DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING IN THE HARRY POTTER SERIES. J.K. ROWLING DOES.
Neville had a hard time remembering things.
Well, certain things. Mostly the location of books when he really needed them. Heck, he even lost the remembrall his grandmother gave him his first year at Hogwarts. His memory was at its worst when it came to tests. It seemed like he couldn't remember what he needed to study, though he surprised when he was able to pass.
However, Herbology was another story. He could pour over the different plants and remedies that they were able to provide along with which ones were poisonous or not if he was given the time. Him and Professor Sprout spent hours upon hours talking about what plants could be given to what creatures and what medicinal purposes they were able to provide.
Yet his memory had greatly improved over the years. His study habits got better and was able to hold little study sessions for the younger students, which helped him tremendously.
But today his memory seemed to slip. It was a warm Tuesday afternoon and Neville had somehow forgotten which class he needed to go to after lunch. As soon as he looked at his schedule, his mouth dropped. He needed to go to Transfigurations and he knew how strict Professor McGonagall was with students being late.
He proceeded to shove his schedule into his messenger bag, slung it over his shoulder, and booked it out of the Great Hall, leaving his unfinished sandwich on the table.
Giving students a quick "Sorry" as he bumped into them, he huffed down the halls, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He wished, not for the first time nor the last, that he exercised more.
Sliding on the floor on the last turn before the Transfiguration room, he skidded into the wall before sprinting into the room.
As he entered, he immediately slammed his shin into the wooden benches, collided into the table, and ungracefully landed in a heap onto the floor.
He mentally cursed himself for his clumsiness as he heard the students snickers and hushed murmurs of the students fill the air around him.
As he quickly picked himself off of the floor and brushed himself off, he felt his face turn a bright red in embarrassment and shame. He picked up his bag and the stray papers and notebooks that flew out of his bag after his entrance.
His eyes did not meet any of the students as he sat down and went to grab his quill and ink from his bag. Upon reaching into his bag, his fingers touched something wet. When he pulled his hand out, he saw black already beginning to seep into the creases of his fingerprints.
With a sigh, he wiped his hand on a piece of paper, waved his wand as he murmured a spell to clean the mess up, and put the repaired jar on the table in front of him.
It wasn't until then when he felt the pain in his arm from running into the wall and his leg from colliding into the bench and table. Rubbing his leg, he then put all of his focus into listening to McGonagall teach so that he wouldn't succumb to the pain.
Once dismissed, he went to the hospital wing to have Madam Pomfrey check to see if everything was okay.