Thanks pfanna for the excuse to mess with Snape.

November 1991

Neville Longbottom did not like Hermione Granger. That was not to say he disliked her, rather he felt she was abrasive and, as such, he did not like to spend time around her. His roommate, Harry Potter, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy her company. He had scarcely been without her for the week since Halloween.

Neville was not a confident boy. He was well aware of his shy tendencies thanks to his grandmother, Augusta Longbottom. She regularly called him out on his shyness. It was her way of trying to correct what she saw as a defect of his character. Considering she never let him out of her sight, Neville wasn't sure how he was supposed to bloom like the flowers in their greenhouses. Even flowers needed more than food and water. It also needed warmth and sunshine. It took all three for a healthy plant. Expecting Neville to become even a shadow of his parents having a completely different childhood with different experiences seemed borderline stupid to Neville, not that he would dare say such a thing to his grandmother.

Watching Harry for the past week had been interesting to Neville. It was as if Harry had suffered like plants in a harsh environment only to be suddenly exposed to a plentiful supply of food, water and sunlight. A strong plant was actually one that had suffered through harsher times. It developed stronger root systems, stems, and an overall heartier self after surviving trying circumstances. Harry was now a strong plant that was positively blooming. After less than a week of Hermione taking a noted interest in him, Harry's grades were already improving, he was happier, and Neville could swear the Boy-Who-Lived was taller. It seemed as if he was rapidly becoming the boy everyone had read about in the books rather than the meek one everyone had first encountered two months back.

Moving his eyes to the pair, Neville noticed Hermione pointing something out in Quidditch through the Ages to Harry. She had checked the book out from the Library before their first broom riding lesson, hoping for some bit of helpful information. It lacked in that but contained other interesting trivia. Even growing up loving Quidditch and attending games with his grandmother – she was an avid Appleby Arrows supporter, passing along her love of the team to Neville – he learned new things about his favourite team thanks to the book.

When Harry's first Quidditch game approached, Hermione had loaned him the book. Neville assumed that at some point she must have made him check it out under his own name considering how long the two had possessed it. Neville was watching the two when a dark figure approached them. His heart began to race, his palms became sweaty, he grew short of breath.

Professor Snape.

The man was positively a menace. Neville wasn't sure who the professor hated more, himself or Harry. Whenever either Gryffindor was in his presence, Professor Snape seemed ready to hex the offending party into oblivion.

Curling in on himself, Neville almost missed the exchange between Professor Snape, Harry, and Hermione.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?" the professor sneered.

Harry held up the book.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school. Give it to me."

Neville heard him take a few points but pulled away, out of sight as the man turned to return to the castle. As he walked past, Neville noticed Professor Snape was limping slightly. When the current bane of Neville's existence was past, he emerged from hiding to find Harry and Hermione were gone as well.

It took him until dinner to find the pair. Neville had just sat down when they entered the Great Hall. Harry was slightly pink in the face while Hermione had her arm through his. Both seemed to be in good spirits. Neville waited until they were seated across from him before deciding to take advantage of an opportunity.

"Hey Harry, Hermione. Do you think I might study with you from time to time? I'm not doing so well at anything except Herbology and Gran is really getting after me in her letters."

Harry looked at Hermione, apparently leaving the decision in her hands. Neville cringed at seeing the irritation on her face at his question.

After several tense moments of silence, Harry poked Hermione in the side, causing her to squirm slightly.

"Oh fine," Hermione said. "You can find us any day between four and five in the Library."

Neville heard Harry whisper to Hermione, "Why then? We're normally there from three to six."

Hermione simply gave Harry a pointed glare. Harry dropped the line of questioning.

Picking up his flagging courage, Neville thanked them. "Thanks. I just don't know what I'd do if I disappointed Gran after actually getting an invitation to go to school here."

Harry turned towards Neville. "What do you mean?"

Before Neville could reply, not that he really wanted to tell the pair about how his family had thought he was a squib until his uncle dropped him out of a third story window, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open.

In tottered Professor Snape.

When Neville thought tottered, he meant a tottered limping. The man now had goat legs, complete with cloven hooves, coming out from under a kilt. Whatever had changed his legs had not healed them as one was still wounded. He even had small horns growing from his head.

"I wonder where his tail and pitchfork are," Neville heard Harry mutter.

Harry wasn't the only one muttering. The entire Great Hall was filled with a dull roar of combined murmurs.

"I suppose that's what happens when you steal a library book," Hermione responded to Harry. Taking one look at Hermione, Neville knew she had something to do with what had transpired from the smug expression on her face.

Neville decided right then and there that Hermione was definitely someone to learn from, at least if he could avoid upsetting her.

Twenty-one days. Twenty-one chapters. Thank you to everyone for your support.