Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or settings depicted in this story. Everything recognisable belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Author's notes: I have read an enormous amount of Harry Potter fan-fiction in the past year, and there were many memorable stories. I find it incredible to know that there are so many talented fan-fiction writers. I've wanted to write fan-fiction for some time but haven't felt that I have the talent or the imagination. So, I've finally decided to try. This is just a very short first attempt at writing fan-fiction. It's not perfect, nor original, but it's a start. Please, tell me what you think.

Don't bother flaming, especially if you haven't written your own story. It'll just be ignored.

- Veserus

Revenge

Summary: Neville Longbottom dreams about his revenge on Snape.



A round-faced boy, of around 17 years of age, swept graciously along the darkened corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was late at night, well past curfew, the boy knew, but he had a purpose, a plan if you will, and he was determined to see it through. His destination: the dungeons. His purpose: he was going to exact his revenge on the one who made his life miserable for the past six and a half years – Professor Severus Snape.

The boy had been training, waiting patiently for this moment when he would show his most hated professor exactly how much of an idiot boy he was not. No sir, he was certainly not the meek, clumsy, forgetful boy Snape believed him to be. Snape. Just the name made the boys mouth taste bitter, like he'd just taken a bite out of a sour lemon. He'd show him. The boy grinned evilly as he approached the door where he knew his target would be, unsuspecting, on the other side.

The boy opened the heavy oak door; the door which leads to Snape's private laboratory. He silently entered the room, his target still unaware of his presence. The boy stared at his target with revulsion. The time had come.

"Hello, Snape," the boy spat, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Snape turned around. "Longbottom." He sneered. "20 points from Gryffindor and a detention for being out of bed after curfew. Get back to your dormitory, NOW!" Snape gave the boy his most penetrating glare.

The boy laughed. "You can't intimidate me any longer, Snape," he drawled, his voice full of confidence. "You can't threaten me with point deduction and detentions any more. You can't frighten me with your stares. All these years of ridicule, calling me 'idiot boy', just because I wasn't a genius at potions … I'm not taking it any more, Snape. I'm not afraid of you any more. I've come for my revenge!" And with that Neville waved his arm, sending Snape flying backwards. He hit the back wall solidly, glass jars full of potions ingredients fell of the shelves above him, hitting him squarely on the head and smashing, mixing together, causing many contusions and swelling, boils and rashes to appear on Snape's hands and face.

Snape went for his wand, but Neville was too fast. Neville forcefully disarmed Snape with a swift 'Expelliarmus!' and quickly snapped Snape's wand in half. Neville then reached out with his right hand, towards Snape, and started a squeezing motion, as if trying to strangle him. Although Neville was not touching Snape, Snape felt a tightness around his neck. Where did the boy learn wandless magic, Snape thought. Snape started to panic. His eyes bulged. He genuinely felt fear for this boy, who before today he thought was nothing more than a whelp.

Snape started to beg. "Neville," Snape breathed, gasping for air, "I'm … so …sor..ry. Ple ..Please for…for…forgive ….me."

Neville smirked. "I don't think so," he drawled, reached out his left hand, and made a motion with both hands as if to break Snape's neck.

xx------------------------xx

Neville Longbottom woke up with start, sitting straight up in bed. Sweat was pouring over his face, breathing heavily, his dream still fully fresh in his mind. He started to smile, an evil, mocking leer.

xx------------------------xx

Neville slowly crept into the Potions classroom the next day, his dream already faded away from memory. Half an hour into class, Neville once again melted his cauldron.

An irate Potions Master hurriedly wiped away the fallen contents of Neville's cauldron with a flick of his wand. "Idiot boy! Six years taking my class and you are still no more accomplished at the art of potions making than you were on your first day. Detention, tonight!" Snape glared.

"Y-yes, S-Sir," Neville whimpered, shaking.

THE END