Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with Warner Bros., J.K. Rowling, or her global success with the Harry Potter series. I make no profit or gain with my writings, and only do it for the enjoyment.

Chapter 1: The Boy Who Was Overlooked

Neville Longbottom had always been considered disturbingly normal by the rest of his family. He had never displayed any remarkable magical talent or ability growing up, and he was extremely prone to forgetfulness, clumsiness and had a rather shy demeanor.

When most children, in the wizarding world, began showing signs of magical heritage around four or five, Neville simply showed signs of being awkward and somewhat of a pushover. He almost always cried (hurt or not), and on more than one occasion, mice had gotten the better of his courage.

It hadn't been until Neville turned eight, when his Great Uncle Algie had dropped him out of an open third-story window, that Neville had magically bounced himself out of the hedges and continued down the street. Neville's grandmother had sobbed that it was 'the happiest day of her life', and quite truthfully, it had been Neville's as well.

In fact, it was this exact memory that Neville had been dreaming on while the sun rose up outside his window. It was nearly nine o' clock, and a seemingly perfect day as Neville began stirring from his deep and peaceful sleep. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, while listening to the muffled voices of his relatives who were talking candidly down in the kitchen, below his bedroom. Lingering for just a minute more, Neville listened to the birds outside before his old wooden cuckoo clock in the corner of the room chimed loudly, announcing the hour.

Throwing off his rumpled covers, Neville clambered out of his sheets, while slipping on his favorite pair of house slippers, and ambled down the crooked old staircase to breakfast. Upon entering, Neville could hear the crackling and popping of food cooking on an iron skillet, and the aroma of sausages drifted through the air.

"Well there's the birthday boy," Uncle Algie boomed as Neville walked through the door. Standing up, he walked over and wrapped his nephew in a large, crushing hug and didn't let go until Neville had started laughing.

"Thanks Uncle Algie," Neville managed to say when he caught his breath.

"Your grandmother has whipped up quite the special treat for you," Uncle Algie said, his blue eyes twinkling beneath his bushy, grey eyebrows. "I mean, it isn't every day that you turn eleven, now do you?"

Neville noticed the small stack of birthday presents, wrapped in blue wrapping paper, sitting on the banquet table, next to a giant chocolate cake.

"They're all for me?" Neville exclaimed, a smile spreading across his round face.

"All yours--"

"--but not until you finish your breakfast," his grandmother interrupted, as she set down a large plate of scrambled eggs. "Neville." (Her voice was strict.) "I want you to wash your hands before you start eating."

Neville pulled his hand back from a stack of buttered toast, and slid it next to his side, smiling guiltily up at her. His grandmother wore a stern look, and arched one of her dark, penciled eyebrows. She was a rather formidable looking woman who had had grey hair for as long as Neville could remember, and long nose that thinned when she got angry.

Deciding it was better not to push her, Neville shuffled off towards the kitchen sink, rolling his pajama sleeves up as he did so.

Suddenly there was a loud crack as Neville's Great Aunt Enid entered the spacious entryway just outside the kitchen.

"I think your gnomes are back, Augusta," she said, walking in while brushing herself off. "One nearly tried to bite my ankles as I came up the walkway. Thought it best to just apparate … Neville!" she exclaimed as she caught sight of her great nephew across the room, and opened her arms to receive a large hug.

"Hi Auntie Enid," Neville said, walking towards her.

Aunt Enid wore her grey hair in tight curls and always seemed to favor brightly colored robes, and preferably one's that caught attention (today's were a particularly striking shade of magenta). She always smelled of calamine lotion and soap, as though she had just finished her washing, and today was no exception as Neville breathed her in while hugging her tightly.

"Come and eat Neville," Uncle Algie called, pulling out a chair as he did. Neville scrambled over next to his uncle and promptly sat down, eyeing the table with its mounds of food.

"For Merlin's sake, Augusta," Algie sighed, as he gave his sister a scrutinizing look, "the boy is hungry. Come and sit down, enjoy yourself, and stop worrying about your damn gnomes right now. We have a birthday to attend to."

Augusta moved from the window, and shook her head, muttering under breath as she did. ("I just de-gnomed two days ago …")

Once they had all settled in, the four of them began eating and laughing, as Uncle Algie told them stories from his school days, (particularly of when he played as a beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team). His stories were all accompanied by large gestures and humorous facial expressions, which made Neville laugh so hard that his sides were sore with laughter, and caused him to slip off his chair twice.

When they finally had had their fill of clotted cream, biscuits and eggs, they moved into the sitting room and situated themselves onto the large chairs and sofa, gathering around Neville and his gifts.

"Go ahead Neville," his grandmother said, setting her teapot down inside a knitted cozy, while flicking her wand and making three cups appear from nowhere.

Choosing carefully, Neville picked the smallest gift from the stack and shook it vigorously, trying to guess what was inside.

"It's a Screaming Yo-yo," Uncle Algie explained as Neville pulled off the wrapping and looked at the box. "I had one just like it when I was your age."

Gran tutted as she magically stirred her tea with her finger.

"Something you'd like to say, Augusta?"

"Only that those things were a nuisance then, and they're a nuisance now."

"I'll play with it outside Gran, honest," Neville interjected quickly, not wanting his new toy to be an issue of debate. "Thanks Uncle Algie," he added, before he could be reprimanded for manners.

He smiled as he set down the box and opened the next gift, which turned out to be a new pair of socks his aunt had made him. ("Now there's something practical," his grandmother had stated, unapologetically.)

As Neville went through each present he steadily received a pair of new trainers, a couple of galleons, a packet of ice mice and hiccough sweets, as well as a new jacket. It was then that Neville noticed a thick letter in yellow parchment addressed to him in emerald green ink lying underneath the last box he had opened. He pulled it out and drew it towards him, his mouth gaping slightly as he looked around at his family, all of whom seemed to be beaming.

"Is this--?" he began, but fell silent as he stared at the letter.

"Go on Neville," his grandmother replied, nodding her head. "It arrived for you this morning, right before you woke up."

Neville turned over the letter and saw that it had been stamped with a wax seal, emblazoned with a large letter H, and a coat of arms. Ripping the envelope open carefully, Neville pulled out the letter that had been folded on top of itself three times, and read it aloud :

Dear Mr. Longbottom,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

When he had finished, he paused and looked around at his family once more. His grandmother was blowing her nose into a tea-cozy, and looked at him with watery brown eyes.

Neville was speechless. For so long he had imagined that his magical heritage was a fluke, and extremely limited. He never imagined himself actually being accepted to learn and perform magic, let alone at Hogwarts.

As he scanned over the letter once again, he felt his grandmother slide next to him on the sofa, and he looked at her, disbelief still written across his round, freckled face.

"Neville," she said, her voice unusually soft. "I know it says that you're required to buy yourself a wand--"

Excitement flooded through every vein in Neville's body and he opened his mouth to exclaim that they should go to Ollivander's that very afternoon.

"--but I already have one for you."

He quickly shut it.

"You … you already bought me a wand?" He asked, slightly confused.

His grandmother shook her head as she pulled a long, plum-colored box from the sleeve of her robe and held it out for him to grab, (off in the corner he heard his Aunt Enid stifle a sob). Neville had never seen this box before, and he noticed that the lettering, now faded, had once spelled out Ollivander's in silver cursive.

Taking the box from his grandmother's hand, Neville lightly set it down on his lap and pulled off the top to reveal a long and rather worn wand, delicately placed on top of suede.

"It was your father's … I think he would have wanted you to have it."

Neville looked from his grandmother and then to the wand, his brown eyes large and tentative. The wand was red in color, and narrow from the delicately crafted handle to tip. It showed signs of being used roughly, as everything from smudges to scratches adorned it, and Neville could distinctly tell where his father had placed his hand when he had used it.

Neville's heart began to pound with pride, and the wand instantaneously became his most prized possession.

"Gran?" he asked rather apprehensively. "Do … do you think we could go and see them? Mum and dad, I mean? I want to show them my letter … and to tell them it's my birthday."

He heard Aunt Enid stifle another cry as she quickly busied herself with washing dishes by hand, trying to pretend to stare out the window.

"Of course, Neville," Gran replied simply. "If that's what you want to go do on your birthday."

"That's what I want to go do," he stated.

"Then you'd better get changed -- and don't forget your presents!" she said, calling after him as Neville ran out and then back into the room, grabbing his things, only to rush back out.

Neville felt elated as he ran up the stairs into his bedroom, dropping his items onto a large wooden dresser, before pulling his clothes out of the drawers. As he tugged on the pant legs of his jeans, Neville Longbottom didn't quite feel like a normal eleven year old, and that was because now he was quite certain he wasn't.