It was a beautiful summer morning in the ordinary little village of Huddlesby when an owl flew down Preston Road towards the house at the far end. The house itself stood right at the edge of the village overlooking the rolling fields of rural Lancashire. It was an old, ramshackle, sprawling mess of a house with wild overgrown gardens and an old barn at the back which was falling into disrepair. Most of the locals of the village reckoned it was an old farmhouse, but none could remember any farming going on there for decades, if ever.

The house itself had always been something of an anomaly among locals of the village, which was otherwise a close, tight-knit community. It was a common source of gossip among regulars of The White Horse pub, where locals would gather to set the world in general, and Huddlesby in particular, to rights. Only the night before had three such hardy folk gathered round their pints of ale and discussed the house’s strange inhabitant.

‘A batty old woman and a menace, if you ask me,’ said one, though nobody had asked him. ‘Always wearing that ridiculous green get-up and shouting off at anyone who comes near. Never comes to any village events, never even seems to come down to the shops and doesn’t own a car. How she feeds herself is anyone’s guess. I reckon she’s starving that boy up there.’

‘Too true,’ said another. The boy was a perennial topic when discussing this particular house, and made all the mysterious by the fact that few of them had ever seen him. Though the old woman had apparently raised the boy since he was a baby, he’d never attended school and didn’t seem to even be allowed outside. Occasionally they’d seen his face in an upstairs window, but no more than that, and any kids that ventured on to the property to try and get a closer look were vigorously shooed off. Whose boy it really was, was anyone’s guess.

‘I heard he’d burned down his house �“ killed his parents. No one else would take him,’ said the first man.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Albert,’ said the third. ‘He was only a baby at the time. I heard they died in a car crash, that’s why she doesn’t drive, lost her son that way.’

‘Whatever it is, she don’t treat him right, that’s for sure,’ said Albert. ‘We ought to do something about it.’ But none did of course, for the ale was still flowing and there was plenty more gossip to discuss, like the other dotty old woman with the cats who lived a few doors down. That one kept them busy right up till closing time, and they forgot about the boy up at the farmhouse.

But now it was morning and that particular boy was slowly waking and getting himself dressed. He clumsily tried to comb his hair and stared in his bedroom mirror. A short, slightly chubby looking young boy with a mop of light brown hair that refused to sit in place and a glum, depressed look stared back at him. It was a week from his eleventh birthday and he felt he should really be taller than that by now. He pushed back his long fringe to reveal the odd lightening-bolt scar on his forehead and scratched at it absently, though it didn’t hurt or itch at the moment.

He pulled on his trousers, realised he’d got them on back to front, took them off and pulled them on again. Giving one last go with his comb, he gave up, finished dressing and padded downstairs to the kitchen. He tripped on the bottom step, nearly cracked his head on the dresser and sprawled on the hall carpet.

‘For goodness sake get up, Neville,’ screeched a voice from the kitchen and Neville heard footsteps padding towards him. A strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet. The hand twisted him round to face his Gran, who was wearing the same stern, disapproving expression she always did. Gran brushed down his jumper. ‘Can’t you watch where you’re going? Honestly, anyone would think you can’t control your own feet.’

‘Sorry, Gran,’ mumbled Neville. ‘These trousers are a bit long, you see…’

‘Well you should grow up faster, then,’ snapped Gran. Neville fell silent. ‘Come on and have breakfast.’ She bustled him into the kitchen, where a pot on the stove was busy making porridge. A large wooden spoon was stirring the pot by itself. Neville sat down at the kitchen table as a bowl floated over to the pot, received three large dollops of porridge and then floated over and placed itself in front of him. Neville picked up his spoon and started eating. He didn’t really care for porridge, but he didn’t like to complain. He ate it silently under Gran’s watchful glare.

When he’d finished the bowl floated over to the sink. Gran poured him a glass of milk. ‘Drink up,’ she said and thrust it under his nose. Neville gulped it down, a little too fast as some went up his nose causing him to splutter and sneeze. Gran fetched a tissue and roughly rubbed down his nose. ‘I have to do everything for you, don’t I?’ she said.

‘Yes, Gran,’ murmured Neville, staring at the floor.

‘Speak up when you’re being spoken to, boy. Now run along and make a start on your chores.’ Neville turned to go. But at that moment there was a scratching at the kitchen window and he looked up in surprise. But it was only an owl, a young tawny, trying to get in. Gran left Neville and flung open the window. The owl hopped in onto the kitchen counter. Gran stroked him, fed him a couple of nuts from a jar she kept by the window, and took the single letter held in his claws. The owl hooted loudly, hopped out of the window once more and flapped off into the bright blue sky.

Gran took the letter, turned it over a couple of times in her hand and then stared up at Neville with a curious look on her face Neville hadn’t seen before. Hurriedly she ripped open the letter. She had read only the first sentence when she looked up again with yet another expression that Neville hadn’t seen before yet this time he could place. It was pride. Pride, joy and something approaching relief. She rushed back to Neville and picked him up in her arms and hugged him so tightly that Neville thought he would burst.

‘Oh my boy!’ she cried, with a beaming smile on her face. ‘You made it, I was so worried! We’ll make a wizard of you yet!’

‘What is it, Gran?’ Neville was astonished. This just didn’t happen in this house. Gran thrust the envelope and letter into his hand. Neville read the address.

Mr N. Longbottom
The Kitchen
26 Preston Road
Huddlesby
Lancashire

He opened up the letter and read.

Dear Mr Longbottom,
I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…

Hogwarts! He knew all about it, of course, from what Gran had told him, but she’d always qualified her words with something along the lines of ‘it’s only for true wizards, you know’. The family had always been terrified he was either a Squib or so ungifted as to be all but. He looked up at Gran and they hugged again. Neville had never felt so appreciated.

‘Sit down again,’ beamed Gran. ‘I’m going to make you a proper cooked breakfast. You deserve the best today.’ And she did. Fried egg, sausages, bacon, tomato, mushrooms, the works. Neville wolfed it down enthusiastically as Gran fussed around him. He didn’t expect this to last so he vowed to make the most of it.

But just as he was finishing, there was what sounded like a loud ‘pop’ from the garden and then shortly afterwards a heavy knock on the front door. Both Gran and Neville were surprised. They hardly ever got visitors, except when Uncle Algie and Auntie Enid came to stay. Gran hurried to the door and Neville cautiously followed, poking his head round the kitchen door to see who it was.

When Gran opened the door, a very elderly wizard with a long white beard and wearing bright purple robes and half-moon glasses was standing there. Gran jumped a little and her hand went to her mouth.

‘Good morning, Augusta,’ said the wizard brightly. ‘I know you weren’t exactly expecting me and I apologise, but after all, it is perhaps not such of a surprise I am here today, is it not?’

Gran paused for a moment and then nodded. ‘I guess not, Professor. Come in, come in.’

‘Thank you, Augusta,’ said the wizard, stepping over the threshold. ‘Neville has received his letter by first owl, then? Good, good. It is time, Augusta. It is time the boy was told the truth.’

Neville hurried back to his chair and sat down as Gran and the mysterious wizard came into the kitchen. ‘Get up, get up Neville,’ said Gran. ‘Greet our guest properly. Neville, this is Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.’

Neville swallowed nervously, but the wizard seized his hand and shook it vigorously. ‘It’s been a long time, Neville. How are you?’ he asked.

‘W-w-w-well, P-p-p-professor,’ stammered Neville. He wasn’t good around strangers. ‘B-but sir, we’ve never met.’ He had heard of him, for sure, Dumbledore was legend, but Neville had encountered few people in his short life and this was not one of them, he was sure.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Excuse me a moment.’ He took out a wand, gave it a wave and a large plush armchair appeared in front of him in the middle of the kitchen. He settled into it. ‘Does me good to rest my feet,’ he smiled. ‘Sit down Neville, I have some things I must tell you. It is perhaps only now that you are ready to hear them.’

Neville sat awkwardly and looked nervously up at Gran. ‘It’s alright,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry Neville. We agreed when we took you in that this day would come. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. We felt it was for the best.’

Neville looked searchingly at Dumbledore, whose face was sad. ‘I am only sorry George is not able to be here today,’ he said, glancing at Gran. ‘He was a good man, and a fine wizard, Augusta.’ Gran merely nodded silently. Neville thought of poor old Grandad and his smiling face and how he’d wasted away. Neville had been there when he died. That had been four years ago now. He still missed him.

Neville was absently drifting away into memory, but a gentle cough from Dumbledore brought him back to the present. ‘Neville, when you’ve been out and about among other wizards, have you ever had strange looks or people acting oddly towards you? As if they know you?’

‘N-Not really,’ said Neville. ‘But we don’t go out much.’

‘We thought it best to keep him away from all that, Professor,’ said Gran. ‘We did our best to shield him from the trouble it would cause.’

‘Quite, quite,’ said Dumbledore. ‘But a boy needs to understand the world, Augusta.’

‘We taught him well. He knows all about our world.’

‘I was not talking about our world, Augusta. I meant the world in general. Life. But I trust that Hogwarts will teach him that. Indeed it is more important than any magic we teach there.’ He turned back to Neville who was reminiscing again. Now he thought about it, he did recall some odd instances in the past… He looked up. Dumbledore was smiling at him and looking into his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said, and lifted up his hand and gently brushed aside Neville’s hair from his forehead. ‘It was because of your scar.’

‘M-my scar?’ stammered Neville. ‘But it’s just an ordinary scar. I got it as a baby. W-when my parents died. In the war. T-the house collapsed and I got hit by something. What does that have to do with anything?’

Dumbledore smiled gently. ‘George and Augusta told you as much as I would allow them, Neville. You weren’t old enough to understand. Neville, do you know who killed your parents?’

‘Y-yes. Death Eaters,’ said Neville. He spat the name out as if it were poisonous.

‘No, Neville. It was Lord Voldemort.’ Augusta gasped and Neville yelped at the name being spoken.

‘Professor!’ exclaimed Gran.

Dumbledore waved his hand. ‘I do not apologise at speaking his name, Augusta. To hide behind circumlocutions only makes the fear of him greater. Yes Neville, it was Voldemort who came to your parents’ house that night nearly ten years ago. It was Voldemort who killed them. And it was Voldemort who then turned his wand on you.’

‘He tried to kill me?’ cried Neville.

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Dumbledore. ‘But he succeeded only in giving you that scar. The curse failed and Voldemort’s powers were destroyed. His weak, houseless spirit fled into the night.’

‘B-but a great wizard defeated Voldemort. A hero,’ said Neville, looking up at Gran, who would not take his eye.

‘No, Neville. No hero. Just you. But that night and that scar has made you a hero. Though we kept it from you, you are famous across the wizarding world. I believe they call you the Boy who Lived. A curious title, and not one I prefer, but there’s nothing we can do about such things. I hold some quite absurd titles myself, you know.’ He sighed. ‘That night I made some tough decisions and only now am I reaping the penalties. I had you brought here and Augusta and George kindly agreed to take care of you for the sake of their son. I asked them to keep the full truth from you until you were old enough to understand. And at their insistence I promised to return and explain to you the truth myself, when you were ready. This I have done today. I can only say that I am sorry.’

Neville sat there, half open mouthed. It was so much to take in, he didn’t know what to say. Gran put her hands on his shoulders to comfort him.

‘So when I go to school, everyone will know who I am?’ he said finally.

‘Everyone will know your name and your story,’ replied Dumbledore, ‘but that does not mean they know you. You are not just a note in the pages of history, Neville. You are a person, and the best among your schoolmates will understand that. Reputation does not make a man, only what he truly does. Beware the friend who is interested only in your legend and not in yourself.’

‘But my magic is so poor. Won’t people turn against me if I don’t live up to who I’m supposed to be?’

‘Sadly, our world does set too much store by the level of a person’s abilities and not by how they use them. But you will always find those who know otherwise. Trust in them, and you will not be alone.’

Neville sat silently, and felt cold. He was trembling, though he didn’t realise it. The enormity of what had happened was overwhelming him. Only a short while before he had been the happiest boy in the world. Now he felt as if that whole world was bearing down on his shoulders.

‘Don’t be so afraid, Neville,’ said Dumbledore gently. ‘I will not say there is nothing to fear, for in this world that is not true and I dislike lies, but fear is not always a terrible thing. The world is a remarkable place and at all times there is hope, even in the most unlikely of places. Always think on life as an adventure. It is what I try to do. You have questions, I see?’

So many, thought Neville, though it was hard to put them into words. ‘I killed him, You-Know-Who, did I?’ he finally asked.

‘No, Neville. I believe what happened to him was none of your responsibility, not directly at any rate. Nor did I say he died.’ Neville stared at him. ‘Yes, child, I believe he lives yet, though in form so weak he poses no threat at the moment. One day, he may return, though long may that return be delayed. You have no further questions?’
Neville felt unable to speak and shook his head. ‘Well, in time you may find words to express more. For now, I shall leave you with your thoughts.’ He stood up, waved his wand and the armchair vanished. ‘Goodbye, Neville,’ he said, ‘and congratulations on being accepted to Hogwarts. I shall follow your career with interest.’ He smiled one more time and followed Gran to the door, leaving Neville sitting in a daze.

Suddenly Neville sprang up and rushed to the door. Dumbledore, on the front step, turned. ‘Ah, so you do have a question,’ he said.

‘Yes, Professor. Why did You-Know-Who try to kill me, and why didn’t he succeed?’

For a moment it seemed to Neville that Dumbledore hesitated, as if unsure about something. Then he spoke. ‘Those are far greater mysteries than you might think, Neville. Another time might be better to search for answers. Good morning.’ And with that he stepped out of the door, raised his wand and with a ‘crack’ he vanished.

Neville gingerly threw the Floo Powder into the fireplace, stepped in and cried “Diagon Alley” in an overly loud voice. He hated Floo Network travel and kept his eyes shut for the duration of the journey before being expelled from his destination and, because he had his eyes closed, he fell and sprawled on the floor of the Leaky Cauldron. A kindly witch helped him to his feet and gave a small gasp when she noticed his scar. But now Gran had arrived after him and grasped him by the hand. “Come on, Neville,” she said. Neville was painfully aware of several heads turning in his direction at the mention of his name, but Gran was in no mood to hang about. They were almost out of the back of the pub when they literally ran into a young wizard in purple robes with short dark hair who jumped in fright.



“S-s-s-s-sorry,” he stammered terribly. “M-my fault.” Then he stopped and looked down at Neville. “M-m-m-Merlin’s B-Beard, N-Neville Longbottom. S-so p-pleased to meet you.” He weakly shook Neville’s hand. “I w-will be seeing you at H-Hogwarts, yes?”



“Er, yes,” said Neville and before he could say anything else Gran hurried him on into the back yard. She tapped on the bricks with her wand to open up the passageway. “Who was that?” asked Neville.



“I have no idea,” snapped Gran and led him through into Diagon Alley. Neville gaped in amazement. He had never been in Diagon Alley before, indeed he’d never been anywhere so busy before. The narrow street teemed with people jostling past each other and scurrying in and out of shops. The bright and inviting shop fronts drew Neville’s attentive gaze, but Gran would not allow him to wait and pulled him along by the arm until they stood outside a tall, imposing marble building with bronze front doors. “Wait here,” said Gran. “I’m going into the bank. Don’t go running off anywhere, I’ll only be a few minutes.” Neville sat down obediently on the marble steps to wait, and tried to keep out of everybody’s way.



Gran did not return soon and Neville became quickly bored. He sat idly fiddling with his shoelaces and watching the crowds go by. He felt a little uncomfortable and exposed among all these strangers and he wished his Uncle Algie had come. He and Auntie Enid had come round yesterday for Neville’s birthday and fussed him a lot, but they apparently had some important business to do and couldn’t stay. Neville liked them. They were a lot easier people to get on with than Gran.



Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted when he was buffeted from behind by something. It knocked him to his feet and as he tried to regain his balance he tripped over his untied shoelaces and fell onto the street. A huge hand wrapped itself around his left shoulder and hauled him back to his feet. Neville looked up. And up. Standing in front of him was a huge figure, twice the height of a man and even broader, with an absurdly wild thick black beard and a broad grin.



“Sorry 'bout that,” he said in a friendly voice. “Didn’ notice ya sittin’ there. No ’arm done, right?” He picked Neville up in one arm and dusted him down with the other. Neville just stared at him in amazement and backed away from him a few paces when he was set down. “Watch yerself, kid. Yeh’ll trip over them shoelaces again.” He took a pink umbrella from out of his overcoat and, taking a quick moment to glance around as if to check no one was looking, tapped the umbrella on Neville’s shoes. Neville’s laces twirled themselves around and tied themselves up in neat bows. The huge man winked, sat down on the steps and held out his giant right hand. “Pleased to meet yeh, youn’ lad. Rubeus Hagrid, that’s me.”



“Er, Neville Longbottom,” said Neville timidly, taking his hand, which the man shook so vigorously Neville thought his arm was going to fall off.



“Course you are, lad. I should’ve known we’d be seein’ you sooner or later.”



“Oh,” said Neville and looked away. He thought of Professor Dumbledore’s words and put his head down so the man couldn’t see his scar.



“Chin up, lad,” said Hagrid. “You shouldn’ look so glum. It’s a fine day, yer soon goin’ to Hogwarts, yeh should be ’appy.”



Neville looked up. “D’you know Hogwarts?” he said.



“Do I know Hogwarts?” replied Hagrid. “Didn’ I say? Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.” He put out his right hand again.



“You already did that bit,” said Neville.



“Did I? Oh, sorry. No, there’s not a man alive who knows more ’bout Hogwarts than I do. ’Cept maybe Filch. An’ Dumbledore, of course. That man knows everythin’, he does.” Neville warmed to the strange man with his easy-going nature. Praise of Dumbledore was good enough for him. “So what you doin’ then, sittin’ ’ere all on yer own?” asked Hagrid.



“Gran’s in the bank. She told me to wait.”



“Wanted to keep yeh clear of the goblins, did she? Smart move, I reckon.”



“Why are you here, Mr Hagrid?” asked Neville.



“Jus' Hagrid. Oh, er, well, I was, er, on business, yeh see.” His left hand instinctive tapped his right chest for some reason. “Yeah, Hogwarts business. Can’t say nothin’.” He quickly stood up and put his umbrella back in his jacket. “Look, I’d better be goin’. Got, er, thin’s to do. Be seein’ yeh, Neville.” Then just as he made to go, he stopped and waved his hand. “An’ here's yer Gran now, Neville. Afternoon, Mrs. Longbottom. Long time no see.” And sure enough, Gran was exiting the doors of the bank, clutching her handbag.



“Hagrid? What are you doing here?” snapped Gran.



“Jus’ watchin’ after the little tyke ’ere,” said Hagrid. “A fine lad. Good to see yeh again.” And with that he gave another little wink at Neville and sauntered off, as nonchalantly as a ten foot tall man can manage.



“What do I always say about talking to strangers, Neville?” said Gran.



“Do you know him, Gran?” asked Neville.



“Yes, he was there that night when…” Gran trailed off. “Heart’s in the right place but best to give him a wide berth if you want to stay out of trouble. You keep your nose clean at Hogwarts, you hear me? You’ve the family’s reputation to uphold.”



“Yes, Gran,” said Neville wearily. Gran had opened up his Hogwarts letter and was checking the required items, tutting occasionally, probably at the cost. She took Neville by the hand again and they began the round of the shops. Everywhere they went Gran did the talking and was often brusque, but Neville noticed the shopkeepers were always pleasant and always gave him a smile. Maybe being well known isn’t so terrible after all, he thought.



But then as he was standing in the doorway of Flourish and Blotts looking at the display while Gran was inside debating with the manager, a boy with blond hair barged into him and knocked him into the wall.



“Watch where you’re going, you fat oaf,” said the boy angrily.



“Sorry,” said Neville. But the boy was now staring at him strangely, and then grabbed the front of Neville’s hair and pushed it roughly away from his forehead.



“So it is,” the boy said, a little open mouthed at the sight of the scar. “Neville Longbottom. The Boy-Who-Lived. You don’t look much. Or rather you look too much.” He prodded Neville’s belly and smirked. “So you’re coming to Hogwarts this year too. So am I. We might even be housemates. I’d be happy to help you settle in. Put it there.” He held out his hand. Nervously, Neville reached out to take it. But at that moment the boy’s expression changed. Gran had come out of the shop and was looming over him, with a glowering look on her face. She pushed down Neville’s arm away from the boy’s hand.



“Be off with you,” she said coldly. “Go on, get lost.” With a stare, the boy backed off and then dashed away down the street.



“Who was that, Gran?” asked Neville.



“A Malfoy,” replied Gran, with barely concealed disgust. “Draco, I believe the brat’s name is.” She turned to look him in the eye. “Now listen to me, Neville. The Malfoys are definitely not the sort of wizards you want to be mixed up with. Nasty pieces of work, the lot of them. That boy’s father worked for You-Know-Who. Oh, he says he was Imperiused like so many others, but I don’t buy it. No, mark my words, when You-Know-Who returns, the Malfoys will be the first to rush to his side. Keep away from him.”



“But he said we might be housemates.”



“Not a chance. He’s Slytherin born and bred, and it’ll be a cold day in hell before any relative of mine ends up in Slytherin. Not if I did anything right in bringing you up.”



“What house were Mum and Dad in?” asked Neville.



“Gryffindor, and proud of it, Neville,” said Gran. “But don’t worry. The Hat will find the right place for you.” She didn’t say Hufflepuff, but Neville knew what she was thinking. He didn’t mind really, he was just glad to be going to Hogwarts at all. Gran had got out the letter again and was checking the list. “Do you want a pet for Hogwarts?” she asked.



“I’ve got Trevor,” said Neville immediately.



“Oh, not that dratted toad, Neville,” said Gran, but Neville was insistent. He loved that toad, even if it was always getting lost. He took it everywhere, if Gran allowed him (she hadn’t today) and he wasn’t going to be parted from it at Hogwarts. “Fine, then,” said Gran, “well all that’s left is to get you a wand.” She led him across the street and down to Ollivander’s.



Mr Ollivander proved to be an eccentric sort, with a curious manner that made Neville a bit uneasy, but Gran argued with him in her customary fashion all the same, chivvying him around the shop, making him fetch wand after wand, none of which seemed to make the slightest impression with Neville. Exasperated, the wandmaker eventually cried “Mrs. Longbottom, let me think!” and Gran fell silent. Mr Ollivander looked intently at Neville for some time, and then suddenly an idea appeared clear as day upon his face. He scurried away to his shelves and returned with another wand. “Holly, eleven inches, phoenix feather core,” he proclaimed and handed it over.



Neville took hold of it, and almost immediately dropped it. A strange sensation had just shot all the way up his right arm. He scratched at his right shoulder and stared at the wand. It felt comfortable in his hand somehow. Mr Ollivander smiled, though the rest of his face had a pensive look. “I think we’ve found it,” he said.



“Great, we’ll take it,” said Gran with relief. “How much?”



“Seven Galleons,” replied Ollivander.



“Seven?” complained Gran. “Daylight robbery, if you ask me. Oh, well.” Reluctantly she opened her purse and forked over the gold coins. “Come on, Neville. Let’s go home.”



But as they turned to go, Mr Ollivander, who was looking worried, stopped them. “Wait,” he said, “there is something I must tell you about this wand. You see, I tried that particular wand because it has a history. Its core is from a phoenix who gave just one other feather for my use. You see, that wand has a brother, which I sold myself many years ago. And its owner, ah yes, its owner…”

“Come on, Neville, don’t dawdle,” said Gran, hurrying along over the bridge at King’s Cross Station and down onto Platform 9. “Get a move on.” Neville did his best, encumbered as he was with a huge trolley stacked with his personal belongings and with a complaining front left wheel that constantly seemed to want to go in the opposite direction to the other three. Several times he had barely avoided crashing into a wall or upsetting his stuff all over the floor. Very cautiously he manoeuvred the trolley down the ramp to join Gran.

It was a quarter to eleven on September 1st and the Hogwarts Express was leaving in just fifteen minutes. The platforms were packed with people, but they were mostly Muggles and they didn’t take any notice of Neville as he hauled his grudging trolley towards the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10 Gran was indicating. As he approached it, he saw a dreadlocked boy in front of him push his trolley right at the barrier �“ and vanish into the wall. Neville gulped.

“For goodness sake, Neville, it’s terribly simple. Just walk straight at the wall and you’re there,” said Gran, urging him forward. Nervously, Neville crept towards the wall, screwed up his face and gently pushed the trolley forward. It bounced off the wall and rebounded to knock him on his back. He stared up into Gran’s disapproving face. She tutted in her usual fashion and picked him up. A few Muggles had turned to look at them, but they quickly moved on to wherever they had to go.

“Sorry, Gran,” said Neville weakly.

“I have to do everything for you, don’t I?” said Gran wearily. “Come here.” Putting him behind the trolley again, she grasped his shoulders and with surprising force pushed him and the trolley together at the barrier. As the wall approached, Neville shut his eyes and flinched. But when he opened them, there he was under the archway reading “Platform Nine and Three-Quarters”. Settled into the platform in front of him and puffing merrily was a bright scarlet steam engine, tailed by a succession of ornate carriages. The platform itself was thronged with young witches and wizards and their parents. In front of him the dreadlocked boy was talking with a pair of identical looking red-haired boys, surrounded by yet more redheads, apparently of the same family.

Neville went to unload his belongings. But then he noticed the cardboard box on the top had broken open and was empty. “Trevor!” he cried and began frantically scrabbling around the trolley.

“What is it, Neville?” asked Gran.

“Trevor’s escaped again,” squeaked Neville.

“Calm down,” said Gran, rolling her eyes with familiar frustration. “He can’t have gone far.” But Neville was now dashing around the platform, crying out and searching everywhere. What if he was still the other side of the barrier, he thought. He might never see him again. He rushed up and down in between the legs of the other passengers with Gran desperately trying to keep up. “Neville, come back here!” she snapped.

At the mention of the name Neville one or two people turned or let Neville get passed. “Have you seen a toad, have you seen a toad?” he kept asking, but no-one replied. Then, as he had almost got back to where he started, he all but ran into a young girl with bushy brown hair. “Sorry, sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Have you seen…?”

“Was this what you were looking for, by any chance?” said the girl in a rather bossy tone. “I found it by the wall over there.” She opened her cupped hands to reveal Trevor, who croaked happily.

“Trevor!” cried Neville with joy. “There you are!” He grabbed Trevor and held him tightly between his chubby fingers. Trevor squirmed and tried to hop away but Neville held on. “Thank you! I thought I’d lost him.” He dashed back to the trolley and carefully replaced Trevor in his cardboard box. But as he turned back, he saw the girl all on her own, struggling with a pair of heavy suitcases as she tried to get them on board the train. Hurriedly pushing the trolley back over to her, he said “Hey, do need a hand with those?” He lifted up one end of the largest suitcase.

“Thanks,” said the girl gratefully and together (and with some help from Gran once she had got her breath back) they loaded all their belongings aboard the train. Neville hugged his Gran goodbye, and Gran gave him some forthright last minute advice, before letting him on board. The girl with the bushy hair was waiting for him. “Thank you again,” she said. “I don’t know how I’d have got all that aboard without help.”

“Weren’t your Mum and Dad here?” asked Neville.

“No. They, er, can’t come on the platform.” Neville nodded. The girl must be a Muggle-born. Muggles couldn’t get through the barrier. The girl stuck out her hand. “Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you.”

“Er, Neville Longbottom,” said Neville, though he felt embarrassed and didn’t take her hand.

“My, my, so you are,” said Hermione. “I’ve read about you. Come on, let’s find a compartment. The train’s about to leave.” Neville gave one last wave to his Gran, and then the two of them bundled into the nearest compartment, which happened to be empty. Neville was tightly clutching hold of the cardboard box that contained Trevor. Hermione sat down opposite. “Is this your first year, then?” she asked. Neville nodded. “Mine too,” she said. “I’m so looking forward to it. I’ve read all about, I’ve even tried a few spells, but it’s not the same as being there, is it? Not really.”

“You can do spells already?” asked Neville, worried. He’d barely managed to do anything magical in his life, and certainly not deliberately.

“Oh, only one or two basic ones I’ve read. No more than anyone else I’m sure. For instance…” She took out her wand and held it up. “Lumos,” she said in a clear voice and the end of her wand lit up.

“Wow,” said Neville, impressed, but it didn’t improve his mood. He stared dejectedly out of the window as the train pulled away from the platform. “I’m not going to last five minutes at this school,” he murmured to himself.

“Why do say that?” asked Hermione, who had overheard him.

Neville’s voice turned a little bitter. “Because I’m useless. Because I’ve no skill at all. I’m barely a wizard really.”

“But you’re legend!” said Hermione. “You’re famous! I’ve read all about you!”

“Don’t trust all you read,” said Neville. Hermione looked doubtful at this statement. “I didn’t do anything. I CAN’T do anything.” He buried his face in his hands.

Hermione looked at him sympathetically. “You got your letter, didn’t you?” she asked. “You got into Hogwarts. That makes you a proper wizard in anyone’s book. Especially mine.” She handed Neville a tissue. Neville blew his nose loudly. “I love this train, don’t you?” she continued. “Did you know it’s enchanted to pass along Muggle tracks and past other trains without ever being seen? I read it in Wizarding Transportation of the British Isles.”

And so the journey progressed. Hermione proved to be an excessively talkative girl given the slightest provocation to display her considerable knowledge of the world for one who’d only found out she was a witch less than a year earlier. “Of course I had an advantage having an early birthday,” she said. “This lovely old man in a green suit came to our door the day after my birthday. He was very patient and explained everything so very clearly. He even gave me my first wizarding books to read. Of course Mum and Dad weren’t sure at first, but the wizard told them all about Hogwarts and they knew I’d be desperate to go. It’s so wonderful isn’t it?” She chattered on and on and Neville just let her speak. For one thing, it meant he didn’t have to, which he reckoned a considerable advantage. And also, to tell the truth, he found himself a little in awe of her. He was learning so much about his own world he never even knew.

A short while into the trip, an Irish boy called Seamus asked if he could join them as nearly everywhere seemed full. Hermione almost instantly started talking to him about Irish magic and leprechauns, so Neville was left to stare out of the window for a while. Soon he became drowsy and nodded off. When he awoke, he found that the train was travelling through a valley between steep mountains. The sun was fairly low in the sky and it was now late afternoon.

“How are you feeling?” asked Hermione. “You’ve been asleep for ages. I’m not sure where we are, but Seamus reckons we’ve less than an hour to go.” Seamus, who was munching on a Pumpkin Pasty, nodded. “Want one?” he offered between bites. Neville accepted gratefully, Hermione declined and looked slightly askance at the two boys wolfing them down. “Honestly, you’ll spoil your appetite. You know they have a big welcoming feast when we get there.”

“Really?” said Neville. “Fantastic.” But it didn’t stop him finishing off the pasty. When he’d finished he looked down at Trevor’s box, which was by his side on the seat. To his horror it was open again and Trevor was gone. “Trevor, where are you?” he yelled.

“Who’s Trevor?” asked Seamus.

“My toad,” said Neville, now scrabbling on the floor looking for him.

“You have a toad?” laughed Seamus, but Hermione gave him a stern look. “He can’t have gone far,” she said. “He’s probably just outside.” Neville dashed out of the compartment door and looked frantically up and down the carriage. There, two compartments down, just outside another door, was Trevor, happily squatting on the floor. Neville ran over and picked him up.

“Hey, what are you doing?” said a voice. Neville looked up. The compartment door he was in front of was open and inside were two boys, surrounded by empty sweet wrappers and various half-eaten treats. It had been the red-haired one who had spoken, his friend, with dark hair and round glasses, was tucking into a box of Every Flavour Beans.

“Sorry,” said Neville. “I, er, just, er, lost my toad.” He held up Trevor to show them, and then quickly hurried back to his own compartment. He returned Trevor to his box and clutched it tightly for the remainder of the journey, which in the end was only half an hour. The children all rushed to the doors as the train pulled into Hogsmeade station, but Neville didn’t hurry and slowly got himself down from his seat.

“Come on, Neville,” said Hermione. “We should stick together, right?” Neville nodded and hurried along behind Hermione, still clutching Trevor’s box. Hermione stood at the carriage door waiting for him and helped him down. Neville smiled. Maybe life at Hogwarts wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Neville nervously rubbed the back of his right calf with his left foot and kept his head down as the other first-years crowded around about him at the entrance to the Great Hall. Trapped in this mass of other people milling about him and chatting to each other, he felt acutely and bizarrely alone and isolated. Hermione was a short way in front of him, looking somewhat nervous herself, but they had become separated in the crowd. Now everyone was waiting to be led into the Hall for the Sorting Ceremony.

Neville had enjoyed the boat ride across the lake from the station, though less when a boy at the front of his boat had decided to see how much he could rock it without it capsizing. Neville just held on tightly and tried to concentrate on the shoreline until Hagrid had yelled at the boy to stop. Like everyone else he had been blown away by his first sight of Hogwarts castle emerging out of the darkness on the cliff above them. It really was a beautiful sight in the moonlight.

However, up close Neville found he liked it less. The sheer scale of it seemed to him daunting and frightening as they had walked in through the huge front doors and into the vast entrance hall. He pictured himself getting hopelessly lost, wandering the corridors forever, unable to find a way out. To avoid coping with all this size, he stared straight at the floor and was bumped and barged by several other children around him.

“Excuse me, may I have your attention please,” said a stern, loud female voice. Neville finally looked up. A tall, dark-haired, elderly looking witch wearing spectacles and a very serious expression had appeared in front of them. “Keep quiet there, stand still,” she snapped at the few remaining children who hadn’t heard her the first time. Neville was slightly reminded of Gran, which worried him somewhat. The witch introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and gave them a few pointed words of advice about their behaviour (which Neville didn’t listen to as he was now even more nervous and anyway she now seemed even more like Gran). Then with a word she opened the double doors to the Great Hall and led them in silently.

If the Entrance Hall to Hogwarts had scared Neville the Great Hall was even worse. It was huge, wide and tall and packed with people. Four benches running the length of the hall held the students of the four Houses. Neville felt very self-conscious as he walked up between the benches to the far end. He couldn’t resist looking upwards, and wished he hadn’t. The Hall appeared to have no roof and Neville stared straight up into the night sky, with twinkling stars. He hurriedly looked down again.

But now they had reached the front of the Hall, and Professor McGonagall had brought out the Sorting Hat and placed it on a stool in front of the high table whereon sat all the professors. The Sorting Hat burst into song about its function and the four Houses, and afterwards McGonagall offered a few words of explanation, but Neville wasn’t listening. He’d been told all about the Sorting Ceremony by Gran and he knew what to expect. He was rather looking at the high table, and the odd motley array of witches and wizards sitting there.

He recognised Dumbledore immediately, sitting in the centre with an apparently bored look on his face and absently picking at his fingernails. He also recognised one more, the young wizard he’d seen in the Leaky Cauldron a month before. Only this time, he was wearing an absurd-looking turban on his head, completely covering his hair. He was talking to a sallow-faced, ugly looking wizard with dark, greasy hair and a contemptuous expression on his face, who was barely deigning to acknowledge him and was instead scanning the line of first-years intently. Neville had the oddest feeling the wizard was looking for him and he turned away quickly.

He realised the Sorting Ceremony had now begun, and the first students had already gone under the Hat. To cheers from the various House tables they hurried off to meet their new classmates. Neville found the whole thing rather boring and was itching to get to his turn. With a name stuck in the middle of the alphabet he had to wait and fidgeted on the spot, trying to avoid looking up at the sallow-faced teacher.

His boredom was relieved temporarily when Seamus and Hermione were sorted in fairly quick succession, but he was disappointed when the Hat assigned both of them to Gryffindor (though Hermione seemed to take some time). He sighed, and glanced over at the Hufflepuff table. They seemed friendly enough people, cheering loudly each time they gained a new member and welcoming the newcomer warmly. They expect hard work out of Hufflepuffs, he thought. Well, at least if I try hard, Gran can’t really complain.

“Neville Longbottom,” shouted Professor McGonagall. “NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!” Neville started suddenly. He hadn’t been listening, and now everyone was staring at him. It was his turn. Utterly terrified and once more looking at the floor, he crept his way forward, feeling hundreds of eyes burning into the back of his head. Suddenly his scar flamed with pain, and his hand shot up to his forehead. He lifted his head, and there was the sallow-faced teacher, staring straight at him next to the young teacher with the turban. Sore, frightened and incredibly nervous, Neville gingerly sat down on the stool and closed his eyes as the Sorting Hat was placed on his head.

“Hmm, hmm, let me see,” said a strange mellow voice that seemed to echo from inside his head. “Well, well, you are a most curious one for sure. So you think you’re a Hufflepuff, do you? Why, I wonder?”

Neville squirmed uncomfortably under the weight of the Hat. “Because I don’t belong anywhere else,” he thought.

“I thought you might say that,” said the Hat. “But there’s far more to you than meets the eye, or there would be if I had one. There’s honesty and diligence there, to be sure. But I sense a conflict deep inside you, and you are fighting hard, yes hard and with courage.”

“Courage?” thought Neville, amazed.

“There are many forms of courage. The strongest, however, comes from within and is never seen, but carries those who have it through the greatest of trials. If you would take my advice, nurture that courage, not with great deeds but in the ordinary challenges of life. The great deeds will take care of themselves. And so I do my duty…” “GRYFFINDOR!” screamed the Hat aloud.

It was only at this point that Neville realised that the whole hall was completely silent, waiting for the Hat to make its decision. There was a seemingly endless uncomfortable pause. Then the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers and applause. Bewildered and confused, Neville staggered down from the front of the hall to the cheering Gryffindors, who clapped him on the back and shoulders. He sought out Hermione, who made space for him next to her and Seamus. “Congratulations!” she said, beaming.

“Great to have you with us,” said Seamus. Neville looked up and down the table and saw that virtually everyone was whispering about him and occasionally giving him a thumbs-up when he looked in their direction. They’re proud to have me, thought Neville. They all know my reputation. It’ll be terrible when I start to disappoint them.

Two boys were now clambering over the backs of other students towards Neville. They were absolutely identical looking, solidly built with flame-red hair and manic, cheeky grins. They pushed aside a couple of complaining boys and settled themselves in opposite Neville.

“The Boy-Who-Lived! We had to meet you,” said the first. “Welcome to Gryffindor! Best House in Hogwarts, as everyone knows, though they don’t admit it.”

“We like to think of ourselves as the house mascots,” said the second. “He’s Fred.”

“And I’m George,” said the first. “No, wait, I’m Fred.”

“And he’s George,” said the second. They then both burst into howls of laughter. Neville felt horribly confused. “Sorry about that,” said the second, seeing Neville’s expression. “I really am George. We’re the famous Weasley twins.”

“Infamous, please George. Infamous Weasley twins,” said Fred. “We’ve a reputation to uphold. So, Neville, anything we can tell you, anything we can help you out with, let us know.”

“Well…” said Neville, but at that moment clapping had broken out on the table yet again and George tapped Fred’s shoulder and pointed. “Hey, it’s Harry! Harry got into Gryffindor!” Neville looked up and saw a boy with unkempt dark hair and glasses making his down to their table from the front. Neville recognised him. He’d seen him on the train earlier when he’d lost Trevor. “Hey Harry!” yelled George. “Over here!” The boy heard him and hurried over to them and sat down. “Great one Harry!” said Fred. “I knew we’d be getting you. Neville, this is Harry Potter. He’s a friend of our dopey kid brother Ron. Don’t ask me why.”

Harry grinned good-naturedly. “They’re always like this,” he said. “I hope they haven’t been bothering you.”

“No, no,” said Neville.

“Hey, we haven’t had a chance yet,” complained Fred. Hermione gave him a stern look. “What’s up with you?” Fred asked.

“Who’s Ron?” asked Seamus, trying to get in on the conversation. Harry turned round and indicated another red-haired boy with his hands in his pockets, milling around with the few remaining unsorted first-years. “Do you think he’ll be in Gryffindor as well?” asked Seamus.

“He’d better be,” said Fred. “All our family have been in Gryffindor. Even Percy.” He pointed dismissively towards a serious-looking older boy proudly wearing a prefect’s badge. “Six boys, seven if you count Harry here, the amount of time he spends at our house. And little Ginny still to come.”

“Wow,” said Seamus, impressed. The twins fell into an easy manner of talking about their family, their own exploits and Hogwarts in general. Neville listened for a while, but soon found himself drifting off and no longer paying attention. He felt tired and drained after such a long day, and hungry as well. He hardly noticed when Ron was indeed sorted into Gryffindor and joined them at the table. Ron and Harry fell to talking amongst themselves as old friends and all those around them were chatting away and making new friends. Except himself and Hermione, who was looking equally out of place. When the Sorting was finished and the feast began, Neville just tucked straight in and largely ignored the goings on around him.

When they’d finished, Professor Dumbledore got up and said a few words, but by now Neville wasn’t listening to anything. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go off somewhere quiet and alone and go to sleep. As everyone got up to leave, Hermione had to nudge Neville and drag him along as they made the long trek up through the castle to Gryffindor tower. Wearily he trudged up seemingly endless stairs behind everyone until they reached the Gryffindor common room. It was a beautiful ornate room, but Neville hardly noticed. As the girls were led away to their dormitory, Hermione gave him a wave goodbye, which Neville returned half-heartedly.

Then it was up further stairs to the boy’s dormitory where they all found their beds and belongings. Neville unpacked his stuff and looked after Trevor for a while, as the other boys explored. Then quietly in his corner of the room he got himself undressed and got into bed. On one side of the room, Harry and Ron stayed up half the night talking, and Seamus spent a long time chatting away with Dean, the other boy in their dorm, but Neville quickly curled up and fell into a deep sleep.

He had a strange dream that night. He dreamed he saw the sallow-faced teacher standing in front of him and staring at him, only the other teacher’s turban was atop his head, covering his greasy hair. The teacher began to laugh, and then his face transformed into the face of Harry and the laugh took on a mocking tone. The boy loomed over Neville and demanded to know why someone as unworthy as him was in Gryffindor. Then Harry plucked the turban from his head and pushed it down onto Neville’s and the weight bore down on him more and more until everything went black.

“Neville, Neville!” called a voice as if from somewhere deep and far away. “Get up, Neville, you’re late!” Neville uncomfortably roused himself from his deep slumber and his eyes swam into focus. Seamus, already dressed, was leaning over him and pushing his shoulder. “Come on! You’ve got ten minutes! Harry and Ron were up ages ago!”

Very slowly, and with no coordination, Neville levered himself out of bed and began automatically to get dressed. He barely noticed when he put his shoes on the wrong feet, until he tried to stand up. He briefly attempted to comb his hair, but gave up as there wasn’t time. Dean, who had been waiting for them, thrust a pile of books into Neville’s hands and they all went down for breakfast in the Great Hall.

Normally Neville liked breakfast, it was his favourite meal of the day as he felt he always needed it to get going in the morning. Today however he found he couldn’t enjoy it at all, he was so nervous. He kept glancing at his watch, terrified of the approach of 9 am, when classes would begin. To take his mind off things, he studied his timetable. First years at Hogwarts took seven subjects, and looking down the list, he wasn’t entirely sure what half of them even meant. Defence Against the Dark Arts sounded terrifying, and he doubted he could even spell or pronounce Transfiguration, let alone know what it was. Still, Fridays looked good, only one subject, Potions, and then the whole afternoon off. He suspected that would be his favourite day.

He had barely noticed that Hermione had sat down next to him and was now leaning over his shoulder, examining the timetable. “All ready?” she asked enthusiastically. I’m looking forward to Charms the most, but Transfiguration is said to be the most challenging. Shame it’s not till Thursday. I can hardly wait. What about you?” Neville merely nodded weakly. “Oh, come on,” she said, “I’m sure it won’t be as bad as that. Everyone’s in the same position, you know.”

“You’re not,” replied Neville. “I bet you know most of the course already.” To his surprise Hermione laughed.

“Of course I don’t, Neville,” she said. “I’m Muggle-born, remember? It’s all books with me. You’ve actually lived it. I envy you in a way. Tell you what, let’s sit next to each other in classes this week and we’ll compare how well we each do. I bet you’ll be surprised. Come on, that’s the bell for the first lesson. We have to find our way over to greenhouse one.”

And so the school week began, and Neville and Hermione sat together all week. Unfortunately Hermione insisted on sitting at the front every lesson, so she could best see the blackboard and easily get the teacher’s attention. Neville felt terribly exposed up at the front, as if all the other children behind were staring at him, which, given who he was, they probably were. Also it made him feel as if the teachers picked on him more than everyone, which almost certainly wasn’t true, but it seemed that way.

In truth, Hermione’s “contest” was nothing of the sort, she easily outshone Neville in every class. But Neville quickly forgot about the challenge, as Hermione was very friendly and helpful, if a little bossy at times. As she was regularly ahead of the class at most times, she would have time to help Neville and correct any of his mistakes, which were sadly numerous. An outside observer might have noted that Hermione was heavily talking down to Neville, and largely bossing him about, but Neville didn’t notice. He was genuinely grateful for the help, as it made the ordeal of lessons that little bit easier. Hermione didn’t notice either. She seemed to have appointed herself the role of private tutor, and was relishing it.

The first lesson they had that week, Herbology, Neville found to his surprise that he actually enjoyed. Quite why he found plants so fascinating, he wasn’t sure, but Professor Sprout was an engaging and infectiously enthusiastic teacher, and some of that enthusiasm seemed to rub off on Neville. Also the informal atmosphere of the greenhouse was much more to Neville’s liking than a traditional, stuffy classroom. He even considered volunteering to answer a question at one point.

History of Magic proved the complete opposite to Herbology. Professor Binns, the teacher, was a ghost and seemed to have made it the ambition of his afterlife to bore his students into the same state. He sat at the front of his classes, reading in his monotonous dry voice from his ethereal sheets of notes, without even bothering to make eye contact with the class. Neville, who initially found the appearance of a ghost fascinating, was quickly pushed into boredom, and several times Hermione had to give him a gentle kick in the shin to stop him from dozing off. By the end of a lesson, Neville’s leg would be quite sore.

Charms, with the tiny Professor Flitwick, turned out to be one of the most difficult and challenging subjects, being primarily concerned with wand use and the techniques and practical skills associated with spell-casting. Though Neville found his wand was a good one, he simply couldn’t manage even the most basic of assignments, no matter how carefully he listened to Hermione’s patient advice. He found the whole business horribly frustrating.

Neville took an instant dislike to Astronomy, mainly because it meant he was stuck on top of a freezing high tower at midnight instead of in his warm bed. Also it was largely based on memorising a lot of very dry and dull facts about various stars and planets and Neville’s memory simply wasn’t up to it. He spent much of break time the next morning patiently copying Hermione’s notes.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was, as it turned out, taken by the young turbaned wizard, who introduced himself as Professor Quirrell. The class was a somewhat curious one. True, they didn’t really learn that much, since Quirrell seemed incapable of focusing on any one topic and fretted and fussed about enormously, but Neville quite liked the perennially flustered teacher. He seemed, if it was possible, even more nervous about being there than Neville himself and had a terrible stutter which he gamely tried to overcome, Neville thought. Plus he didn’t seem to focus on or pick out Neville as much as the other teachers, it seemed.

Transfiguration on Thursday afternoons proved an absolute nightmare. Professor McGonagall was the teacher, and also head of Gryffindor House which she seemed to think, in Neville’s opinion, gave her the right to be brutally tough with her charges. The slightest mistake or error by anyone was immediately criticised and challenged. The tasks they were set were impossibly difficult, indeed in the first week only Hermione got anywhere and even she looked disappointed with the outcome. McGonagall had initially reminded Neville of Gran. Now he thought she was even stricter than Gran. At least Gran didn’t expect Neville to do the impossible.

By the time they got to Friday morning, Neville was already thoroughly depressed and his mood was not lightened when Hermione informed him that their Potions lesson was a double one, and was shared with the Slytherins. Neville was quickly realising the animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin, though he’d yet to experience it himself. Everyone treated him with an odd, unsure kind of attitude, as if they didn’t know what to make of him, and the Slytherins had been no different.

“Who’s the teacher for Potions?” asked Neville.

“Um, Professor Snape,” said Hermione, running her finger down the timetable. “Head of Slytherin.”

“Oh, great,” said Neville. “I bet he’ll be all biased towards them. And he’s bound to hate us Gryffindors.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure not. He’s a Hogwarts teacher. He’ll be fair.”

“Do you know for sure? Do you know anything about him?”

“No,” said Hermione. “Come on, we’ll be late.” Neville followed her down to the Potions classroom, which he discovered were rather ominously located in the dungeons beneath the castle. He filed into the classroom and followed Hermione to the front. Behind him he heard several whispers and mutterings and looked round at those Slytherins who’d already entered. Most of them were staring unapologetically straight at him, with expressions as if he were a piece of dirt. Near the back Neville recognised Draco Malfoy with an ugly smirk on his face.

Neville could swear he felt a certain coldness when Professor Snape walked into the room. Neville swung round and to his horror recognised him as the greasy-haired, sallow-faced wizard he’d seen at the start-of-term feast. Snape swept into the room in his long black cloak, put his hands down on his desk and surveyed the class with a cold sharp stare. The room became completely hushed and nobody dared to move. Snape commanded instant respect, indeed demanded it without even saying a word. After a long pause he judged enough to make all his students sufficiently uncomfortable, Snape spoke.

“The art of potion making is among the most subtle and precise arts you will learn here,” he said. “Any fool can throw out a spell with the right words and a good wand, but to brew the right potion requires the careful and skilled application of the mind. Many and wondrous are the things I can teach you here, but…” and suddenly his voice raised to a snarl, “…ONLY IF YOU WILL LEARN! POTTER!” he suddenly yelled, standing bolt upright and staring to the back of the class. Everyone’s heads turned to look at Harry who was sitting at the back next to Ron. Harry froze, half leaning over where he had been whispering to his friend. “Undoubtedly Mr Weasley’s words are far more interesting than my own, but perhaps if you have any interest in passing this class and remaining in Hogwarts you will pay attention! Five points from Gryffindor.” Harry merely stared at Snape, but the teacher had turned his attention away.

Snape set them all to work preparing a simple potion to test their basic skills, and everyone got their cauldrons out and set to work. Neville however soon forgot what he was doing and tried to copy Hermione’s actions. But Snape noticed. “Longbottom! It is Longbottom, isn’t it? Yes, I can see. Clearly you think your fame means you don’t have to work for yourself.”

“No, no, sir,” muttered Neville.

Snape leaned right in front of him staring straight into his eyes. “Don’t contradict me, boy,” he snapped. “Now try to get on with your work without relying on your neighbour.” He turned away and went to inspect other students, but Neville’s hands were shaking. For the rest of the unbearably long lesson he had the constant feeling that Snape was watching him. The moment it seemed like he was making even the slightest mistake Snape would leap on it with withering criticism that would leave Neville feeling even worse.

The only person in the class that seemed to be faring worse than Neville was Harry. Snape prowled around the back of his class in front of Harry’s desk for much of the lesson, taking every opportunity he could to criticise and challenge him. Harry, normally a very cheerful and confident boy, was visibly shaken by the experience, particularly as Ron next to him was doing exactly the same and not getting the same treatment. In general as well, Snape favoured the Slytherins as Neville had predicted. Draco in particular seemed to be enjoying the suffering meted out to the Gryffindors.

Neville got through the lesson unscathed, barely, but Snape failed his potion all the same for adding one too many snake fangs. When Snape finally dismissed the class for lunch, Neville found his legs were shaking as he left the room, and Hermione had to help him. As they got to the door, Draco shoved past them. “Can’t stand on your own feet, Longbottom?” he snapped viciously. “Maybe they can’t support all that weight of yours.” He strode off before anyone could reply.

Over lunch Hermione did her best to comfort Neville, who for a moment was all for packing up and quitting Hogwarts immediately. As they were finishing, Ron and Harry passed by where they were sitting and Harry stopped when he saw Neville. “Hey, you OK Neville?” he asked. “That git Snape was a bit hard on you too.”

“I’m fine,” said Neville weakly.

“Why does he hate you so much, though, I wonder?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, that’s a long story,” said Harry, but now Ron was tugging at his sleeve. “Sorry, got to go,” he said and rushed off.

“What do you suppose they’re always up to?” asked Neville.

“Trouble, I expect,” said Hermione. I’d be careful of those two if I were you. Come on, I want to go and explore the library.” They left the Great Hall together.

It was a bright sunny Thursday of the second week of the Hogwarts term, but Neville wasn’t taking much notice of the weather. He was fretting again about the coming day, as was becoming a regular occurrence. Particularly the afternoon, which consisted of the next Transfiguration lesson with McGonagall and then their first Flying lesson with Madam Hooch. Neville had never been allowed near a broom before and he wasn’t looking forward to his first experience.

He’d spent most of the previous weekend in his dormitory or the common room, not feeling up to going out anywhere. For most of the new week he’d just walked straight from class to class, trailing behind Hermione for the most part and trying to avoid the gazes or remarks of the other students. For much of the time he and Hermione went everywhere together. It was an odd sort of friendship, as friendship it was now, he supposed. He’d never actually had a friend before. Neither of them seemed to have any other real friends, indeed Neville got the impression Hermione was generally unpopular, though he couldn’t see why. Neville himself was regarded as something of a curiosity, nobody was quite sure of him or what he might do, so they tended to leave him alone, a situation that Neville did nothing to change.

Nonetheless it was a quite unequal friendship as it mainly consisted of Hermione talking at length about work or the latest thing she had read, and Neville listening and trying to remember what she’d just said. It quite surprised Neville to discover that Hermione was just as worried about her abilities as Neville was about his. She fretted terribly the moment she thought she’d got anything wrong and was petrified at the thought of disappointing any of the teachers. But when it came to Neville’s academic difficulties she was patient and understanding, and so far this week she’d made lessons just about bearable.

What the other first-year Gryffindors made of this odd pair, Neville wasn’t sure as he didn’t talk to them once, except Seamus occasionally, who tended to look out for him from time to time and make sure he was OK, when he wasn’t off somewhere with Dean. Harry and Ron were always busy with their own schemes, or off with Ron’s brothers, to notice him much. And the girls, who seemed to have isolated Hermione, barely ever acknowledged him.

It was breakfast time in the Great Hall and the post was arriving. The owls swooped and dived amongst the students, delivering their letters and packages. Suddenly Neville felt a gentle peck on his shoulder and he turned to see his own family owl, Elwin, nibbling at his sleeve. He was carrying a small package which Neville took, before feeding Elwin a small piece of bread and sending him on his way. Neville opened the package. Inside was a letter from Gran and a small box. Neville opened the letter and read.

Dear Neville,
Thank you for finally remembering to write home and let your Gran know how you are getting on. Congratulations on being sorted into Gryffindor, I must say it was a most pleasant surprise when I read that. Your parents would be most proud. I sincerely hope you will maintain their proud reputation. In pursuit of this, enclosed is a small gift I purchased yesterday in Diagon Alley in recognition of your achievement. I hope you are keeping yourself well and remembering to clean your teeth twice a day. Perhaps this will help. Love,
Gran

Neville tugged open the box. Inside was a small glass ball filled with white smoke. He held it up to examine it closely.

“Hey, that’s a Remembrall, isn’t it?” said Hermione sitting next to him. “I’ve read about them, but never seen one. If the smoke turns red…”

The cloud inside the ball turned a vivid shade of crimson. “…you’ve forgotten something,” finished Neville glumly. He felt Gran was trying to tease him. His memory had always been terrible, he didn’t need some flashy magical object telling him that. He placed the Remembrall on the table with his hand on top of it to stop it rolling away, put his chin on the table and stared at the ball, hoping maybe that he would be able to remember whatever it was he was supposed to have forgotten. It was, of course, hopeless. Frankly he considered the object next to useless.

Suddenly he heard a loud voice from across the Hall and looked up. It was Draco Malfoy, who had got up from the Slytherin table and leaning across the Ravenclaw table in Neville’s direction. “Oy, Longbottom,” he shouted. “If you screw up your face any more, maybe that scar will pop off your forehead. Or are you trying to remember where you left your brain?”

“Bog off, Malfoy,” said Seamus, but Draco merely laughed and went back to his friends on the Slytherin table. “Just ignore him,” said Seamus to Neville. “He’s nothing but a petty bully. You’re way better than him.” Neville didn’t believe it though. For the rest of breakfast he stared at the Remembrall but try as he might he couldn’t get rid of the red smoke. When the time came to leave, he shoved it in his pocket, and forgot about it.

It was mid-afternoon when the Gryffindors all filed out of the castle for their Flying lesson, Neville bringing up the rear and dragging his feet. The previous Transfiguration lesson had again been a miserable experience, with McGonagall having to step in more than once to prevent Neville doing serious damage to himself or Hermione. Now some fool was going to let him loose with a broomstick. Not the best of ideas, he thought.

When he looked up as they arrived, his heart sank as he saw the Slytherin first-years standing there, milling around the laid-out brooms. Nobody had mentioned to him they were sharing the lesson with them. He could see Malfoy already, with that sick smirk on his face, just itching to throw out his latest barb. Neville tried to hide himself behind the other Gryffindors.

But Madam Hooch also arrived at that moment and ordered them all to line up alongside a broom. Neville found himself directly across from Malfoy, who just sneered and looked down at Neville as if he was something on the bottom of his shoe. When Hooch told them all to call up their brooms, Draco’s shot into his hand almost immediately, but Neville’s wouldn’t budge an inch. “What’s the matter, Longbottom? Allergic to wood are you?” taunted Draco.

“Be quiet, Mr Malfoy,” snapped Madam Hooch. “Oh, Mr Longbottom, just pick it up. We haven’t got all day.” Sheepishly, Neville lifted up his broom. “Now, on my signal, we’re going to try a little hovering. Just lift off from the ground and hold as long as you can… Longbottom? Longbottom, what do you think you’re doing?” Neville’s broom had begun to rise. And rise. Frantically, Neville’s right hand froze hard onto the handle of the broom as it pulled up and up skywards. He shut his eyes and desperately tried to think down, down. But that only seemed to make things worse. The broom was rising faster.

By now the Slytherins were falling about themselves with laughter and the Gryffindors were just staring at the ground in embarrassment. Neville finally opened his eyes and wished he hadn’t. He was now floating some ten feet above the ground, out of the reach of everybody. He’d finally managed to get his left hand onto the broom, but that wasn’t helping. His hands felt stuck to the broom and he couldn’t let go even if he had dared to. The more he panicked and fretted it seemed, the higher the broom rose. “Just relax, Mr Longbottom,” called out Madam Hooch. “Let it drift back down.” But relaxing was the last thing Neville was going to do. He wrestled heavily with the broom, trying to get back on top of it. But this only made it begin to buck and swerve violently, throwing Neville about.

Suddenly it took a steep turn and plunged towards the castle walls. Horrified Neville saw the stonework hurtling towards him at alarming speed. The students and Madam Hooch watched on helplessly as Neville crashed into the wall, let the broken broom slip from his fingers and plummet twenty feet to the grass below. There was an ugly sounding “crack” and for a moment Neville’s world went black.

He came to almost immediately to find Madam Hooch leaning over him, with the other students gathering around behind her and whispering to each other. His first thought was “This is the second time this had happened to me” and he wondered if he had bounced. His next several thoughts were of pain. Shooting, agonising pain in both his left wrist and right ankle, which Madam Hooch was now examining. “We’ll have to get you to the hospital wing,” she said. “Come on, up you get, lean on me.” Neville gingerly got up on his left leg, put his right arm around Madam Hooch and, with her support, hopped in a rather pathetic fashion into the castle. He didn’t dare look back to see the jeers of the Slytherins behind him, or the look of pity on Hermione’s face.

It took them a good ten minutes to make the short trip up to the hospital wing on the second floor. There he was delivered into the capable hands of Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse. She was very sympathetic and didn’t push Neville on how he’d acquired the injuries. Hooch left to return to her class, and Pomfrey found Neville a bed by a window and looked carefully at his wrist and ankle. “Well, your wrist’s broken and your ankle’s dislocated, but nothing I can’t fix in a jiffy,” she said confidently. “You’ll have to rest up for a while on that ankle though. Just a couple of hours or so, till I can be sure it’s safe to walk on. Now hold still.”

She had Neville’s wrist fixed in less than a minute, and took not much more time to fix his ankle, but she propped it up on a block once she was done and left Neville to rest. Neville lay back in the comfortable hospital bed and soon dozed off. He awoke, feeling much better, until he remembered exactly why he’d come to be in the hospital wing. He roused himself and examined his ankle. It seemed fine now.

Madam Pomfrey noticed him awake and came over. “Yes, you’re fine now, you’re free to go,” she said. “I must say, I think you overslept a little.”

Neville looked at his watch. “I’ve missed supper!” he moaned.

“Well I’m sorry, this is a hospital, not a hotel,” she replied. “Look,” she continued, seeing Neville’s forlorn face. “I can give you some sandwiches for you to take back up to your common room. But don’t you go telling anyone I gave you them.” She went over to a cupboard and handed him a pack of tuna sandwiches. Neville gratefully took them and stuffed them in his pocket. The pocket felt curiously empty. What had he had in there? He couldn’t remember. He left the hospital wing heading for Gryffindor tower.

He got horribly lost on the way and in the end had to find his way back down to the ground floor so he could retrace his usual route from the Great Hall up to the tower. As he tended to follow Hermione round everywhere, he hadn’t really learned anything of the layout of the castle beyond his day-to-day routine, so anything off the beaten track was a mystery to him. Eventually, and worn out from climbing up all the stairs, he reached the Fat Lady’s portrait, which guarded the entrance to Gryffindor tower. In front of it, Neville stopped dead, stared and scratched the back of his neck.

“Well, what is it?” asked the Fat Lady, sounding a little cross.

“Er, well, I’ve forgotten the password,” said Neville. “Look, can’t you let me in anyway. You know who I am.”

“I’m sorry. No one gets in without the password,” stated the Fat Lady firmly. Great, thought Neville. Now what? He guessed he’d just have to wait here till someone else showed up to let him in. He sat down with his back to the portrait and took out his sandwiches and ate them, trying to remember the password. He’d always relied on Hermione to say it. He really should start doing things for himself, he thought. He was pathetic.

Neville sat there feeling sorry for himself, and a minute became ten minutes, then an hour, and nearly an hour and a half and still no one came to the door. Everyone was inside by now, and there would be no reason for anybody to come out. He could be stuck here till morning. He thought about going to sleep, but after the nap down at the hospital wing he didn’t really feel tired. Suddenly he had an idea. The hospital wing, it was bound to still be open. He could go down there and explain to Madam Pomfrey. He was sure she’d understand, she’d seemed very kind. He couldn’t really stay here all night, after all students weren’t allowed out in the castle after dark.

The hospital wing was down on the first floor, so Neville set off down the staircases. But after several flights, he found himself horribly confused. If he had counted directly, which he strongly doubted, he should have reached the first floor by now. But the surroundings he found himself in were completely unfamiliar. Maybe he’d just come down the wrong staircase, he figured. If he followed the corridor he’d find the hospital wing on this floor eventually.

He turned a corner and found himself in a large room filled with gleaming gold and silver objects. Various cups, shields and plaques filled large display cases on every wall. This must be the Hogwarts trophy room, Neville guessed. Prominently above one display case on the longest wall was a large wooden board on which was inscribed a list of every Head Boy and Girl in the long history of Hogwarts. Neville couldn’t resist having a look at some of the more recent names. To his disappointment he saw a “Potter” and a “Weasley” among the Head Boys, but no Longbottom. So much for his family’s reputation, he thought.

All of a sudden he heard a noise from the far door of the room and spun round. A small, thin cat with yellow eyes had walked into the room and was now standing by the doorway looking at Neville in a curious and disconcerting manner. Like every student at Hogwarts, Neville recognised the cat immediately. It was Mrs Norris, the cat belonging to Argus Filch, the cantankerous caretaker. If Mrs Norris was here, then Filch would not be far away, and a whole lot of trouble would not be far behind him. Neville took a few seconds to consider his options, then ran. In a panicked dash, he sprinted out of the room and down another corridor. He didn’t stop to look back, but he fancied he heard the patter of Mrs Norris’s paws right behind him.

A door barred his way. Neville tried the handle. It was locked. Desperately, Neville whipped out his wand. What was that spell Hermione had told him about? Alerma? Arahoma? “Alohomora!” he cried, tapping the lock. It sprung open. With a quick glance behind him, he leapt through the doorway and half shut the door, leaving a small crack to peer out of.

For a moment he felt quite pleased with himself. After all, he’d actually pulled off a genuine spell under pressure for almost the first time, and without Hermione’s help. He seemed to have shaken off Mrs Norris as well. That was until he heard the sound behind. It was a low, scraping sound, combined with what felt with a strong gust of wind. Nervously, Neville turned around.

He was in a long room with a high ceiling and a hard stone floor. Set into the floor, Neville noticed, was a wooden trapdoor with a heavy iron ring. But, as his eyes rose from the floor, it was what was on top of the trapdoor that commanded his attention. Four heavy paws, then a massive hairy body, topped with three overly large heads. Neville’s immediate and random thought was that if you have to count the heads on something, then it was never a good sign; particularly if that something was a huge and extremely vicious-looking dog.

Neville froze in terror. Six great beady eyes looked down at him and three sets of sharp teeth were bared in his direction. The dog heaved itself to its feet. Neville felt rooted to the spot. The dog took a couple of steps forward and lifted its front paw to swat down the poor small boy. Neville desperately tried to move his feet, but he couldn’t. Almost in slow-motion, he saw the dog’s paw swinging towards him and he closed his eyes and braced for the pain.

Suddenly, he felt his collar jerk backwards and he was pulled back violently. The paw swung passed and missed him by mere inches. He felt a hand seize him by the arm and drag him out of the door in an instant. Turning, he discovered it was Harry Potter holding his arm. His friend Ron was busy shutting the door again and trapping the three-headed dog inside once more. “Neville, are you OK?” said Harry. “What was that?”

“I-I don’t know,” said Neville, shaking. “W-what are you doing here?”

“Well, rescuing you, to start with,” said Harry. “But actually we came to give you this back.” He took something out of his pocket and handed it to Neville. It was his Remembrall. “It fell out of your pocket when you had the accident,” Harry said.

“You should have seen what Harry did with it,” said Ron. “You see, Malfoy tried to nick it, but…”

“Time for that later,” said Harry. “First we should get out of here before Filch shows up.” Neville followed them out onto the staircases again. “What were you doing on the third-floor corridor anyway?” asked Harry. “You know it’s out of bounds. Don’t you remember Dumbledore telling us at the start of term?”

“Um, no,” admitted Neville. “I, er, got lost. I didn’t even know I was on the third floor. How did you know where to find me anyway?”

“Oh, that’s, er, a secret. Can’t tell you,” said Harry. “We came looking for you when you didn’t return from the hospital wing. Where have you been?” Neville didn’t answer.

“What are they doing putting a thing like that in the castle anyway?” said Ron. “Still, it was wicked cool, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. We should get out more,” said Harry. “There must be all sorts of exciting things hidden round Hogwarts.” Neville said nothing, but boggled at the idea of anyone wanting to go looking for something like that. At last they reached the Fat Lady’s portrait. “Caput Draconis,” said Harry. Neville slapped his forehead in annoyance.

They entered the Gryffindor common room, where they were confronted with Hermione with a mean look on her face. “Where have you been?” she demanded. Ron and Harry explained what had happened, with only occasional sheepish nods from Neville. They embellished the story somewhat, and were far too enthusiastic about the whole thing. Hermione’s face just got angrier and angrier. “What do you think you were all doing?” she snapped at the three of them. “You could have got hurt. For goodness sake, you could have got into trouble. I don’t know.” She sighed and shook her head. Harry and Ron just stared at her as if she was from another planet or something then slouched off towards their dormitory.

Neville took a seat by the fire and Hermione joined him. “Are you OK?” she asked. Neville nodded. He was still a bit shook up. “I warned you about those two. They’re always trouble. Did you know that after you left the Flying lesson Potter was messing about with Malfoy? Got hauled off by McGonagall, then comes back at supper and says he’s got a tryout for the Quidditch team. How he gets away with it, I don’t know.”

“Hey, they saved my life,” said Neville. “They’re alright. I couldn’t cope with days like this everyday, though.”

“Well then it’s best to steer clear of them,” replied Hermione. “I’m off to bed now. See you in the morning.” She got up and left for her dorm. Neville stared at the fire for a while then went up to his room. Ron and Harry were enthusiastically telling their tale to Seamus and Dean, and cheered Neville’s entry, but Neville just curled up in bed and very quickly went to sleep.

As it turned out, Neville was quite grateful that the next few weeks passed in something of a blur and quietly, without incident. He had begun to develop a general routine for the day-to-day grind of life at Hogwarts. This mainly consisted of keeping his head down, relying on Hermione getting him through lessons and spending evenings alone in his dorm, trying to read or looking after Trevor. Occasionally he’d go down to the common room to sit and listen to what was going on, though he never tried to talk to anyone.

He’d noticed that the attention he’d had from the other students at the beginning of term had now largely subsided. He guessed that his undeserved fame meant that everybody was expecting him to do something spectacular and surprising at any moment, and as time had gone on that enthusiasm had ebbed away. Now although he still got sideways glances, most people left him alone.

There were still exceptions to that, however. The Slytherins in Snape’s Potions class, particularly the supercilious Draco Malfoy, had taken him up as their object of ridicule, especially in light of the broomstick incident. Neville now dreaded the approach of each Friday morning. Snape’s lessons had become an almost unbearable torture, with his incompetence and general ignorance laid bare. It seemed to Neville that Snape actually delighted in humiliating and belittling him and he wondered what he’d done to deserve it.

Among the Gryffindors, Ron and Harry seemed to now be regarding him as some sort of good luck charm and kept pestering him and asking him if he’d run into any other ferocious beasts lately. This put him right in the centre of an uncomfortable situation, as the antagonism between the pair and Hermione was if anything getting worse. Several times he’d overheard the two boys making fun of her behind her back, or making snide comments about her behaviour. Hermione herself generally kept quiet, except those times when she took the opportunity to unload her problems rather vocally onto Neville. Neville would listen politely but it wasn’t like he could do anything.

Events came to a head at Halloween, when shortly after lessons Hermione came to him in tears. Apparently Ron had said something insensitive to her after Charms, Neville couldn’t really make out what Hermione was saying in between sobs. Comforting a crying girl was something Neville had no experience in whatsoever, and so he just sat there quietly for a while and tried to cheer her up by talking about the Halloween feast that evening. Hermione didn’t much like the idea of being seen in public that evening but eventually Neville talked her round and promised to stay by her.

They went down from the common room to the Great Hall together and took their seats at the Gryffindor table. They found themselves a little down across from Ron and Harry. Neville gave them a glare, but Hermione ignored them. She kept unusually quiet right through the feast and kept her head down so that her bushy hair would conceal the evidence that she’d been crying.

The rather miserable atmosphere was enlivened somewhat when an agitated Professor Quirrell burst into the Great Hall and announced through several stutters that there was a troll wandering the dungeons. The resulting uproar and commotion was actually something of a relief to Neville as it took his mind off their other problems. He made sure he stuck close to Hermione as everyone was sent back to their common rooms. They all filed behind Percy Weasley as he led the way back up to Gryffindor tower.

On the way Hermione paused for breath at the top of a staircase and Neville waited for her. As he did so he was sure he saw down a corridor Snape rushing past in a hurry. Neville wondered where he was going, as he was clearly going in the opposite direction to the dungeons, which was where the teachers were supposed to be, confronting the troll.

When they got back to the common room, Hermione went straight up to her dorm. Neville looked around the room until he found Ron, talking of course with Harry. “Ron,” he said, “are you going to apologise to Hermione or what? I don’t know what you did, but she was in a right state this afternoon.”

“Oh, leave off, Neville,” said Ron. “All I said was something like she was a bossy know-it-all. You saw the way she was going on in Charms. It’s not my fault if she overheard it. She shouldn’t be so sensitive.”

“Hey Neville,” said Harry, “it wasn’t you who let the troll in, was it? It seems to be your style. Maybe we should all go looking for it.” Neville simply shook his head in astonishment and went off to his room. He was beginning to think that Hermione was right about those two.

* * *

Just over a week later and the animosity between Neville and Hermione and Harry and Ron had not got any better. They now did everything to stay apart from each other in lessons and Neville like Hermione now went out of his way to avoid the pair as much as he could. At first he’d expected an apology to eventually be forthcoming, but when it didn’t his opinion of them had hardened.

Now today was the first Gryffindor match of the Quidditch season and, as everyone in the school seemed to know, Harry was playing Seeker. He’d somehow managed to get himself on the team, despite the bar on first-years taking part, and rumour was that McGonagall had even got him a top-of-the-range broom to use. For Neville, who hadn’t even dared to get back on a broom since the fiasco of his second week, it was almost too much to bear. If it wasn’t for the fact that House pride was at stake, and particularly that the match was against Slytherin, Neville wouldn’t even have gone to watch the game.

One other reason for him to go was actually that Neville had never seen a Quidditch match before. He’d listened to a few on the Wizard Wireless before (his team was the Appleby Arrows) but had never been taken to see one. Mostly he was simply curious. Hermione was coming along to watch too and Neville had spent most of the morning explaining the rules of the game to her. Though Hermione was not remotely sporty and her broom skills were nearly as bad as Neville’s, the technical intricacies and statistics of the game were exactly the sort of thing that interested her.

They took the stairs all the way down from the tower to the Entrance Hall to make their way out to the Quidditch pitch. But as they were crossing the hall, talking to each other, they ran straight into a hobbling figure right in the doorway, barely moving at all. The figure fell to the ground and as Neville went to help him up he almost yelped in horror. It was Snape.

Professor Snape had been acting oddly all week, with his stiff and morose manner even more accentuated than normal. He’d also spent the last lesson at his desk, refusing to inspect the class’s work. Now, with him sprawled on the floor, Neville could see why. His long black robe had fallen away from his left leg and Neville could see that his left ankle was horribly scarred and bandaged. Was it Neville’s imagination or were the blood marks on the bandages exactly like teeth marks?

Hurriedly, Snape covered his ankle, and then, refusing help, clumsily dragged himself to his feet. “Cant you watch where you’re going, Longbottom? Or do you go out of your way especially to be clumsy? Two points from Gryffindor either way.” And with that he stalked off, as best he could with his injured leg.

“Did you see that?” asked Neville.

“See what?” replied Hermione. Neville explained what he’d seen as they continued on out of the castle. “Bite marks?” said Hermione. “Are you sure? Maybe it was from the troll?”

“Trolls don’t bite people on the ankles!” said Neville. “Anyway Snape wasn’t anywhere near the troll. I saw him going to…going to…that’s it! The third floor corridor! It must have been that three-headed dog that bit Snape.”

“But why would Snape go anywhere near that dog?”

Neville thought for a moment and tried to remember what he’d seen in that room. All he could think of were those three huge heads. “Think, think!” he said to himself. Why was his brain so useless? Then, as if from nowhere, it hit him. “There was a trapdoor,” he said. “A trapdoor in the floor of the room. That dog wasn’t there by accident. It’s there to protect something. And Snape’s trying to get at it.”

“But what would be so important that Snape would do that?” But Neville did not reply as at that moment the scar on his forehead erupted in pain. It continued to throb and feel sore all the way to their seats. They postponed further discussion on the matter until after the game.

Neville quite enjoyed Quidditch, though it was a little difficult to follow at times and he had trouble pointing things out to Hermione. Lee Jordan’s commentary did help though, even if he was undeniably biased to Gryffindor. It was still clear that the Slytherins were not doing anything to improve their reputation and Neville almost felt sorry for Harry as he was much smaller than the other players and was being treated quite roughly.

But suddenly Harry dived across the pitch, arm outstretched, the Slytherin seeker trailing in his wake. He shot across in front of Neville, made a sharp turn and almost leapt off his broom. “He’s caught it!” shouted Lee Jordan. “Potter has caught the Snitch!” And so it was. Despite everything, Neville couldn’t help but applaud. He did think Harry milked it a little though. Still, 170-10 was a crushing and rapid win.

Neville and Hermione left their seats talking excitedly about the game, though it was hard without talking about Harry. They were on their way back up to the castle and had fallen a bit behind the other spectators. Suddenly from nowhere, Neville felt a sharp shooting pain in the small of his back and collapsed to the ground. For a moment he found himself unable to move and his eyes glazed over. When he came round and could lift his head again, he found Hermione and several others leaning over him with worried looks on their faces.

“Neville, are you alright?” said Hermione.

“W-what happened?” asked Neville.

“You were hit by a curse in the back,” said Hermione. “Nobody saw who did it. I called out and Professor Quirrell came running over.”

Quirrell was there next to Hermione and his face was smiling and sympathetic. “J-just a s-simple r-restorative anti-hex,” he said. “Y-you’re fine now.”

“But who would want to curse me?” said Neville.

“I-I don’t know,” said Quirrell. “S-Severus, did you see anything? You w-were right back here.” Neville looked up and saw that Snape was standing a few feet away. His eyes focussed hard on Neville, but he shook his head silently before walking off. Neville rubbed his painful scar again.

* * *

“I tell you, it must have been Snape who did it. He knows I know he’s up to something,” said Neville the next day.

“No, it can’t be,” said Hermione. “I know he’s unpleasant, but he’s still a teacher. He wouldn’t do that, surely?” It was a Sunday and they were out enjoying the rare sunshine for a November day in Scotland.

“We need to know what he’s up to,” said Neville. “But who can we talk to?”

“Quirrell? He’s OK,” suggested Hermione.

“No. If we ask a teacher, it’s bound to get back to Snape. Besides, if we told Quirrell about the dog, he’d probably scream and run a mile.”

“Well then what about Hagrid?” said Hermione. “He’s not a teacher and I don’t think he likes Snape.” Neville agreed this was a good idea and they went off towards Hagrid’s hut on the edge of the grounds. On the way they passed Harry and Ron going in the opposite direction and they passed each other in total silence.

When they got to Hagrid’s hut, Hagrid invited them in and made up a pot of tea. “My I am gettin’ a lot of visitors today,” he said. “But I’m glad to see yeh, hardly seen anything of yeh since yeh got here. Now what can I do for yeh?”

Carefully Neville and Hermione (mostly Hermione) explained the situation. When they got to the part about the dog, Hagrid stopped them. “How do yeh know ’bout Fluffy?” he said.

“Fluffy?” said Hermione incredulously. “The three-headed dog’s called Fluffy?”

“Course. He’s mine. Got ’im down the pub las’ year.”

“Well what’s he doing guarding something on the third floor of Hogwarts?” asked Neville.

“Who says he’s guardin’ anythin’? An’ even if he was, that’s nothin’ to do with you. Top secret stuff, that is.”

“So there is something going on, then?” said an astute Hermione. “What’s the big secret?”

“Never you mind, never you mind,” said Hagrid. “It’s dangerous stuff, so leave well alone. Dumbledore swore me to secrecy an’ I ain’t tellin’ no one. It’s only two people’s business what’s down there.”

“Who’s the other one?” asked Hermione quickly.

“Why, Nicolas Flamel of course,” said Hagrid and then almost immediately realised what he’d done. “Now, now, don’t go tellin’ anyone I said that,” he said in a hurry. “Dumbledore would be furious. And don’t go thinkin’ on it. You want my advice, you forget you ever heard that.”

“But who’s Nicolas Flamel?” asked Neville.

“No more questions,” said Hagrid. He sat back in his huge chair and eyed them carefully. When they’d finished they thanked him and left. Hagrid was seemingly in a hurry to see them go in case he accidentally said anything else. They walked back up to the castle, even more puzzled than when they’d come down.

Winter at Hogwarts arrived sharp, hard and thoroughly unpleasant and by early December the castle and grounds were covered in heavy snow. Now, as they approached the Christmas break, Neville had taken to long periods of staring out of his window in his room at the world below. Unlike most of his schoolmates, Neville hated snow. It was cold and wet, it got into your shoes and soaked your socks, leaving you with freezing toes. He much preferred the warmth and comfort indoors.

Absently, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his Remembrall. He tended to keep it in his pocket all the time now, because he was sure, ironically, that he’d forget where it was if he left it anywhere. Holding it up, he was crestfallen to see the smoke inside turn red. What had he forgotten this time? He was sure he hadn’t any schoolwork left to do, he’d been going over it with Hermione yesterday evening. Then he realised and looked down at his watch. Half past three. He was supposed to have met Hermione in the library at two. They were searching for information on Nicolas Flamel. Well, Hermione was searching. The library was literally a collection of closed books to Neville and he had in general been more a hindrance than a help.

Hermione on the other hand, was in her element. She’d spent nearly all her free time (which for Hermione and the amount of schoolwork she did wasn’t a lot) scouring old, dusty impenetrable tomes for clues. She loved a challenge and a mystery and though Neville was all for heeding Hagrid’s words and forgetting about it, Hermione wouldn’t let it go.

Neville left Gryffindor tower and made his way down to the library to apologise to her for not showing up. Entering the library, he found Hermione sitting at a table poring over a pile of books. “Hi Hermione,” he said. “Look er…”

“Oh, hi Neville,” said Hermione absently. “Did you want to see me for something?”

Neville picked up a book from the top of her pile and read the title: Counter-curses for the Perennially Harassed. “I thought we were trying to find out about Nicolas Flamel?” he asked.

“Well, I got bit distracted. For instance, did you know that…?”

“Probably not,” said Neville quickly. Hermione’s long discursions usually quickly lost him. “Look anyway, I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Oh, are you late?” Hermione looked up at the library’s clock. “Is that the time? Just flies by, doesn’t it?”

Neville smiled. “I don’t suppose you’ve found anything, have you?” he asked.

“No. Honestly I don’t know where to look next. I’ve checked all the biographies and reference volumes I can think of. Other than trying to get into the Restricted Section, I…” But at that moment Madam Pince came round the corner and told them to be quiet, so after tidying away Hermione’s books they left. Hermione took one out to read in her own time and after they’d chatted for a while outside the library and talked about their plans for the Christmas holidays, she left Neville to return the Gryffindor common room.

Neville, who was feeling a bit tired after a long week, and had endured another miserable Potions lesson with Snape that morning, decided to rest for a while outside the library. Since the Quidditch match Snape had definitely been acting oddly, or at least stranger than usual. He certainly seemed to be keeping a closer eye on Neville, and seemed to be following him about at times. At least that’s what Neville thought, though Hermione assured him he was just being paranoid.

This meant of course that his persecution in Potions had not let up, indeed it seemed to have intensified. Neville was close to being put into a state of complete terror that Snape would poison him at the first opportunity. But why? What was so important under that trapdoor that Snape would risk his life and curse Neville for it? And what was a teacher like Snape doing at Hogwarts anyway?

Pondering these questions as he sat leaning against an old statue, Neville suddenly heard footsteps coming down the corridor just off in front of him. Peering round the corner, he was afraid it would be Snape. It turned out to be the next worse thing. It was Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies Crabbe and Goyle. What are they doing here, thought Neville. The Slytherin common room was down in the basement (right place for it in Neville’s opinion) and he couldn’t see Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle wanting to use the library. They were definitely up to no good.

At once he felt they’d spotted him. He scrambled to his feet as quick as he could and hared off down the corridor. Unfortunately that only seemed to genuinely alert the three of them to his presence, and they set off in pursuit. As he ran, behind him Neville heard Malfoy shout “Coward, Longbottom! Those fat legs of yours can’t run forever!” Neville dodged down another passageway as Malfoy aimed a curse at his back that missed.

Panting heavily, Neville was now horribly lost, but he dived into the nearest room and hid behind the door, listening to see if the three Slytherins would pass. He heard Malfoy yell “Hiding now, are you? So this is Gryffindor bravery. Skulking in corners and fleeing from trouble. No wonder you’re the Boy-Who-Lived. You ran away!” For a moment Neville almost leapt out and confronted Malfoy at that, but his fear kept him rooted to the spot. Eventually the Slytherins gave up and he heard their footsteps die away.

Neville slumped to the ground, dejected. He was pathetic. He hadn’t fought, he hadn’t stood up to Malfoy, he’d just run away, like he always did. Malfoy was right. He didn’t belong in Gryffindor. All that stuff the Sorting Hat had said was just rubbish. He put his head in his hands and started to sob. That just made him feel even more of a pathetic cry-baby, but he carried on for some time.

Eventually he rubbed his eyes, got up and looked around him. He was in an empty, dusty room, which seemed as if no one had been in there for years. A few benches and chairs suggested this had once been a classroom, though long since abandoned. Except for one curious and out of place object. Propped up against a wall, and not as dust-covered as the rest of the room, was a large full-length mirror with a beautiful intricate golden frame. The gold still shone and sparkled brightly.

Curious, Neville wandered over to investigate. Written about the top of the mirror in carved letters was the strange inscription Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. Neville had no idea what it meant. The glass of the mirror was perfectly clear and smooth but its reflection of the room seemed darker than Neville thought it should be. Cautiously Neville put out his hand around the edge of the mirror. A ghostly, half-translucent image of his hand waved back at him from out of the mirror, but otherwise nothing seemed strange.

Neville put down his hand and stepped in front of the mirror. At first, everything appeared normal. Neville regarded his podgy form and tear-streaked face miserably. He’d never liked his appearance and it was looking no better at this point in time. He made to turn away. But as he did so, he saw something change in the mirror. The tears disappeared from his face and he seemed to grow older and stronger-looking. A smile stretched across his face which Neville had never smiled.

Suddenly other figures faded into view around him in the mirror. There was Hermione, and Harry and Ron and Seamus and other Gryffindors. They were standing around him, chatting to him and patting him on the back as if congratulating him. Behind them, more people appeared. There was Gran, looking adorably on her grandchild, and Dumbledore, who shook his hand. And finally two more emerged from behind the others. Though he didn’t recognise them, Neville knew who they were immediately. They were his parents. He recognised much of himself in the image of his mother, except he had his father’s hair and smile. They gazed proudly on their son and knelt to share in the conversation.

No sound emerged from the mirror, however, and the room remained utterly quiet. Neville looked around and behind him but he was alone. Nothing in the room had changed. Yet in the mirror he had been lifted on Harry and Ron’s shoulders and was hugging his parents. Neville noticed one other strange thing in the reflection. His scar was gone. His hand instinctively rose to his forehead, but in reality it was still there.
What did all this mean?

* * *

Neville raced back into Gryffindor Tower into the common room. He saw a blond-haired girl with a cheesy grin on her face, talking to an Asian girl in the corner. Nervously he went over to her. She looked up and asked “Yes, Neville?” rather bluntly.

“Oh, er, hi Lavender,” said Neville breathlessly. “Could you see if Hermione is in your room? I need to talk to her.”

Lavender Brown looked across at Parvati Patil and both giggled briefly, but she went off to her room. Boys couldn’t go up the girl’s staircase, Neville had found that out painfully a few weeks ago. Soon Lavender came back down, and behind her Hermione, book in hand. “What is it?” she asked.

“Come on, come with me,” said Neville. “There’s something you have to see.” Reluctantly Hermione left her book behind and followed Neville back down to the fourth floor. It took a few minutes for Neville to remember which way to go but eventually he found his way back to the abandoned classroom. “Come here,” he said. “It’s a magic mirror. Look in it. Go on.”

Giving a curious sideways glance to Neville, Hermione stepped up and looked into the mirror. “What are you talking about, Neville?” she said. “It’s just me.” Then she gave a slight gasp. “That’s Professor Dumbledore!” she said, pointing. “And McGonagall’s there too! Hang on, I’m in the Great Hall. They’re presenting me with certificates and awards. Wow, I’m Head Girl! Everybody’s clapping! Even Snape there looks happy. Is this what you saw, Neville?”

“Not exactly,” said Neville, confused. He looked into the mirror himself again, but saw the same as he did before. He described it to Hermione. “You know everything,” he said. “Do you know what this mirror is? What does it do?”

“I don’t know,” said Hermione. “I’ve never heard of anything like this before.” Neville’s face fell, but Hermione continued “Maybe we can work it out though.” She sat down and Neville saw her common “thinking expression” appear on her face. “It can’t show the future,” she said, “because you said you saw your parents, and they’re, well…” She paused uncomfortably. “It can’t exactly show something real either, because Snape would never look that happy at anything.” Neville smiled at that. “Maybe it shows what we want it to show.” She stood up again and looked in the mirror, but shook her head. “No, it just shows the same thing. I can’t change it.”

Hermione examined the mirror more closely and stared for a while at the inscription written over the top. Then all of a sudden she clapped her hands and gave out a “Yes!” She pointed to the inscription. “It’s backwards, look. Like in a mirror.” Neville looked confused at it for a while, and then he saw what Hermione meant. Backwards he read I show not your face but your heart’s desire.

“So it shows us our heart’s desire, then?” he said. “The thing we really, really want?”

“Yes, deep down,” said Hermione. “Obviously I want to be successful, and have all the teachers be proud of me.”

“I could have told you that without a mirror,” said Neville with a smile. “But what does it mean I want? Just to be happy?”

“There are worse things to want,” observed Hermione, but Neville looked puzzled. “It’s nearly supper time,” Hermione said. “Come on, we should go. We shouldn’t really be here anyway.”

“You go ahead. I’ll catch you up,” said Neville. As Hermione left, with furrowed brow he looked into the mirror again.

* * *

Neville never did go down to supper that evening, and Hermione didn’t see him all Saturday either, except at meals, where he was quiet and rushed away early. The next day was the last before the Hogwarts Express left for the Christmas holiday on Monday and Hermione spent it mainly packing and making sure she had everything she needed to work on while at home.

But Neville, as he had for most of the day before, was to be found in the abandoned classroom, staring into the mirror, trying to understand what it was telling him. Was he so pathetic that all he wanted was people fussing around him? He didn’t even like Ron and Harry, he knew nothing about his parents, and he was more scared of Gran than anything. Maybe there was something else going on that he couldn’t see. He strained to look at the background to see where the figures were, but he couldn’t see anything. Yet he kept looking. Perhaps eventually his brain would kick in and he could work out what it meant.

He was so engrossed that he never heard the gentle footsteps walking into the room, nor the quiet rustle of robes. He only reacted when a wrinkled hand was laid softly on his shoulder. Turning in alarm, he discovered it was none other than Professor Dumbledore, with a kind smile. “Don’t worry Neville,” he said. “I thought I might find you here. I see you have been pondering the Mirror of Erised, like so many before you. Something concerns you, I can tell. Would it help to tell me what you see?”

Carefully, Neville described his vision in the mirror. “I don’t understand it, Professor. It seems just so simple, so normal. Shouldn’t my desire be something bigger? Or is there something I’m missing?”

“Perhaps, Neville, perhaps. No, I do not think your desire is small. Indeed I think it is the biggest thing anyone can desire.”

“What is it?”

“Love, Neville. Just love. The love of friends, or of a close family, or the appreciation of your peers. You see Neville, I think you have always looked down on yourself, felt yourself weak or unworthy, and indeed unloved. And I suspect there may be one thing more. Tell me, can you see your scar in the mirror?”

“No, how did you know?”

“Because, although you try to hide away from others, you are well aware that people notice you, that they know who you are, that they even look up to you or appear as if they like you on account of your history. I think it is an admirable thing that you want others to appreciate you for yourself and not that scar. It greatly reassures me. You have nothing to worry about, Neville.”

Neville nodded silently, but his face was still glum. “Cheer up, Neville,” said Dumbledore kindly. “I will say only this. You are far more loved than you think you are. In fact, perhaps more than you can imagine.” Neville looked up into the headmaster’s face and there was a twinkle in the eyes he hadn’t seen before. “Now run along, it’s late and you need to get ready for returning home tomorrow.”

Neville nodded and made to go. But as he got to the door, Dumbledore called out to him “Neville, just to warn you, the mirror will not be here when you return in January. It is a dangerous object for those who seek too keenly to look inside themselves. It will be moved to… a safer place. Merry Christmas, Neville.”

“Merry Christmas, Professor,” said Neville, and left.

It was January 5th when Neville and the rest of the students returned to Hogwarts after Christmas. To his surprise, Neville was actually looking forward to going back, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was just that life back on Preston Road was far duller than at Hogwarts (though a lot less dangerous). He’d had a good time at home though, and Gran had generally fussed over him for the first few days until he ran out of stories to tell, or at least stories he was prepared to tell Gran.

He’d met Hermione on the train and they’d swapped tales. Hermione, as could be expected, was even keener than Neville to get back to school and start learning again. Back in his room in Gryffindor tower he discovered it was something of a mess, Harry and Ron had stayed over the break and not kept the place particularly tidy. Neville exchanged sullen looks with them, but said nothing, they’d not spoken to each other in several weeks now.

It only took about a week’s lessons, indeed until just after his first class back with Snape, to rid Neville of his brief enthusiasm for life back at Hogwarts. January was a largely miserable month in terms of the weather, and for Neville it wasn’t much better. Hermione now spent even more time engrossed in her studies and Neville was often left to his own devices. He would mope around the common room avoiding everybody else, or sit in his room with Trevor. He took to taking Trevor to classes with him quite often, although several of the other Gryffindors would tease him about it.

One day late in January, Neville found himself down in the library, staring at another book that meant nothing to him. Hermione had recommended it to help him out with Charms, but it might as well have been in a foreign language as far as he was concerned. Actually, since it largely consisted of spell names, most of it was in a foreign language. He gave up, closed the book in disgust with himself and left the library.

But as he rounded the corner outside, barely looking where he was going, he made only two steps before being hit square in the chest with the undeniable thumping force of a spell. Collapsing to the floor, he raised his head to see Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle leaning over him. They had obviously been lying in wait for unsuspecting kids to hex. It seemed to be their favourite game at the moment, like the incident before Christmas. “Try running away now, Longbottom,” sneered Malfoy. “Go on, try.”

Neville desperately tried to get up, but he couldn’t. His legs seemed to be fused together. Weakly, he hauled himself into a sitting position and tried to drag himself away. The three Slytherins just watched and laughed. “Not staying to fight then?” said Malfoy. “Tell you what, we’ll all sit down as well. Make it fair, eh?” Neville glared and they all burst into laughter again.

After a while they got bored and left Neville to go bother someone else. Neville crawled over to a statue and managed to pull himself up onto his feet, but his legs were still stuck together. Tired and miserable as anything, he hopped his way out to the staircase leading up to Gryffindor tower. To his disappointment it was deserted. He didn’t really want anybody to see him like this, but it was going to be terrible getting all the way up three floors. Clinging to the banister, Neville dragged himself up step by step.

No one was around to see or help him in the heroic effort he made to get all the way up to the Fat Lady’s painting. He didn’t feel the least heroic, though. Only exhausted, depressed and useless. As the painting swung open, he hopped through the opening and crumpled in a heap on the floor. The common room was packed and everybody at once turned to look at him. He wished he could just crawl into a hole and hide. Trying not to look up, he dragged himself pathetically across the floor.

“Neville, are you alright?” said a voice. It was Hermione, who did her best to lift him up and sit him in a chair. “What happened to you?” Neville tearfully explained. At the mention of Malfoy’s name, several other students gathered round sympathetically. They may not have been friends with Neville, but everybody hated the Slytherins, especially Draco, it seemed. Even Harry and Ron were there, and Ron’s twin brothers, and they were all for busting into the Slytherin common room and cursing Malfoy straight back, before cooler heads prevailed.

Hermione undid the curse on Neville’s legs, and Neville went to slouch off to his room to hide. But Harry of all people stopped him at the staircase. “Hey,” he said, rather uncomfortably but sincerely, “you OK? Look, Malfoy’s a jerk and he’s been brought up to be a vicious git. I know all about him. I’m sorry, alright? Here.” He put his hand in his pocket and passed over a Chocolate Frog to Neville. “Gryffindors should stick together, right? Especially against stinking Slytherin.”

He gave Neville a pat on the shoulder and walked off. Neville went up to his room in a little of a shock. It’d been so long now since he and Hermione had fallen out with Harry and Ron that he’d taken their animosity for granted. Also you couldn’t find a person more different to Neville than Harry, the fun-loving prankster and Quidditch hero, loved by all. Neville had thought he cared about no one but himself and Ron. Maybe he was wrong.

He sat on his bed, opened up the Chocolate Frog and munched on it silently, trying to forget about what had happened with Malfoy. He looked at the card in the box. To his surprise it was Dumbledore. Dumbledore was definitely famous of course, but Neville didn’t know he had a card, he didn’t collect them. Idly he turned it over and read the description on the back. He stopped and stared at it for a moment, and rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. He wasn’t. There in black and white amongst Dumbledore’s other distinctions was written

“…and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel”

Flamel! The name they’d been looking for for months! It was at once exciting and infuriating. Neville was about to rush down and tell Hermione about it immediately, but he remembered the common room would still be full of people and he didn’t feel like facing them all again tonight. He would wait until morning.

So it wasn’t until breakfast the next day that Neville told Hermione what he’d discovered. “Alchemy!” she said. “I’ve been looking in all the wrong places. Straight after lessons we’ll go down to the library. Great work, Neville.” Neville enjoyed the compliment so much he declined to mention that he really hadn’t done anything. He spent the rest of the day wondering what they might discover, which meant he didn’t pay attention in Transfiguration and was given a stern talking-to by Professor McGonagall.

In the library that evening Hermione pored over a dozen books on alchemy, while Neville hung around behind her, peering over her shoulder to see if she’d found anything. Finally she gave an exclamation of delight.

“What is it?” said Neville, leaning over to read.

“Sit down, Neville,” said Hermione. “Listen, Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the legendary substance known as the Philosopher’s Stone,” she read.

“What’s the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“I was getting to that. The Philosopher’s Stone is the substance most sought after by all alchemists, as it can not only transform base metals into gold, it can be used to produce the Elixir of Life, which if drunk regularly renders one immortal.”

“Immortal? Crikey.”

“Nicolas Flamel, who produced the only successfully made Stone in the late fourteenth century,” continued Hermione “lives quietly in Devon with his wife Perenelle. Both are now well over six hundred years old.” She looked up from the book. “Do you know what this means, Neville? That thing that Dumbledore’s got Hagrid’s dog guarding, it’s the Philosopher’s Stone. The only one there is. Perhaps the most valuable and sought after object in the world.”

“And Snape’s trying to steal it,” said Neville, worried. Snape living forever? The thought didn’t bear thinking about. “We’ve got to stop him,” he said, unexpectedly.

“I think that dog’s doing a better job than either of us could do at the moment,” said Hermione. “I’m sure Dumbledore knows what he’s doing. Besides, Snape’s a teacher. We can’t do anything about him without proof.” Neville nodded. He felt the whole thing had suddenly got far more serious than he had thought.

The weeks went slowly by and winter gave way to a mild and gentle spring. Neville’s spirits perked up a little as the weather began to get warmer. He was by now accustomed to the difficulties and challenges of daily life at Hogwarts and though his work continued to struggle, he had more or less come to terms with the fact that he was never going to be a successful student. He focused more on getting by, staying out of trouble and away from the Slytherins, and enjoying the pleasant surroundings of Hogwarts castle.

Since their discovery about the Philosopher’s Stone, he and Hermione had kept a close watch on Snape and anything suspicious he might be up to, but as yet they had not discovered anything. Snape seemed prepared to bide his time, or perhaps he had not yet discovered a way past Hagrid’s three-headed dog. Either way, Neville and Hermione agreed there was nothing they could do for now, but stay watchful.

Hermione meanwhile had found a new way to spend her time. Over lunch one day towards the end of March she announced that she had begun preparing for the end-of-year exams, notwithstanding the fact that they were ten weeks away. She spent even more time alone in her room or in the library than usual, and occasionally would drag Neville along to the library as well, in an effort to “encourage” him to do more work of his own. Neville would, as often as he could, try to find ways out of these study sessions, partly because he had no intention of starting revising now and partly because he had taken to avoiding the library. Since the last incident with Malfoy he wasn’t keen to return to the scene of his humiliation and perhaps run the risk of being caught again.

So, more than ever before, he would spend his time sitting alone in the Gryffindor common room. He took to watching the comings and goings of his fellow students, who hung out with who, the rivalries and petty arguments amongst them, and so on. The girls in his year, for instance, seemed to have formed a tight clique, excluding Hermione, and Neville wondered how she got on in her dormitory. Probably much as he did.

Dean and Seamus were now very much the best of friends and were regularly found together, though they were always good to Neville, and would often have time for him, should he need it, though they weren’t exactly friends. Ron was almost always found tailing after Harry and didn’t seem to get on well with many other people, not even his brothers, who seemed to tease him mercilessly at every opportunity. Neville was a little scared of Fred and George. Not because they were dangerous as such, but mayhem and trouble seemed attracted to them like magnets.

Harry on the other hand, Harry was a bit of a mystery to Neville. He spent nearly all his time with Ron, or with Fred and George or the rest of his Quidditch pals, but nevertheless he seemed to be on first name terms with a great number of other people, and that didn’t seem to just be down to his status and success as the Gryffindor Seeker. Because of the feud with Hermione, Neville still avoided Harry, but he found it increasingly difficult to really dislike him.

In late April, however, Harry and Ron began to behave increasingly strangely. They were gone from the common room a lot of the time and seemed to visiting Hagrid’s hut a lot more than they usually did. Neville knew they were friends with Hagrid but something else seemed to be up. The two of them stayed up late into the night in their room, whispering to one another about something.

Then, in early May, there came a day when Ron didn’t turn up for classes. Neville overheard Harry saying that Ron had had an “accident” and was laid up in the hospital wing. He didn’t appear the next day either, and Snape took the opportunity to pile even more work (and scorn) on Harry. Harry looked worried and agitated most of the day and seemed to have a lot on his mind.

The day after that Harry spent the day running around the castle a lot and there were rumours of strange things going on down at Hagrid’s. Neville watched events with suspicion, but Hermione wasn’t interested as she was working hard. That evening Harry came in late but went straight up to bed, which he never usually did.

Neville himself went to bed a little later, but he slept lightly, wondering what was going on. So it was that he was awakened in the middle of the night by a noise across the room. Looking up, he saw Harry getting out of bed and getting dressed. What was he up to? Neville watched Harry open up his trunk and take out a thick roll of material before heading off down to the common room. Hurriedly Neville got out of bed, pulled on a coat and a pair of shoes and ran off after Harry. Something had piqued his usually dormant curiosity.

When he got down to the common room however, it was empty. But then the door out into the castle swung open of its own accord. Neville was momentarily nonplussed. “Harry?” he called out into the dark. There was a sudden noise by the door and a chair wobbled. “Who’s there?” he said.

“Neville, what are you doing here?” said Harry’s voice. Suddenly there was Harry, standing by the door, as if he had appeared from nowhere. He was holding a strange shimmering garment in his right hand. “Go back to bed.”

Neville approached Harry, still curious. “Is that an invisibility cloak?” he asked, indicating the garment in Harry’s hand.

Harry smiled. “Yeah, it’s mine.” A thought suddenly seemed to strike him. “Say Neville, do you fancy an adventure? I could really use your help with something.”

“What?”

“Oh, you’ll see. We’re just going on a little trip, that’s all. Just down to Hagrid’s, then up to the Astronomy Tower and back. Won’t take long. It’d be useful to have a second pair of hands, though.”

Neville hesitated. “We can’t go out at night, you know that.”

“That’s what’s so great about this cloak,” replied Harry. “No one will see us. Come on, you can’t sit in your room being boring all your life. Where’s your sense of fun?”

Neville had never even thought about having a sense of fun before, but Harry’s enthusiasm was surprisingly infectious. Almost without thinking he said “OK,” and before he knew it he and Harry were on their way through the castle underneath the cloak. Nervously, Neville tried to make as little noise as possible, but it was difficult to keep up with Harry who was racing on.

They reached the ground floor and snuck out of the castle by a side door. Under the cold night of the moon, Neville was beginning to regret his impetuousness. It simply wasn’t like him. What was Hermione going to say? It had been sort of an unspoken agreement between them to stay away from Ron and Harry. She was going to be really mad.

Harry noticed Neville’s glum face. “Cheer up,” he whispered. “I’ve got a surprise for you.” They reached Hagrid’s hut and Harry removed the cloak from them and knocked. The huge figure of Hagrid opened the door.

“Ah, yer here,” he said, looking rather miserable. “Oh hello Neville, you come to help?” Neville just nodded. Hagrid reached inside the door and picked up a large iron chest with a pair of thick wooden handles on either side. The chest rattled and rumbled in his hands. Hagrid let out something that sounded like a sniff. “Take care with ’im, OK? Make sure ’e gets off alright.” He seemed reluctant to part with the chest.

“What on earth have you got in there?” asked Neville.

“Didn’ yeh tell ’im?” said Hagrid.

Harry shook his head. “There wasn’t time. Show him.” He grinned widely. Hagrid carefully laid the chest of the ground and opened it up. The inside was scorched and blackened and a jet of flame shot up. A scaly creature flapped its wings and tried to pull itself out of the chest.

“It’s a dragon,” said Neville unnecessarily. He was fascinated by the creature, he’d never seen one before, but he made sure he didn’t get too close. Hagrid mournfully closed up the chest again. “Bye, Norbert,” he sniffed.

“He has to go, Hagrid,” said Harry kindly. Hagrid nodded. “Ron’s brother Charlie looks after dragons in Romania,” said Harry to Neville. “His friends are coming to pick it up from the Astronomy Tower at midnight.” Harry and Neville took a handle each and lifted up the chest. Hagrid waved them goodbye. They spread the invisibility cloak over themselves again and headed back to the castle.

“What happened to Ron?” asked Neville.

“He got bit,” said Harry. “Got too close to Norbert. Luckily Madam Pomfrey doesn’t ask too many questions.” They re-entered the castle and took the long climb up to the top of the Astronomy Tower. By the time they got to the top Neville was utterly worn out. It was just after midnight and Charlie’s friends were already there. They took the chest and flew off in a hurry. Harry and Neville stopped a moment to rest. Neville shivered. He always felt cold up on the Astronomy Tower.

After a short while they made ready go back down again and put on the invisibility cloak once more. They made their way carefully down the long winding staircase to the base of the tower. But when they got there they found someone waiting for them. It was Draco Malfoy, who was hanging about the entrance to the staircase as if on the lookout. “How did he know?” thought Neville. Under the cloak Harry made a motion to Neville to be silent and they tiptoed carefully past them. However, just as they thought they were past they heard another sound.

“Mr Malfoy, what do you think you are doing out here?” It was Professor McGonagall who appeared out of the gloom with a very strict look on her face. “I hope you understand the severe penalties for being out in the castle at night.” She stood looming over Draco, peering over the top of her spectacles.

“But Professor,” said Draco “I know for a fact that somebody else is out of their room tonight. I, er, came out here to report them to someone. He’s up the Astronomy Tower this very moment. It’s one of the Gryffindors. You’ll see.”

McGonagall eyed Draco dubiously. “Very well, we shall wait a short while. But I sincerely hope you are not lying to me Mr Malfoy. Professor Snape would be… most disappointed.” Draco looked worried but defiant. Neville smiled to himself, but Harry nudged him and indicated they should get going. But as they set off, Neville clumsily stepped on the trailing edge of the cloak and tripped. The cloak slipped off him and he fell to the ground with a crash. Malfoy and McGonagall turned to see what it was.

From his position on the floor Neville looked up at the place where Harry would be. He felt sure he had rushed off, indeed he was hoping he had and would escape being caught. But to his surprise Harry appeared, throwing off his cloak and chucking it into a dark corner. He reached over to help Neville to his feet as McGonagall came rushing up.

The rest of the night passed in a bit of a blur for Neville. He vaguely remembered McGonagall’s angry lecture and her docking himself and Harry 50 points each, plus giving all of them (including an incredulous Malfoy) detention. He remembered being taken in sullen silence back to Gryffindor Tower and settling into a fitful sleep. All the while Harry had been beside him. Harry had tried to take all the blame on himself, but McGonagall hadn’t listened.

The next morning, Neville stopped Harry as they were about to go down to breakfast. “Why did you do it?” he asked. “You could have got yourself away.”

“Hey, I wasn’t going to abandon you to McGonagall,” said Harry. “Besides, it was my fault you were there in the first place. I should never have persuaded you to come. I’m sorry I got you into this. Can you forgive me?” He looked genuinely upset and concerned. For the first time Neville saw Harry Potter in a new light. Not just the reckless troublemaker, but someone who genuinely cared.

“Sure,” Neville replied. Harry clapped him on the shoulder and they left their room. Though Neville didn’t realise it at the time, at that point all the quarrels he and Harry had had were forgotten forever.

At breakfast, it seemed that already the entire school knew what had happened. With a hundred points lost in the race for the House Cup, the other Gryffindors notably shunned Harry and Neville. When they sat down together opposite Hermione, she gave Harry a look that would have slaughtered an army if it could and promptly launched into a tirade directed at Neville about breaking the rules, getting into trouble, and especially about getting himself mixed up with the likes of Harry Potter. She said nothing to Harry the whole time but she made sure he heard the whole thing. Harry just sat with his face down and said nothing, before leaving early to retrieve his cloak.

* * *

The next couple of weeks plunged Neville back into the misery he had experienced earlier in the year. Everybody in Gryffindor took to avoiding him and some were downright rude. He hadn’t realised the House Cup meant so much to so many of them. Even Hermione wasn’t talking to him, although that was partly because she was busy with revision. Mainly though Neville thought it was because she was annoyed that he had broken their agreement and not listened to any of her warnings about Ron and Harry.

Harry had suffered similarly and in a way Neville felt sorrier for him, because he wasn’t used to being so unpopular. The Slytherins, who now led the House Cup standings, gave the two of them mock cheers at every opportunity, including the next Potions lesson, where Snape made no effort to stop them. Only Ron, now out of hospital, stuck by Harry, though he still ignored Neville.

It was the Tuesday of the last week before end-of-year exams when the time for their detention finally came around. The wait had been terrible and Neville was just glad to get it over with. That evening he and Harry reported to Filch’s office as instructed. They found Draco already there, looking decidedly angry. Filch, muttering and grumbling to himself as he invariably did, marched them all out of the castle and down to Hagrid’s hut. Apparently Hagrid had requested to supervise them for detention. That at least gave Neville some relief. It could have been McGonagall, or even worse Snape.

Hagrid came out of his hut with his boarhound Fang. “Good, yer all ’ere,” he said. “Got an importan’ job needs doin’ tonight. We’re goin’ to take a little trip into the Forbidden Forest.” He waved his huge hand in the direction of the nearby trees.

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “What? We can’t go in there. There’s…”

“Be quiet, Malfoy,” snapped Hagrid. “There’s somethin’ in the forest killin’ unicorns. I think there’s one injured in there somewhere. We’ve got to go find it. Come on.” He led them to the edge of the Forest, but Neville and Draco hesitated at the edge. “Come on,” said Hagrid again. “It’s perfectly safe if you stick by me or Fang. Don’ go off the path, neither. But the Forest ain’t nearly as dangerous as people say it is.” That didn’t particularly reassure them, but they followed Hagrid in anyway.

Inside the Forest, the darkness was close and oppressive and their lanterns seemed barely able to cut into the gloom. The trees appeared to loom over them, and Neville soon felt horribly lost as if there was no way back. Though it wasn’t very cold, he was shivering terribly.

Hagrid soon found traces of unicorn blood near a fork in the path and announced they would have to split up to look around. “Harry, you come with me,” he said. “Neville, Draco, you go with Fang. Remember, stick to the path.” Draco and Neville glared at each other but before either could complain, Hagrid was gone.

The two of them and Fang continued down the other path. Now Neville felt truly alone, and Draco’s false bravado didn’t help at all. His hand itched on his wand, ready to send up the warning signal that would bring Hagrid running at the first sign of danger.

All of a sudden his forehead began to itch and he had the strangest feeling that there was some strong presence among the trees over to his right. Almost without thinking he found himself walking in the direction the feeling was coming from, as if he was being drawn there. As he came to the edge of the path a bank rose up before descending into a wide dell. “Where are you going?” whispered Malfoy. “Don’t you dare go running off, Longbottom.”

“Come here,” said Neville. “There’s something down here, I know it.” Reluctantly Malfoy followed, leading Fang. The three of them scrambled to the top of the bank and looked down. Lying on the far side of the dell, against a great tree, was a unicorn. Its beautiful white body was stained silvery-blue and it was utterly motionless. But leaning over it was a stranger creature. Clad in a black cloak and hood, no feature of its body could be seen. Its hidden face lay across the unicorn’s neck.

Both Draco and Neville gasped. Then suddenly Neville’s foot slipped on the ground, sending a shower of earth and stones tumbling down the side of the dell. The dark figure lifted its head and turned. Neville’s hand shot to his forehead. The scar there had burst into flame with desperate ferocity. He cried out and fell to the ground. “Malfoy,” he sobbed. “Malfoy, do something. Signal.” But when he turned his head, Malfoy was gone, fleeing up the path in panic. Fang was also nowhere to be seen.

With all the energy he could muster, Neville raised himself up, hand still clasped to his forehead. The figure advanced slowly towards him, the cloak so covering every part of him that it seemed as if he glided across the ground. Neville tried to run but he couldn’t. He felt no strength left.

At that moment he heard a strange cry and saw a flash of movement away to his left. Something had bounded into the dell and was advancing on the cloaked figure. The figure turned and fled. It leapt up the side of the dell and disappeared. The pain receded from Neville’s scar. Shaking, he raised himself to his unsteady feet and breathed heavily. The world seemed to spin in front of his eyes for a moment before they finally cleared.

“Young foal, are you hurt?” said a voice. Neville’s eyes came into focus on his rescuer. He gave another gasp. It was a centaur. He had heard rumours before that some lived in the Forest but had not dreamed he would ever meet one. He knew they could be dangerous and backed away slowly. “There is nothing to fear,” said the centaur, his arms open. “The danger has passed.” Neville hesitated. “I mean you no harm,” continued the centaur. “You are safe now. But the forest is a perilous place for one alone and so young, Neville Longbottom.”

Neville started for a moment at the mention of his name. “Yes, your name is known to us. Your story has reached even us here deep in the forest. None but you bear that scar. I am Firenze. It is an honour to meet you.”

“Er, thank you,” replied Neville. Feeling that he could trust the creature, he scrambled down into the dell to join him. He went over to examine the unicorn. It was indeed dead, its blood still seeping from the wound in its neck. Firenze trotted to his side.

“A terrible thing, to slay a unicorn,” he said. “To kill something so pure, to drink its blood, it lays a curse on you for the rest of your life.”

“But why would anyone do such a thing?” asked Neville.

“Unicorn blood will keep you alive, even if you stand on the very edge of death. He whom you saw tonight must feed to survive, and he wishes survive at all costs. Do you know who that was, Neville Longbottom?” Neville shook his head. “Your scar is wise,” continued the centaur. “It has taught you the truth.”

Neville touched his scar and just as he did so remembered in a flash what Dumbledore had told him about it, all those months ago. “That, that thing, that was You-Know-Who? He’s here, in the Forest? But why? Why has he come back after all this time?”

Firenze gazed into the night sky silently for a while, and then turned back to Neville. “There is a secret hidden up at the school this very moment,” he said.

“The Philosopher’s Stone, I know.”

“Do you know what the Stone can do?”

Neville nodded, and realisation flooded onto his face. The Philosopher’s Stone gave life. You-Know-Who was seeking to return, this time forever. He began to shiver with fright once more. Firenze turned his eyes upwards again. “Mars shines unusually brightly tonight,” he said. “Come, Neville Longbottom, I must take you to safety. The others of my herd do not take kindly to your kind and I must return soon.” He led Neville out of the dell to find Hagrid and the others. Neville noted he trod lightly and effortlessly, knowing every inch of ground as he looked more into the sky than anywhere else.

They found Malfoy cowering under a tree and he almost fled again at the sight of the centaur. Further down the path they discovered Fang, and then at last Harry and Hagrid, who greeted Firenze as one he knew. Firenze accepted his thanks, said his goodbyes then turned to Neville. “Take care, Neville Longbottom,” he said. “The signs are as dark as they have been for some time. Be on your guard, young foal.” And with that, he galloped off into the night.

“You-Know-Who? Seriously? He’s out there in the Forest right now? And he wants the Stone?” whispered Hermione, shocked. For once her usual eloquence had abandoned her. They were sitting in a quiet corner of the common room the evening after Neville’s detention and Neville had finally found the time to tell her what had happened. “You know what this means, don’t you,” she continued. “Snape must be working for him. I can’t believe it.”

Neville’s opinion of Professor Snape was sufficiently low that he himself had no trouble believing it. But now he was more terrified than ever. “We have to tell someone. At least Professor McGonagall.”

“But Snape’s had all year to get past Fluffy and he hasn’t done it yet. Besides, You-Know-Who wouldn’t dare try anything with Dumbledore around. You know that Dumbledore was the supposed to be the one wizard that he always feared.” Neville didn’t actually, but he accepted Hermione’s word, it was invariably reliable. “Tell you what,” she said “there’s nothing we can do right now as we’ve got our exams next week. If nothing’s happened by then, we’ll tell McGonagall before the leaving feast and they can make sure it’s safe while we’re away in the summer. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Neville. In the excitement he had rather forgotten the looming exams. He could only worry about so many things at one time. To take his mind off the horrors of the previous night he persuaded Hermione to help him in his revision, something it wasn’t too hard to do. Hermione drew up a rather complex schedule for him to follow with study sessions for each subject.

The rest of that week, Neville worked as hard as he had ever done all year, but frankly he didn’t think it did much good. Information seemed to go in one ear and out the other. By Monday, when the exams began, he was nearly in a state of flat panic at the prospect of being thrown out of Hogwarts for failing them. In spite of everything, he’d grown quite attached to the place.

Once the first exam started however, he found he could relax a bit. If he didn’t know something, well he just had to pass over it and move on. It was too late to get worried about it. Besides, in the subjects he quite liked, Herbology and Defence against the Dark Arts, he thought he actually did fairly well by his standards. Professor Quirrell looked particularly pleased during Neville’s practical test.

Potions was a total bust, particularly as Neville was now utterly terrified of Snape being anywhere near him. He thought that at any moment Snape would discover he knew his secret and strike him down with some curse or poison him. But in Transfiguration he did manage at least half a transformation of a mouse.

By the time of his last exam, History of Magic, Neville was tired, but mostly relieved it was all over. That morning his scar had begun to itch again, however, and it only seemed to get worse as the day wore on. Meeting with Hermione after the exam, they swapped stories but the pain in his forehead forced him to sit down for a while and they took a rest in the courtyard outside the Entrance Hall.

“Are you all right?” asked Hermione. “Maybe I should take you to see Madam Pomfrey, see what she can do.”

“I don’t think Madam Pomfrey can help. I told you, the scar it… it responds to You-Know-Who. Whenever he’s near or, or something’s going on with him, I don’t know. I don’t understand it.”

Hermione looked grave. “Maybe he is up to something. Maybe they’re about to steal the Stone.” She looked at Neville with concern, as if trying to decide on something. Finally, she said “Alright, we’ll tell McGonagall. And Dumbledore as well, the Stone’s his responsibility. I said we’d wait until exams were over and now they are. Best we get this worry over and leave it in the hands of the teachers. Come on, Neville.”

She led Neville back into the castle and up to McGonagall’s office on the first floor. On knocking and entering, they found McGonagall sitting at her desk, carefully scrutinising several rolls of parchment. “Yes, Miss Granger, Mr Longbottom, what can I do for you?” she asked, peering over the top of her spectacles

Hermione did the talking. “Professor, we need to speak to you urgently. And Professor Dumbledore as well. It’s very important.”

McGonagall looked surprised. “I’m afraid the Headmaster is not here. He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic this morning and has had to go to London immediately.”

“He’s gone?” said Hermione. “When will he be back?”

“Tomorrow, I expect. Miss Granger, if you have something important to say, I trust you can confide in me.”

“It’s…” Hermione hesitated. “It’s about the Philosopher’s Stone. Somebody’s is going to try to steal it. Perhaps even today.” She decided it was best not to mention Snape’s name at this moment.

McGonagall’s mouth fell open and for a moment she was completely lost for words. She rose to her feet and looked down sternly on the two children. “How… I don’t know who told you about the Stone, but it is quite safe. It is perfectly well protected and no one is trying to steal it. Now I suggest you return to your common room and forget you ever heard about the Stone.”

“But Professor…”

“I mean it, Miss Granger. You would do well not to meddle in the affairs of those wiser and more experienced than yourself. Both of you,” she said, with a curious and pointed look at Neville. There was nothing for it, and Neville and Hermione left her office and headed for the staircase.

“Now what do we do?” said Neville.

Hermione’s brow was furrowed. “Neville, don’t you see? Don’t you think it was a bit convenient that Dumbledore gets an owl and leaves this very day? I bet it was a decoy. Snape’s going to go after the Stone this very night.”

“Then we’ve got to go after him and stop him!” said Neville. The words had come out of his mouth all in a rush, before he could even think to stop them. Now he’d said them, he almost wanted to take them back, but he knew he couldn’t. In what he felt was perhaps the first brave action in his life, he said nothing more, but just looked at Hermione, who nodded.

* * *

It was pitch dark in his room but Neville lit a candle and checked his watch. It was time. As quietly as he could he got out of bed, dressed and picked up his rucksack. He’d lain in bed for what seemed like ages, pretending to sleep and trying not to think about what lay ahead. Now he tiptoed out of the dormitory and down to the common room where he’d arranged to meet with Hermione.

Hermione was already there waiting for him. “There you are,” she said. “Did you bring everything?”

Neville tapped his backpack. “Why do we need so much food anyway?”

“Simple,” said Hermione. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a small phial filled with purple liquid. “I made up a sleeping draught,” she said. “We’ll put it on the food and throw it to Fluffy. Hopefully it should be enough to knock him out.”

“Hopefully?”

“Well, with any luck, Snape will have dealt with Fluffy already. Don’t worry Neville, everything will be fine.” Neville looked at her doubtfully. “Come on, we should go.”

They were half way to the door when they heard a familiar voice behind them. “So Granger, sneaking out at night is terrible, reckless and dangerous thing to do, is it?”
Neville and Hermione spun round. There, standing by the staircase, fully dressed, was Harry, and Ron next to him. “Only silly thoughtless people do it, do they?” He grinned broadly.

“No, no Potter, you don’t understand,” began Hermione.

“Of course we understand,” said Harry. “You’re off to save the Philosopher’s Stone, right?”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to be utterly speechless. “Wh-what, h-how?” she spluttered.

“Oh, come on Granger,” said Harry. “You’re not the only one who keeps their eyes open round here, you know. You should talk to Hagrid more, he’s a mine of information if you get him in the right mood. You two aren’t very good at plotting things as well. Do you know how easy it is to overhear stuff in here?” Hermione and Neville exchanged sheepish glances. “So who’s trying to steal it then?” asked Harry.

“Snape,” said Neville. “We think he’s working for You-Know-Who.”

“Snivellus, really?” said Harry. “Well I’m not surprised. It’d be just the sort of sneaky thing he would do.”

“Look, I don’t care what you know or think,” said Hermione sharply. “We’re going and that’s that. Don’t even think of trying to stop us.” She had take out her wand now and was pointing it square at Harry’s chest.

Harry put up his palms. “Hey, we’re not going to try and stop you. We’re coming with you.” Ron nodded.

Hermione glared at them and didn’t lower her wand. “What makes you think we want your help?” she snapped.

Harry smiled. “Oh, so you know about Fluffy’s weakness then?” he said.

“What weakness?”

“How were you going to get past him then?” asked Harry.

“Sleeping draught.”

Harry laughed. “On a dog that size with three heads, you’d need a gallon.” He produced a small flute from his pocket. “Music. Play him a little tune, he falls fast asleep. So Hagrid says. Come on Granger, you know you’ll never get past Fluffy and the other tasks without our help.”

“What other tasks?”

Harry looked genuinely surprised. “Merlin’s beard, do you ever talk to Hagrid? There are half a dozen obstacles from different professors to protect the Stone. Did you think it was just Fluffy?”

Hermione shrugged, trying to retain her pride. “Alright, you can come,” she said reluctantly and lowered he wand.

“Right, let’s go,” said Harry, setting off.

Hermione stopped him. “Hey, who put you in charge?”

“Well who says you’re in charge either, Granger?” said Ron. “What about Neville? Or do you boss him around as well?”

Neville felt he was getting a headache and this wasn’t doing his nerves any good. “Oh, can’t we just get on with this now?” he pleaded. The four of them left the common room in silence and made their way quietly down the stairs. Harry had brought his invisibility cloak, but the four of them struggled to fit under it and Hermione refused to share it with them. Nevertheless they reached the third floor without incident and entered the forbidden corridor. They stopped outside the locked door.

Hermione took out her wand and Harry got his flute ready. “Can you actually play that thing?” Hermione asked.

“Just open the door,” said Harry.

“Hermione tapped the lock and said clearly “Alohomora”. The lock sprang open and Hermione gently pushed the door inwards. Harry began to play. In fact he wasn’t actually all that bad and a pleasant tune floated out from the flute. Cautiously, the four of them inched forward into the room. There was Fluffy, sprawled out across the floor of the room. The eyes of two of the heads were closed and as they watched the third head nodded and gently settled beside the others. Harry continued to play while the three others carefully lifted Fluffy’s left paw away from the trapdoor. Neville flinched terribly whenever Fluffy made the slightest movement.

They pulled open the trapdoor, and then on a whispered count of three they leapt straight after each other through the opening. The drop was dark and very long but eventually they hit bottom. Their fall was broken by something soft and slimy beneath them. Ron half landed on Hermione who pushed him off. They seemed to be lying on some sort of plant mass. “Good thing this was here,” said Ron whilst Hermione lit up the end of her wand to look around. The plant was quite expansive and seemed to be made up of long stringy tendrils and vines.

Suddenly Neville felt the vines wrap around his ankles. Something slithered over the top of his shoulder and he found himself pulled downwards. He struggled to free himself but only felt more tightly bound. Looking round, he saw the others were in similar trouble. “It’s Devil’s Snare,” said Hermione. “Try to relax!” “Well, telling me that’s not going to help,” thought Neville. He remembered Devil’s Snare from Herbology, one subject in which he actually learnt something. It strangled you, quicker if you struggled. He thought what he knew about it. “It hates heat and light,” he called out from a mass of tendrils.

“Someone start a fire, then,” said Harry.

“How?” asked Hermione, who wasn’t taking her own advice.

“Well, a wand might help,” said a sarcastic Ron.

“Oh,” said Hermione, freed her wand and conjured a jet of blue flame. The Devil’s Snare shrank back and released them and the four of them scrambled free.

“Don’t panic, eh?” said Ron to Hermione. “At least we had a Herbology fan here.”

“I knew all that too, Weasley” said Hermione weakly, but everyone was moving on. They made their way carefully down a dark, straight passageway that sloped downwards. Neville wondered how far underground they were. Eventually they emerged surprisingly into the light, or so it seemed to them. They were in a huge, high vaulted and brightly lit room. The room was filled with strange, fluttering winged creatures. Once Neville’s eyes had adjusted to the light, he realised they were in fact keys with wings.

There was a heavy, locked door at the far side of the room and a number of brooms lined up against the wall. Harry and Ron took down one each. “It looks obvious what we have to do,” said Harry.

“But which key is it?” said Ron.

Hermione examined the lock. “Looks like it would have to be quite a large, thick one,” she said.

Harry and Ron mounted their brooms and made to set off. Hermione joined them. “Are you not coming, Neville?” said Harry.

“No, I’d only get in the way.” He watched as the three of them flew off. Not surprisingly, and fairly quickly, it was Harry who located and caught the key. Once they were all on the ground again, Harry triumphantly unlocked the door, and they passed on.

The next room was dark but faint large shapes could be made out within. As they entered fully into the room, it became bathed in light and they saw to their astonishment what lay within. It was a giant chessboard. Huge figures stood as the pieces in their starting positions. They were on the black side. As they came onto the board the white figures barred their way.

“Er, does anyone know how to play chess?” said Neville.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” replied Ron proudly. Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron set about planning his strategy and assigning the others to various pieces. Harry took a bishop, Neville a castle and Hermione the queen (“Wouldn’t want you to feel unimportant,” sneered Ron), whilst Ron took the place of a knight. Once set, a pawn on the white side came to life and advanced two spaces.

Ron hadn’t been lying when he said he knew how to play chess. A skilful set of moves enabled their side to go ahead by a bishop and two pawns and all the time Ron was avoiding putting the others at risk. Wizard’s chess was confrontational, and at this scale dangerous. Nevertheless a deft attack by Ron left Hermione as queen dominating the centre of the board, while Ron’s knight advanced down the left.

Neville was quite lost by what was going on, but Harry was watching intently. As Ron prepared to move himself, Harry shouted “Stop!” Ron looked across. “What are you doing Ron?” he said.

“It’s mate in two,” said Ron.

“But the queen will take you!”

“Yes, and then Neville checkmates on f6,” said Ron.

Hermione had now caught on. “But you can’t sacrifice yourself. It’s too dangerous. Find another way, or let me make the move, Ron.”

Ron looked up in surprise. Hermione never used his first name. “It won’t work. This is the only way, Hermione,” he said and stepped forward two spaces and one to his right. “Check,” he announced. Almost immediately the white queen began to move. Across the board it came, bearing down on Ron Weasley, who didn’t flinch once. Only as it raised its fist did Ron lift an arm to protect himself against the blow, but the queen struck him hard on his head and he fell.

“Quick, Neville, f6, there,” pointed Harry desperately. Neville stepped twice to his left. “Checkmate,” said Harry. Neville looked down at the white king, who removed his crown and threw it on the floor. At once they all broke and rushed over to Ron. He was out cold and there was an ugly bruise on the side of his head. Harry looked seriously concerned. “He needs to get to the hospital wing,” he said.

“You take him back,” said Hermione. “Follow the passage and see if you can find a way out. Neville and I will go on and get the Stone. Make sure he’s alright. We’ll see you later.” Harry nodded, put his head under Ron’s arm, picked him up and went back the way they came. Neville followed Hermione onwards.

The next room stank terribly. The two of them entered warily, but all was quiet. Lying slumped in the middle of the room, however, was an enormous troll that seemed to take up most of the room. Its stench was almost unbearable, but it was motionless and seemingly unconscious. They tiptoed past it carefully, holding their noses. “Do you know what this means?” whispered Hermione. “Snape’s been here already. He’s knocked out the troll.”

They walked through an archway into another room. The moment they did so, a purple flame appeared in the archway, blocking their way back. Looking across the room, they saw that their way on was also blocked by flame, this time black. The only thing in the room was table on which were laid seven bottles and a roll of paper. Hermione rushed over to them and read. “It’s a riddle,” she said. “Let me see…” For what seemed like ages she pored over the paper, muttering to herself under her breath.

Finally she announced “Got it!” She pulled out two of the bottles from the line. “If you drink this one,” she said “you can go on through the black flame. The other one allows you to go back.”

Neville picked up the one to go forward. “There’s barely any left,” he said. “We can’t both go through.”

“One of us should go back to help those two and warn the teachers, anyway,” said Hermione. “This is the last task.”

“You go,” said Neville. “You’re the great witch, you’re braver than I am, you should get the Stone. I couldn’t do it.”

Hermione half laughed. “You think I’m brave? Neville, I’m terrified. We all are. I don’t want to go in there any more than you do. But one of us has to. We both got this far.” She reached deep into her pocket and pulled out a bronze Knut. “We’ll do this the fair way. Heads I go on, tails you.” She spun the coin in the air. It bounced on the wooden table, rolled for a moment and then settled. Neville looked down at the coin in dread. Tails.

Something clicked in him he hadn’t expected. Without a moment’s hesitation he took the backpack pack from his shoulders. “Take this,” he said to Hermione. “I won’t need it. I don’t know how long it’ll take you to get out but there’s enough in there to keep you going.” He took out his wand, held it at the ready and took the potion bottle in his left hand. “Bye, Hermione,” he said, swallowing the last of the potion. “See you soon.”

With that he turned and walked towards the black flames, not looking back. Hermione called after him “Good luck. You’re a better wizard than you think, Neville. Go for it.” Neville raised his head, looked straight ahead of him and stepped through the flames.

Neville found himself in a wide, dimly lit room with blank grey walls and floor. It was quiet and featureless, except for a single large object in the middle of the room. Fixed upright and standing eight feet high, it would focus any eyes in the room. Neville recognised it immediately. It was the Mirror of Erised. Standing in front of it, staring into the glass, was the silent figure of a man. He didn’t seem to have noticed Neville enter.

Neville raised his wand and wondered what spell he knew that he could cast. He took a couple of steps into the room to get a better look at the man and gave a gasp. “You!” he exclaimed before he could stop himself. The man turned and from beneath his turbaned head was a blank and cold expression Neville had never seen on him before. It was Professor Quirrell.

“Neville Longbottom,” said Quirrell without a trace of a stutter. “This is a surprise. Have you come to stop me?” The question was asked with disdain, as if there could be only one possible answer.

“B-but I thought… Snape…” stammered Neville. The scar on his forehead had begun to throb.

“Yes of course you did, you pathetic fool of a boy. You thought what I wanted you to think. Yes, I overheard you that day before the Quidditch match. Snape had already caused me enough trouble, heading me off at the third floor corridor when I let that troll in. Since you already suspected him, it was the simplest thing to throw a little curse at you and blame him for it. You bought it so easily, really it was no challenge for me.”

“It was all you,” gaped Neville. “You let the troll in at Halloween. You tried to kill me. You’re the one working for You-Know-Who. I trusted you. I liked you! Why?”

“Oh grow up, boy. Don’t you listen? I didn’t want to kill you, I could have done that with complete ease if I had. I wanted you alive. I just needed a scapegoat to stop you interfering with my plans, that was all, and Severus Snape did nicely. You are far too interesting and important a boy to kill and my master would not allow it.

“Of course I made sure you trusted me. We were most curious about you. How could you, as an ordinary baby, rob the Dark Lord of his powers at the moment of his success? Perhaps there was powerful dark magic lurking within you, or some hidden gift my master could use to his ends. Sadly, it is all to clear that is not true. You are incompetent and talentless. Believe me, it was a wretch sitting through all those lessons, pretending you weren’t so woefully inept as you were. I am frankly astonished you got through all those obstacles to get here. I expect you had the help of that Granger girl. Is she not here? Pity. She might actually have been some use to me.”

Quirrell’s wand suddenly appeared from out of his robes in his right hand and he pointed it at Neville silently. Neville’s wand sprang out of his hand and Quirrell caught it. “Wouldn’t want you having an accident and hurting someone, would we Longbottom?” he grinned, and turned his back on Neville to examine the mirror once more.

“Where is the Stone?” he said angrily. “I see myself holding it, making the Elixir of Life for my master, but where is it really? I don’t understand.”

Suddenly a strange cold voice echoed in the empty room. Neville couldn’t make out where it came from. “The boy. Use the boy,” it said. Neville turned to run, but Quirrell snapped his fingers and ropes appeared from nowhere, binding Neville and hurling him to the ground. As he struggled, Quirrell came over, hauled him to his feet and dragged him by the ropes over to the mirror.

“Going somewhere, Longbottom?” he said. “Maybe you can be of some help. Stand here. What do you see?” Terrified, Neville did as he was told and looked into the mirror, expecting to see just what he had seen before. To his surprise he didn’t. The reflection in the mirror was empty except for himself. He watched in amazement as an object appeared in the reflection’s left hand. It was a rough-hewn bright red stone. His reflection smiled, nodded in his direction, and slipped the stone into its left pocket.

Neville felt something sharp in his right pocket rub up against his thigh. The Stone was there! He fought desperately against the urge to look down or put his hand in his pocket. Quirrell beside him was becoming impatient. “I said what do you see? Speak, boy.”

“Er, I’m surrounded by friends and family,” he said nervously. “They’re all cheering me.” He couldn’t think of a better lie in the circumstances, so he just said what he’d seen before.

The cold voice rang out again, as if right beside him. “You lie,” it said. “I know you lie.”

Neville looked in all directions, trying to locate the voice that chilled his very bones. “Who are you? Where are you?” he said.

The voice gave a dry, ugly laugh. “I’m right here, boy. Quirrell, perhaps it is time you introduced me to Mr Longbottom.”

“But master…” protested Quirrell.

“Do it. I feel strong now. I would see the boy for myself,” said the voice. Quirrell stepped away from Neville and put his hands to his head. He slowly unwrapped the purple cloth that formed the turban atop his head. Underneath Neville could see no hair protruding, but something was there. At last Quirrell removed the remainder of the turban. Neville gasped for the second time.

From the back of Quirrell’s head a face protruded, as if pressed into the flesh by some hideous process. The face possessed a thin, sharp mouth and a flattened nose, but most shocking were the piercing narrow eyes that shone bright red. The eyes seemed rimmed with fire, but underneath that fire was a darkness, an emptiness like a window onto nothing. The face spoke with the chilling voice that Neville had heard. “So you are Neville Longbottom. We meet again. It has been a long time. Too long.”

Neville staggered back, still bound by the cords. “It’s you,” he said. “Y-You’re V-… V-… You-Know-Who.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the name.

The face laughed. “It is good to see my name has lost none of the force it once carried these last ten years, even though its bearer is reduced to such a state. This is what you reduced me to, Longbottom, a shell, a mere spirit, forced to possess another and drink unicorn blood to survive. It was us you saw in the Forest that night. Quirrell has been my mostly willing host these past few months, since I returned to these shores. I met Quirrell while he was journeying in Albania last year. When he told me the Philosopher’s Stone was coming to Hogwarts this year I knew I had to return. With suitable persuasion he agreed to let me accompany him back.

“He failed to prevent the Stone being removed from Gringotts, so I took a share in his body so that I might join him at Hogwarts. For nine months now I have encouraged him in my own way to reach this point. Now I shall take the Stone and return to a full life and body of my own. So take it from your pocket and give it to me, boy.”

Neville was astonished. He felt sure he hadn’t given himself away. Now his hand went instinctively to his pocket before he could stop it. “That’s it,” said Voldemort. “Quirrell, release him.” Quirrell snapped his fingers once more and the ropes vanished. Neville took the Stone from his pocket and looked at it. It felt heavy in his hand. “Hand it over and I promise no harm with come to you. You have my word.

“Tell me Neville,” he continued “what do you want? Power? It is what all who are truly honest with themselves want. I know you feel you lack it. I have more than enough to spare. Give me the Stone and I can make you powerful, make you strong. Ally yourself with me and be afraid of no one again.”

Neville hesitated. He remembered what he had seen in the Mirror of Erised before Christmas. He did want to be stronger, to be better than he was. But most of all he wanted people to care about him, to care for him. He looked up at Quirrell and the hideous face of Voldemort and he knew without question that Voldemort did not care for anyone but himself. He kept reminding himself who this man was. “W-what do I want? I want my parents,” he stammered, forcing out each word through a mouth that seemed locked in fear and refused to open.

Voldemort laughed again. “No spell returns the dead to life. I hope you’ve been taught that. The dead stay dead and gone, lost forever. Your parents were fools, they stood and died with no thought for themselves, as if they could hope to save you. Your mother especially, she died needlessly as though living on meant nothing to her. Do not make their mistake, boy. Give me the Stone, and live.”

Neville took a step backwards and clutched the Stone more tightly in his hand. For a moment it seemed he was detached from his body, seeing through someone else’s eyes. He heard himself say “No” in a frail voice and felt himself turn to run. He heard Voldemort yell “Stop him!” and Quirrell move. He felt a hand seize him on his shoulder and twist him round.

Now he was back in his body, forced in by the searing pain through his scar. He fought as hard as he could as Quirrell pinned him down and scrabbled at his right hand for the Stone. Quirrell seized his wrist in an attempt to shake the Stone free and suddenly a whole new level of pain shot through him. But Quirrell seemed to feel it more and his hand jerked free from the wrist. Neville thrust up his left palm onto Quirrell’s chin to push him away. Again the pain came, but this time Neville could not remove his hand. Quirrell beat at Neville’s right arm with his fist but he screamed in agony as if he was burning. “What’s happening?” he cried. His skin was beginning to blister and behind him the face of Voldemort was writhing on his skull. Suddenly his other hand came plummeting down on the side of Neville’s head and everything went black.

* * *

Neville awoke in bed and his eyes slowly swam into focus. For a moment he wondered where he was, then slowly the memory of his encounter with Quirrell returned. He shuddered, sat up in bed and looked around. He was in the hospital wing and currently alone. There were bandages on his head and arm. A stack of “Get Well Soon” cards were arranged on the table beside his bed next to an assortment of sweets, chocolates and the obligatory bunch of grapes.

Neville was about to pick up the cards to see who they were from when a head poked round the door of the ward. It belonged to none other than Professor Dumbledore. The Headmaster smiled, entered the room and walked up to Neville’s bed. “Awake at last,” he said breezily. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit groggy,” admitted Neville. “It’s all a bit of a blur. What happened to Professor Quirrell and You-Know-Who?”

“Voldemort, Neville. It is his name now and one should always name things properly. It is not easy, but one day I hope you will understand and speak it.” Dumbledore sighed. “It is my sad duty to inform you that Professor Quirrell is dead. Such a young man. A tragic and terrible loss to us all.”

Neville was puzzled. “But he was evil. He was working for You-Know-Who and tried to get the Stone.”

“Evil is a strong word, Neville, and should be used most carefully. No, I do grieve for the loss of Quirinus Quirrell and what he might have been. Before he evidently encountered Voldemort on his travels he was a good man, if somewhat shy and ineffectual, the sort that never attracted much attention. Not unlike yourself, Neville, if you will excuse me for saying so.”

A cold feeling crept up Neville’s spine. “I nearly gave him the Stone. I nearly did. But in the end I couldn’t.”

“And that is what makes you different from Quirrell.” Dumbledore smiled. “You had the strength, the courage to refuse, even if you don’t know how you did it.”

“But why is he dead? What happened to the Stone?”

“One question at a time, my inquisitive young friend. Firstly Quirrell is dead because Voldemort killed him. The pain Quirrell felt from touching you was too much for Voldemort to bear and he abandoned his host’s body.” At this Neville made to speak again but Dumbledore raised a gentle hand to silence him. “The severing of Voldemort left Quirrell too weak to survive and he died shortly after I arrived. When I had arrived at the Ministry and discovered I was not expected I hurried back here at once. I encountered Mr Potter, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger on their way up from the dungeons as I descended, who by the way, before you interrupt my story further, are all fine and well, and learned you had gone on to retrieve the Stone. I found you just after you had lost consciousness and could do nothing but watch poor Quirinus die.

“I brought you and the Stone back here where Madam Pomfrey has tended you most excellently for the past three days. In truth, you probably could have been woken after one, but I thought you needed the rest. To answer your second question, the Stone has now been destroyed. I visited my old friend Nicolas the day before yesterday and we have agreed it was the right thing to do. I have left him enough Elixir to set his affairs in order, before he joins the next great adventure.

“Now I see that those two answers have only served to generate yet more questions. I feel as if I am on a little of a roll at the moment so you will forgive me if I answer your questions before you ask them. No, Voldemort is not dead. His spirit endures as it did before. He has suffered a great setback, though. You were able to retrieve the Stone whilst Quirrell could not because I laid a charm on the mirror so that only one who did not want to use the Stone could recover it. Sometimes my cleverness surprises even me.” Dumbledore finally took a breath and winked, before continuing.

“The reason Professor Quirrell was burned when he touched you is most interesting though. Do you remember me telling you in December that you are far more loved than you think? That is what saved you. When your mother died protecting you, that protection, bound by love, endured within you, within your very skin, your very blood. It is her love for you that lives on, that Voldemort and by extension Quirrell could not bear to encounter. That desire of yours the Mirror of Erised showed you is not so far away as you fear.

“So now, here we all are now, safe and well. If I may mention as well, your reputation has certainly grown among your fellow students these past few days. I have long since given up trying to keep any of the comings and goings in this school secret. You have had a number of concerned callers, notably Miss Granger who has been here most regularly. Messrs Potter and Weasley also. They may even have exchanged one or two cordial words with Miss Granger but whether the rapprochement will last, I can’t say. Do you have any further questions, Neville?”

Neville thought. “What happens now?” he asked.

Dumbledore grinned. “Life goes on, Neville. Enjoy it.” With that, he bowed politely, and left.

* * *

Just a few hours later Neville was discharged from the hospital wing and made his way up alone to Gryffindor Tower. He slunk in past the Fat Lady’s portrait, expecting to quietly head up to his room. But as he entered the common room, he found it packed with people. They all turned to watch him walk in. Then someone began to clap. Slowly at first, then with swelling enthusiasm, the rest joined in the applause. The Weasley twins came forward and hoisted Neville on their shoulders and cheered him through the room.

He quickly found Hermione, who gave him a hug and a simple “Well done.” She didn’t even seem to mind when he turned to talk to Harry and Ron, who were more over the top in their praise. After a while, as Neville felt tired, the three of them went up to their room chatting about their experience as if they had known each other for years.

That evening was the official end-of-year feast. The atmosphere was a little subdued on Neville’s table as Gryffindor had missed out on the House Cup, finishing third, barely above Hufflepuff. To make matters worse, Slytherin had taken the title yet again. Harry was blaming himself, the last Quidditch match of the season had taken place while Neville was unconscious and Harry said he’d been “distracted” and failed to catch the Snitch, his first failure.

After the feast Dumbledore stood up to announce the House Cup results, but paused before he did so. “Before I award the Cup, there are some last minute points to allocate. To Mr Harry Potter and Mr Ronald Weasley, for loyalty, skill and courageous self-sacrifice, thirty points each to Gryffindor.” Harry and Ron almost leapt into the air and Dumbledore gave them a stern look to sit down before he continued. “To Miss Hermione Granger, for wisdom, a cool head and bold persistence, forty points.” Hermione looked embarrassed, Ron and Harry tried not to look too disappointed she had outscored them.

Those points had brought them into second place, only a dozen or so behind Slytherin. “Finally,” said Dumbledore, “to Mr Neville Longbottom, for courage and bravery exemplary of his House, sixty points.” The Gryffindor table erupted and Neville was buried in the celebrations. The cheering went on for a very long time.

Neville settled down that night contented, as if all his hopes had come true. Then he remembered his original vision in the Mirror of Erised and checked his scar, but it was still there. “None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for this scar,” he thought. That worried him, could he never escape the scar?

When the year ended, as they boarded the Hogwarts Express to go home, Hermione found him in a compartment. “Write to me over the summer,” she said. “I’ll do the same.” They swapped addresses. “It’ll be strange going back to normal for the summer,” she added.

“I don’t think things will ever be normal for me,” said Neville miserably.

“Who wants to be normal?” said Hermione. Neville smiled and watched as Hogsmeade Station behind faded out of view like the end of a dream.