On November 1st, 1981, wizards and witches all over Britain, all over Europe and what felt like the whole of the world, were celebrating. The Dark Lord Voldemort had been vanquished the previous night, brought down by the hands of Harry Potter, toddler extraordinaire. It was a hotly debated topic on how exactly the one-year-old boy was able to defeat the greatest Dark Lord in recent history, considered by some to be the greatest Dark Lord of all time, but it was a moot point all the same. Voldemort was dead, Harry Potter was not. There was magic in a mystery, and the mystery of the Boy-Who-Lived would be spoken of for centuries to come. People were toasting the boy, praising his deed and venerating his parents, who sacrificed themselves in the wake of Voldemort's coming
Augusta Longbottom was one of the few who were not celebrating. Though gladdened that the Dark Lord had been slain, the aftermath of this event curbed any enthusiasm she might have held. Voldemort had been defeated at the dead of night, well past the time she was asleep, and she was awoken by news that struck her in a manner none had before. Her only child, her darling Frank, and his wonderful wife, Alice, had been targeted by the entourage of the Lestrange's, along with Barty Crouch Jr.
What happened to her son and his family was… there were no words to describe how pained she felt. They were tortured horrendously, the Cruciatus Curse turning them into living shells. The healers of St. Mungo's hadn't known what to do with the pair. They naturally attempted to heal them, each attempt involving progressively more obscure methods of healing, and when hope began to dwindle the hospital brought in a practiced Legillimens to give the couple's minds a look over. The mind wanderer was a difficult sort, mumbling his words and shifting unsteadily, but his prognosis brought Augusta, the proud and strong matriarch of the Longbottom line, to tears.
He claimed they were insane.
While Augusta was hopeful that they would make an eventual recovery and regain their mental faculties, they were still incapacitated (she did not wish to call them insane. They weren't insane, they were her family) for an unknown amount of time. Due to this, they were incapable of handling their child, her grandson, Neville Harfang Longbottom, their sandy haired joy.
The healers handed her exhausted grandson to her, and Augusta, barely able to mourn, found herself taking the boy into her arms. Staring at the constantly dazed look her poor Frank was now sporting, the fixed, dreamlike expression Alice donned, and the sleeping but coherent form of the toddler in her arms, Augusta came to a rather dangerous conclusion.
Voldemort's Death Eaters were able to do this to her family because Frank, strong and brave though he was, wasn't strong enough. If Frank were stronger, if Alice were stronger, they would have repelled those monsters.
Augusta absolutely refused to lose her family in such a manner again. And so, she made a decision. Neville would be better than Frank, would be better than them all. She would make it so.
It should be noted that Augusta Longbottom was almost eighty years old at this point in time, having birthed Frank later in life through a questionable potion regimen that temporarily renewed her fertility at the unknown cost of certain cognitive deficiencies. While there were many to note, the two that were most relevant in this situation was her certainty that she knew best with regards to her family, and her unwillingness to accept help from people she didn't trust. And Augusta Longbottom trusted nobody, save for one man, with regards to her grandson.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
Algernon Longbottom was none too pleased to be summoned back to live in Longbottom Manor. The last time he had called this place home was well over fifty years prior. He was a grown wizard of eighty-three years and did not take well to being bossed around, certainly not by his sister-in-law. That he was tasked with helping her take care of young Neville, his grandnephew, when he already had his own ailing wife to care for, made him all the more annoyed.
Algie had been born the younger twin of Alfard Longbottom, Augusta's deceased husband and Neville's grandfather. While the brothers loved each other in their own way, they simultaneously hated one another. Algie's bitterness with his brother, who he felt had been given everything whilst he himself was seen as lesser solely due to his being fifteen minutes younger, drifted to his son, Frank, upon Alfards death. Frank was a good lad, Algie would admit that much, but he was his brother's son, and so Algie did not like him. Petty though it may have been, Algie had little reason to care.
And now, he was tasked with essentially raising Franks son.
Algernon Longbottom was, as stated before, none too pleased.
To be fair, he did try. Neville was only a small child and any person who was not completely monstrous would have their heart softened in the presence of an innocent. Perhaps Neville would not have been treated as well as Algie's own grandchildren and would know that he was a burden on the older man, but he would have been raised with kindness.
However, Neville did not seem to have an ounce of magic in him. When he got upset, he didn't make his crib rock, nor did he summon his bottle when hungry. When happy, items did not dance around him, nor did light appear. It was as if accidental magic seemed to escape him, as if he were-…
Algie blinked. He furrowed his brow and thought hard.
Helping Augusta take care of Neville was one thing. The boy, regardless of being Alfard's grandson, was the heir to his house, and it was his duty to help where he could. But only a magical could inherit a house of nobility, and Neville did not seem to have an ounce of magic in him. He'd offered no accidental magic, none that Algie had ever seen, nor had Augusta or even the House Elves witnessed such.
Worry rose in Algie. Worry and fear and, in the deep recesses of his mind, glee.
Should Neville prove to be a squib, horrid state of affairs though that may be, Algie would find himself holding the lordship of his house. He'd been its regent in the past few years in any case, what with Frank having gone in hiding. His children, two daughters by his Enid, both had sons and daughters to spare. Even though his grandchildren were not Longbottoms in name, it could be maneuvered so that they would be such. Even without Neville, the line of Longbottom would not end.
But Algie was not certain. To claim Neville as a squib when he was not would be among the highest disrespects there was, especially towards the heir of a noble line.
He had to test Neville. If the boy had magic then all was well, and his magic would flourish soon after. If he did not, then… Then he would do his duty.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
Life for Neville was not easy. Though there was magic abound and elves willing to do anything needed for him, life was not easy.
His family seemed to hate him. His granny would deride him, always talking about how his father could do this and that when he was in his nappy's, things that Neville himself had yet to do. His Uncle Algie was a different sort. He would always be mean, always try to scare the magic out of Neville, and Neville didn't know how to make it stop. His wife, Aunt Enid, never did that, but she didn't like visiting, so Neville didn't see her much.
He wanted to perform magic, he did! But no matter what his family did, it would not come forth. And they tried everything. At first, their tries at bring the magic forth were gentle. They would try to coerce him with sweets, or with things he wanted, but the magic wouldn't come forth, and so the gentle approach was soon to change.
It became progressively more difficult living in Longbottom manor. Neville's family tried everything that was reasonable, and plenty of things that weren't reasonable to force some magic out of Neville; the worst of these offenses being the time Neville was pushed off the end of Blackpool pier, nearly drowning in the process. With every occurrence of nothing happening, the dwindling tolerance of Neville's family diminished further and further.
During this time, Neville became progressively more introverted, both due to the fear of what his family would do next and the occasional visit to see his parents, whose catatonic states always brought him to a sour mood. His words became stuttered and his shoulders hunched. His free days, once worry free, were spent hiding in the gardens and outside on the grounds, taking refuge with magical plants and the small forested clearing that surrounded the manor.
It all came to a head a week after Neville turned eight. He was having tea with his Uncle Algie, shyly going over his letters, when the elderly man stood, grabbed Neville by his ankles, and held him out a window three stories high. Algie shook Neville hard, and while afraid, Neville did nothing. What could he do? This wasn't even the worst thing his uncle had done, and Neville firmly believed that this wouldn't stop. His uncle would bring him back inside soon enough, and the day would continue.
With regards to magic, it should be noted that magic itself, in its accidental, wild state, is a combination of emotion and will, often centered around the overreactions that children are prone to partake in. Neville's first case of magic occurred mere moments after he was born, the shock of cold from the hospital room in St. Mungo's made his magic adjust the blankets surrounding him more snugly, trying to regain the warmth that his mother's womb had provided only a few seconds prior. All other cases of accidental magic surrounding Neville's upbringing were similarly small and were mainly brought about in an attempt to get away from his family or to heal the more physical proofs of their affections.
In this case, due to his belief that Algernon would not stop and that there was nothing to worry about, his magic did not react.
So, when Neville's great-uncle became distracted upon his wheelchair bound wife offering the pair some meringue's, he accidentally dropped the boy. Neville fell and his magic did not respond, leading to a set of broken bones and a short fainting session.
Neville awoke in a cot, his body in pain. His Uncle Algie was looking on, sorry and mad all the same. The lack of accidental magic in this case proved to be the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. And so, after Neville healed, his belongings were gathered and he was brought to the Leaky Cauldron, to go on a trip into muggle London with his great-uncle.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
Dorothy Clawke, a newly retired woman of sixty-two, had been enjoying a simple afternoon out in London. There was a pleasant chill in the city air, and it was good to enjoy the day. Heavens knew that these pleasant days were going to be plenty colder soon enough, and it behooved her to take the time to enjoy this weather while she could.
Sat at an ice cream parlor, for it was still warm enough out to warrant a cone, Dorothy hummed in content. She was people watching, happily taking the occasional bite from her cone of double-mint fudge. There were so many people out! A group of teenagers were leaning on a parked lorry, sharing a fag. There was a smattering of women huddled around the table next to Dorothy, going on and on about some celebrity of another. There was even a small class of children, taking a field day through the streets.
And most curious was a pair of boys; well, a boy and a man. The man was an elderly sort, with a balding head of hair and a heavy-set body, while the boy was slightly chunky, with a mop of sandy hair and a worried lip, a trunk rolling behind him.
The older man approached her, holding a thin stick just shy of being the length of his forearm, and with a muttered word and a flash of light from the stick Dorothy-
She…
Who- Ho-
Dorothy groaned, a migraine thumping against her skull. Possibly brain freeze. W-huh? What in- What was her Neville doing with that man? He knew better than to walk away with strangers! Why was he so forgetful?
Her double-mint fudge forgotten, she swept out of her seat and grabbed the boy by his shoulder, glaring at the old man as she led the boy away. Time to head back home.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
It took time for Neville to adjust to his new, muggle life. Time that didn't bother waiting for him.
Indeed, the moment Neville was brought into the home of Dorothy Clawke, she went on a tirade about conduct and spent the next week drilling him on the do's and don'ts of the world. Neville quickly found that he liked the older woman, she was blunt but kind, and unlike his family, she waited for him to understand before moving on to another subject.
His family was a topic of disappointment. His Uncle Algie said he just didn't have magic, and a squib couldn't be a Longbottom. So, Neville was forced into a vow under the veiled threat of death, the wording of which stated he would no longer claim to be a Longbottom, so as to preserve the reputation of the house. He was now Neville Clawke, pronounced clock-ay, adopted ward of Dorothy Clawke, and he'd been living with the woman for the past few months. In truth, Neville's great-uncle just planted a smattering of false memories into the woman's mind and had her muck up the difference.
He had been tentatively hopeful about his new lot in life at first. Dorothy was a nice, patient woman, as stated before. She had a tendency to keep to herself, something Neville could appreciate. Her quiet contemplations were more in line with his own introverted attitude. However, she was not the only person he had to deal with. He was to be shipped off to school, to get a start on a muggle education. He hoped they would be good to him, like Dorothy had been so far.
That hope barely lasted the course of a few days.
Children were oftentimes incredibly selfish, judgmental creatures, not possessing much in the form of empathy and were prone to cruelty when faced with something they felt they were better than. Neville's education up until this point had primarily been in the study of magical knowledge, along with the details on how to use a quill properly and how to write his letters. His family had been more concerned with his not showing magic yet than they were with his education.
He did not know common information that on the history of England, nor did he know anything involving maths or sciences. His literacy, while tolerable, was not at the level of his fellow students. He was not physically active and did not often speak up due to his introversion.
In the minds of the children, Neville was dimwitted, fat, and a dullard. This, sadly, led Neville to experience a new sort of trouble: bullying.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
"Get him!" A boy hollered, the thumping of his friends following from behind.
Neville ran through the hall, teary eyed as the boys took chase, their jeers causing the other people in the hall to laugh. He just didn't understand! Why did they always target him? He did nothing to them!
The other students, his classmates, were in on the taunting and were blocking him from hiding in the open rooms. The obstacles they were creating made Neville, who was already slow due to his unathletic nature, even slower. Already, he could see the boys nearing, only a scant ten meters away.
Fear welled in him, and with little other choice, Neville hid in the only room his fellows didn't block: the janitor's closet. It was a smelly room, with mops and chemicals abound, poorly lit by just a single bulb atop the high ceiling. A mirror was sat against the one of the side walls, a replacement for one of the Year 4 washroom mirrors that had broken the other day. Neville curled into a ball against the opposite wall and wished they would leave him alone.
"He's in here!" That same boy from before said, just outside the door.
Go away go away go away goawayawayawayawayaway!
Alas, his plea was not to be. The door opened, and Neville close his eyes, panic filling him.
"Wha- where'd he go?" Questioned the boy. His mates voiced their own confusion, before they decided to just leave, grumbling about how unfair the world was.
When they closed the door and left, Neville waited a minute or so before breathing out in relief, slumping against a shelf. He opened his eyes, and gasped. Looking directly at the mirror, what should have been the pitiful sight of a boy hunched in a closet, was nothing. He craned his neck downward, and saw that there was nothing as well, like he was gone, but he knew he was there! It wasn't possible for him to not be!
Experimentally, Neville crawled over to the mirror, which still only showed the wall behind him. He breathed hotly onto the glass, and watched, transfixed, as the reflective surface fogged. Trembling, Neville touched the fogged surface and drew a smiley face.
He wasn't gone. He was physical.
He was invisible.
Neville-… He had magic. He was a wizard.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
Things began to change for the better after this event.
With the realization that he had magic, that he was not a squib, Neville's confidence slowly but steadily rose. His lack of magic had been the original reason for his introverted and closed off nature, and now that he knew for a fact that he was a wizard, this behavior began to quickly fix itself. Schoolwork became easier, and the boys that bullied him lost much of their traction when he started to hit back.
Neville kept to his seclusion though, quite cognizant of the fact that his schoolmates treated him so terribly. His past interactions with his family and the children his own age fostered a prickly sort of cynicism in the young wizard that was more a survival instinct than an act of lashing out. While willing to talk shortly with those of his age, he remained closed off as a whole.
Somehow, life had never been this calm for Neville. His already low expectations had him latch onto this, knowing that it was the best he'd ever had it and didn't want things to go back to the way they were.
However, his forays into bringing forth his magic were random at best. Sometimes it would happen when he willed it, sometimes it would occur without any sort of prompting. More often than not, nothing would occur, as was the normality that Neville understood throughout the majority of his life.
But this did not deter him. If anything, this made Neville work even harder towards manifesting his wizardry, studying whatever notable sources regarding magic he could find in public libraries. This, naturally speaking, brought Neville towards the rows of the fiction section and the realms of fantasy. In the confines of these books and stories, Neville found inspiration.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
TO: Neville Longbottom
Neville's bedroom
16 Prince George Road
Stoke Newington, London
Albus Dumbledore did not bother to hide his confusion. London was not anywhere close to Longbottom Manner, situated in the more forested area of Wales. What was Neville Longbottom doing in an affluent area in London? How did the boy even get there?
Curiosity had brought him to this point. This was the year that the Boy-Who-Lived would come to Hogwarts, and so Albus personally went through the student letters to make sure all was well with young Harry. While Harry's letter was indeed addressed to Privet Drive, Neville's was not addressed to where it was meant to be.
Neville had been a possible subject to the prophecy and thus had the natural potential to be involved in the greater game of things. This bore investigation. Perhaps even an extended period of pondering. Sending a simple letter just would not do, a professor would have to visit personally.
But who?
Hagrid was not an option. The half-giant was in the process of preparing to pick up young Harry from his aunts' home and did not have the subtlety to question young Neville appropriately besides.
Filius and Pomona, while certainly able to introduce magic to newer generations, would not be able to navigate muggle London. Neither would a large part of the remaining staff for that matter. Certainly, they would be able to find the house in question, but they would be too conspicuous, too obvious.
That essentially left himself, Minerva, and Severus. The Headmaster could not introduce students due to the blatant shows of interest and favoritism this would represent, and Minerva was bogged down with the last-minute preparations for the school's opening.
…Severus was not going to be pleased with him. Doubtless, once the Potions Master returned, there would be choice words to be had. But he would do as Albus bade, no matter how much he sneered.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
"Are you on the mari-jew-ana, sir?" Dorothy asked, her eyes narrowed as she waved the Hogwarts letter envelope back and forth.
Severus Snape had to implement his occlumency in order to keep his face set in neutrality.
Just as Albus assumed, he did indeed wish to sneer.
The Potions Master was not often sent out to deliver Hogwarts letters, his dour continence rarely inspiring trust with muggle parents. Those few occurrences in which he had to play delivery boy were oftentimes for a pureblood prospective whose family wished to offer the "full Hogwarts start." Tripe, that's was what it was. Severus Snape did not need to deliver Hogwarts letters, leave that to the owls.
The muggle woman before him obviously did not believe anything he had to say. Too old, too set in her ways. She had been courteous enough to allow him inside her sitting room, but it was clear that that was all she meant to do.
Apparently, she was Longbottom's foster parent, having looked him over for the past three years. Severus could have looked further into the situation, but why bother? She was just a muggle, certainly not who he was here for.
"I am not on drugs," he replied tightly. "Mr. Longbottom has been accepted to attend Hogwarts."
She scoffed. "Hogwarts? What kind of backwards school would be named that? Could just be called Pigzits at that point. And he's no Longbottom, he's a Clawke!"
"Clawke, Longbottom, it doesn't matter. He has magic, so he was invited." He did not make note of her derision for the school name. Hogwarts was a stupid name.
She looked skeptical. Typical.
Fed up with this back and forth, Severus gave a clearer demonstration. The envelope in her hand was transfigured into a snake. When the woman shrieked and made to drop the snake, the Potions Master kept it afloat.
Dorothy stared in shock at the levitating serpent.
"I-…" She looked at him, then the snake, then the Longbottom boy. She stood and left the room without another word without another word to be said.
The room was quiet, as Severus preferred. Longbottom had been staring at his letter for the whole of this meeting, reading it repeatedly.
"Well?" Severus asked, causing the boy to look up for the first time, worried hazel meeting cold black. "Are you going to accept or not? I don't have all day."
"But, sir." The brat murmured. "I need her permission."
"You don't." Severus idly vanished the snake as he spoke. "All that matters is that you wish to attend Hogwarts. Yes or no?"
"Er, then yes."
Severus nodded. Finally, he could return to his lab. "Then I shall see you at the start of the term."
He made to leave, but the boy, flabby though he looked, proved to be quick when he wished to be and sprinted in front of the door.
"What about my supplies? I don't know how to get to Diagon Alley, I don't even have any money!"
Occlumency, a true blessing of a skill to have learned.
"I'm sure you can figure that out yourself," Severus offered. "Perhaps getting back in touch with your actual family?"
Longbottom shook his head. "I can't. My Uncle made me swear not to bother them anymore. They thought I was a squib."
And if the boy had turned out to be a squib, then he got off lightly all things considered. But, and Severus had to let out an annoyed breath at this admission, Longbottom was not a squib. His letter would not have arrived if this was the case. And as a Hogwarts professor, Severus was obligated to give students tours of Diagon should they ask for it.
What a nuisance. "Fine. I will return here in three days to escort you through Diagon Alley at noon. Do not be late."
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
"The Longbottoms abandoned him to the muggle world?" Dumbledore asked in disbelief.
Severus shrugged, offering no further commentary. He'd merely extracted his memory of the conversation for the Headmaster to peruse by way of Pensieve.
Albus sighed, feeling somber and bitter. Why would the Longbottom's not talk to him about this? He knew that Neville wasn't a squib, he'd seen the boy use accidental magic when adding to the wards of Alice's family cottage over a decade ago.
Alice had been distracted by his random appearance and magic at work, and the bottle of milk she'd prepared for Neville had gone lukewarm. Neville, wanting warm milk, turned the milk warm. A simple, subtle bout of accidental magic that few would have noticed. Albus Dumbledore was one of these few.
Mildly put, this was a mess to be seen. Should the Longbottoms discover Neville's wizardry, they might take him back. While a good thing on paper, such an action was likely to rile the boy something horrible, possibly bringing him down the wrong path. Similarly, should they ignore him or more publicly cast him out after his reveal, an even worse path could be made available as a result. The Dark was a dangerous enemy, easy to take hold of the young and impressionable in fits of rage and betrayal.
Albus was no seer, he did not know what might happen. The future was a malleable, ever changing phenomenon that he did not have the gift of reading.
But it behooved him to lessen any damages that might occur.
Waving his wand, the list of names with which the school charter recognized shifted. Neville Longbottom, pureblood scion of the noble House Longbottom, became Neville Clawke, halfblood orphan raised by his muggle grandmother. With this, unless young Neville told people who he was born as, nobody would know. In time, when he was older and more mature, Neville could seek out his family and ask his questions. Until then, this would have to do.
"Severus, when you take young Neville to Diagon Alley, have Gringotts forge him a trust key to Vault 143." To further this request, Albus penned a letter for him to deliver to the bank.
The Potions Master raised a brow, the most surprise he would allow his face to show, and took the parchment. "Your own vault?"
"One of the vaults that was gifted to me after I defeated Grindelwald." Dumbledore corrected. Albus had more of these bunker vaults to spare, and hadn't actually used the Dumbledore vault in decades, giving the key and lordship that went with it to his younger brother instead. "The less Neville asks about the Longbottoms right now, the better. I'd rather he have access to a vault of his own than inquire about their vault."
That, and Albus felt guilty. Not only did he feel responsible for the attack on his parents, he also could have told the Longbottoms about the boy being a wizard. Harry at least had the Invisibility Cloak, and Albus had filled the Potter vault to its brim over the years. Neville had nothing. This money mattered little to Albus, and to keep the boy secure and content, he would part with it happily.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
Professor Snape showed up three days later, just as he said he would. Neville had barely been able to reign in his excitement in the waiting days. Only the knowledge that it was indeed going to happen and that Dorothy would have a fit kept him at bay.
She did not approve of magic. Having been raised in a religious household for most of her adolescent life, her deceased husband of eighteen years having been a pastor as well, Dorothy Clarke found magic to be improper. Her already more reserved nature turned almost ignoring towards Neville, something that while he found disconcerting, he also was able to shrug off. Better to be ignored than drowned or dropped. Uncle Algie taught him that lesson well. At least she didn't try and say he couldn't go to Hogwarts, that would have been an argument Neville did not want to be a part of.
Professor Snape began the day by showing Neville how to summon the Knight Bus. While the Potions Master was able to stick his feet to the floor, the crazy movements the bus made had Neville hurling into a pre-prepared bucket courtesy of the driver.
"This is the entrance to Diagon Alley?" Neville wheezed, still reeling from his loss of breakfast.
Professor Snape nodded curtly, dourly entering the Leaky Cauldron, Neville hot on his tail.
They passed through the wizarding pub without incident, save for a stuttered greeting towards the Potions Master from Tom, the bar owner. Professor Snape dipped his head in return, and promptly ignored any form of interaction as he entered Diagon Alley proper.
Neville looked on at the Alley in fond remembrance. Aunt Enid had taken him here when he was seven to keep away from his gran while she was having a fit; they'd split a sundae from the Florean Fortescue's shop. Only now, after having experienced the muggle world, did Neville understand how old this place really was. Its cobblestone road was too narrow to be modern and the variety of similarly small buildings selling all manner of strange things was more akin to a bazaar than anything.
"Come," Snape said sternly, his pace quickening. "Our first stop is Gringotts, then we gather your supplies and leave. I don't have time to waste."
Neville followed along, squinting his eyes as the midday sun reflected off the white, multi-story building at the end of the Alley. There was an inscription on the front doors, one that Neville could only read the first line of what with the pace Professor Snape was setting.
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Imagery took hold, the thought of what to take heed of being prevalent. To be on the safe side, Neville picked up his own pace, passing burnished bronze doors and goblin guards in uniforms of scarlet and gold. The marble hall Neville entered was vast, long counters stretching along its length with numerous doors leading off to vault passageways, hundreds of goblins sitting at them.
Professor Snape stood in front of one of the many teller stations, grabbing a roll of parchment and a silver key from his pocket for the goblin to look over. "The boy is to have this as a trust," he explained. "Bind him to it."
The goblin scrutinized both the items in question and Neville himself, offering an awkward silence that had Neville shuffling in place. The Potions Master none-so-gently pushed him towards the goblin, holding Neville's wrist out. The goblin quickly nicked at the proffered hand with the pointed tip of his quill and wrote along the sides of the key with blood.
"Ow!" Neville hissed, snatching his hand back to his chest. "Why'd you do that?"
"If this is to be your trust it needs your blood," the goblin blandly stated. The blood written on the key lit up and then seemed to sink into the silver metal. "There, you now have access to Vault 143."
Neville didn't think he liked Professor Snape.
So far, he didn't like goblins much either.
Blighters.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
The ride through the caves of Gringotts was quite similar to the Knight Bus, if a tad more manageable. Vault 143 was nearer to the surface, so Neville didn't need to suffer the goblin cart for long.
The vault in question had a sizeable amount of gold to be seen, hundreds of galleons and sickles and knuts littering the stone floors, gemstones and dusty brooms and other magical knickknacks abound. The goblin that manned the cart they rode upon, Rokmund, said that he could take up to fifty galleons at a time, along with two items of choice, four times a year.
Neville counted up the gold and looked through the knickknacks. He took only one item, a ratty little bag that was really made of mokeskin, a material that could hold more than it let on, and dumped his newfound treasure inside its cloth.
They exited Gringotts then and made way to the other stores. Professor Snape was quick, just as he said he would be, and before Neville could really comprehend it, he already had his trunk and robes and everything else he would need for the year, save for his books and wand and potions supplies.
Professor Snape brought him to the apothecary first, pointing out the supplies the school told him to buy and even offering his own recommendations, quite different from his more taciturn behavior. Oh, sure, his offer of information was biting and laced with a harsh tone, but Neville took what he could get and bought the extra items the Potions Master spoke of.
Next was the book shop, where little occurred. Neville gathered the books for the year and Professor Snape dropped an extra book regarding potions ingredients in his stack. Aside from these texts, Neville also added a book on wizarding law to his purchase, as well as a pair of books regarding the mind. He firmly remembered the way his uncle boggled Dorothy's mind, and wanted to know if that was legal and whether or not there was a way to prevent, protect or revert such magics.
Then he bought some books on herbology, because why not?
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
Though Neville was interested in a pet, Professor Snape was not. The man was not willing to wait around for a boy to pick out an animal, and made his opinion known. Maybe some other day.
The last stop for the day was Ollivander's, the wand shop. Neville couldn't quite determine what it was, but he felt a change in the air upon entering the shop, like static.
"Good afternoon," came a soft greeting from Neville's left, causing the boy to startle.
"He-ello," Neville stuttered, mentally cursing himself. He hated his stutter, having worked hard to mask it over these past three years. The only time Neville regained his stutter was when startled, bringing his body back to when his family would try to scare the magic out of him.
"Interesting. I haven't heard tale of you in a time, Neville Longbottom." The man continued, heedless of the discomfort he'd caused.
"Hurry it up, Ollivander." Snape grunted, walking past the pair to sit on a stool.
"Severus," the now named Ollivander hummed. "Severus Snape. Oak and dragon heartstring, ten and a quarter inches, good for defensive work and delicate casting. You were a quick customer, taking only two tries."
"I am aware," the Professor stated, almost sighing. "You remind me of this every time I come in your blasted shop."
Neville had to suppress a smile at the resigned note in the potion's professors voice.
"Hrm. Well then Mr. Longbottom, let us find your wand." Ollivander said, handing a wand over. "Maple and unicorn hair, eleven inches, fairly brittle. Give it a wave."
Neville took the wand, feeling his skin tingle when it came into contact with the wood. He gave it a wave as instructed, feeling a tad foolish when nothing happening save for a small spark that dribbled down from wands tip.
"No, no. Not that…" Ollivander muttered, snatching the wand back. He dug through a shelve and grabbed another wand, offering it to Neville. This time, nothing at all occurred.
This routine continued again and again, the impatient Professor Snape growing progressively more annoyed with each failed match. After a total of twenty-six wands were tried, Neville finally found his wand. Upon waving it, a mass of lime green sparks were released with every movement, causing Ollivander to clap joyously.
"Indeed, well done! Cherry and unicorn tail hair, thirteen inches, quite springy. The wand of a healer, I would say."
Healer? Neville hadn't given much thought to his future prospects, thinking he was more likely to just travel the continent and catalogue magical plants or some such. He'd certainly not put any thought into being a healer.
But then he thought back to his old bullies, his uncle and his catatonic parents. Perhaps being a healer wasn't such a bad thought.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
The weeks leading up to Hogwarts were awkward, to say the least. Dorothy offered little in the form of communication, calls for chores to be completed and notices that supper was ready being the most she interacted with Neville.
Neville was disappointed but not surprised. At this point, he knew Dorothy's reactions quite well.
Still, at least he was able to keep himself busy by way of his new books. Firstly, he looked at his script on wizarding law, and found the section regarding underage magic. Having been initially raised in the wizarding world, Neville acknowledged how important it was to understand these laws in full, especially with the possibility of mind tamperings. A wizard could practice with their wand when newly bought, at Hogwarts, and then anywhere when an adult, so long as the statute was maintained.
With this knowledge, Neville began to read through his text books, intent on making use of the time he had with self-study. Focusing on understanding his wand, while also trying not to use it too often.
Neville knew he was a wizard, having controlled small bursts of magic to a reasonable degree over the past year. With his wand, magic was certainly easier, but wizards seemed to think that almost all forms of magic were impossible without it, based on what he'd read. The laws regarding magic only dealt with wands.
That did not make sense. From his many failures and progressively more frequent successes, magic had to be inside the witch or wizard, else a wand would be able to be used by muggles. Dorothy snatching his wand from him and waving it about had told him that this was not to be.
From that, Neville determined wands were foci. Genuinely useful, but not necessary when powerful enough.
And he had every intention of being powerful.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
"Hello, do you mind if I share your compartment?"
Neville blinked, taking in the girl who popped her head into his compartment. She had a tangled mess of bushy brown hair and unusually large teeth, but she seemed nice enough. Neville did not actually want company, wary of people as he was, but he also wasn't willing to make an issue of it. If the book in her hand was any indication, she'd be quiet. Perfect, he'd be able to read his own book in peace then.
Wordlessly, Neville nodded to her. She smiled widely, glaringly white teeth on display, and marched inside with an authority few their age possessed. She brought her trolley inside, and Neville kindly helped her put her belongings in the overhead.
"Thank you, are you a first year as well?" She asked, taking a seat in front of him.
"Mhmm," Neville nodded, allowing the conversation. For now.
She scrutinized him with her wide brown eyes, and then broke out into a broad grin.
"Me too! Oh, but I can't wait to start the term! Magic! Can you believe it? I was ever so surprised to learn that I was a witch, though it did meet neatly with some of the things that'd happened when I was younger. I'm a muggleborn, you see. There's just so much to see and do and learn! Professor McGonagall said that the library at Hogwarts was the best in the whole of the wizarding world, so of course I-"
Neville didn't mean for his mind to drift, but her excited babbling had taken an even quicker pace and he couldn't keep up. A minute passed, and she still didn't stop talking, waving her arms about animatedly. Lost, that was what Neville was.
She seemed to have realized that he was lost by the three minute mark, her cheeks flushing pink as an indicator. "I'm sorry, I just get excited and-…"
"Yeah, I get it." And really, Neville did. Nobody was more excited than him when he realized he was a wizard.
The girl nodded brusquely. "Right. My name's Hermione Granger."
"Neville Long-…Clawke." Right. He'd almost forgotten that Professor Snape said he'd be introduced as a Clawke instead of a Longbottom. His Hogwarts letter had been originally addressed to Neville Longbottom, so his stumble felt reasonable. Better that it happen on the train than in the classroom.
"Longclawke." Hermione tested, nodding. "Nice to meet you!"
"Er-, no. It's just Clawke. And good to meet you too, Hermione."
"Slip of the tongue?"
"Something like that, yeah."
She nodded once more, bushy hair shuffling. "Neville then. If you don't mind me asking, what book are you reading? I've memorized all the required books for the year but didn't see that one on the list."
Memorized? Neville had a month with all his books and he'd barely gotten past their third chapters. Though, to be fair, Neville was more inclined towards the books he'd purchased that weren't related to school. Still, memorized? That was impressive. "Law of the Land. It's a primer on a bunch of wizarding laws."
"Ooh! That sounds interesting." Hermione enthused. "If I knew it existed I would have bought it myself, but I didn't and spent most of my allowance on extra books that the store clerk recommended for the year." She hugged the book that had been in her lap to her chest. "That's where I found this one! It's my favorite, Hogwarts: A History. Would you like to trade for the ride?"
Slowly, Neville nodded. That seemed interesting enough, and he'd already read his own book through twice at this point. Something new could be fun.
He took the book from her and she from him, and the train chose that moment to take off.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
"Clarke, Neville!" Professor McGonagall announced, her voice echoing across the Great Hall, a myriad of students ranging from the ages of twelve to eighteen looking on in interest from their seats at the four long tables denoting their houses.
He walked towards the professor, trying to keep any nervousness at bay. It wasn't easy, especially with this many people looking on, but he was able to without much issue.
Sitting on the stool, the Deputy Headmistress placed the hat in her hands, a talking hat that had just placed Millicent Bulstrode into Slytherin.
Curious, the voice of the hat murmured in his mind, catching Neville off guard. Decent smarts, willing to hunker down on a book when motivated, but you don't have much interest in academics, do you?
Neville didn't really know what to say to that. Or think, for that matter. His grades were decidedly average, but his muggle schooling never really held his attention. What did hold his attention was his magic, which was why he'd spent so much time reading over the month of August.
He supposed that wasn't an unusual mindset.
Yes, I see. Said the hat. You have a thirst for magic, but that does not necessitate a thirst for knowledge. Poor choice for Ravenclaw. Ah, but there's quite a bit of ambition to work with. Power indeed. Slytherin would suit you.
Neville didn't really want to go into Slytherin though. Kicked out of Longbottom Manor though he was, he still knew his history and knew that You-Know-Who was a Slytherin, as were most of his followers. A lot of them had kids and family members now, most probably wearing ties of green and silver.
Not Slytherin, mm? Shame. You would have done well there. Still, you've a strong work ethic and are certainly brave when push comes to shove. Hufflepuff or Gryffindor would suit you just as well as Slytherin would have.
"So put me in one of those houses." Neville whispered.
I sort based on merit, and you have merit for both. Convince me.
Neville withheld a sigh and fixed his face, pondering. He genuinely did not care which house he ended up in, so long as it wasn't Slytherin for safety reasons. He just wanted to learn magic.
The thought of magic had Neville thinking of his wand, a wand for healers, Ollivander said. That thought then brought him towards his parents, and his imagination took over.
There'd been much in the form of curiosity regarding them. Had they not been confined to St. Mungo's, had they been strong and conscious, Neville wondered what they would be like. Would they be harsh like Algernon Longbottom? Despairing like his grandmother? Aloof like Dorothy? Was it possible that they would actually love him? Neville didn't know, but he thought it'd be nice to find out.
Ah… That alone tells me much. The hat stated, mentally. Hufflepuff would certainly suit you well, making friends and gaining loyalties would go a long way to settling your anxiousness. But your demons need be addressed more than your curiosities need be settled, and that takes bravery. Bravery you'll need in the years to come, I suspect. "GRYFFINDOR!"
Neville hopped over to the clapping table of red and gold, Professor McGonagall calling up a Corner Michael after he sat down next to Lavender Brown, a few older students thumping him on the back in praise. Neville didn't really get why his being told where to sit by a hat was praiseworthy, but the positive attention did turn his cheeks pink.
The rest of the sorting went on without a hitch, Hermione sitting next to him in her newly magically altered Gryffindor robes. The most interesting thing to occur was Harry Potters placement, his joining Gryffindor had the much of the table shouting and cheering, a standing ovation. Neville and Hermione were not a part of the standing, though they did clap for and congratulate the bespectacled boy.
When the last few sortings passed, Dumbledore stood up to speak.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
After the feast ended and Headmaster Dumbledore made some announcements, including rules to pay attention to and the ever-so-kind warning to not go to the right-hand side of the third corridor to everyone unless they wanted to die painfully, he dismissed the feast. Students left the hall and the first years were to leave last, where they would follow a pair of fifth year prefects towards the Gryffindor dorms.
The tour was quick. Percy Weasley, the ginger prefect in charge of the boys, had things to do, and the first year group were all tuckered out anyways. He brought them to the portrait of the fat lady, told them the password for the week (Caput Draconis) and shunted them inside. The Gryffindor Common Room was a cozy little place, with squashy armchairs all around and couches of red and gold circling a brazier with a roaring fire, though there was no smoke.
The boy's dorm, while comfortable, was not as decorative as the common room had been. It was a simple, circular room, dark stone walls all around, another brazier at the rooms center, though there was no fire currently. Five four-poster beds with desks to their left were the most prevalent things to be seen. Trunks were in front of these beds, Neville's a straight-a-way from the entrance, with Dean Thomas on his left, next to the washroom, and Ron Weasley, Percy's brother, on his right, next to the only window in the room. Seamus Finnigan was to Dean's own left, while Harry Potter was to Ron's right.
Neville needed no further instruction. He shimmied out of his robe, put on his sleeping clothes, and collapsed onto his very comfortable bed face down, genuinely exhausted. He'd over eaten by a large margin and his body had been fighting him for the whole of the trip to Gryffindor Tower.
Exhaling into his pillow, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
Neville was apparently more exhausted than he'd known. That, or the beds were really that comfortable. Both, more than likely.
He'd had to be roused by Percy along with Dean Thomas, who'd been so excited to be at Hogwarts that he didn't fall asleep until the start of dawn. They didn't even have the time to go to the Great Hall and grab breakfast, having to settle for a boiled egg a third year girl had kindly saved for stragglers.
From there, they went to their classes, the school year starting out in much the same way as a muggle one would, though with more interesting subjects.
Charms was a fun but slow class, the Gryffindors paired off with Ravenclaw. The tiny Professor Flitwick started it off with a small roll call, falling at Harry's name. Once he righted himself and finished the roll, he began a showcasing of how useful charms could be. Sadly, there would be no practicing of the magic until October, the month of September being dedicated towards magical theory and wandwork.
Herbology was quite fun for Neville. Professor Sprout was a very bubbly woman and had the combination of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor first years getting their hands dirty within the first fifteen minutes. While the lesson she taught was one Neville knew already, primarily focused on personal safety and proper plant handling, Neville felt that this class was going to be among his favorites.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was strange. Professor Quirrell had a hard time using his words and it was a half period besides. Neville didn't know how to feel about the class yet.
History of Magic was quickly designated as either a free period or a time to do something else, Dean taking it as an opportunity to catch up on the sleep he missed for example, much to Hermione's detriment. Professor Binns, the ghostly teacher, was literally quoting the book verbatim, making the class virtually redundant.
Astronomy was, to put it mildly, strange. Neville had never looked to the stars before, not being one to stay up late. A few of his stories involved them, but they were a magic beyond him, one that he hadn't been willing to attempt to delve into. But even with his limited knowledge of space Neville could tell that the tools required for Astronomy class were outdated by at least a century when compared to what muggles could do.
Transfiguration was currently in progress, the class having began when Ron and Harry entered late, Professor McGonagall sat on her desk as a cat. She was an animagus, a rare bit of magic that Neville had only heard whispers of.
The first lesson involved transfiguring a match into a needle. Most of the class seemed to struggle greatly, very little happening. Hermione, who was sat next to him, had the strongest showing of them, her match having turned silver, though it wasn't pointed or thin like a needle.
Much like the rest of the class, Neville had little to show. Unlike them, he took a breather and gave his work a proper think.
When performing magic before acquiring his wand, he needed to think out what he wanted to do as precisely as he could. If he wished to magically move something, he needed to know how heavy that something was. If he wanted to turn invisible, he needed to keep aware of what he was hiding from and the area he was hiding in. There were steps to pay attention to, steps Neville realized he still needed to keep aware of.
With that in mind, he changed his method. Instead of just trying to change the match into a needle all at once, relying solely on the spell Professor McGonagall gave them, he instead wanted to change the match bit by bit.
First, he was able to change the shape of the match, turning its spherical red tip pointed. Second, he was able to change the material from wood to metal, and then from metal to silver. Third, he compressed it further, turning the match even skinnier. While not intricate or detailed in any format, taking minutes to accomplish, Neville now had a very basic match.
He even earned five points for Gryffindor.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
The last class for the week was a double period of Potions. Neville was hoping that the class would be calm, having met Professor Snape during his shopping trip and knowing his demeanor. The man was dour and curt, but he seemed to know his subject and he might be a better teacher than he'd let on.
Neville hopes were quick to be dashed
Potions class started off with Professor Snape pairing the students away, separating the Slytherins from the Gryffindors. Neville was partnered with Parvati Patil, an Indian girl he'd not met yet, and the trainwreck began from there.
First, the Potions Master went through the roll, singling out Harry Potter with potions questions. The only question asked that Neville knew the answer to was the one pertaining to the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane. There was no difference. But that was information found in the added herbology book Neville had purchased in Diagon Alley, not the potions text or even the standard herbology text. Why would he ask a question nobody knew the answer to?
Then, the potions began. The class was to go make a simple potion to cure boils, only the lack of direction made what should have been simple into a decidedly difficult assignment. Professor Snape would sweep across the room, watching dried nettles being weighed and snake fangs getting crushed. He had no nice words to say to anybody save for a blonde boy named Malfoy, who he seemed to like.
And lastly, Parvati missed a step. She was antsy and Neville had been doing more work than her on their potion, and she wanted to be more helpful. Alas, her help came in the form of adding porcupine quills to the concoction before taking it off the fire while Neville was adjusting the burner's output.
This had the disastrous effect of turning the metal of Neville's cauldron into a twisted blob, the acidified potion seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. The whole of the class stood on their stools to avoid this, all but Neville who was taken by surprise and was doused all over with the substance.
He was drenched, moaning in pain as angry red boils spread over his arms and legs.
"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, a quick wave of his wand clearing the spilled potion away. Another wave of the wand turned Neville's cauldron back into its proper state.
The professor turned towards Parvati, who looked terrified and ashamed. "Take him to the hospital wing," he spat. As Parvati gathered her and Neville's things and helped him out of the room, the Potions Master took the time to berate Harry Potter even further.
"I'm really sorry Neville," Parvati stuttered after dropping him off in the medical area. "It won't happen again!"
Neville did not have the ability to offer his opinion of her apology, the boils having moved over his tongue, his face swollen like a pumpkin. Madam Pomphrey was dealing with a second year student with a broken femur from a flying lesson, and would be with him soon.
Parvati scampered off back to the Gryffindor dorms, Madam Pomphrey shoved a potion down his throat that tasted like cherry flavored dung, and Neville came to the commonplace conclusion that he hated Severus Snape.
(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)
You ever had a random idea that wouldn't leave you alone? That's how most of my stories come about. This story holds to that same standard.
Let me know how you all like it.