Never Trust a Malfoy

"What's that Neville," he heard quietly over the roar of voices in the Great Hall. He glanced up from the clear glass ball in his hand to a skinny boy with wire rimmed glasses and shockingly green eyes. His name was Harry Potter. He recognized him immediately, of course, as did everyone who first saw him. With a story like that... How could you not? This boy was a legend before he even knew how to write his own name.

"What's what?" he asked uncertainly. Was he really talking to him?

The boy gestured towards the ball in his hands, and said, "That thing you're holding. Is it some sort of snowglobe?"

"Snow-what?" Neville asked, growing perplexed. Harry's cheeks turned pink, but he pushed on.

"You know, a snowglobe. No? It's what childre-... er, I mean, muggles recieve as gifts." Neville felt his confusion still plastered on his face.

"I don't kno-" Neville began, but Harry cut him off.

"No, I suppose you don't have them here in the Wizarding World now do you?" He glanced up at Neville, who looked apologetically at him. "Well, anyway, they're small cheap things that blow around articificial snow when you shake them. You can buy them at a gift shop, usually."

"Oh," said Neville, for he couldn't think of an appropriate response for such an answer. How ridiculous, he thought. Muggles truly are fascinated with the strangest things. What an odd bunch. He stared at Harry a bit more, and sensing he was making him uncomfortable, went back to his breakfast. Harry cleared his throat and tried again.

"Neville?"

"Yes?"

"You never answered my question," said Harry, still a bit pink from being embarrassed.

"Oh, right!" Neville cried, slamming the palm of his hand into his forehead. How could he have forgotten? "Well, it's a remembrall." Harry looked at him quizzically, so he elaborated. "A remembrall is for when you forget about something. It helps you remember what you've forgotten." He held it up to show Harry. The ball was made of thin, clear glass, about the size of an orange and had swirling gray smoke inside. As he held it up to catch the light, the smoke turned a vibrant shade of scarlet.

Oh, no! So soon already? But I just got here." Neville ran his fingers through his hair, and sighed.

"What?" Harry asked curiously. "What is it?"

"He's already forgotten something," came a voice from down the table. Neville didn't hear who said it, but he did hear the giggles that came after that remark. His cheeks reddened slightly, but he kept his head down, still trying to remember.

"That's not a big deal, right?" Harry asked his voice tight from the laughter.

"Well, I hope not" said Neville gloomily. "Because I can't even remember what I've forgotten! I think it was important, too."

"A little while later came the Quidditch lesson. Neville grabbed his broom, frayed from the many students who had used it before him, and got into line with the other first years.

"Now," said Madam Hooch, a petite woman with a stern expression and a sharp no-nonsense attitude. "When you wish to use your broom, be stern, hold your hand above it, and say 'up.' It should fly right into your hands. Watch me."

Neville watched her as she walked swiftly to her broom, held her hand out, and commanded in a loud voice, "Up!"The broom sprang up into her hands in mere seconds. She turned to look at the class, her broom now firmly in her right hand.

"Now," she said, the twinge of a smile on her lips. "You try. Set down your broom and say 'up.' Be firm, or else it won't work."

"Neville turned warily to his broom, and held his hand over it. "Up," he commanded quietly, secretly hoping against hope it wouldn't, because he was clumsy enough on the ground, let alone in the air. It didn't even twitch.

He breathed a sigh of relief- but also of disappointment. He wanted to start off the year on the right foot by doing well in all of his classes. Then again, he thought, hard to start off a school year in the hospital. He spoke a few more times to the broom, but it just wouldn't move. Finally, he just picked it up and pretended it flew into his hand anyway, hoping Madam Hooch wouldn't notice.

He looked around and saw Draco standing next to his friends- what were their names again? Oh yes, Crabbe and Goyle. Neville rolled his eyes. Not like it matters, anyway. They were big and mean-looking, and he could already tell that they were trouble. Draco looked over at him suddenly, his onyx eyes flashing malevolently, and he knew that he saw him pick up his broom. Draco sneered at him and began to make his way towards Neville. As he walked up to him, Draco bent as if to tie his shoes and mumbled, "Give me that remembrall in your pocket or you'll regret it."

"How did you kno-" Neville began to ask him, before he was cut off.

"Saw you waving it around in the Dining Hall, and I want it. So hand it over, Longbottom."

Neville shook his head, his hand going to his pocket to make sure it was still there. It was.

"Very well," Draco said as he retreated back to his place between Crabbe and Goyle. "I always get what I want, anyway."

Madam Hooch pushed off of the ground, circled the quad, and touched back down. "Now," she said. "It's your turn. Mount your brooms and begin on my count." Neville paled, his stomach dropping. He realized he had missed her whole talk on how to control his broomstick. He began to shake slightly and he glanced up at Malfoy, who pretended to push off with his legs, but really didn't. Neville realized that Malfoy was going to take off, and not wanting to be the last one off the ground, pushed off. Hard. Perhaps too hard. Ten, twenty, thirty feet in the air, he shot up like a cork.

"Malfoy," Neville spat. "He tricked me." He leaned forward, hoping he would coast back down, but he just shot towards the walls of Hogwarts castle that much faster. He screamed as he tried to pull up with his broom, his robes catching on a flag pole, pulling him down while his broom tugged the other way. He lost his grip on his broom and it sped away to the Forbidden Forest.

Neville clutched at the flag pole desperately, trying to hang on amid the shouts of other students and the screeching of Madam Hooch's whistle. He heard a horrifying ripping noise as his robes ripped up the back, and he fell down, down 15 feet to the ground. He hit with a thud, and immediate red-hot pain raced up his cried out, and soon everyone was surrounding him, all looking concerned.

Everyone, that is, but Malfoy and his gang.

They were laughing some distance away, and Neville could have sworn he saw something sparkle in the grass near Malfoy, who bent to pick it up. Before he pocketed it, he held it up to the light. It was his remembrall, and Malfoy gave a smirk as Neville caught his eye. He made a shh sign with his index finger and as he walked across the pitch with his teacher, he could just hear Malfoy taunting behind him.

"Did you see his face?" Malfoy and his friends howled with laughter. "The great lump!"

He saw Harry stomp over to him just before he rounded the corner, who looked blazing mad. Neville smiled a bit. At least he'd made a friend here, he thought to himself.

As Madam Hooch helped him up the final few stairs to the infirmary, he finally remembered what he had forgotten that very morning. It was something his gran had told him before he left for Hogwarts.

"Now, now Neville," said his grandmother as they walked to Platform 9 3/4. "Do well in school, and don't forget to write me. I don't want any funny business, so try not to be so clumsy there." Neville nodded.

"Y-Yes gran, of course. I'll try my best." His grandmother stopped suddenly, seeming to spot someone she knew from down the platform. She tugged him to a halt and squeezed his arm with her hand. She fixed him with her watery, stern eyes, very focused all of a sudden.

"Neville," she whispered softly. "Do you see that man over there? Long, white blond hair, thin, looks quite intimidating?" She paused, clearly waiting for him to respond to her question.

He followed his grandmother's line of sight and spotted him. He was standing next to a short, pale boy with cruel features who was looking around, positively bored.

"The one near the blond boy?" He asked.

Yes, yes, that's him," his grandmother said. "His name is Lucian Malfoy, and that's his boy, Draco. Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully, you understand me boy?" Neville nodded half-heartedly, still gazing at the pale boy out of the corner of his eye. His hair was slicked back, and he was already in his robes. They were freshly pressed, and his shoes looked very expensive.

"NEVILLE!" His grandmother hissed. "Are you even listening to me? What I am about to tell you is extremely important, so you had better take this in." Neville, startled at her fierce tone, turned back to his grandmother's face.

"Sorry. What were you saying?"

His grandmother rolled her eyes and muttered something along the lines of 'why bother' and 'never listens.'

"Neville, stay away from that boy."

"Huh?" Neville asked, completely perplexed. "What boy?"

"HIS boy. Lucian's boy!" His grandmother was practically spitting at this point.

"But, why?" He asked.

His grandmother paused, and stared over at the Lucian, eyeing his son warily.

"That family is nothing but trouble Neville. You don't want to go mixing with them. Plenty have tried, more have failed. That family is like a bunch of green apples. Beautiful on the outside, sure, with their money and positions of power. But whittle them down to their core, and all you have is something rotten. And that boy is the worm in the rotten apple of Lucian's core."

Neville was startled by her icy tone and clipped words. Sure, his gran wasn't always the most welcoming person, but he had never seen her like this before. He had to admit that it scared him a bit, the way she eyed them.

She turned back to him, and kissed him on the cheek. She grabbed the back of his neck, holding his ear to her lips so he could catch the the next thing she whispered to him.

"Neville, my dear boy. Remember this. Never trust a Malfoy."