Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I do not own this world. I do not own a car. I do not own a pony.
I would really like a pony.
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Chapter 4
Neville Longbottom at 15 was a regular boy, average in all respects, brown hair and eyes, grown into his height if not his teeth, and still with the round and open face of youth.
Even-tempered and restful, he was arbiter of all intra-Gryffindor fights, now that he'd gotten past his lack of confidence. Quiet and unassuming, he could wait with perfect patience until the exact moment that he was needed, and intercede in just such a fashion that everything was settled, and no one was upset.
He was becoming a good man.
The boy Harry and Draco found in the infirmary was not that boy.
"Oy! You poncey bastards, where did the cow go?"
It wasn't what either boy had been expecting to hear from the tiny, adorable, six-year old.
"Are you deaf? Where did the cow go? I want to go home," the boy screamed, throwing a tray of potions vials at the wall.
This was the cause of the crash they'd heard earlier.
"Neville?"
"Longbottom?"
The boys traded a look, having spoken at the same time, but the child in front of them didn't notice. In fact, he acted as though he hadn't heard them at all, and proceeded to tear the infirmary apart.
Harry rushed to hold him still as Neville got to the large potions cupboard, but the boy struggled fiercely, and it was all Harry could do to hold him at all. "Little help, Malfoy?"
The Slytherin considered his rival, smiling slightly as Harry dodged a particularly violent swing at his head.
"Seems as though you have things under control, Potter. I'll just be off then." He turned to leave, but was blocked by the professors coming into the room.
Pomphrey had restored her equanimity, but the slight flush in her cheeks suggested she'd had a bit of something more bracing than a lemon drop on her way to get help. Dumbledore followed just behind her, twinkling eyes only slightly dimmed at the sight of the screaming, struggling child. Snape and McGonagall brought up the rear, with their most stoic expressions in place; as though they were ready to face the wars, which, Harry realized, dodging another small but surprisingly strong fist, they might be.
Then Neville caught what Harry would later insist was a lucky shot and the world went black.
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Note: So, as you can see, the 'kid' in this fic is neither Harry nor Draco. I hope this is a fresh twist for all of you, and I hope that you will continue to read even if the little Neville is different from your expectations. I am having a great deal of fun with this story, and the idea of Neville as a tiny terror just tickles me.
Please review. I've been cleaning all day and my back hurts. I will be cleaning for the next week, so if you want to review and make me feel better, you have time.