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.
Neville Longbottom and the Philosopher's Stone by Sonorus
Chapter Notes: In which a troll enters Hogwarts at Halloween, Neville watches Harry’s first Quidditch match and suffers an attack, and Hagrid lets slip some important information.