CHAPTER 1
It was almost midnight when Neville sat in the Gryffindor Common Room as he stared outside the window. The celebration of Harry's first task was now over and Neville's tummy hurt because he laughed too hard when he tried Fred and George's Canary Creams.
Neville suddenly felt a change of emotion for he suddenly sighed, "I hate my life."
Well, why wouldn't he? His parents were destined in St. Mungo's, he wasn't good in any of his subjects (except Herbology of course), and to top it all, he didn't exactly have the greatest reputation in school. He didn't have a lot of friends. Actually, he wasn't part of any gang at all. His Gryffindor roommates were just some of the people who kept him company. He owed Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and the Weasley clan a lot. He was all the more grateful for having Hermione teach him especially in Potions. Other than them, who would spent a lot of time with Neville? His grandma? You don't reckon she would be in Hogwarts all the time, do you? Dumbledore? Nah—too busy. Professor Sprout? She may be Neville's favorite teacher but she wasn't really the type who would show favoritism. The point is, he barely had anyone. Parvati and Lavender laughed at him all the time, Malfoy and his Slytherin gang bully him everyday, and worse, Professor Snape always found a way to embarrass him during Potions.
Neville closed his eyes. I wanna change the way I live. I want a new me. I--, he stopped. I need true friends, he thought as he stared at Harry and company. He opened his eyes and fixed them on Trevor's cage. He stared at the owl and reminisced how he got his very first owl. He remembered his grandma buying him a new owl when his frog had died. He recalled naming it after his late bullfrog, Trevor.
After what seemed like ages of looking at the owl, Neville sat up suddenly. He just had an idea.
Neville grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill. He wrote:
To Whoever Receives This Letter,
Hey! How are you? I'm Vertor. It might sound pathetic but I'm in search of a pen pal. Can you be my friend? I'm going through a lot of hard times lately: My parents are in St. Mungo's, almost everyone makes fun of me, and a teacher always finds a way to embarrass me. You probably might know who I am. Actually, my name isn't Vertor. I just don't want this letter to fall on the wrong hands. If I did write my real name and we actually know each other, you probably would laugh or do something that will make my self-esteem worse. Anyway, neither one's appearance nor one's name would matter to a true companion. However, I have a feeling you might think of me as a loser. If you aren't interested in being of any acquaintance, you can just tie the letter back to my owl and send it someplace else where, hopefully someone can ease my condition. If you are willing to become my buddy, feel free to write to me anytime for I will anyway. If you have a clue on my true identity, please keep it a secret. I'll just give you a clue: I am a Gryffindor. I guess that's all for now. Hope you consider being my pen pal.
"Vertor"
Neville reread the letter and thought that it sounded more stupid than expected. He never had a pen pal before and neither was he the most brilliant writer. It was the best that he could do and he would never expect this scheme to go well. Desperate times, desperate measures, he thought. If this whole thing works, I'll be happy to donate 15 galleons to St. Mungo's, he decided.
Neville folded the letter and tied it to Trevor. "Give this letter to anyone," Neville commanded his owl. "On second thought, give this letter to anyone except a Slytherin," Neville added. Before he knew it, Trevor hooted and came away.