Chapter 18: Try Again
In fact, Neville was not familiar with this professor, only knowing that he taught an elective course.
First-year students do not need to take elective courses; they only start choosing courses at the end of second year, and Neville’s future courses had already been planned by his grandmother, with lofty goals and a busy schedule, with no option for Muggle Studies.
Ten years ago, Alice and Frank were captured by mad Death Eaters and interrogated about Voldemort’s whereabouts, tortured until they lost their sanity and could not care for themselves, confined to a ward at St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries under the care of healers; the Lumbardons lost their renowned Auror couple in the wizarding world, and Neville lost his parents.
After that, Grandmother Augusta Lumbardon became his guardian.
For nearly ten years, this old witch had been constantly planning and dreaming of training him to become the most outstanding heir of the Lumbardon family.
Neville could clearly sense this expectation but was unable to respond to it.
His talent was not outstanding; his magic power had not awakened for a long time, showing no signs of magic at all, and neighbors and friends even suspected he was a Muggle-born.
This suspicion persisted until 1988.
That Midsummer Night, a month before Neville’s birthday, Uncle Argus accidentally threw eight-year-old Neville out the window, and in the moment of crisis, his magic power erupted; Neville bounced back like rubber, unharmed.
The scene of the magic awakening delighted Grandmother Augusta for several months, but only for several months.
His talent was mediocre; he could hardly cast spells normally, and the wand inherited from his father Frank was like a dead stick in his hand—no matter how he waved it, it gave no response.
The Lumbardon family magic training had no effect; Neville’s performance was only slightly better than a Muggle-born.
Augusta finally pinned her hopes on Hogwarts, hoping this thousand-year-old magic school could enlighten the Lumbardon heir and guide him to become a great wizard who would restore the Lumbardons.
After a week of school, Neville saw no such possibility.
In Professor McGonagall’s first lesson, she taught them to transfigure matches into silver needles; Neville still could not make his match change, Professor Flitwick taught them the fire-starting spell, but his wand could not even produce sparks, let alone Potions class where he nearly corroded off a layer of skin…
Neville felt he had neither Harry’s talent nor Hermione’s intellect; what interested him was not Transfiguration, Charms, or Defence Against the Dark Arts, but the more ordinary and mundane Herbology—tending to those plants made him feel at ease.
Grandmother and Uncle Argus instructed him to write letters home every week reporting on school life; this week’s letter was already written and now sat in his cabinet drawer. Neville wrote about some interesting anecdotes from school, told them he had been sorted into Godric Gryffindor, that his roommate was Harry Potter, and described the Great Hall banquet and castle staircases in detail, but glossed over the specific course content.
Perhaps he would never meet Grandmother’s expectations in this lifetime; after this realization, Neville only wanted to spend his seven years at school peacefully.
“I happen to know a spell that’s perfect for finding lost items.”
Neville heard Professor Levent say this; he hesitated for a few seconds, then asked softly, “Is it the Summoning Charm?”
Born into a pure-blood Twenty-Eight Families family, Neville had been exposed to it from childhood; though he had not mastered these spells, he knew their effects.
He was somewhat afraid to tell the professor that the list could be found with the Summoning Charm, but the Summoning Charm had a distance limit of about a few dozen feet; if cast by the professor, it might extend to a hundred feet, roughly the range of a few adjacent classrooms.
But Neville could no longer remember where he had left the list—it might be in the Hospital Wing ward, only a few dozen feet away, or the corridor staircase, the first-floor courtyard, the Potions classroom, the grounds outside the castle… over a few thousand feet at least.
“You know this spell too?”
Melvin raised an eyebrow: “Then you cast it.”
“I… I can’t.” Neville was on the verge of tears again.
“If you can’t, you can learn. I’m the professor, and you’re the student.” Melvin demonstrated the casting gesture, speaking slowly—he was a very patient professor. “Wave your wand, picture your list in your mind, point the wand tip in the direction your intuition guides, then say the incantation—Summon List.”
On such a night, in such a setting, Neville suddenly could not refuse; he subconsciously followed the professor’s guidance to prepare to cast the spell.
He drew his wand from his pocket—somewhat old, with blackened walnut wood, inherited from his father—adjusted his breathing with a deep inhale, pointed the wand tip toward one side of the corridor, and shouted with resolute tone:
【Summon List】
Half a minute passed with no movement.
Neville grew even more dejected, nearly crying out; having learned no magic in his first week of school, he did not think it was the professor’s teaching but his own magical aptitude. In his disappointment, he even resented himself a bit for not telling the professor directly, wasting the professor’s time for nothing.
Melvin shifted two steps to stand behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Neville’s voice began to tremble again: “Professor, don’t waste time on me anymore. I can’t learn anything; I’m a Muggle-born.”
Melvin did not comfort him, his tone calm and gentle: “Try again.”
Neville wanted to refuse but could not say it; he had to raise his wand again and shout with effort: 【Summon List】
In an instant.
The evening wind sweeping through the corridor was fiercer than ever before; the howling air made the windows rattle, robes flap loudly, as if all the air around the castle was rushing into the corridor, nearly tearing the castle apart.
Neville, at the center of the gale, first thought he had mispronounced the spell and caused trouble; his second thought was that he would be expelled from Hogwarts. At that, he felt some relief—he had no magical talent anyway and did not belong at Hogwarts…
Absurd thoughts swirled, finally producing a trace of joy—
At least he had successfully cast a spell.
Neville quickly noticed the abnormality of this raging wind: the corridor howled with wind, windows nearly torn off, yet Professor Levent beside him showed no reaction, waving a hand to turn the fierce gale around them mild and gentle.
Melvin even patted his shoulder, signaling him not to worry and to wait a moment.
Neville was not sure if he had calmed down; his heart mixed panic at impending expulsion with joy at successful spellcasting, unsure which emotion dominated, his heart pounding, face flushed.
The gale swept by magic power, torches and oil lamps on both sides of the brick walls swaying wildly.
Behind the staircase corner, Dumbledore watched the scene silently, sipping hot chocolate, unconcerned with his silver-white beard flying wildly, even finding it somewhat refreshing.
The wind in the corridor abruptly stopped; a wrinkled, torn parchment list floated in, tracing an arc into Neville’s outstretched palm.
