Heart of a Gryffindor
Chapter Two
Neville Longbottom, unsure of where he was or why, awoke with a start to the sound of muffled voices.
"I came as soon as I heard, Minerva. How is he?"
"As well as one can expect after serving as a Cruciatus target for an entire class of junior death eaters, I suppose. Oh Pomona, I just wish I had come sooner when I realized that he was missing from my class. I assumed he was just ill, or perhaps had misplaced his timetable again. Little did I know the poor boy was being tortured right under my nose!"
Neville was frightened by the concerned tone dominating the voice of his usually stoic head of house. He shifted his weight, preparing to speak, but even this slight movement was met with complaint from every bone and muscle in his body. Instead of the reassuring words he had intended to produce, an audible moan issued from Neville's lips.
"Oh Neville, you're awake!" exclaimed Professor Sprout, bustling into the room to the bedside of her favorite pupil, while Professor McGonagall, seemingly ashamed of being caught with her stern countenance broken, bustled off to alert Madame Pomfrey.
"Yes Ma'am…" whispered Neville weakly. "But where…why…" He was finding it abnormally difficult to form a sentence, a side effect that tends to occur when every nerve ending in your body is crying out in agony.
"You are in the hospital wing, dear. I'm afraid some rather unfortunate circumstances led to you spending an extended period of time under the Cruciatus curse."
And Neville remembered- the agony, the white-hot pain, the feeling of betrayal that comes from suffering for the enjoyment of a fellow human being. But rather than being terrified or upset by such a memory, as the Neville of just a few years before would have been, this Neville smiled.
Professor Sprout must have been quite unnerved by this unexpected reaction, as displayed by the look of shock that danced over her own round features.
Noticing this, Neville explained, "I survived it then. I'm stronger than them, and I won."
Madame Pomfrey came striding into the room and began to chastise Professor Sprout for disturbing her patient's rest. The matron was a domineering figure even to her colleaugues, so Professor Sprout obeyed the woman's command, squeezing Neville's hand gently in farewell, and exiting the room.
"Disgraceful, absolutely disgraceful what they have done to you. Is this a school, or a Death Eater training camp? Whatever would dear Albus say if he could see this?" As usual, Madame Pomfrey muttered to herself as she went about her duties, filled a vial with a smoking green potion and handing it to Neville.
"Drink it," she insisted in response to the grimace on her patient's face. "It will help."
Neville obliged, and soon found himself descending again into the friendly darkness.
At Madame Pomfrey's insistence, Neville was kept in the hospital wing for nearly a week, during which he regained not only his strength but his drive. In some ways, Neville was even thankful for the torture. He had proven to himself that he could survive. No longer was he the scared, stuttering little boy who had come to Hogwarts just seven years before. This Neville was a man, one whom he knew his father would be very proud if.
"If only he had been given the opportunity," thought Neville bitterly.
Upon his release, Neville was pleased to see that his first class after this ordeal would be herbology. He made his way down to the greenhouses, the only place left at Hogwarts where he could feel happy and safe.
Once there, Professor Sprout set her seventh years to work, assigning them to the dull but necessary task of repotting her Dittany. The use of this plant in a magical healing ointment was not lost on Neville, who had a horrible feeling that it would be required quite frequently this year.
Nonetheless, Neville relaxed and went about his work in reflective silence. As the class drew to a close, Professor Sprout beckoned Neville over to her desk, and motioned for him to take a nearby seat.
Neville obliged, and his favorite Professor smiled at him kindly.
"How are you feeling, dear?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.
"Just fine, Professor," he replied.
"I'm so glad you are alright. Look Neville, I wish to discuss something important with you. As a professor, I am not supposed to have favorites. But I will admit that you have been one of mine since your first year. Since then, I've watched you grow into a strong, brave, and confidant young man, and I know how proud your parents would be of your willingness to stand up for what is right. Many a time have I argued with Minerva about you- how I dearly wish you were in my house, but she has always insisted you are perfectly suited for her house. You have proven yourself a Gryffindor through and through though, but sometimes you have found yourself in grave danger as a result. It is this that I wish to speak to you about, Neville. Hogwarts is a dangerous place this year, and you need to understand that some here do not appreciate your actions, and will take any excuse to harm you. I need you to promise me that you will stay out of trouble- getting yourself killed with foolish bravery is no way to honor your parents, my dear."
"I'm sorry, Professor, but I am afraid I can make no such promise. Harry never stayed out of trouble, but he provided hope to all of us that we too can make a difference. With Harry gone this year, it is students like me who must take a stand for what is right. If this gets me killed, well, at least I have upheld the values for which my parents made their sacrifice. To do any less would be an insult to them, as well as all of the good, decent people who have been harmed in the name of blood purity."
Professor Sprout looked momentarily shocked. Clearly she had expected Neville to politely agree and make the promise she suggested. And perhaps the Neville she had known just a few short years ago would have done just that. But this Neville was different from the one she used to know, a fact which she had tried to ignore in thinking she could persuade him to behave. Instead of trying to change his mind, she pulled him into a silent hug.
Neville was somewhat shocked by this gesture, but tried not to show it as he left the sanctuary of his greenhouse. Not feeling the least bit hungry for lunch, Neville found a quiet spot under a tree by the lake, and sat. Soon, he was lost in his thoughts.
"Such a common boy he is, Augusta. Why, he's hardly better than a squib! It will be a miracle if he can even make it into Hufflepuff. How disappointed Frank and Alice would be."
Standing behind the door and just out of sight, Neville Longbottom, barely ten years old, heard every word.
Uncle Algie had always doubted Neville, and was never careful to ensure the boy was missing from the room before launching into his speeches about the child's worthlessness. As such, Neville had grown up not just believing, but knowing that he was doomed to disappoint his relatives. No way this chubby, quiet, shy boy could ever live up to the precedent set by the great Frank Longbottom
And so it was with great anxiety that eleven year old Neville Longbottom boarded the Hogwarts express, wondering if a return train would be available when the Sorting Hat pronounced him unfit to enter any of Hogwarts' esteemed houses. For many months now, Neville had had nightmares that the ancient hat would pronounce him as unfit even forHufflepuff
"May as well enjoy it while it lasts," thought the gloomy boy, as the train pulled away from Platform 9 and 3/4s. Many of the other first years seemed distraught as their parents disappeared from view, but Neville felt sure that he would be reunited with a very disappointed Gran soon, after he was cast out in disgrace from Hogwarts.
As the train pulled up to the castle, Neville was dazzled by its beauty. Apprehensively, he boarded the boats, dreaming of how amazing it would be if he were allowed to stay.
Neville Longbottom trembled as he awaited his turn with the Sorting Hat. The smells wafting from the Great Hall were so pleasant, Neville hoped he would be allowed at least to partake in the feast before he was sent home.
When Neville's turn came, he approached the stool atop which that hat was set like a man nearing the executioner. He plopped the hat down on his head, thinking, "I know I don't belong here. But maybe, just maybe, can you find a place for me in Hufflepuff? I promise I will try my very best to keep up."
"Hufflepuff?" replied the hat. "Well, it does seem that you are a true and loyal friend, Mr. Longbottom. But I see something else here, something greater. Use it well boy, make your parents proud in GRYFFINDOR!"
Neville had been so shocked, that he had attempted to walk away with the hat still atop his head. He stumbled and reddened, and returned the hat to its seat. His feelings were complicated, a mixture of fear that this was a terrible mistake and that the hat would reconsider and send him home, and an overwhelming sense of joy at making it into the house of his parents.
"So what if my stupid toad is braver than I am? I can stay!" he thought joyously, as he took his seat amongst his new house mates.
Neville knew now that his doubt as to his placement in Gryffindor was a great mistake, and silently thanked the sorting hat for its foresight in placing him in a house with those who could help him develop his bravery. As terrifying as experiences like the Department of Mysteries and protecting the castle from Death Eaters after Dumbledore's death had been, Neville knew that they had developed him into the man he was today.
Still though, that whisper of doubt that had been his constant companion reminded him that this year would be different, without Harry to lead the charge, Hermione to serve as the brains, and Ron to unite everyone. Perhaps he couldn't do it. Perhaps he was foolish to make a change. Perhaps…
"Wrackspurt got your brain, Neville?"
Neville jumped visibly at the unexpected interruption of his thoughts, but smiled when the blonde haired witch who had been so stealthy in creeping up behind him plopped down at his side and grasped his hand in hers.
