X. I hear an unfamiliar voice in the kitchen when I come down for lunch one day, and I pause briefly and listen. So far, I have met a very strict number of people and only individuals that Hermione and Ron have chosen to introduce me to with the hope that this familiar face will be the one to make me remember. The fact that there is a new person for me to meet make me sigh wearily as I have hoped that they would give it up after my outburst, and so I walk into the kitchen with a dejected expression, ready to face their disappointment yet again.
The stranger is a tall man with a rather round face and kind eyes who stands by the fireplace and talks with Ron.
"Can't believe you're staying here at this depressing place," he says just as I walk in.
"Harry," Hermione greets me and stands, attracting the others' attention to me. "This is Neville," she continues carefully and gestures to the stranger.
He smiles warmly at me and takes the room in long strides.
"Neville Longbottom," he introduces himself and shakes my hand.
"I'm Harry," I answer even though I'm sure he already knows this, but he just nods in turn.
"We've been talking, Ron and I," Hermione says slowly, sounding as if she is speaking to a small child. "And we have come to the conclusion that this… situation is not sustainable."
An uneasy silence settles over the kitchen when she pauses, only broken by Ron's shuffling as he looks everywhere but at me.
"We have decided that Ron and I will return to Hogwarts to finish our magical education, and in the meantime, you will live with Neville," Hermione tells me and I scowl at her.
It angers me that the two of them have decided this without me when it clearly affects me. I agree, of course, that what we've been doing so far is not working, but shouldn't they at least ask me before they decide where I'm supposed to live, and with whom? What if I wanted to stay here, on my own? And even though this Neville guy seems nice enough, he's a virtual stranger to me, and now I'm supposed to live with him?
I glare at them but neither of them will look at me, clearly anxious and avoiding my dark gaze. I feel a hand on my arm and turn to look at Neville who gives me an awkward smile.
"I'll help you pack your things," he says and I reluctantly follow him out of the kitchen.
Perhaps I imagine it, but I think I hear two sighs of relief as I leave.
"I'm sorry about that," Neville says quietly as we walk up the creaking stairs. "I thought they'd talked to you."
The confession eases my worries, if only slightly. At least Neville wasn't in on this.
"It's not your fault," I mumble in answer.
