**Disclaimer- You know this, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the
characters. They all belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm also not looking not to
make any money out of this. Also everything that comes directly from the
books is in *s.**
Neville was sitting in the Gryffindor common room. He'd been there for about an hour, just watching the fire die and patting Trevor, his frog. It hadn't been the best of days. It had started out well enough. The first years had their practical Herbology exam right after breakfast. Neville had done a good job until he'd dropped his sap-spitting sprout. It had shot sap all over his table and he wasted ten minutes cleaning the sap off of his dragon hide gloves, which had turned hard and sticky. He had to rush the rest of the exam and didn't feel he did as well as he could have. Then, they'd had the History of Magic exam. Neville couldn't remember half of the major dates of the French Goblin Revolution and only remembered the name of the old French Minister of Magic at dinner.
Neville was snatching Trevor out of the air, mid-escape, when he heard three people coming down the stairs. He recognized the voices of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.
*What are you doing?* Neville asked the three shadows, when they reached the common room, causing one to jump about three feet in the air.
*Nothing, Neville, nothing,* It was Harry. He had just stuffed something behind his back, cluing Neville in that there was clearly more than "nothing" going on. Neville gave them all a scrutinizing look. He focused on Ron; he was worst at lying.
*You're going out again.* "Why did they keep doing this?" He thought. After the 150 points that Harry, Hermione, and Neville had lost for being out at night Neville would have thought they'd have learned a lesson. Apparently not.
*No, no, no,* Hermione said with a feeble attempt at a laugh. *No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?* Behind her, Harry had glanced at the old grandfather clock by the fire. As if their rule breaking had a schedule. It then occurred to Neville that they might. He had no idea how often they went out.
*You can't go out. You'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble,* Neville argued.
*You don't understand," Harry said urgently, "this is important.*
Neville was clearly not making any progress. He racked his brain for some ingenious way to persuade them.
Nothing came.
A last resort was necessary. *I won't let you do it,* Neville said running to block the Fat Lady's door. *I'll – I'll fight you!*
*Neville, get away from that hole and don't be an idiot -*
Neville was taken aback. It was Ron who had given Neville advice about standing up to bullies like Malfoy! *Don't you call me an idiot! I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!*
Ron was looking annoyed. *Yes, but not to us. Neville you don't know what you're doing.*
*Go on then, try and hit me!* It was a bluff. Neville knew that he couldn't fight Ron, Harry and Hermione. But he also knew he couldn't let them out.
Harry now turned to Hermione. *Do something.* She took a couple steps forward and said, *Neville, I'm really, really sorry about this.* She raised her wand and Neville's eye's widened. *Petrificus Totalus!* she cried and out of her wand came an orange stream of light. The next thing Neville knew, his entire body had gone rigid and he'd fallen to the floor.
Neville was feeling stunned. He could see the three hanging above him. They had rushed over to him. But they were all fuzzy and he couldn't understand what they were saying. And then they were gone.
Neville just lay there, on the floor, for a few minutes. It took awhile but Neville had regained his hearing. He could also move his mouth now. Making a mental note never to get on Hermione's bad side, he felt Trevor hop on his chest.
"Why does this always happen to me?" Neville asked himself. He had never done anything to deserve being jinxed by Malfoy, treated so badly by Snape in Potions or left on the floor, unable to move. "Why am I so unlucky?"
"I guess some of us are just given the short end of the stick," a voice from across the room said.
Neville gave out a small "Eeep!" of surprise, scaring Trevor away. Neville hadn't realized there was someone there. He hadn't heard footsteps.
A face had drifted across Neville's field of vision. His sight was still a bit blotchy but Neville knew only one person with luminous white skin who had access to Gryffindor Tower. "Nick? Is that you? Sorry, but I, er, can't see too well right now. Or do much at all, for that matter..."
"Well, you can talk," the semi-decapitated ghost said. "Would you like a conversation until you can get up again?"
Neville, still feeling a bit flustered replied with a "Yes, please," and the late Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington took a seat, floating several inches above one of the common room chairs. "So, um, you said something about some people getting the short end of the stick?" Neville asked.
"Well, you can hardly say that everyone has the same luck. Why, if everybody had our luck, humans would have died out long ago."
"Our luck?" Neville thought. "You don't seem like an unlucky person, Nick."
The Gryffindor ghost let out a short laugh that made the hairs on Neville's neck that weren't rigid stand on end. "You can't pretend to have not noticed my, err, peculiar ailment. You can't think that it's lucky to die after being hit forty-five times in the neck by a blunt axe?"
"Well, no," Neville replied earnestly. "But I've had some bad luck too. Well, that's actually an understatement..." he trailed off.
"I understand that you had an uncle who, um, did some stuff to you."
"Yeah. My great-uncle Algie was always trying to get me to show signs of magic. He wanted to see if I was a wizard, see? When I was six, he dropped some Devil's Snare on me. I guess he was hoping I'd paralyze it somehow. Well, it strangled me until I passed out. My gran wasn't too happy about it. And then he later nearly drowned me at Blackpool Pier. I would've thought that after he managed to get me to show magic, when I was eight, he'd give up, but no. He wanted to see if it was a fluke or not. He only stopped after my gran gave him a telling off for dropping me off of a bridge.
"And I'm always falling down the stairs and screwing up in Potions! I can't do anything right! I just wish it'd stop!" By now, half of Neville's body was movable and he had sat up.
Watching Neville struggling to drag himself to one of the couches, Nick thought. The boy did seem to have worse luck than himself. But it all seemed to be from a lack of confidence. He told Neville that he thought so. "I mean, you could have escaped your great-uncle. You should stand up for yourself!"
Having given up trying to get on the couch, Neville laughed to himself, leaning back on the couch's base. Not a happy laugh, but more along the lines of someone who is close to giving up hope. "You weren't there when I tried to stand up to Harry, Hermione and Ron but you can see the results. Hermione jinxed me half an hour ago and I still can't move completely! I don't know why I even try; I'm just not cut out for this bravery thing."
"Well, you seem to have forgotten one thing," Nick retorted. He looked up and read the tapestry above the fire, "'Omnis Gryffindors Est Animosus.' It means 'All Gryffindors are courageous. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but you are neither a Ravenclaw, a Hufflepuff, nor a Slytherin. You are Gryffindor so you must be 'cut out for this bravery thing.' Bravery isn't winning, it's trying. You stood up to your friends. That makes you braver than most."
Neville stared. Then, "Th-thanks, Nick."
With a smile, the ghost said that, "It's nothing. I think you might be able to walk, now. Goodnight." With that he floated through the fireplace and out of the tower.
* * *
As Neville got into bed, he thought to himself that, "It's no wonder that the he's called 'Sir.'"
Neville was sitting in the Gryffindor common room. He'd been there for about an hour, just watching the fire die and patting Trevor, his frog. It hadn't been the best of days. It had started out well enough. The first years had their practical Herbology exam right after breakfast. Neville had done a good job until he'd dropped his sap-spitting sprout. It had shot sap all over his table and he wasted ten minutes cleaning the sap off of his dragon hide gloves, which had turned hard and sticky. He had to rush the rest of the exam and didn't feel he did as well as he could have. Then, they'd had the History of Magic exam. Neville couldn't remember half of the major dates of the French Goblin Revolution and only remembered the name of the old French Minister of Magic at dinner.
Neville was snatching Trevor out of the air, mid-escape, when he heard three people coming down the stairs. He recognized the voices of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.
*What are you doing?* Neville asked the three shadows, when they reached the common room, causing one to jump about three feet in the air.
*Nothing, Neville, nothing,* It was Harry. He had just stuffed something behind his back, cluing Neville in that there was clearly more than "nothing" going on. Neville gave them all a scrutinizing look. He focused on Ron; he was worst at lying.
*You're going out again.* "Why did they keep doing this?" He thought. After the 150 points that Harry, Hermione, and Neville had lost for being out at night Neville would have thought they'd have learned a lesson. Apparently not.
*No, no, no,* Hermione said with a feeble attempt at a laugh. *No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?* Behind her, Harry had glanced at the old grandfather clock by the fire. As if their rule breaking had a schedule. It then occurred to Neville that they might. He had no idea how often they went out.
*You can't go out. You'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble,* Neville argued.
*You don't understand," Harry said urgently, "this is important.*
Neville was clearly not making any progress. He racked his brain for some ingenious way to persuade them.
Nothing came.
A last resort was necessary. *I won't let you do it,* Neville said running to block the Fat Lady's door. *I'll – I'll fight you!*
*Neville, get away from that hole and don't be an idiot -*
Neville was taken aback. It was Ron who had given Neville advice about standing up to bullies like Malfoy! *Don't you call me an idiot! I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!*
Ron was looking annoyed. *Yes, but not to us. Neville you don't know what you're doing.*
*Go on then, try and hit me!* It was a bluff. Neville knew that he couldn't fight Ron, Harry and Hermione. But he also knew he couldn't let them out.
Harry now turned to Hermione. *Do something.* She took a couple steps forward and said, *Neville, I'm really, really sorry about this.* She raised her wand and Neville's eye's widened. *Petrificus Totalus!* she cried and out of her wand came an orange stream of light. The next thing Neville knew, his entire body had gone rigid and he'd fallen to the floor.
Neville was feeling stunned. He could see the three hanging above him. They had rushed over to him. But they were all fuzzy and he couldn't understand what they were saying. And then they were gone.
Neville just lay there, on the floor, for a few minutes. It took awhile but Neville had regained his hearing. He could also move his mouth now. Making a mental note never to get on Hermione's bad side, he felt Trevor hop on his chest.
"Why does this always happen to me?" Neville asked himself. He had never done anything to deserve being jinxed by Malfoy, treated so badly by Snape in Potions or left on the floor, unable to move. "Why am I so unlucky?"
"I guess some of us are just given the short end of the stick," a voice from across the room said.
Neville gave out a small "Eeep!" of surprise, scaring Trevor away. Neville hadn't realized there was someone there. He hadn't heard footsteps.
A face had drifted across Neville's field of vision. His sight was still a bit blotchy but Neville knew only one person with luminous white skin who had access to Gryffindor Tower. "Nick? Is that you? Sorry, but I, er, can't see too well right now. Or do much at all, for that matter..."
"Well, you can talk," the semi-decapitated ghost said. "Would you like a conversation until you can get up again?"
Neville, still feeling a bit flustered replied with a "Yes, please," and the late Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington took a seat, floating several inches above one of the common room chairs. "So, um, you said something about some people getting the short end of the stick?" Neville asked.
"Well, you can hardly say that everyone has the same luck. Why, if everybody had our luck, humans would have died out long ago."
"Our luck?" Neville thought. "You don't seem like an unlucky person, Nick."
The Gryffindor ghost let out a short laugh that made the hairs on Neville's neck that weren't rigid stand on end. "You can't pretend to have not noticed my, err, peculiar ailment. You can't think that it's lucky to die after being hit forty-five times in the neck by a blunt axe?"
"Well, no," Neville replied earnestly. "But I've had some bad luck too. Well, that's actually an understatement..." he trailed off.
"I understand that you had an uncle who, um, did some stuff to you."
"Yeah. My great-uncle Algie was always trying to get me to show signs of magic. He wanted to see if I was a wizard, see? When I was six, he dropped some Devil's Snare on me. I guess he was hoping I'd paralyze it somehow. Well, it strangled me until I passed out. My gran wasn't too happy about it. And then he later nearly drowned me at Blackpool Pier. I would've thought that after he managed to get me to show magic, when I was eight, he'd give up, but no. He wanted to see if it was a fluke or not. He only stopped after my gran gave him a telling off for dropping me off of a bridge.
"And I'm always falling down the stairs and screwing up in Potions! I can't do anything right! I just wish it'd stop!" By now, half of Neville's body was movable and he had sat up.
Watching Neville struggling to drag himself to one of the couches, Nick thought. The boy did seem to have worse luck than himself. But it all seemed to be from a lack of confidence. He told Neville that he thought so. "I mean, you could have escaped your great-uncle. You should stand up for yourself!"
Having given up trying to get on the couch, Neville laughed to himself, leaning back on the couch's base. Not a happy laugh, but more along the lines of someone who is close to giving up hope. "You weren't there when I tried to stand up to Harry, Hermione and Ron but you can see the results. Hermione jinxed me half an hour ago and I still can't move completely! I don't know why I even try; I'm just not cut out for this bravery thing."
"Well, you seem to have forgotten one thing," Nick retorted. He looked up and read the tapestry above the fire, "'Omnis Gryffindors Est Animosus.' It means 'All Gryffindors are courageous. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but you are neither a Ravenclaw, a Hufflepuff, nor a Slytherin. You are Gryffindor so you must be 'cut out for this bravery thing.' Bravery isn't winning, it's trying. You stood up to your friends. That makes you braver than most."
Neville stared. Then, "Th-thanks, Nick."
With a smile, the ghost said that, "It's nothing. I think you might be able to walk, now. Goodnight." With that he floated through the fireplace and out of the tower.
* * *
As Neville got into bed, he thought to himself that, "It's no wonder that the he's called 'Sir.'"