AU! Neville's a Squib. Set in August 1987
The boys in the story have an accent (the grammatical errors are on purpose)
WRITTEN FOR IWSC, SEASON 3
Beauxbatons, Year 6: Underdog Rising
Special Rule: Squib
Mandatory Prompt: (event) meeting a sad frog
Additional Prompts: (action) babbling, (word) invisible
Word Count: 3336
Neville flailed his arms, pretending to be a Muggle ghost. He used his socks to slide through the hallways of the ancient Longbottom manor. "Boo," he whisper-yelled, jumping in front of a mirror as he tried to scare his reflection.
Nothing happened, and Neville sighed. He turned to look at the portraits hanging on the wall and waved at them, hoping they would at least look at him.
Again, nothing happened, and poor Neville's shoulders slumped. Maybe I really am a Muggle ghost…
Neville walked by the room in which he had overheard one of his great-aunts saying that he was just a lowly Squib who would never amount to anything. Great-Uncle Algie had thrown him out of the room's window a few minutes later. That incident, although painful, at least hadn't been as terrifying as the time one of his aunts had thrown him off Blackpool pier to invoke his magical core.
Neville winced, remembering the cold water filling his lungs and blood pounding behind his eyes. His breaths had been painful and short, and he hadn't been able to take a shower for weeks afterwards in fear of drowning again.
When the trauma hadn't led to any signs of magic, Neville's family had removed his parents' portraits from the hallway, saying his parents would be disappointed in him if they were sane.
And that was that.
Neville had been discarded by his relatives like an old sock, and they never spoke to him again. To them, he was 'the boy' — never Neville.
Even though he was just seven years old, Neville knew his grandmother only kept him around because he was her only grandson and the last reminder she had of her son, Frank. The only times she was nice to him was when she was drunk on Firewhisky; she called him her little Frank. That nugget of knowledge hurt, and Neville did his best to stay out of her way.
He crept down the stairs, making sure not to be too loud — Grandmother often scolded him for his heavy tread — and made his way to the greenhouses to tend to his mother's beautiful plants.
The nectar-sweet scents of the spring flowers perked up Neville's spirit. He wandered through the greenhouse, breathing in and smiling.
His love for flora seemed to be one of the only things he had inherited from his mother, and Neville was proud of it. Although he did not have magic in his veins, at least he could connect with her through a hobby she had loved.
Oftentimes, Grandmother would watch him working through her study's window, which always made him self-conscious and caused his hands to slip when he tended the plants. But Neville knew she wasn't watching him today. Her friends were coming over for tea, and she would be busy with the preparations.
He sighed and bent down to pick up the large watering can.
A couple of hours later, Neville was still in the greenhouses when he heard the women chattering as they passed by. He peeked over a fern and saw them seating themselves in the garden. They were all dressed in free-flowing dresses spun of the finest silks and satins. Colourful hats sat atop their heads, giving them a classy look Neville had only seen in old paintings. He wanted to get closer, but he had a feeling they would glare at him and shoo him away.
He was about to make his way towards the other end of the greenhouse when he heard something that made him pause.
"It's terrible, isn't it?" Gertrude Swanson, his grandmother's best friend, said. "Having to stay with that boy all the time? He's never going to amount to anything. He doesn't have any magic, any social skills, nothing. I hate to say it, but you're better off without him, Augusta."
Neville squatted behind a rhododendron bush that was positioned near the greenhouse window. He waited for Grandmother to respond, but she was too busy sipping her tea. The other two women chimed in with, "Yes, you're right," and, "The wizarding world doesn't need more Squibs."
Neville wished his grandmother would stand up for him, but he watched as she patted her mouth with her napkin and said, "He is, unfortunately, my grandson. I cannot ruin the Longbottoms' reputation by ousting him from the family. Now... Does anyone want a scone?"
Neville walked out of the greenhouses in a daze, no longer in the mood to work with the plants. Plants could feel his emotions, and he didn't want them to suffer just because he didn't feel worthy of the Longbottom name.
Sighing, Neville's shoulders drooped as he began to walk towards the manor's gates. He had often gone out without informing his grandmother — not out of rebellion, but because she didn't care what he did.
The heavy gates creaked open when he neared, and a few seconds later, Neville was outside. He crossed the silent road, his hands in his pockets, and made his way to the small lake nearby.
Clouds shaped like tufty pillows glided across the sky. Crooning pigeons plucked for seeds, and jewel-green grasshoppers bounced atop the grass like leggy trampolines. Thumb-plump bumblebees, wings-a-thrum, buzzed around mustard-yellow flowers. The sound of children laughing rang and resonated through the air. Neville's heart clenched as he imagined himself playing with them, but he assumed they wouldn't want him either.
His shoulders slumped even further. A grove of sad willows brooded next to the lake, and Neville sat under the nearest one with a thump.
A quiet croak sounded from underneath him, and Neville scrambled away. A frog lay in the spot Neville had just vacated. It was small, olive-green and had dark blotches with a vivid yellow stripe that ran down its back. On closer inspection, Neville thought the frog looked just as sad as he was; the frog's mouth was downturned, and its eyes bulged out of its head as if it were about to cry.
"Are you okay, little buddy?" Neville asked, reaching out to touch the frog. It didn't move but let out a little croak. He picked it up and patted its head. The frog croaked again, shifting itself to face Neville.
"Did the other frogs leave you out here by yourself?" Neville murmured, stroking its smooth and slimy back. The frog croaked in reply. "I know how you feel, buddy. Don't be sad. You've got me now! We can be friends if you want."
A twig snapped behind Neville, and then…
"Oh, what have you got there?"
Neville started and almost dropped the frog. A brown-haired girl stood behind him, a packet of peanuts in one hand and a thick book in the other. "Is that a frog? Oh, I want to see!"
Neville lowered his gaze, his cheeks reddening as the girl peered at him and the frog. He had never seen a pretty girl his age before. He squeaked out a weak, "Yeah."
The girl's face broke out in a huge smile, her round cheeks puffing out even more, and Neville couldn't help but notice her shining, halo-white teeth. She hurried to sit beside him, her purple frock swirling around her knees.
"Ooh, may I touch him? I've always wanted to hold a frog, but I've never been able to catch one before. My parents don't like animals, but I love them all equally. We just moved in a few days ago, and I told my parents I wanted to go out and find some animals so I can write about them in my diary. I love learning about animals, and I've read so much about frogs that I know exactly how to identify them all. That one you've got there is a pool frog! And it's a male, too — you can tell because it's small. The females are larger than the males. And did you know that pool frogs have more pointed heads and longer legs than common frogs? Pool frogs sound like ducks quacking, while common frogs have a quiet, rasping purr. Has the frog made any sounds yet? Does it sound like a duck?"
Although Neville's eyes widened at the information, he couldn't help but scoot closer to her. She had a dulcimer sweet voice that made his heart long to hear her speak again. His lips turned up in a small smile when the girl looked up at him, and a strange feeling filled his chest when he met her dreamy, almond-brown eyes.
"Come to think of it… it did sound like a duck," Neville whispered, glancing down at the silent frog. His hands began to sweat when he heard his own voice; his grandmother often scolded him for speaking out of turn. "But I think it's sad."
"Oh, no! Why?" The girl reached over to pet the frog's head. Neville's face reddened when her fingers grazed his. She didn't notice — or maybe she didn't care.
"I think… his family doesn't want him anymore," Neville murmured, his eyes downcast. "They left him here all alone with no one to care for him…"
"That's terrible! Did you know grass snakes, herons, and otters all can eat him if he's not careful? And these frogs are pretty rare around here!"
"What should we do?" Neville asked. The girl reminded him of his grandmother — but only because she seemed like she would go for what she wanted and not take no for an answer.
"Pool frogs like to bask in the sun but only when they're wet, so maybe we can—"
A loud commotion from behind the trees interrupted her.
A trio of teenagers stumbled out of the grove, laughing and shoving each other. The ruckus scared Neville, who wasn't used to loud noises, and his shoulders tensed; judging by their overenthusiastic behaviour, he had a feeling the boys were the mischievous sort. They caught sight of Neville and the girl crouched close together and started cackling.
"Ee, boys, we've got summat here. Coom 'n' look!,'' one of them screeched, his dark eyes glinting. His voice hissed through his jagged teeth and thin, pale lips. "A lad an' lass playin' wi' a dirty awd toad. Give it 'ere!"
The tall boy lunged forward and snatched the frog out of Neville's hands. Neville gasped, and the girl shot to her feet.
"Hey, you'll hurt him! Give him back!"
"Oh aye? What's tha goin' to do? Tell tha mammy?" the shortest boy taunted, reaching out to flick the girl's button-like nose.
She pushed him away as hard as she could — her arms trembled with the force of it — but the boy didn't even budge an inch. Instead, he had the gall to throw his head back and howl with laughter, his dark, lank hair glistening with sweat under the midday sun.
"Aww, see here! T' lass is a little tiger," the third boy said with a wicked grin. Neville didn't like the look in his eyes; it spelt nothing but trouble. "Let's see if t'awd toad has any fight in 'im."
The first boy dangled the frog by its legs and swung him around, making the girl cry out. Neville's heart plummeted into his stomach when the frog started to croak.
"You'll hurt him!" the girl screamed, running up to the boy and banging her fists on his chest. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she begged, "Let him go! I said let him go!"
"Shut tha mouth, tha big baby — or ah'll belt tha!" the boy snapped, shoving her off him with a well-timed push. The girl fell onto her bottom, her face red and wet with tears.
All of a sudden, Neville was back in the greenhouse, listening to his grandmother's friends talking about him like he didn't exist. Like he didn't matter. He was reminded of the times his family had chosen to ignore his presence in the room while they spoke of more important matters — like the weather. Tears filled Neville's eyes at the thought of being invisible once again.
Was he really a Muggle ghost?
None of the boys paid him any attention. Neville got to his feet, his heart and mind warring with each other about his next move.
On the one hand, Neville knew he couldn't save the frog from the boys, but at the same time, he couldn't bear to see the girl crying. His heart became heavy as the boys' laughter increased in pitch and volume. He felt like a pasty shadow, insignificant, as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.
As the girl's cries became more helpless and the boys' taunts more vicious, Neville's heart thundered, and adrenaline surged through his veins, giving him that final boost. He might not have any magic, but he still had his fists.
With a cry reminiscent of a terrified toddler, Neville leapt at the tallest boy and punched him as hard as he could. They went tumbling down to the ground in a heap of uncoordinated limbs. "Don't hurt her! Let the frog go! Let it go! Now!"
"Ee, by heck, what's tha doin'?" the boy exclaimed as Neville continued to try to punch him. "Gerroff me, damn it!"
Neville cried, "Let the frog go!"
"No way!"
Neville smacked the boy's face, and the other two boys were on him. Neville didn't even see the fists coming until it was too late. A swift strike to his ribs caused him to fall backwards, but he didn't stop thrashing. He cried out as the boys rained punches down on him. The pain coursed through his body, and every gasp he took was a living agony.
A fist flew straight into his left eye, and that was the last thing Neville remembered seeing.
When Neville regained consciousness, his body felt like it had been trampled by wild Erumpents. Every inch of him hurt when he shifted onto his forearms. A powerful pounding thrummed behind his eyes, and his mouth tasted metallic.
But that wasn't what surprised him.
"...And I like to paint even though I'm not very good at it, but Mum says it's the thought that counts. But my favourite thing to do is to read books. I love reading all sorts of books — Dad says I have a very good vocabulary. I like it when Dad compliments me; it always feels so nice. So I read more and more books so that he's proud of me. I'm currently reading Charlotte's Web, and I really like it. The book has wonderful themes about friendship, love, life, and death — it's supposed to be a children's book, but I think everyone should read it because—"
Neville turned his head, grimacing when the pain exploded.
The girl sat on her knees beside him, the frog they'd befriended clasped in her hands. Her chocolate-brown curls framed her face, and Neville could make out the tear tracks on her cheeks.
He groaned, trying to sit up, and attracted the girl's attention.
"Oh, thank God you're awake!" She dropped the frog and threw her arms around Neville's shoulders.
The frog croaked and leapt onto Neville's head, nestling into his soft hair.
Neville's breath caught in his throat at her careless action, his eyes misting with tears when she squeezed him tightly; in his entire seven years, he couldn't remember anyone hugging him. At all. His face contorted as he struggled not to cry, and he swallowed quickly so that the girl wouldn't notice — but he was too late.
"Are you in pain? Of course! Why am I even asking? Those boys beat you up so badly! I can't even imagine the agony you must be in right now! Agony means extreme physical or mental suffering, by the way — I read it in a book… I can't believe you fought them all at once. You're so brave and courageous and wonderful!"
Neville ducked his head to avoid eye contact. He stammered, "No, I just… I'm fine."
The frog croaked as if it were scolding him for lying.
"You can't be fine! Your lips are bleeding, your eye's bruised, and I think I even heard something crack! That can't mean you're fine."
Neville pursed his lips and almost gagged at the coppery taste of dried blood.
"Hold still, I'll clean it for you," the girl said, scrambling to her feet. She yanked out the thick purple ribbon from her hair and darted to the water's edge.
Neville watched as she wet the ribbon, squeezing the water out before she returned to his side. The frog jumped off Neville's head and onto a small mushroom next to them, and the girl fell onto her knees and reached up to press the ribbon to Neville's lips.
He winced at the touch, but the girl refused to let him move away. She shot him a pointed look and continued applying pressure to his wounds.
"Hold still," she muttered, and Neville couldn't help but listen to her. She wiped the blood off his mouth. "I still can't believe you fought off those boys for a frog."
"You're the one who tried to fight them off first," Neville reminded her, lines forming between his eyebrows. He tilted his head and gazed up at her.
The girl huffed out a laugh and began babbling again, "Yes, but I didn't know you were going to fight them off like that. And then, you got hit in the face and the boys panicked and ran off, and for a few moments, I thought you were dead, but then I checked your vitals — my dad taught me that — and I knew you had just fainted. But I was still so worried about you, and I couldn't just leave you here, so I sat here and waited for you to wake up. Trevor kept me company, but he's just like my dolls — he doesn't talk back, and I think you were right that he's sad. Oh, by the way, you don't mind that I named him without you, do you? I'm Hermione, by the way. I told you my name when you were unconscious, but obviously, you don't remember it, do you? Anyway, I don't have any friends, but I thought you and Trevor could be my friends, but it's okay if you don't want to—"
Neville's heart filled with hope as the girl — Hermione, what a strange name! It suits her, though — continued babbling on and on. He didn't mind; he liked listening to her talk. It was cute. He couldn't believe she wanted him to be her friend, but Neville knew he couldn't let the opportunity pass by.
He swallowed, making a face at the taste in his mouth, and interrupted her quietly, "You want me to be your friend? Really?"
Hermione nodded, her eyes wide with hope. "Yes, please. And Trevor, too. You fought for us both, so it makes sense if we're all best friends, right? How cool would it be to be friends with a frog? We could make Trevor happy by playing with him and feeding him and taking care of him regularly, and—"
"I'd love to be your friend… Her-my-nee," Neville whispered, ducking his head as he carefully pronounced her name. "I'm Neville."
"Hi, Neville! I'm Hermione Granger, your new best friend! And this is"—she grabbed the frog and held him up for Neville to see—"Trevor. Say hi, Trevor."
The frog croaked, and Neville and Hermione both burst into laughter. Although Neville's ribs hurt almost as much as when he'd fallen from the window, he couldn't help but smile through the pain.
His grandmother and her friends were wrong. Even though he was a Squib, he could make friends. He ignored the fact that these were his first two friends.
As Hermione helped him stand up, still rambling about a picnic they could set up for Trevor, Neville's smile widened. For the first time in forever, he didn't feel invisible anymore.