"Neville," said Hermione, "I'm really, really sorry about this… Petrificus Totalus!"
Neville's arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board. Hermione ran to turn him over. Neville's jaws were jammed together so he couldn't speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror.
"What've you done to him?" Harry whispered.
"It's the full Body-Bind," said Hermione miserably. "Oh Neville, I'm so sorry."
"We had to, Neville, no time to explain," said Harry.
"You'll understand later, Neville," said Ron as they stepped over him.
Neville was left staring at the common-room ceiling as the others disappeared from view. He'd never been so miserable.
Harry, Ron and Hermione were supposed to be his friends!
The Body-Bind curse had obviously stopped his tear ducts, otherwise Neville knew he'd be crying by now. He was stuck here – on the floor, all alone, unable to move or even call for help – with no option but to wait for someone to rescue him in the morning.
Trapped with only his thoughts for company, thus began Neville Longbottom's worst night at Hogwarts so far. Even Trevor had hopped off somewhere, probably out of the portrait hole with the others, to be eaten by Mrs Norris. This was even worse than losing fifty house points and getting detention.
Why did everything always happen to him?
It didn't matter how hard he tried; Neville just seemed to fail at everything – magic, friendship, confidence.
Classes were something to be dreaded. Neville sensed an air of long-suffering despair from most professors whenever he entered a classroom. They knew, just as Neville knew, that they would have to clean up whatever mess he made during the lesson with his pitiful attempts at magic. It didn't matter how hard he tried, or how carefully he followed instructions, he always managed to get something wrong. Neville was guaranteed to either cause a disaster, or to spend a fruitless lesson culminating in no magical effect being produced whatsoever.
Even History of Magic, which should be a welcome relief from professors' disappointment, was an exercise in futility. Although Neville was glad to revel in relative anonymity in Professor Binns's classes, the ghost lectured in such monotone that Neville found one lesson indistinguishable from another. His History of Magic notes, such as they were, were poorly written and highly disorganised, which made them useless to study from.
Worst of all, of course, was Potions with Professor Snape. Just the thought of the dark-haired demon was enough to make Neville break out in a sweat. Being in the same room as him was guaranteed to bring Neville's nerves and clumsiness to the fore. Why, in his very first Potions lesson, Neville had managed to melt Seamus's cauldron. He'd had to replace it of course, which he had done willingly – he didn't mean to do these things.
Naturally, his talent for leaving a trail of havoc and devastation in his wake meant that nobody ever wanted to partner with Neville in lessons. He had noticed, for example, when practicing Wingardium Leviosa in Charms, Harry had deliberately ignored him in favour of being in a pair with Seamus. Not that Neville could blame him, based on his track record, but it was so disheartening when that happened to him in every lesson. Nobody ever volunteered to work with Neville, and it was a terrible feeling to always be the odd one out. Unwanted.
Neville knew that his lack of magical ability was a joke among other students. He'd heard the snide comments, the titters, the jokes at his expense.
Friends… did he really have any friends at Hogwarts? Sure, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Seamus and Dean let him hang around with them sometimes, like at the Quidditch games, but there were other times when it seemed to Neville that they couldn't get rid of him fast enough. Hermione had cured him of Malfoy's leg-locking hex, but what if that had just been to show off? Everyone knew that Hermione liked people to know what she could do; that had probably just been another opportunity to flex her wand. Not to mention, Neville had had to hop the whole way up to the common room with that hex, and instead of doing anything to help, everyone else had just pointed and laughed at him. Not one other person had tried to help him in that whole humiliating journey.
Even on the night when Neville had screwed up all of his courage and gone out into the castle – in the dark – to warn Harry about Malfoy and his talk about a dragon, it had gone wrong. Instead of saving the other two from punishment, Neville had found out from Professor McGonagall that it was a joke to get Malfoy into trouble, and that Neville would be punished too. The hurt Neville felt from that betrayal washed over him anew. Why had they not let him in on the joke? He could keep a secret, and it would have saved him a detention in the Forbidden Forest.
Tonight was just another episode. Of course, Hermione was smarter than Malfoy, and so she'd naturally gone one better than the Slytherin – by binding Neville's entire body, not just his legs.
What a sight he must be, lying here forlorn and forgotten. Apparently Dean and Seamus hadn't even noticed how empty their dormitory was tonight, or if they had, they didn't care. Nobody cared about Neville.
Neville couldn't even stand up to people properly.
All Neville wanted was a quiet life, but along with the leg-locking hex, Malfoy had reminded Neville that he wasn't brave enough to be in Griffindor – a message hammered home in the common room later that day when Ron accused him of lying down and making it easier for Malfoy to walk all over him.
Harry had said Neville was worth twelve of Malfoy, but that was obviously sarcasm. Malfoy had laughed out loud when Neville had dared say it himself.
His fight with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle at the Quidditch match had simply landed him in the hospital wing. Even Ron had escaped from the fight relatively unscathed, giving Malfoy a black eye, while Crabbe and Goyle had pummelled Neville and knocked him out easily.
And tonight, standing up to Harry, Ron and Hermione? Standing up to them had only landed him lying flat on his back in a body-bind hex.
It was useless. Why did he even bother standing up to anyone? Anytime Neville tried, he was always the person left worse off. People just swept him aside as if he were a slight annoyance, instead of an actual obstacle. Nobody took any notice of him, and just thinking that made Neville want to cry all over again. He felt so helpless, hopeless and pathetic. He shouldn't have tried standing up to them; it was a futile gesture that had backfired on him dramatically. Harry, Ron and Hermione were probably off sneaking around the castle, getting into all sorts of trouble and losing them even more house points. Neville wasn't brave enough to join them. If he were a different sort of person, he'd leap at the chance of midnight mayhem. He felt so afraid, all of the time, and it was exhausting. Nobody appreciated how tiring it was to live in constant fear of everything and everyone.
In the faint greyness of pre-dawn, Neville heard footsteps tapping down the staircase from the dormitories. He couldn't see who the person was, but he hoped the unknown entity would rescue him rather than taunt him. Most likely, the entire House would just spend the day stepping over him, thinking it a hilarious joke that someone had hexed Neville again.
"Merlin's beard – Neville? What happened?" Percy released Neville from the hex, and helped him into an armchair by the fire, which he lit with his wand.
Neville smiled weakly in thanks, cold and stiff all over.
"Who hexed you?" Percy demanded, a towel under his arm and his perfectly polished Prefect badge pinned to his dressing gown. "I'm a prefect, and I simply won't tolerate that sort of rule-breaking in Griffindor under my watch."
Neville shrank into the chair, feeling pathetic. Percy's position had never stopped his brother's rule-breaking before, so he hardly saw what effect he could have now. Besides, it was early morning now, and Harry, Ron and Hermione still weren't back. Maybe they were on the train home, having been expelled? Neville dreaded to think how few rubies lay in Griffindor's hourglass of house points now.
Percy tried again, softer this time. "Come on now, Neville, you know you can trust me. This is exactly the sort of thing heads of houses trust prefects to sort out. So, if you tell me who hexed you, I'll have it sorted out in a jiffy."
Neville shook his head sadly. He couldn't sneak on Harry, Ron and Hermione to Percy. Even if they weren't his friends, he still felt he should try and be theirs.
Percy regarded him sadly, and sighed. "Are you sure? Well… if you do change your mind, you can always come and find me. Right, I'm off to the prefects' bathroom for a nice bath."
That figures, thought Neville. Even Percy was more concerned about how this would reflect on him as a prefect, than how Neville actually felt. What a night.