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…”
Neville Longbottom and the Philosopher's Stone by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which Neville travels to Diagon Alley, meets Quirrell, Hagrid and Draco and purchases his wand.