After finishing dinner, just as Harry stood up to head to Snape's office, a figure suddenly appeared in front of him.
"Neville? What's up?" Harry asked with a curious smile, looking at the boy standing before him, his face still carrying traces of youthful innocence.
"Harry, Ron said that when you spar with us, you've never used your real strength. Is that true?"
"Oh, you mean that?" Harry lowered his head, pondering for a few seconds before nodding. "Ron's right. I don't go all out when I'm practicing with you guys."
"Even during last term's duel with Professor Snape on stage?"
"Huh? Why are you asking about that?" Harry blinked, then looked up at Neville.
"Is it, or isn't it?" From Neville's voice, Harry detected a seriousness he'd never heard before.
Harry stared at Neville in surprise, while Neville gazed back with intense focus. For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked, and in that instant, Harry glimpsed a wild, desperate resolve in Neville's eyes—a madness born of someone who'd staked everything on a single throw.
"Yeah, even during last term's duel with Professor Snape," Harry admitted after a pause, the smile fading from his face.
"But Professor Snape was holding back too," he added.
"So, your trump card is all that family magic you use—the stuff Hogwarts never teaches?"
Realizing what Neville was getting at, Harry hesitated only briefly this time before nodding again.
Silence hung between them for a long moment. Then Neville took a deep breath. "Harry, can you teach me your family magic? If you can make me stronger—stronger than the most powerful Death Eaters—I'm willing to swear an Unbreakable Vow for it!"
"Why?" Harry studied Neville, his expression now utterly serious. "The Unbreakable Vow isn't something you can just toss around lightly."
"Three months ago, among the Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban, there were three people I've wanted to kill my entire life," Neville said calmly. "Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, and…"—he took a deep breath—"Bellatrix Lestrange. These three—I'd drag them down to hell with me if I could. But right now, I'm too weak. Forget Death Eaters; I can't even beat Ron or Hermione in our year…"
Harry looked at Neville's clenched fists, sighed, and stood up. Placing his right hand on Neville's shoulder, he said, "Neville, I do have a way that might make you stronger. But the cost isn't any lighter than an Unbreakable Vow—maybe even heavier. And once you start down that path, there's no turning back. Are you sure you want that kind of power?"
"I'm sure!"
"Then come to my dorm tonight, and we'll give it a shot," Harry said, patting Neville's shoulder before turning toward the dungeon classroom.
"Do I need to prepare anything?" Neville called after him.
"Hmm… bring a kneeling pad. I'm not sure how long you'll need to stay on your knees."
Leaving the Great Hall, Harry arrived at Snape's office door. He knocked, and the door creaked open on its own.
"Come in, Potter," Snape's voice echoed from inside.
"Professor, I'm here," Harry said, stepping into the cold, dimly lit basement and facing Snape, who was grading papers.
"Before we begin, let's get one thing straight, Potter. My teaching you is the result of a joint decision between the Ministry of Magic and Dumbledore regarding your little stunt yesterday—killing twenty-three Dementors on the train. Umbridge at the Ministry thought you should be thrown into Azkaban, a suggestion I found rather tempting myself. Unfortunately, neither Fudge nor Dumbledore backed her up. So, they settled on banning you from attacking Dementors outright while assigning someone to teach you the proper way to handle them. Dumbledore picked me. Personally, I'd rather not be bothered with—"
"Alright, Professor Snape, no need for the preamble. Let's get to it," Harry interrupted with a casual wave. "What's this 'proper way' to deal with Dementors you're supposed to teach me?"
"First, how much do you know about Dementors?" Snape asked, scrawling a heavy "P" on the last student's assignment before turning to Harry.
"…Worth 1100 experience points, sucks up wizards' happy emotions, somewhat dangerous experience bags?"
"Idiot! You're as hopeless as that fraud Lockhart! Are your heads stuffed with dung beetles?!" Snape snapped coldly. "Listen carefully, Potter. Dementors are magical creatures, widely regarded as symbols of despair and death. They guard Azkaban prison, feeding on the happiness and hope of humans and other beings, plunging their victims into deep despair and coldness. When the opportunity arises, they'll gladly administer a 'Dementor's Kiss,' sucking out a person's soul and leaving behind an empty shell. Muggles can't see them, and these invisible dark creatures are immune to most magic. Only the Patronus Charm can effectively repel them."
"So, are we catching a Dementor to practice the Patronus Charm?" Harry asked eagerly.
"No, Dementors can't be captured so easily. Instead, I've found something else to stand in for them while you practice," Snape said, gesturing to a wooden wardrobe in the corner. "The incantation is Expecto Patronum. But before we start, I need to confirm one thing."
"Is your greatest fear a Dementor?" Snape flicked his wand, and the wardrobe burst open.
A young man stepped out, dressed in a black-and-gold-trimmed robe that hugged his athletic frame. He had a square jaw, a prominent nose, and short black hair framing a pair of curious green eyes that studied Harry.
"This is—" Snape began, standing in the shadows behind Harry, frowning at the figure who bore a striking resemblance to Harry. "Your greatest fear is yourself?"
But before the young man could settle in front of Harry, his body convulsed wildly. A piercing scream tore from his throat as his form twisted grotesquely. His skin turned pale and translucent, revealing veins and nerves beneath. His skull warped, jutting forward; his mouth split wide, and long tendrils sprouted from it. Slowly, his head morphed into a purple squid-like shape. His teeth sharpened, his limbs elongated into spindly appendages tipped with razor claws, and his body grew a chitinous purple armor. His eyes blazed like burning coals, wild with insanity.
With a final agonized scream, the adult version of Harry completed its transformation. He was no longer human—he had become a Mind Flayer.
"What is that thing?!" Snape recoiled, a wave of nausea rising within him despite his experience with dark creatures.
"That's a Mind Flayer. And it's me," Harry said, his expression a tangle of emotions as he stared at the squid-headed figure hovering an inch off the ground. The juvenile Mind Flayer mirrored his gaze. "And you were right, Professor Snape. What I fear most is myself."
"It's a Boggart. To deal with it, picture it turning into something ridiculous and say Riddikulus," Snape said, unwilling to linger on the sight. With a flick of his wand, he struck the Boggart, sending it crashing back into the wardrobe.
Snape's mood soured. He'd released the Boggart without explaining how to handle it, hoping to catch Potter off guard for a laugh. Instead, witnessing that revolting transformation into a Mind Flayer had turned his stomach.
Since Potter's greatest fear wasn't a Dementor, Snape would have to conjure a fake memory to trick the Boggart into becoming one, then let Potter practice the Patronus Charm on it.
"Damn it, what a hassle!" Snape cursed Dumbledore and Potter inwardly while crafting a fabricated memory in his mind.
Three hours later, an exhausted Snape booted Harry—who seemed ready to keep going for half the night—out of the Potions office.
"Get out! I don't want to see you again today!"
Harry scratched his head as the office door slammed in his face. "So, we're continuing with Patronus practice tomorrow night?"
Back at the dorm, Neville, who'd been waiting anxiously, dragged Harry inside. Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Hermione soon crowded in to watch. (Seriously, Hermione, is it okay for a girl to keep barging into the boys' dorm like this?)
"Neville, have you thought about your vengeance oath?" Harry asked, his tone grave.
Harry had mulled over ways to make Neville stronger. He'd considered guiding Neville toward becoming a Warlock like himself, but honestly, Harry didn't even know how he'd become one, let alone how to help Neville do it.
Even if Neville somehow managed it, every Warlock awakened their bloodline differently. For Harry, it was through combat, but Neville's trigger could be anything—fighting, swimming, praying, or even sleeping.
After much thought, Harry decided to see if Neville could become a Paladin. (Not because Harry had spent eight years in Faerûn learning to be a Paladin only to inexplicably end up a Warlock, of course!)
Neville nodded. Under Harry's guidance, he knelt on one knee on the dorm floor, his voice resonating in the quiet darkness. Meanwhile, Harry grabbed a bottle of ketchup and began drawing the ritual circle specific to a Paladin's prayer around Neville.
"I, Neville Longbottom, hereby swear to become a Paladin of Vengeance. With my sword and wand, I will hunt down the wicked and make them pay their due price.
"I swear that no matter how powerful my foes, I will charge forward without retreat. Those who've harmed us will learn that justice never falters.
"I swear to use my wisdom and courage, by any means necessary, to unveil the conspiracies lurking in the shadows and bring truth to light. Traitors will have nowhere to hide and will answer for their crimes.
"I swear never to show mercy to my sworn enemies. Ordinary foes might earn my pity, but those I've vowed to slay will find no reprieve in my hands. Even to the ends of the earth, I'll reduce them to ashes and dust.
"I swear to do all I can to undo the harm my enemies cause. If they wreak destruction upon this world, it's because I failed to stop them. I must aid those hurt by their evil."
By Neville's third recitation, Harry finished the ketchup-drawn ritual circle.
Wiping the remaining ketchup from his hands, Harry looked at Neville, still kneeling motionless amidst the onlookers. "Now close your eyes and repeat it silently in your mind. Stay on one knee. If it works, within an hour, you'll feel a power descend into you from above."
One minute passed.
Five minutes passed.
Fifteen minutes passed.
Just as Ron, bored from waiting, started a game of Wizard's Chess with Seamus and took his queen, the ketchup circle on the floor flared with white light. The glow intensified, spreading toward Neville until it enveloped him entirely, turning him into a beacon of radiance.
A few minutes later, the light from the ketchup circle faded, followed by the glow on Neville's body. The dorm returned to darkness.
Neville rose slowly, stumbling to his bed and sitting down, gingerly flexing legs numb from kneeling so long.
"Neville, how'd it go? Did it work?" Ron asked, peering at him curiously.
Feeling the new strength coursing through him, Neville nodded, a grin breaking across his face. "I did it."
"Congrats, Neville," Harry said with a smile, then pointed at the ketchup mess on the floor. "Make sure to memorize that pattern. You'll need it later."
Neville's excitement froze as he stared at the intricate design on the ground.
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