Don't ask why I'm writing Harry Potter again, I just am, the idea came to me and just wouldn't shut up.
First Year
He stumbled as he made his way trembling up to the stool, trying to ignore the laughter the fall had caused, he reached the hat with Trevor still thankfully in his pocket and placed the hat on his head. The hat fell over his ears, half covering his eyes, so he jumped when he heard the small voice.
"A Longbottom huh? Hmm, a tricky decision, mediocre in most areas, but very loyal – you'd make a good Hufflepuff boy…" He sighed with relief – his relations would be disappointed that he didn't make it to Gryffindor like his parents – but at least he wasn't going to be in Slytherin, or even worse be told he wasn't magical enough to attend Hogwarts at all. "…but wait is that courage I see? Yes it's buried deep, but it's there, you'll be able to prove yourself when the time is right – and Gryffindor will help you with that."
The boy froze, brave? There was nothing brave about him; the hat must have read the wrong mind, he couldn't be a Gryffindor – he'd let the whole house down. What? No! I can't be a Gryffindor, he told the hat in what he doubted was a strong voice, I'm not brave, I'm not strong, I'm not even very good at looking after my toad.
"Trust me boy, you'll do well in it, I'm sure, GRYFFINDOR!"
Still in shock the boy got up from the stool and ran towards the Gryffindor table – only realising halfway there that the hat was still on his head, he felt his face burn as the hall erupted with laughter when he walked back to return it.
See, he told the hat, you're wrong, there's nothing brave about me.
"I'm not," he swore he heard it whisper back.
***
He had not been wrong, the entire year had been a disaster: the constant teasing from Malfoy, the hatred from his fellow Gryffindors when he lost them 50 points and he'd even tried to prevent Harry from saving the philosopher's stone – if you-know-who had come back it would have been entirely his fault.
"There are all kinds of courage, it takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom."
He gasped with shock, as the whole of Gryffindor engulfed him in a hug, screams of "We've won! We've won!" deafened his ears but was unable to prevent the smile which crept across his face, maybe it wasn't so bad after all…
Second Year
He didn't feel brave now, someone – something was attacking the students, and he was in constant fear that he would be attacked. True he was not a muggle born, but surely Slytherin would have also wanted Hogwarts to be rid of almost-squibs?
Third Year
And the year had been going so well – after the eventful (and rather enjoyable) defence against the dark arts lesson he actually wasn't doing too badly with Lupin as a teacher, of course Snape had made him suffer for it in potions but it was almost worth it. But he had blown it, he'd nearly got his friends killed by leaving the list of passwords around somewhere for Black to find – and he could have sworn that he had left it on his bedside table. He listened to his grandmother's shouts magnified one hundred times by the howler, knowing that everyone in the great hall could hear them too. He had brought shame on the family. He had let her down. He had let everyone down.
Forth Year
"Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort."
He heard the panicked whispers all around him, terror coursed through his very veins – magnified by the fact he was still horrified that he had been taught defence against the dark arts by the very man who had tortured his parents. He could hear the disbelief in some of the whispers too, but he knew it was true, Harry wouldn't lie. He knew his friend had fought Voldemort and was likely to have to again and he resolved to support him in whatever little way he could.
Fifth Year
So much has changed, the Ministry may be in denial but he knew that the world was no longer a safe place. Voldemort had returned and his parents' torturers free, he must do anything to win the upcoming war. He had trained in the DA like he had never trained before, sheer determination forcing him to pick up the spells faster than ever before. Now he was flying over London on the back of a thestral ready to enter the department of mysteries and fight alongside Harry. He will fight Voldemort no matter what it takes.
Sixth Year
Dumbledore was dead. The mere thought of it put an air of gloom on the school that he had never seen before. Still injured from the battle in the Astronomy Tower, he watched as Dumbledore's body was placed into his tomb. Tears flowed unchecked down his face, they had lost their leader and the war had barely begun. Raw fear flowed through his body.
Seventh Year
There is no time for fear now. A rule under the Carrows has taught him that much. This year has hurt him, both physically and mentally, more than he'd care to admit, but it had also caused a growth in his confidence and determination. Harry may be dead but he will go on fighting whatever the cost. With his body paralysed and the flames burning the Sorting Hat licking his head he is still set on what he must do, he must kill the snake – it was the last thing Harry told him will do and he will do it, for whatever small chance of freedom it brings.
"I told you, you are a true Gryffindor," a small voice in his ear says, as he feels the solid lump of metal land on his head and in one move he breaks free of the spell, ready to fight to the death.