Disclaimer: Neville and his Gran, Hogwarts and the Remembrall are property of J. K. Rowling, and not me.
A Clouded Mind and Red Mist
Sitting in the infirmary cradling his broken wrist, Neville Longbottom got the distinct feeling he'd forgotten something. This wasn't uncharacteristic of poor Neville, as forgetting things and bumbling out was second nature to him. He didn't have any delusions about himself: he knew he was a walking disaster, and no amount of encouragement could change it.
This is why he dreaded coming to Hogwarts, it was just a new place to make a fool of himself in. He dreaded all the classes he was now taking. He should have stayed home and learned his magic there. It would mean less people to look stupid in front of, the only one's around him being his family, and they knew how much of a klutz he was already.
Unfortunately for Neville, his Gran would never listen to such an idea.
So here he was at Hogwarts, in the infirmary with a broken wrist, all the other kids thinking him a total git for not being able to control a ruddy broom.
...He probably hadn't even forgotten anything. He was just so used to doing so that his subconscious was simply being rightfully cautious.
'Oh well,' he thought. 'My Remembrall can clear that matter right up.' After thoroughly searching through is school robes for it and coming up blank, he suddenly realised what it was that he had forgotten. Groaning, Neville closed his eyes and pictured the Remembrall's mist turning a deep shade of red, trying to inform him that he had forgotten it.
A Clouded Mind and Red Mist
Sitting in the infirmary cradling his broken wrist, Neville Longbottom got the distinct feeling he'd forgotten something. This wasn't uncharacteristic of poor Neville, as forgetting things and bumbling out was second nature to him. He didn't have any delusions about himself: he knew he was a walking disaster, and no amount of encouragement could change it.
This is why he dreaded coming to Hogwarts, it was just a new place to make a fool of himself in. He dreaded all the classes he was now taking. He should have stayed home and learned his magic there. It would mean less people to look stupid in front of, the only one's around him being his family, and they knew how much of a klutz he was already.
Unfortunately for Neville, his Gran would never listen to such an idea.
So here he was at Hogwarts, in the infirmary with a broken wrist, all the other kids thinking him a total git for not being able to control a ruddy broom.
...He probably hadn't even forgotten anything. He was just so used to doing so that his subconscious was simply being rightfully cautious.
'Oh well,' he thought. 'My Remembrall can clear that matter right up.' After thoroughly searching through is school robes for it and coming up blank, he suddenly realised what it was that he had forgotten. Groaning, Neville closed his eyes and pictured the Remembrall's mist turning a deep shade of red, trying to inform him that he had forgotten it.