Zane sighed and settled back into his seat. “I bet trying to live with two names is tough, either way. I don’t envy you, Ralphinator. Hey, that makes three names you’ve got!”
“You’re the only person that calls me that one,” Ralph said, rolling his eyes.
Next to James, Petra remained silent. Ralph, James remembered, was not the only person living with two names. Petra had changed her own name in the wake of the ordeal at her grandfather’s farm, deciding to call herself, simply, Morgan. She hadn’t insisted that everyone change how they refer to her, but James had a sneaky feeling that in her heart, she couldn’t shake her new name any more than Ralph could shake the name Dolohov. James didn’t know what it all meant, but it worried him a little.
It was almost like Petra had two different personalities. One was the Petra that he had known for the past couple of years, the happy girl and bright student. The other, however, Morgan, did eerily powerful magic without the aid of a wand and very well might have killed someone. James couldn’t help wondering if, just perhaps, those two sides of Petra’s personality were at war with each other. More importantly, which side, if any, was most influenced by that last haunting shred of Voldemort’s lost soul? And how might it influence Petra’s internal struggle?
James’ worried thoughts were interrupted at that point as a figure emerged onto the brightly lit stage before them. The house lights went dim all around and the crowd fell gradually silent.
“Ladies and gentleman, students, faculty, and visiting friends from the magical community,” the man said, smiling. He was tall and lean, with shiny black hair framing his ruddy face. “Welcome. My name is Professor John Sanuye, and I am the Head of the Flora Department here at Alma Aleron. I am pleased to say that we have procured one of the world’s foremost experts on magical botany, a man whose fame precedes him, even among those who have not read his very interesting treatise on the thousand and one uses of common marsh ferns and mosses. Please welcome for tonight’s discussion Mr. Neville Longbottom.”
Sanuye applauded and beamed as Neville stood from his seat in the front row. Before climbing the stairs to the podium, he turned and smiled sheepishly back at the crowd. It was not a large theater, but James was quite surprised to see that it was very full, with students crammed into the back on folding chairs, and even standing in the entryway. They applauded, but there were very few smiles in the room.
Neville climbed the stairs and produced a small stack of notes from the pocket of his robes. He cleared his throat and peered out over the podium, smiling nervously. James felt a pang of discomfort for the professor. Neville was clearly terrified of speaking before such a large audience.
“Ahem,” he said, clearing his throat again. “Thank you all for coming. I am, er, quite honored and, frankly, surprised by the turnout. In the country from which I come, herbology is not a subject that commands such, er, enthusiastic adherents.”
A murmur of laughter rippled over the room, taking Neville by surprise. He blinked and smiled before going on. “I’ve, er, come tonight prepared to speak on some of the newer avenues of magical botanical research, which are, er, advancing our understanding of such studies as potionmaking, medicine, wand-creation, and even wizarding philosophy and ethics.”
Neville grew more confident as he spoke and James found himself growing quickly bored. As much as he liked Professor Longbottom, he always found his classes exceedingly, almost painfully dull. Tonight’s speech was no different except for the fact that James didn’t need to pay attention for the sake of a grade. His thoughts began to wander, as did his eye. The rest of the audience watched Neville with varying degrees of alert interest, polite boredom, and, in a few cases, frowning concentration. In the front row, James was surprised to see his dad leaning aside and whispering to a man that James didn’t know. The man smiled as Harry whispered to him, and then laughed silently, his eyes twinkling. Strangely enough, the two seemed to be very familiar with each other, as if they were long lost friends. James made a mental note to ask his father about the man later.
Eventually, Neville produced a series of photographs, which he temporarily enlarged with Engorgio spells. The photographs were magical of course, but since they were mostly of plants, they didn’t move. The only interesting one was of a strange tree with long tentacle-like branches tipped with snapping jaws, rather like large Venus Flytraps. The tree, which Neville called a Moroccan Fanged Viperthwip, writhed and snapped its many jaws in the photo, commanding a gasp from some of the observers in the front rows. Near the end of the speech, Neville produced a small plant of his own, withdrawing it from his robes like a long green snake. The root-ball was tiny, about the size of a walnut, clutching a neat spoonful of earth. Neville set the plant onto the end of the podium, where it slowly righted itself and reached toward the lights overhead.
“This, ladies and gentlemen, is my crowning achievement,” Neville said proudly. “The mythical and elusive Bamboozle tree. According to legend, it is able to adopt the appearance and even the alchemical characteristics of virtually any plant to which it is exposed, disguising itself in avoidance of being weeded out. Allow me to illustrate.”
Neville used his wand to levitate one of his many photos, and then gave it a flick, enlarging it.
“Devil’s Snare,” he said, nodding toward the photo. There was a slight rustling on the podium as the Bamboozle shifted. Its roots spread out and grew thick and brown while its few leaves multiplied and turned into snaking vines. Within moments, the Bamboozle had transfigured itself into the unmistakable shape of a small Devil’s Snare, much like the one in the enlarged photograph. The crowd murmured with interest.
“Spynuswort,” Neville said proudly, flicking his wand again and producing another photograph, this one showing a tall, thin plant with reddish patterned leaves. The Bamboozle changed again. Its vines curled into balls and then budded leaves, perfectly replicating those shown in the photo.
“Larcenous Ligulous,” Neville smiled, changing the photo once more. Now, the Bamboozle flattened and spread out, covering the top of the podium with writhing green creepers. The crowd muttered and stirred all around.
“And lest we forget,” Neville said, removing a ring from his finger and holding it up to the light, “the most remarkable characteristic of the Bamboozle: its ability to emulate any chosen plant’s characteristic tendencies and magical make-up. This, more than anything, is what makes it so potentially invaluable to the wizarding world.”
The Bamboozle sensed the glitter of Neville’s upheld ring. Slowly, it lifted a trio of creepers, which rose toward the ring, as if sniffing at it. They curled around it hungrily and pried it from Neville’s hand, just as a Larcenous Ligulous plant would. The audience laughed and applauded lightly.
“If I were to snip a root sample from the Bamboozle in its current state and submit it to any herbological laboratory, it would take much testing to prove that it was not, in fact, a true Larcenous Ligulous. If we are able to successfully breed and propagate the Bamboozle, it may significantly improve the availability of some of the wizarding world’s rarest and most essential botanical resources, and even allow us to recreate many that have ceased to exist entirely.”
The crowd responded again, led by the very enthusiastic applause of Professor Sanuye in the front row. Harry clapped as well and whistled loudly. The man next to him joined in, cupping his hands to his mouth. “Go Neville!” he called, nodding encouragement.
“And that pretty much concludes my presentation,” Neville said, smiling with obvious relief. He flicked his wand once more, shrinking the photos back to their normal size and catching them as they dropped out of the air. On the podium, the Bamboozle tree began to slowly revert to its original state. “Professor Sanuye has suggested that we open the floor to any comments or questions from the audience, which I am happy to do. So, does anyone have anything they’d like to ask about?”
James looked around, surprised to see a raft of hands suddenly shoot up all around. Nev
ille seemed surprised as well. He blinked and took a half step back from the podium. With a shrug and a smile, he pointed to a hand in the front row. “You then. Speak up for us all to hear.”
“Greetings, Professor,” one of the Pixie students said, standing up and smiling. “Thank you for coming to speak to us. My question has less to do with herbology than it does with history, if you’ll indulge me.”
Neville blinked again. James glanced at the Pixie student. She was older, quite possibly one of the college students. She met Neville’s gaze openly, still smiling, and James couldn’t help thinking that it was an uncomfortably familiar expression. It was, in fact, the same sort of expression Tabitha Corsica had so often worn when she was about to say something infuriatingly confrontational.
“History isn’t really my area of expertise,” Neville said slowly, but the girl spoke up before he could continue.
“I recognize that herbology is your passion, which means you obviously have a great love for all growing things. I wonder if that love extends to the animal kingdom as well? I understand that you are in the habit of beheading snakes. Would you care to elaborate?”
There was a sort of collective low whistle from the crowd, and then a ripple of derisive laughter. James glanced around with sudden anger and dismay, and then looked back up at the podium. Neville’s face had gone red, but his mouth had tightened into a hard line.
“Next question,” he stated flatly, raising his gaze over the crowd. Hands shot into the air again.
“Yes, Professor,” another student asked from the back. James turned around and saw that it was a member of Igor House, wearing the characteristic acid green tie. His face was round and waxy in the lamplight near the doors. “I’m sorry, my question isn’t really flora-related either. Did you know, when you rallied your classmates against the revolutionaries of your time, that you were siding with the existing totalitarian regime or were you just duped by the propaganda of the day into thinking that you were on the side of right?”
Neville opened his mouth in shock as the crowd babbled noisily, nodding in agreement and shouting for him to answer. James looked around again, meeting Zane and Ralph’s eyes. It was like the first Hogwarts all-school debate again, only worse, because the entire crowd seemed to be on the same side. Now James understood why the lecture had been so well-attended. Neville, after all, was nearly as famous as Harry Potter, and not just for his textbooks on herbology.
“I was afraid something like this would happen,” Zane said, leaning toward James. “Like I told you, the Progressive Element types are all over the place here. There are even some in the faculty.”
Ralph looked around uneasily. “Won’t the professors put a stop to it?”
“That’s not really the way things work around here,” Zane replied. “Neville’s expected to answer the questions, no matter what. I wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t part of why he was asked to speak.”
“If that’s true, it’s beastly,” Petra said with low conviction.
At the podium, Neville stood stoically, his brow lowered. He no longer seemed nervous. He seemed, if anything, quietly angry. He collected the Bamboozle again and deposited it carefully into a pocket of his robes.
“Are there any questions related to the subject that I was invited here to speak upon?” he asked loudly, overruling the babbling audience.
“Answer the question!” a voice behind James hollered. Others joined in, turning the phrase into a chant.
Neville glanced down toward the front row. James leaned forward and saw his dad nod slightly up at Neville. To James’ amazement, Harry Potter seemed to be smiling with something like weary resignation. On Harry’s left, Merlin’s expression was calm and inscrutable, his arms folded almost lazily across his chest. Professor Sanuye shrugged up at Neville and shook his head regretfully. He didn’t appear to like what was happening, but neither did he seem prepared to put a stop to it.
“You lot seem to be suffering under some rather unfortunate misapprehensions about history,” Neville finally said, holding his wand to his throat and amplifying his voice. The raucous crowd quieted, but not completely. Neville went on, lowering his wand again. “Now, if you insist upon asking questions unrelated to my subject of expertise, I shall apparently have to answer them, lest I leave you with the impression that I am unable to do so. But you will ask your questions with respect, and not use the opportunity to merely quote popular propaganda for the amusement of your fellows. Is anyone willing to abide by these stipulations?”
Less hands went up now. Neville frowned and nodded at a student near James, who stood up.
“Professor,” the young man said, and James saw that he was a college-level student and a member of Vampire House, “as a scholar, surely you’d agree that your work with flora is intended for the benefit of all mankind. Is that true?”
Neville narrowed his eyes slightly. “I live in the hope that such is the case, young man.”
“Then why, sir, do you and others like you insist on hoarding your discoveries for the magical community, refusing even to consider sharing them with the Muggle world?”
The crowd erupted again, shouting scornfully, many climbing to their feet.
“Questions… are… permitted!” a voice bellowed from the front row, and James was relieved to see that it was Professor Sanuye, his eyes dark and severe. The crowd quieted again almost instantly and the professor went on in a measured voice. “But disrespect is not. You have heard the terms of our esteemed guest and they are quite reasonable. It is the policy of this school to welcome discourse, but not discord. Allow Professor Longbottom to answer your questions or do not ask them. Understood?”
The crowd muttered to itself, obviously agitated, but subdued for the moment. On the stage, Neville cleared his throat again.
“A good question, my friend,” he said slowly, raising his eyebrows. “One that any thinking witch and wizard should ask themselves. The answer, however, is equally important. Granted, we in the magical community could offer many advancements and medicines to the Muggle world. The fact of the matter is that we do so even now. Your own Chancellor has had a hand in the groundbreaking Inter-Magical Knowledge Exchange Act, which allows inertly magical lifesaving discoveries to be shared with the Muggle world secretly, but effectively. There are charities and coalitions who have been granted special privilege to act secretly in the Muggle world, performing acts of magical intervention in deserving situations. I suspect that you are aware of these things, however, so I can only assume that what you truly mean by your question is this: why do we not simply throw the doors of the magical world wide open to the Muggle community, revealing ourselves fully and completely? Is this so?”
The young man shuffled his feet slightly and glanced around at the rest of the audience. “Um. Yes, I think that is exactly right. The prejudiced policies of magical governments against the Muggle world should be overthrown. Total disclosure is the only option that will result in real freedom for all of humanity…”
“Yes, yes,” Neville nodded. “I’ve seen the posters as well. Let us assume that we do exactly as you propose. The magical world comes out of hiding and reveals itself completely to the Muggle world. What do you expect will happen?”
“Well,” the young man mumbled, looking around again, apparently wishing someone else would come to his aid. The rest of the audience merely watched with bright-eyed interest. “Well, then there would be equality. We could help the Muggles. We could share everything we know with them, and help them in lots of ways. I mean, we’re witches and wizards. We’ve got magic on our side.”
“Ahh!” Neville said, leaning forward on the podium. “We could help them indeed. But what if they didn’t wish to be helped? What if certain members of the magical community desired to get involved in Muggle affairs, such as business, medicine, even government, and the Muggles didn’t wish them to?”
“Then we’d help them to understand that we just want to help them!” the student replied, ral
lying. “They wouldn’t know what was best for them, after all.”
Neville nodded. “So we’d help them against their will?”
“If we had to,” the young man answered, raising his chin.
“Indeed,” Neville concurred. “Many would do exactly that. Certain witches and wizards would inculcate themselves into the Muggle ruling class, all under the guise of helping them. Some of us—not you, of course, my friend, but some—would be happy to resort to force. They’d use whatever magic helped them in the cause, even the Imperius Curse. Others, however, would be less… scrupulous. Believe it or not, my friends, there are witches and wizards among us who might actually wish to rule the Muggles merely for the sake of power. Such people are kept in check now by the existence of the international laws of secrecy. But what will you do with these witches and wizards if those laws are abolished? Will you protect the Muggles from them? How? What will keep wicked witches and wizards from using whatever means they wish to achieve power over the Muggles?”
The young man seemed to know that he was losing the moral high ground. He shuffled his feet some more and refused to look directly at Neville. “That’s just scaremongering. That’s what you people always do.”
“Scaring people with fictitious threats is scaremongering,” Neville said kindly. “Warning people about threats that are quite real—threats that history teaches us are very nearly a certainty given the right conditions—is an act of kindness and compassion. The history of Muggle-magical interaction is rife with conflict. Both sides are equally guilty, admittedly, but the reality remains the same. We stay in hiding, quite simply, because the good that could come from our incorporation into the Muggle world is decidedly less than the evil that would inevitably result. In a perfect world, my friend, your theories would be quite honorable. Alas, this is not a perfect world.”
“Excuses and lies!” the student cried out suddenly, and the crowd stirred around him, murmuring agreement. “You hate the Muggles, so you wish to keep them ignorant of us, and all we could do for them. There aren’t any supreme evil witches and wizards bent on taking over the world. That’s a lie that you people have made up just to keep the rest of the magical world in line. The Muggles would welcome us, and you know it. And even if they didn’t…” The young man faltered suddenly, realizing what he was about to say.
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