Neville Longbottom
Disclaimer: (Forgot to do this when I re-loaded the story) JK Rowling owns this wonderful world I'm playing in. I only own an Evil Plot Bunny called Bronwen.
I wish Hermione was here. She's so good with helping me remember things. I've got all the books we used when Harry was teaching us in Fifth year, but I can't remember half of what we did then, and I need to.
Madam Pince looked at me funny when I asked her which the table Hermione used for studying was; she told me it was next to the Restricted Section towards the rear of the library. I should have known this was her preferred desk; it's partially hidden, which makes it perfect for all the research she does. I have this silly idea that maybe sitting at her table will make it easier to make things stick in my mind.
I feel bad that I leave Seamus alone all the time in the common room, but I need peace and quiet to help me remember things more easily, and he can't stay quiet for more than five minutes at a go. We had a talk late one night, after the Library had closed, and he told me how worried he was about his parents. I offered to teach him some of the defensive spells I'd actually managed to remember, but he said his Mam wasn't any good at them – he'd tried to teach her some of the spells Harry had taught us, but she couldn't remember them in a pinch.
I nearly told him that Mum and Dad are in St Mungo's, that they don't really know who I am, but I didn't. I've kept it a secret for so long that I can't tell people now.
Sighing, I open another basic Defence Spells book and try to force the jinxes into my memory. As much as I love my parents for trying to protect me from that evil hag Bellatrix, I sometimes curse them for the damage it did to my mind.
But they made a choice, for better or for worse, and I have to live with the consequences.