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.
Neville Longbottom and the Philosopher's Stone by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which a Remembrall and a disastrous flying lesson leads to Neville being saved from a three-headed dog.