Disclaimer: I am NOT J.K. Rowling and I do NOT own Harry Potter or any related characters or products. Would that I were! Would that I did!
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Pulling the sorting hat from his head and slipping down from the hard stool, Neville blinked his confusion and hesitated a moment until he saw Professor McGonagall nod encouragingly. He couldn’t believe his luck. Not only was he still here (a feat in and of itself), but he’d also actually been sorted into Gryffindor of all places!
While his feet took over and carried him toward his house table, his heart leapt joyously in his chest. He didn’t even feel all that embarrassed when the laughter reminded him to rush back to return the hat to his new Head of House. To his ears the applause was thunderous, and he blushed with pleasure at the welcoming smiles of his fellow Gryffindors. He knew he’d never been happier.
This cloud of euphoria stayed with him throughout his first meal at Hogwarts, and he was delighted by all he saw. Despite having grown up surrounded by a family of pure bloods, he’d never seen many of the wonders that the castle offered”ghosts, an enchanted ceiling, a feast from thin air…. While there were several eccentrics in his family, his gran was a practical witch, not much given to fancy displays of power. She used magic for everyday chores, of course, but it was a straightforward, sensible sort of magic. Her grandson, therefore, didn’t quite know what to think of all the marvels he witnessed that first night.
After dinner, his head still swimming with joy, Neville let himself be herded with the other first years to their dorms. Alternately seized by fear and delight, he looked in awe at the giant moving staircases and the harassing poltergeist, feeling slightly intimidated and wondering if he’d ever learn his way around.
He felt relief moments later when he found himself in the relative quiet of his dorm room along with several other boys (including the Harry Potter). Seeing his trunk safely arrived and placed next to his neatly made bed, he could only sigh with contentment. Against all expectations, he’d really made it to Hogwarts and he was here to stay.
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The first time Neville ever mounted a broom was, well, a fiasco. One broken wrist later, he’d sworn off flying as a recreation and had endured the lessons only because he had no choice. Secretly, however, he remembered the experience with a certain awe. Looking back, he felt humiliation, but not necessarily regret. Although he didn’t have the natural technique or grace that his friend Harry had reportedly exhibited on his first flight, no one could deny that Neville’d had no trouble getting off the ground. It was an admittedly embarrassing flight, but it was flight nonetheless”one more proof that he was not a Squib. For one brief moment, before he crashed to the ground, Neville had felt as if he were touching the sky.
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The mortification Neville felt as the floor rushed up to meet his face cannot be described. He’d truly believed that these three”especially Hermione”were his friends and that, if he blocked their way, they’d listen. He had certainly tried to reason. He didn’t want them to get into trouble, he didn’t want Gryffindor to lose points, and he definitely didn’t want to fight them, but they hadn’t even heard him. They had treated him with the utmost contempt, and Hermione, the first person ever to befriend him, had actually attacked him.
Feeling her hands pulling him over to lay him on his back, Neville longed to hide his face and cry. Instead, he could only stare up at her, horrified. He didn’t even hear her apologies as she hovered over him for the briefest moment: he was too wounded by their actions.
As he heard the portrait-hole open and click closed again, the tears started to flow from his eyes down the sides of his face into his ears. He couldn’t brush them away; all he could do was lie there. It seemed that an eternity passed as he waited for the effects of the spell to pass.
Hope surged through him at the sound of the portrait once again swinging open”maybe they’d finished whatever they’d planned to do and were returning without getting caught”but the sight of Professor McGonagall’s face hovering over his own chased that hope away. Luckily, she seemed almost immediately to grasp his predicament. After a quick wave of her wand, she pulled him unsteadily to his feet.
“What are you doing out of bed? Who did this to you?”
“I…they didn’t mean it. They were just joking….” He looked down to avoid seeing the pity in her eyes.
“Who?”
He just stood before her, head hanging, refusing to betray those who had just betrayed him.
“Was it Harry? Answer me, Neville. Have he and his friends snuck out again?”
Neville continued to study the ground. Professor McGonagall suddenly kneeled down before him, placing a hand on each arm so he couldn’t pull away, and looked up at his face.
“I’m sure they didn’t mean to hurt you, but you need to tell me if Harry is gone. He may be in danger. Was Ron or Hermione with him?”
Neville nodded, feeling like a traitor. “They both were.”
Rising awkwardly to her feet, the usually stern old witch gave Neville a swift hug”he was, after all, still a little boy in many ways. It sometimes surprised her how small and vulnerable the first years seemed next to her older students.
“Off with you now”back to your dorm. And don’t you worry; I’ll find them.”
Neville obeyed, comforted by the unexpected display of kindness he’d just received. His heart still ached from the treatment he’d received, but his professor’s gentleness had made that ache just a little more bearable. Even if he didn’t have any friends, it was nice to know that at least someone cared.
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Neville knew he wasn’t talented”“nearly a Squib” is how he had more than once described himself. He was, he felt, simply a clownish imitation of what a young wizard should be. He did not wonder that his peers obviously found him amusing, nor that they often enjoyed a joke or prank at his expense. He couldn’t blame even those he considered his friends for sharing knowing glances over his head when he suffered one of his all too common mishaps.
His teachers for the most part were not much different; with the exception of Professors Snape and Sprout, their demeanor generally reflected merely patient resignation: they expected him to fail.
Of the exceptions? Why even bother mentioning Professor Snape? Everyone knew he hated young Neville Longbottom almost as much as he did Harry Potter, and the frightening Potions professor never failed to treat the awkward boy with outright loathing and condescension.
Only in Professor Sprout had Neville found an ally. Though not a member of her house, he shared her love of the rich earth and all the growing things it held, and he could sense that she, too, must have suffered as a child”outcast on account of her plant obsession and her makeshift robes. Nonetheless, she didn’t cry…and neither would he. He might be ridiculous in everyone’s eyes, but, after all, even clowns could have pride.
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The people you love the most are also the ones who truly have the power to hurt you. Neville had learned this at a young age, and nothing in his experience had ever disproved it. The irony, however, originated from the fact that the beloved ones didn’t even have to try to cause pain; it just happened naturally all on its own.
That’s how it was with his mum and dad. They hadn’t meant to end up in St. Mungo’s, and Neville certainly didn’t blame them for what had happened to them, but their condition hurt him more than anything else in the world. Sometimes he felt his heart would burst from the pain.
When he visited them, he especially hated seeing their vacant expressions when they looked at him. It wasn’t fair that they didn’t even know him. He wished more than anything that one day he’d walk into Ward 49 and recognition would blaze in their eyes and his name would spring from their lips.
He knew it wasn’t going to happen though.
Their day-to-day absence from his life made the ache even worse. They’d missed every milestone, every moment of triumph, and every little disappointment. When Neville had needed someone to talk to, someone to go to for advice, someone to offer him a hug or a shoulder to cry on, his parents hadn’t even known and were not even able to care.
Had a Legilimens looked into Neville’s mind, however, he or she wouldn’t have found shame. Neville was proud of his parents and honored them for the sacrifice they’d made to fight on the side of the light. He didn’t tell his friends about his mum and dad simply because he didn’t want them to pity him.
In fact, had he known, when he awoke that morning, that he would run into Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Ron at St. Mungo’s, it wouldn’t have prevented him coming to wish his parents a happy Christmas. He visited them because he wanted to; no one, not even his gran, had ever needed to force him.
All the same, when the people you love the most are worse off than dead and it’s ripping out your heart, it’s just a whole lot easier if your best mates don’t show up to burden you with the added weight of their sympathy.
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A depressing gloom”like a deep, bitter winter”enveloped the castle as students entered the Great Hall on September 1, and the normally cheerful chatter echoed only in their memories. Here and there, a squeal of recognition rang out, only to be quickly suppressed under nervous glances and self-conscious murmuring. Neville knew he wasn’t the only one feeling crushed by the sorrow and fear surrounding them.
As he approached the long table reserved for his house, he noticed all the empty spaces that he and the few straggling Gryffindors behind him could not possibly fill. His heart, however, lightened slightly when he saw Colin Creevy waving at him.
“So it’s true then?” the younger boy asked. “Harry, Ron, and Hermione aren’t coming back?”
Neville’s mood darkened once more, and he shook his head. “It looks like a lot of people aren’t coming back.”
They lapsed into silence, and Neville glanced up at the table where the teachers were seated. He saw that Professor McGonagall had not claimed the old headmaster’s chair, though she had already seated herself. Professor Slughorn was also still here, Neville noticed, as were most of the others he’d studied under for the last six years”with the exception of Professor Snape of course. Unsurprisingly, two unfamiliar faces looked out at the Great Hall as well; presumably they belonged to the new teachers here to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration positions. Neville recognized one of them as Tonks, who had fought by his side in two battles now. Her hot pink hair blazed defiantly in the otherwise subdued castle.
As Neville’s eyes continued their perusal, they happened to meet Professor Sprout’s, whose owner smiled a greeting. Then student and teacher both turned as first Hagrid and then Professor Flitwick entered, ushering in the tiny group of first years.
After the sorting and feast and Headmistress McGonagall’s speech full of cautions and worried welcome, when the students were milling about to exit the hall, Neville saw Professor Sprout walking toward him.
“Neville, I hope you had a good summer.”
“Hi, Professor. I guess it was as good as it could be….”
Before they could think about the implications of his answer, the Herbology professor said, “Of course. Well, I wanted to offer you some flower starters. I have a few daffodil bulbs left over that I thought you might like.”
Neville felt a rush of gratitude toward the woman standing before him, the woman he thought of as his mentor. And though it wasn’t Christmas in September by a long shot, the thought of those lovely, sunny flowers cheered him all the same.
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He found her standing near the lake staring off toward the Forbidden Forest. Maybe “found” isn’t the right word as he hadn’t really been looking…not really. He’d just felt so lost since the beginning of the new school year, wondering what his other friends were up to and whether or not they’d ever return. It was only natural that his thoughts kept drifting back to her since she, too, had joined those friends in battle twice in the last two years.
He hadn’t sought her out this year simply because he didn’t know quite what to say. She had treated him so gently after he’d been injured in their battle with the Death Eaters, but now he felt inadequate before her. Oh, he knew she wouldn’t look down on him for his awkwardness and lack of popularity”just as he’d never look down on her for the same, especially now that he saw her as more than the odd, perhaps slightly mad girl he’d known since his fifth year. It was just that suddenly she was so lovely to his eyes.
Pulling himself from his reverie, Neville moved toward the slight, blond figure now watching the ripples the giant squid created as it played near the surface of the lake in the afternoon sun.
“Hi, Luna,” he called softly.
She turned to greet him, and her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as she smiled.
“Hi, Neville.”
“What are you doing out here all alone?”
“Waiting for you.”
Neville felt his heart leap. “You are?”
“I was starting to worry you wouldn’t come.”
“But I didn’t even know you were waiting.”
Ignoring his words, she reached out and grabbed his hand.
“Come on.”
“But where are we….” Stifling his question, Neville obediently followed. The silence between them amplified the twittering and buzzing and splashing of the creatures enjoying the warm September day.
They slowed as they neared the Forbidden Forest, and then Neville’s eyes settled on the carpet of wild flowers embraced between forest and lake. His mouth fell open at the sight before him: Thousands of Peacock Butterflies fanned one another with blue-spotted, reddish-brown wings. For several moments, he could do nothing but stand there, absorbing the beauty of the dancing lawn.
At last, feeling Luna looking up at him, he turned to find that the vagueness had fled her wide blue eyes to be replaced by quiet intensity.
“They don’t have much time left, so they spend their last moments here, like this, savoring every last kiss.” As she spoke, a single fat tear escaped her eye and slid slowly down her cheek.
Reaching out, Neville brushed it away with his thumb. Then, without thinking, he bent his head until his eyelashes touched her face and fluttered them softly, kissing her as the butterflies among the flowers kissed.
When he straightened, Luna gifted him with a gentle smile and tightened her hold on his hand.
“There will be many more moments for us. I promise,” he whispered fiercely. “But if these truly were our last moments, this is where I’d want to be too.”
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I will be heard! Neville thought fiercely, gathering his courage for the encounter ahead of him. “She’s got to understand that I’m no longer the ridiculous, awkward boy I’ve been all my life. I may not be my father, but I have a right to make my own decisions.”
As he raised his hand to knock, his grandmother opened her bedroom door.
“Good morning, Neville,” she said, apparently unsurprised to see him home when he should have been in school.
“Uh…hello, Gran.” He stood aside to let her pass and then followed her to the sitting room.
“Tea?” she asked.
He nodded. “Thanks.”
After pouring, his grandmother sat stiffly with her own cup balanced on the saucer in her hand and gazed at him with interest, but she waited for him to break the silence.
Finally, looking down at his cup, Neville mumbled, “I’ve left school.”
His eyes flickered to her face and quickly away as he braced himself for her tirade. The calmness of her voice, however, surprised him. “I see that. Do you plan to tell me why?”
“Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn’t return to Hogwarts this fall. Ginny, Luna, and I plan to join them, wherever they are. I’m done with school. The war is on, and my friends need me.”
When his gran opened her mouth to speak, he cut her off. “No! I need you to listen. I know I’m not as talented as mum or dad were, but this is something I’ve got to do. Even if I die trying, I’ve got to do everything in my power to make the Death Eaters pay for what they did to Mum and Dad and for what they’ve done to us. I need to be there when Harry faces Vol…Voldemort.”
His grandmother flinched at the hated name, but when she spoke her voice was firm. “I’ve been waiting sixteen years to hear you say that.”
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Everyone had always thought that if worse came to worst Harry Potter would be the last man standing in the final battle against Lord Voldemort. Neville Longbottom, however, was resigned to the fact that Harry wasn’t coming. As his friends and professors fell around him under an onslaught of Unforgivable Curses, he didn’t have time to wonder why the Boy-Who-Lived had not arrived to bring the story full circle; he simply battled on, heart bursting with terror at the glimpses of the creature moving closer and closer through the carnage.
Throwing a minor hex to momentarily incapacitate the Death Eater bent on his destruction, Neville whirled around to see his doom before him at last. Lord Voldemort, whose name the young man couldn’t even say without stuttering, stood facing him, red eyes gleaming in the pre-dawn shadows. Neville’s heart quelled under the utter contempt that glared back at him as the evil one raised his wand, and for an instant his entire body froze”not from an unfortunately aimed Petrificus Totalus, but from the sudden certainty that he was about to die.
Voldemort laughed at the pathetic excuse for a wizard he faced and tossed”almost casually”a Cruciatus curse at Neville, clearly thinking how right he’d been all those years back to dismiss this worthless boy when he’d first heard of the prophecy.
Neville fell to his knees as agony ripped through him, an agony worse even than what he’d felt two years before in the Ministry of Magic. A moment later, gasping, with hands splayed on the ground to prevent himself falling on his face, he heard the gravel crunch under Voldemort’s boots as the dark wizard moved forward to gloat over his victim. Then a cold hand snaked down to grasp Neville’s hair and pull the terrified adolescent to his feet.
Like a sadistic child about to rip the wings off a helpless insect, Voldemort glared at him, but Neville simply hung limply in the Dark Lord’s claw, gazing back mindlessly. He didn’t even hear the sneering, contemptuous voice promising him a slow, excruciating end. The lights of the school behind him seemed to flicker, the world grew dim, and Neville could only tremble under the hot coals glowing in Voldemort’s eyes.
His enemy finally released him and”as the boy crumpled”raised his wand once more, but, before Neville collapsed entirely, a figure appeared in the paling sky beyond Voldemort’s shoulder. Neville’s courage flared once more, and drawing on the last bit of strength he possessed he threw himself at the Dark Lord’s feet and wrapped his arms around his legs.
Pinned thus, Lord Voldemort couldn’t turn to face the new threat that hurtled out of the sky on the back of its skeletal black steed with wand raised and the ultimate Unforgivable flying from its lips.
As he clung for dear life to the monster before him, Neville was filled with triumph. Harry Potter had finally arrived.