville. I can't compare to him, he is just ace in that subject," Harry said as they neared the Gryffindor table.

Harry wasn't used to being back at Hogwarts yet. If he had been then he would have noticed the Slytherins following them, listening closely. As well as who those Slytherins were.

"What did I just hear?" Malfoy said loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the Great Hall. "Potty thinks Neville is great? Surely, Potter, you know that Neville is a squib who cannot do even basic magic! To consider Longbottom good at anything is a serious insult. He is a bane to the name of Longbottoms." Draco's bookends, Crabbe and Goyle, chuckled at that, while Pansy Parkinson giggled behind her hand.

Gilderoy looked around for Neville. He had arrived before the other Gryffindors and was eating. Neville had his fork partway to his mouth. As Lockhart watched, and the rest of the hall laughed, Neville stood, clearly planning on leaving the hall.

"It would do you good to hold your tongue, young Mr. Malfoy," said Lockhart sternly, approaching from his position by the doors. He had been waiting for Harry and his friends to arrive before making his own entrance. He was overdressed for the occasion, as usual, wearing his mauve coordinated outfit. "Ten points for disrupting breakfast and ten more for spreading lies about a fellow student. Now go and sit at your table and eat your breakfast. Quickly."

"I object, Professor Lockhart," said the Slytherin Prefect Charlus Gamp. "It is Potter who is spreading lies about the magical prowess of Longbottom. Everybody knows he is little better than a squib. It is unfair to deduct points from our House. Mr. Potter is the one who should be disciplined for this."

This statement got a chorus of agreement from the Slytherin table and soon the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs joined in.

House points honestly earned through superior work should not be lost by simple acts, was the popular sentiment. It was bad enough that Professor Snape tended to pick on Gryffindor, they didn't want another professor skewing the system even more.

By this time, Neville had reached the table's end — his tears barely contained, with his head down in shame and back bent in defeat.

"One second, Mr. Longbottom." Lockhart moved towards Neville and caught him by his shoulder.

"Please sir, don't. I cannot take it," Neville pleaded.

Lockhart squeezed the Gryffindor's shoulder. "It's okay Neville," he said kindly. "They can think whatever they want. But it is not true."

"Not true? I am the most pathetic student the school has ever seen. I can do nothing." Neville cried. Nearby students all nodded in agreement. Malfoy smiled smugly.

"Neville, listen to me, you're wrong. You don't know your own strength." Lockhart gently guided the boy back towards the doors, subtly erecting a muffling enchantment. "Tell me Neville, How useful is a sapling?"

"A sapling sir? It just sprouted from seed. Very few are useful at the stage, but when allowed to grow it might become an herb or shrub or a tree where it will be most useful," Neville replied tiredly.

"Exactly. All the pre-OWL students are in the sapling stage. Some grow faster than others might, others could be more useful, but all are just that, saplings. When allowed to grow, these saplings will grow into valuable plants, each unique but definitely useful. From what I see in you, Mr. Longbottom, you will grow into a huge tree that provides shade and shelter, fruits and flowers, and supports a great level of life. Don't take what others say about you to heart. You are much more capable than what you assume."

"Do you really think so, sir?" asked Neville, despair plain in his tone.

"Of course," Lockhart replied gently. He turned the child back into the Great Hall. "You would like a little demonstration? Close your eyes and imagine this. You, your father, and your mother on a picnic in a rose garden."

Neville immediately froze and looked up at him with an expression reminiscent of a deer unexpectedly caught in bright lights. "Relax my boy. I know this is hard for you, but a little imagination shan't hurt, will it?" Gilderoy/Harry said as confidently as he could. "Now imagine yourself laughing and playing tag with your father, and your mother's looking at you admiringly. Can you do that? Close your eyes, it might help."

Neville slowly nodded. Gently rubbing the boy's back, Harry/Gilderoy said softly, "Now carefully look at your mother. She loves you so very much. You can see it in her eyes, the way her hair swings in the breeze and the way her smile makes your tummy warm. The look in her eyes when she sees that her little boy is someone grown to be so strong, you are her wonder. Now look at her spread arms, which are inviting you to a hug. The happiness in her is like the warmth that radiates from the sun." Neville, eyes now closed, moved as if in a trance, imagining the whole thing while Gilderoy carefully guided him back towards the Gryffindor table, the boy barely noticing he was moving. The other students watched as they returned, wondering what the Professor was saying that they could not hear, the younger ones not realizing that Harry/Gilderoy had cast a mild muffling charm to hide his words.

"Now look at your father. He is the strongest man in the whole wide world. He radiates strength and confidence. Move closer to them and hug them, Neville. Hug them tightly. Say that you love them, Neville. Say it, with each syllable showing how much you love them and want them to be with you. Say it, Neville, say it." Neville was mesmerized with the vision and tears dripped freely from his eyes and yet his face had the most peaceful expression anyone had seen. Some were envious. His lips moved as he quietly said, "I love you." Thank Merlin the silencing spell blurred ones lips or those capable of lip-reading would have had a field day, thinking Neville was speaking to Lockhart!

"Feel that love flowing all through your body, down your legs, down your arms, your very fingers tingle with the feeling of that love."

Lockhart slowly tapped Neville to make him open his eyes and in the same soothing voice said, "Here, hold this," and handed him a thirteen-inch long wand, made of Cherry wood with a unicorn hair. Surreptitiously, he canceled the muffling charm.

"Now lift your hand and imagine that love flowing down your arm and out your hand, like the gentle flow of water. Now say Expecto Patronum."

Neville's lips move as he silently said, "Expecto Patronum." The tip of the wand glowed slightly.

"Excellent, Neville, excellent. Now say it strong, say it loud, make your father and mother proud with your love and confidence as you say it."

Neville, still in that blissful state, did exactly as his Professor requested. A white light burst from Neville's wand, blinding the entire hall. The light coalesced into a beagle, which looked around the hall, searching for danger. Seeing none, it began to gambol about Neville's feet as he stared at it, smiling blissfully at the visible manifestation of his love for his parents. While everyone was still blinking at the bright light, Gilderoy gently removed the wand from Neville's hand and stashed it back in his cloak with the others.

Everybody was awestruck. Slowly the light diminished and the beautiful creature vanished.

"Now, Mr. Gamp, what is that called?" Lockhart asked turning to the stunned Prefect and bringing his audience from their awe.

"That, that sir, is a fully corporeal patronus." Charlus replied with some difficulty.

"Excellent! Five Points to Slytherin. Now that you know what the boy has achieved, you should also know that the Patronus is a very advanced charm. Let me also inform you that ninety-nine percent of the NEWT students will fail to produce one, and even highly qualified wizards can conjure barely a white mist." He allowed the statement to settle, and continued, "Now who says this boy, who achieved this phenomenon, is anything but a powerful Wizard?"

There was silence in the entire hall as everyone looked at Neville in awe. "Ten points, Mr. Longbottom, for the excellent Patronus Charm demonstration."

The D.A.D.A. Professor turned to address the students, "Magic is all about intent and will. The deeper the intent and the more powerful the will, the more powerful the magic will be. It is in the very nature of magic to respond to intent. It was Mr. Longbottom's love that strengthened his intent and today made him the youngest Wizard to achieve a Fully. Corporeal. Patronus.

"Eleven years ago, it was his parents' deep-rooted love of that allowed a young toddler to defeat the darkest tyrant known. It is the intent that drives magic and the emotions that drive the intent. It is not the greatness of a single person, but the greatness of magic.

"Fools think they have achieved an in-depth knowledge of magic by reading books, but fail miserably in understanding it. It has been proven repeatedly that Magic is not measurable, it cannot be created, but only transformed from one form to another. Every one of you will have to understand that to become great wizards in your own right."

The other Professors were staring at both Lockhart and Neville, astounded at what they had just seen and heard.

Gilderoy/Harry leaned down and said softly, "Go sit with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger. Ignore that Ron fellow, he's an idiot."

Neville looked back at him frowning slightly, but the good feeling brought on by the patronus refused to dissipate, and he hurried over to the Gryffindor table. Hermione quickly began an inquisition on how he had produced the patronus while Harry listened attentively. Ron looked at his broken wand and scowled at the other three.

Headmaster Dumbeldore had decided to eat in his office that morning, catching up on his paperwork. On hearing what had happened, he vowed to be in the Great Hall for every meal. How had that fraud of a Professor managed to get that ineffectual bumbler Neville Longbottom to cast a patronus?

Lockhart appeared a buffoon of a narcissistic Wizard, but twice, now, he had appeared much more competent than Dumbledore had expected of him. Fortunately, he didn't seem more than superficially interested in Harry. He would require some close watching, though, just in case. Dumbledore couldn't risk any interference in his plans.

Later, as Neville headed to his first class, Hannah Abbott came up to him and said, "Hey Neville, that was really cool. I, I never thought you would be able to do something that amazing." She walked with him to their next class, and even sat beside him. Watching Neville blush amused Harry and Hermione, sitting on his other side. Ron scowled.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur for Neville. The classwork formed a convenient distraction. But in between classes? He brooded. He could not believe what he had done. He could not understand what had happened. All the upper years said he had done a very complicated spell that many grown Wizards couldn't even think of doing. And now, he was a celebrity! People had been coming up to him all morning. People who had ignored him, or even looked down on him, were suddenly vying to sit beside him.

It was when he was on his way to dinner that it hit him. People would expect great things from him. Just like at home where his grandma was continually voicing her disappointment in him for failing to live up to her expectations. And now that visible disappointment was going to be here! His knees buckled, and he staggered. If everyone thought him a failure, he disappointed no one.

"What's wrong, Mr. Longbottom?" came a voice beside him. It was Susan Bones. Others were gathering around him. He looked at them wildly. He couldn't stand to see those disappointed looks here, not here, as he did at home. He had to get away. He pushed his way through the circle and started running wildly out of the Castle. He ran and ran and ran until he could run no more, and he collapsed near the lake. His stomach and ribs hurt from running, and sweat poured down his face. His legs seemed to be on fire. He hated himself. He couldn't do anything. He was pathetic. He just laid on the ground, too exhausted to cry.

"Hey, Mr. Longbottom, get up!" The D.A.D.A. professor was standing beside him. He said, "So you've decided to get in shape by running? That's good. But running in robes, that's bad. You need proper attire. Here, allow me." The Professor flicked his wand and Neville's was dressed in red and gold appointed t-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. The Professor, Neville saw, was dressed the same, all shades of colour-coordinated lilac.

"There, now you can run." Lockhart started to leave, but returned. "This is my jogging time, join me and I will teach you a thing or two about it. Come on, child." The Wizard cajoled the boy into running with him. Panting for breath, Neville could barely walk and allowed Lockhart to drag him around the lake. Before long, he collapsed again.

"This is the first time you are running, huh? But running in t-shirt and shorts," Lockhart said, "is way better than running in the robes, don't you think?"

Neville nodded, still panting.

"Similarly, you will find it much easier to focus your magic with a wand that suits you instead of your father's." Lockhart said.

Neville looked horrified. "But it is my father's wand, sir, I cannot give it up. I simply can't."

"Who said you should? I am not asking you to throw away your father's wand, Mr. Longbottom — it's important to you. Keep it with your mother's wand in a place of honour.

"You will find that your father's clothes at age twenty will not fit you today, similarly, your father's wand does not fit you."

"No, sir, that cannot be possible." Neville replied haughtily, echoing his grandmother.

"Mr. Longbottom, your grandmother sees your father in you, but remember you are as much your mother as you are your father. Your grandma fails to see that. You must accept you have both your mother and father in you. By only using your father's wand, you are disrespecting your mother. Tell me, why are you using only your father's wand and not your mother's? Do you not love and respect your mother?"

Neville looked stunned. "I, I . . . ." Neville gulped and remained silent.

"Here, try this," Gilderoy handed the boy his wand.

Neville stared at it, eyes wide. "I couldn't do that, it's your wand!"

"Take it."

Reluctantly, Neville took the wand and held it as if he thought it were glass.

"Good. Now cast Wingardium Leviosa on that leaf." Lockhart pointed.

The boy did, but nothing happened.

"Now, try your wand," the Wizard said taking his wand back.

The leaf, fluttering, barely rose an inch into the air.

"Good. Now try this one," and handed the boy the same wand from that morning.

The leaf shot into the air and disappeared.

Neville stared up, then at the wand in his hand.

"You see, Mr. Longbottom, how different wands work differently for the same Wizard?"

Neville nodded, still wide-eyed.

"Tell you grandmother about this. Tell her you cast a Patronus with one wand, but can barely cast Wingardium Leviosa on a leaf with your father's wand. Tell her I, the Great Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award, and your beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, said she was actively hurting you by forcing you to use an incompatible wand. If she refuses, let me know, I will convince her of the error in her thinking."

They stood silent for several moments.

"Well," said Gilderoy, rubbing his hands together, "I don't know about you, but I've worked up an appetite! Miksy!" A house-elf appeared. "Professor Two Sir has called Miksy?"

"Yes, a quick picnic dinner please!"

"Mipsy can do that, Sir." She disappeared.

Later that afternoon, an owl took a letter to Neville's grandmother relaying the day's events. That evening, dozens of other owls took flight, also relaying the day's events. The first of many seismic changes in the Wizarding political arena had started.