Longbottom's Courage

Neville Longbottom stood outside the office door, hesitating for a full three minutes.

He had raised his hand to knock four times, only to pull it back at the very last second each time.

The fifth time, the door opened from within.

Artoria stood in the doorway, holding a cup of tea as she looked down at him.

"You've been standing there for a long time," she said.

Neville's face instantly turned red.

"I... I... Professor Zhang told me to come see him..."

"Come in."

Neville carefully walked into the office as though crossing a minefield. His gaze darted everywhere—at the books on the desk, the paintings on the wall, the Black Lake beyond the window—anywhere but Zhang Wen.

Zhang Wen sat behind his desk, Neville's ungraded assignment spread out before him.

"Have a seat, Mr. Longbottom."

Neville sat down. The chair let out a creak, startling him so badly that he nearly jumped back to his feet.

"Relax," Zhang Wen said. "I didn't call you here because you did anything wrong."

Neville swallowed, clearly unconvinced. In his experience, professors calling him in for a talk had never meant anything good. Snape called him in to scold him, McGonagall called him in to sigh at him, and Filius Flitwick called him in to comfort him—but being comforted only meant things had gone badly.

Zhang Wen pushed the assignment toward him.

"You wrote, 'Stand still and hope the Dark Magical Creature doesn't see me.'"

Neville lowered his head.

"Do you know what's wrong with that answer?"

"...It isn't good enough?" Neville's voice was as soft as a mosquito's buzz.

"It's not that it isn't good enough," Zhang Wen said. "It's that it isn't honest enough."

Neville looked up at him in confusion.

"When you wrote that answer, were you just going through the motions, or did you truly believe that if you encountered danger, all you could do was stand there?"

Neville was silent for a long time.

"I... I really do think there's nothing I can do," he said, his voice trembling. "My magic is terrible. Professor Snape says I'm the stupidest student he's ever taught. I can't even perform a simple Transfiguration spell—"

"Mr. Longbottom," Zhang Wen interrupted, "what place did you finish in during physical training this morning?"

Neville froze for a moment.

"F... fifth?"

"Fifth. Fifth out of twenty-six students," Zhang Wen said. "You were faster than Malfoy, faster than most of the Slytherin students, and even faster than Weasley."

Neville blinked, apparently having never considered it from that perspective.

"Your magic does need improvement. But your physical fitness isn't poor. That means it isn't true that you 'can't do anything.' You just haven't found what you're good at yet."

Neville's lips moved, but he said nothing.

Zhang Wen leaned back in his chair.

"I didn't grade your assignment because it was poorly written. I didn't grade it because I want you to rewrite it."

"Rewrite it?"

"Yes. This time, don't write about what you think you 'can do' or 'can't do.' Just write about one thing—what would you do if your friend were in danger?"

Neville was stunned.

He clearly hadn't expected that question.

"No rush. Turn it in next week," Zhang Wen said. "Go on."

Neville stood and walked to the door.

He paused, then turned back to look at Zhang Wen.

"Professor Zhang... thank you."

"What are you thanking me for?"

"Thank you for not scolding me."

Neville left.

Zhang Wen looked at the closed door in silence for several seconds.

"That kid is going to be remarkable someday," he said.

Artoria walked over from the corner and placed a freshly brewed cup of tea on his desk.

"Why are you so certain?"

"Because I know his future," Zhang Wen said quietly. In the original story, Neville would draw the Sword of Gryffindor in the final battle and cut off Nagini's head—Voldemort's last Horcrux. That round-faced boy who could not even perform Transfiguration would one day become a true hero.

"And," Zhang Wen added, "someone who has been suppressed for twelve years and still hasn't completely given up must have something deep inside him. He just doesn't know it yet."

Artoria lifted her own teacup.

"Starting tomorrow, I'll give him extra training separately."

"Don't be too harsh."

"I won't," Artoria said. "Just twenty percent more than the normal standard."

Zhang Wen had a feeling Neville's days ahead would not be easy.

But perhaps that was a good thing.

That afternoon, Zhang Wen received a letter.

It had been delivered by owl. The envelope bore the Malfoy family crest—a silver snake coiled around a capital "M."

The stationery was of exceptional quality, probably worth more than Zhang Wen's monthly salary.

The contents were brief.

"Mr. Zhang Wen:

I am Lucius Malfoy, father of Draco Malfoy and a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

I recently learned that you have introduced physical training into your Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and I am deeply concerned. Hogwarts is a school of magic, not a Muggle athletic training camp. This style of instruction is unprecedented in Hogwarts history, and I believe further discussion is necessary.

Furthermore, I understand that you were temporarily recommended by Mr. Lockhart as a replacement. We know very little about your qualifications and background. As a member of the Board of Governors, I have a responsibility to ensure the quality of education at Hogwarts.

I look forward to your reply.

Lucius Malfoy"

Zhang Wen read the letter twice.

On the surface, it spoke of "discussion" and "concern for educational quality."

What it really meant was, "My son came home complaining, so you'd better give me an explanation."

"Trouble's here." Zhang Wen handed the letter to Artoria.

Artoria read it without any change in expression.

"Who is he?"

"The head of the Malfoy family. A pure-blood aristocrat with wealth and influence, connected to both the Ministry of Magic and the Hogwarts Board of Governors," Zhang Wen said after a moment. "He's roughly equivalent to... the Einzbern family in the Type-Moon Universe? No, not that extreme. More like a medieval noble with real power."

"How dangerous is he?"

"He poses no direct threat to us. He can't possibly come to Hogwarts himself to make trouble, but he can pressure Dumbledore through the Board of Governors and indirectly affect my teaching."

Artoria placed the letter back on the desk.

"How do you plan to reply?"

Zhang Wen thought for several seconds.

"I won't."

"You won't?"

"That's right," Zhang Wen said. "Replying means playing by his rules. He didn't send this letter because he truly wants to communicate. He sent it to let me know that he's watching me. If I rush to write back and explain myself, I'm admitting that he has the right to interfere with my teaching."

He picked up the letter, folded it, and tucked it into a drawer.

"But what if he pressures you through the Board of Governors?" Artoria asked.

"Then let Dumbledore block him," Zhang Wen said. "Appointing professors and arranging classes are the headmaster's authority. No matter how much Lucius Malfoy stirs things up, as long as Dumbledore doesn't yield, he can't touch me."

"You trust this headmaster a great deal."

"Not exactly," Zhang Wen said. "It's just that when it comes to dealing with the Malfoy family, Dumbledore and I share the same interests. The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

Artoria glanced at him.

"Your political instincts are good."

"People with poor political instincts didn't survive in the Type-Moon Universe."

Artoria did not argue.

That was indeed the truth.

That evening, Zhang Wen waited in his office for Harry's scheduled tutoring session.

At exactly six o'clock, there was a punctual knock on the door.

"Come in."

Harry pushed the door open. He was not alone today—Ron followed behind him, with Hermione and her bushy hair behind him.

Zhang Wen raised an eyebrow. "I recall inviting only Mr. Potter."

"C... can I join too?" Ron scratched his head. "I still can't cast the Disarming Charm accurately."

"I want to join too," Hermione said, far more confidently than Ron. "I want to learn the prediction techniques Assistant Pendragon mentioned."

Zhang Wen looked at the three of them.

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger.

The Golden Trio.

In the original story, the three of them had fumbled their way through fighting Voldemort and all manner of dark magical threats without any adult guidance. If someone could give them a solid foundation during their second year—

"You may," Zhang Wen said. "But I have conditions."

All three looked at him at once.

"First, you may not be late for any tutoring session. Be late once, and you're out."

The three nodded.

"Second, you may not share the tutoring material with anyone else. Some of what I teach may go beyond the normal curriculum, and spreading it around would cause unnecessary trouble."

The three nodded again. Hermione nodded the hardest.

"Third—" Zhang Wen looked at Ron. "Mr. Weasley, there's something wrong with your wand."

Ron's face reddened.

"I know. It's my brother Charlie's old wand, and the Unicorn hair is practically sticking out... But a new one costs too much—"

"I'm not telling you to buy a new one." Zhang Wen took Lockhart's old wand from the drawer. "Use this one for now. Cherry wood, Unicorn hair, nine inches. It may not be a perfect match for you, but it will definitely be better than the one you have now."

Ron's eyes widened.

"Really?"

"It's only a loan. Return it to me once you can afford a new wand."

Ron took the wand, his hand trembling slightly. He gave it an experimental wave—and a cluster of warm orange sparks burst from the tip.

There was none of the strange buzzing and green smoke that came from his old wand.

It was a normal, healthy magical response.

Ron's expression shifted from shock to wild delight.

"This—this is so much better than my old one!"

Hermione smiled beside him. Harry patted Ron on the shoulder.

"Alright." Zhang Wen clapped his hands. "Pick up your wands. Let's begin. Today's lesson—precision control with the Disarming Charm."

The three immediately got into position.

Zhang Wen had placed three targets at the front of the classroom—ones he had conjured with Transfiguration. They were much better than the crooked ones from the start-of-term feast, at least they stood straight.

"The rules are simple. Each target has three rings—the outer ring, middle ring, and inner ring. Outer ring earns one point, middle ring earns three, and inner ring earns five. Ten chances each."

Harry went first.

He hit seven out of ten shots, including two in the middle ring and one in the inner ring. Seventeen points total.

Hermione went second.

She hit five out of ten, all in the outer ring. Five points total. But her casting was the most stable of the three—every spell was delivered with nearly identical force.

Ron went last.

With the new wand, Ron seemed like a completely different person. He hit six out of ten shots: three outer rings, two middle rings, and one inner ring. Sixteen points total.

"Mr. Weasley," Zhang Wen said as he looked over the results, "you weren't inaccurate before. Your wand was simply terrible."

Ron grinned, the tips of his ears turning red.

"Keep practicing," Zhang Wen said. "Ten sets every day for a month, and your Disarming Charms will reach practical combat standards."

The three practiced for half an hour.

Throughout it all, Artoria stood in the corner observing.

When it ended, the three packed their things and prepared to leave. Hermione suddenly turned to Artoria.

"Assistant Pendragon, may I ask—you... are you really a knight?"

Artoria looked at her.

"Yes."

"What kind of knight?"

Artoria was silent for two seconds.

"A knight who protects the people."

Hermione's eyes lit up. She seemed to want to ask more, but Harry tugged at her, and the three left together.

After the door closed, the office fell quiet.

"You gave Lockhart's wand to Weasley," Artoria said.

"I had no use for it anyway. Keeping it would only mean letting it gather dust in a drawer."

"That wand could be sold for money."

"It wouldn't sell for more than a few Galleons." Zhang Wen stretched. "And if that kid keeps using his old wand, something bad is bound to happen sooner or later. In the original story, his wand completely broke at some point, leading to a very serious consequence."

"What consequence?"

"A Memory Charm backfire. Lockhart was the unlucky one, but—forget it, I've said too much. Anyway, helping him get a usable wand would be good for everyone."

Artoria lifted her teacup and found that the tea had gone cold.

She set the cup down and glanced out the window. It was completely dark outside, with sparse stars hanging in the sky.

"Master."

Zhang Wen turned his head.

Artoria rarely called him "Master" when it was just the two of them. Usually, she either spoke to him directly or occasionally called him "Zhang Wen."

"What is it?"

"These children..." Artoria paused. "They are worth protecting."

Zhang Wen looked at her.

When the King of Knights said those words, her tone was somewhat different from usual. She was not stating a fact so much as confirming something—confirming her reason for staying here.

"Of course they are," Zhang Wen said.

Artoria nodded slightly.

"Dinner is in fifteen minutes."

"You go ahead. I'll keep grading for a while."

"You need to eat on time."

"I'm not you. Missing one meal won't do anything to me."

"Eating on schedule is the foundation of maintaining combat strength."

"I don't need to fight—"

"Master."

Zhang Wen stood up resignedly.

"Fine, fine. Let's go."

There was no winning an argument with the King of Knights.

Especially when it came to eating.