Neville was honestly surprised by how fast his first month at Hogwarts flew by. Before he even knew it, September was over and October had rolled around, bringing overcast skies and cold drizzles with it. This cheerlessness was mirrored by the classes too: the exciting introductory lessons were now over and rather tedious lectures took their place.

The work wasn't anything too strenuous, but it was certainly more challenging. McGonagall lectured about the importance of imagination in transfiguration, Flitwick had his class study wand movements and their uses, and the rest of the teachers following similar class structures. Even Snape, horrible man that he was, took a step back and told the class – bit out more than anything – the individual properties and various reactions certain ingredients have regarding other ingredients, temperatures, and cauldron metals.

With his classes leaning more towards the understanding of theory, classwork and homework took a more difficult turn. Luckily, Neville had the best study partner in their year.

Even if she was a little bossy.

"Neville, I found something wrong." Hermione said, pointing to the first draft of his potions assignment. "Mumbulous leaf doesn't melt when touching newt eyes, it liquidates. That's why potions using the leaf have the same consistency as water. Fix it."

"Fine, fine." Neville grumbled, scratching out his mistake with the nib of his quill. This caused the ink to splotch slightly, but that was fine. This was just a draft, he just needed to write it again, something Hermione wouldn't let up on.

They were in the library, situated at a four-chair table on the far side of the Arithmancy section. There were a few more students around, though none were first years like they were. None paid them any mind either, which suited the Gryffindor pair just fine.

Neville could understand why his agemates chose not to spend their free time in the library. Hogwarts was a magic castle ready to be explored; adventures and shenanigans ripe for the taking. Libraries were quiet places with strict rules and watching eyes, this library even more-so. It was hard to compare.

But Neville hadn't had much luck with exploring. He'd tried to do so a few times, twice with Hermione and once with Dean and Seamus, but found moving around in Hogwarts to be tricky. There were exactly one hundred and forty-two stairways to be found; some wide, some narrow, some rickety and some solid – one wouldn't even let Neville by until he asked politely. One staircase that Neville was unfortunate enough to have used had a false step that he fell through. A sixth year Hufflepuff had been passing through and caught him with Arresto Momentum in the nick of time, and Neville had learned his lesson. There was risk in rummaging through Hogwarts, risk that Neville felt he wasn't ready to take yet. Not until he had some more magic under his belt.

Hermione agreed, though her agreement stemmed more from her desire to spend the culmination of her free time in the library. Thus, the pair became the first firsties to make the land of books their haunt.

After finishing their class assignments, they would go over whatever spells held their interest. Four days ago, Neville found a spell that summoned blue sparks. Two days after that, keeping with a theme, Hermione found a charm that summoned bluebell flames, fire that was cool to the touch. It was not Neville's turn to find a spell to play with.

"Alright, I think I've got it." Neville said, showing her his finished paper.

Hermione skimmed it for a minute and then nodded sharply, her hair bouncing heavily. "This should be fine. Well done. Just make sure you rewrite it; Professor Snape doesn't like splotchy parchment."

Pleased, Neville took his paper back. He would rewrite it soon enough, but not now. Now, it was time to learn some new magic.

He pulled out a book called The Charmingly Charmed Book of Charms that he'd check out a few days ago and put it down between them. Flipping to page seventy-three, Neville pointed to the bottom paragraph.

"I found this spell last night before bed. Look here: Alohomora, the unlocking charm. It lets you get into rooms and chests that are locked."

"Interesting!" Hermione exclaimed, snagging the book. She read through the excerpt on the spell, then looked to the next page. "Oh, and look! Intactamora is the counter-charm to Alohomora. It's an anti-unlocking spell. And Collorportus! It's the locking charm."

"We haven't learned much about counter-charms yet," Neville frowned. "Maybe we should worry about it later?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's better to know something and not need it than to not know something when you need it. Look, the wand motions are the same as the unlocking charm. It won't be too bad!"

Neville could have argued. He could have said that sometimes things were better left alone, but he didn't. This was a simple spell and a simple counter-spell, the likelihood that anything bad would happen was beyond low.

Plus, it was magic he didn't know. What was the point in not at least trying to learn it?

Gripping his wand, Neville stood. "Well, we can't practice the spell without a lock. Maybe Madam Pince has a door we can use?"

Hermione beamed.

(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)

Two days later, Neville found a magic he was not particularly fond of, a magic that didn't seem to be fond of him in turn.

Flying class had been a disaster. The broomstick he'd been assigned hadn't listened to him at all, and when he'd mounted it the damned twig went ballistic. Neville had no control, his body shooting through the air like a cork from a bottle of champagne, and he'd fallen hard enough to break his wrist. Hermione held his bag and Madam Hooch had to take him to the hospital wing, where Madam Pomphrey was none-too-happy to see him. Again.

"This is the fourth time you've been in here, Mr. Clawke." She tutted, gently lifting his swollen his arm. "Do you fancy me? Is that it?"

"No!" Neville squeaked, his ears going red. It wasn't his fault! The first time he'd been admitted to the hospital wing had been due to Parvati. The second was from when he went exploring, that sixth year had bodily dragged him here as a precaution. The third time was due to a prank gone wrong by way of the Weasley twins – Neville'd been forced to speak in limericks for over an hour and he'd not enjoyed it.

"Oh?" Pomphrey's eyes narrowed, her wand inching towards his purpling wrist. "Am I not pretty then?"

"No-Yes- Hrrrnng…" What was he supposed to even say in this situation?

Madam Pomphrey barked out a laugh, a laugh that had Neville going even redder in the face. "It's just a joke, lad! Everything is fine, Neville. The occasional accident is expected, especially in the early parts of your first year. Coming to me four times isn't much to be concerned about at all. Mr. Crabbe has already been by seven times, and I fear the number will only increase. You've nothing to worry about, dear."

A white-blue light shimmered from her wand, enveloping his wrist. For a moment, nothing happened, but then Neville felt his wrist snap back into place and experimentally moved it about. It still hurt, but nowhere near as bad as it did before.

"It was a clean break, so I didn't need to remove the bone." Madam Pomphrey said, tucking her wand back into the sleeve of her robe. She grabbed a brown potion from a cabinet drawer and handed it over.

Neville took it, taking a whiff. It didn't smell horrible at least.

"That's a swell reducing draught," Pomphrey explained as he downed the drink. It tasted like pickled onions. "You'll fall asleep, and when you wake up you'll be right as rain. Go ahead and take a cot, we've time enough for you to kip."

"Before I do that, can I ask a question?"

Blinking, the healer nodded.

"Well," Neville fiddled, pulling out his wand. "Ollivander said that this was a healers wand. I just wanted to know if there was a chance I could learn a bit from you."

She quickly shook her head. "While I'm gladdened to hear you've an interest in my work, I don't teach students that haven't reached their fourth year. Most healing magics combine charms and transfigurations that you've yet to learn, some of which are quite dangerous without proper knowledge of theory. Then there's the matter of electives. Healing magic requires a foundation in Arithmancy, and it's smart to have an understanding of magical creatures too. When you become a fourth year, and you've taken those electives, I'd be more than happy to show you a few things. Until then you'll have to wait."

Nodding, Neville made way to an open cot. While disappointed, it wasn't unexpected. Healing magic was difficult enough to learn from what he'd been able to glean from Professor Flitwick, and the likelihood of a first year having access to it was slim indeed. At least he asked.

Getting on the bed, Neville tried to position himself into comfort. This proved easier than normal, and he frowned, reaching towards his waist. The lump of his mokeskin pouch normally strewn to his side was nowhere to be found.

His mokeskin pouch was gone. It must have fallen from his side when his broom went wild.

Neville's eyes went wide. His vault key was in that pouch.

He began to panic and rustle about restlessly, to the point that Madam Pomphrey had quite enough and just magicked the sheets to tie him down, where she fed him another potion that brought him to a quick sleep.

(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)

The combination of the potions Madam Pomphrey gave him had Neville sleeping till just before curfew. Not wanting him to stay the night, she instead wrote him a note to excuse his being in the halls too late.

With that, Neville rushed out. He needed to talk to Hermione. Talk to anybody that knew what happened to his mokeskin pouch, really. What if Draco Malfoy got his slimy little hands on it? That was a scenario Neville frantically hoped to avoid.

Running through the halls of Hogwarts at night was an experience he didn't much like. It was creepy, and some of the ghosts took pleasure in spooking him. Too many ghosts and painting were looking at him, and he liked it none.

So, to feel more secure, and hopefully keep those ghosts away, Neville disillusioned himself. It was one of the few spell he could successfully perform with mindset alone. His early use of it prior to receiving his Hogwarts letter certainly helped with this. Perhaps the next spell to learn at his leisure would be a silencing spell. Being quiet while invisible could go a long way.

But this was not a time of leisure. This was a time of worry. Neville wanted his mokeskin pouch and he wanted it now!

The trip between the hospital wing and Gryffindor tower was short enough, luckily. Only two flights of stairs and half a hall to walk. The Fat Lady was in view, and Neville removed his disillusionment, to her surprise.

"Morpheus," Neville intoned, waiting for the portrait to reveal the door.

Alas, this did not happen.

"The password was changed earlier today, I'm afraid." Said the Fat Lady. "I can't let you in without it."

"But I was in the hospital wing when it was changed!" Neville protested. "I even have a slip from Madam Pomphrey as proof."

"No password, no entry." The portrait intoned, looking solemn. Then she brightened. "But I shan't keep you bored! How about a song, mm?"

"Er, no thank you." He'd heard her sing plenty before. It was something he didn't want to sit through.

She huffed. "No taste in art! Very well, I'll just go regale Sir Henry. He knows his music."

With that, she left her portrait, leaving Neville stranded in front of the common room entrance with nothing to do. A howl of cold wind burst through the hall at that moment, leaving Neville shivering. He curled into a ball and tucked into his robes. With nowhere to go and nothing to do, Neville resigned himself to a night spent in the cold.

However, as hours passed, he came to the aggravating conclusion that he couldn't sleep. His being uncomfortable topped with the rest he'd had in the hospital wing made this so. Neville found little to like about his situation, especially when a chilly drizzle came through, turning the cold halls even colder.

Screw the silencing spell. The next spell Neville intended to learn was going to be the warming charm.

The portrait hole to the Gryffindor common room opened then, an argument happening from the other side. Harry and Ron came out with bathrobes on, Hermione following along in a pink nightgown. They made for an odd sight, especially since he knew Hermione didn't much like Ron and Harry, but Neville hadn't the interest in commenting on it.

"-don't you care about Gryffindor. Do you only care about yourselves?" Hermione ranted. "I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about the Switching Spells."

"Go away," Ron shooed, kicking the portrait.

"No- wait!" Neville shouted, startling them. "Don't close the-" the portrait covered the entrance. "…hole."

Harry cut him off. "Keep your voice down Neville," he said, Ron nodding at his side.

"I've been stuck out here for hours, I don't know the new password." Neville explained, standing. "And now I'm stuck out here with all of you."

"It's Pig snout, but it won't help you now. The Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."

"Which is part of the reason I was stuck," Neville snarked. Harry coughed and Ron shuffled around.

It was awkward, to say the least.

"How's your arm, Neville?" Hermione asked suddenly, intent on draining the tension.

"It's fine," he said, showing her. "Madam Pomphrey healed it up in about a minute. She had me sleep off the swelling, though. That's why I was so late."

Ron coughed into his sleeve. "Good to hear. Well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later-"

"Nope."

Ron blinked. "Huh?"

"Nope. I'd rather go with you than stay out here. The Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

"You'll get in trouble!" Hermione exclaimed, earning shushes from Harry and Ron both.

"Only if we get caught," Neville countered. He held up his pass from the hospital wing. "And I have an excuse at least."

Hermione snatched it, studying the slip carefully, Ron and Harry trailing away while she was distracted. She scowled. "It doesn't count if you go exploring."

"Counts better than you three having nothing though."

Looking ready to tear out her hair, Hermione shoved the note into Neville's chest and stormed after the boys, who did not seem to be happy that she did such. Neville jogged after them, and group of four made their way through the hall.

"What are you doing up anyway?" It was unusual to say the least, seeing them out like this. Ron and Harry got up to their own bits of mischief, but they'd never been out late as far as Neville knew. Hermione had certainly never done so.

"Malfoy challenged Harry to a wizard's duel at dinner." Ron quietly explained. "I volunteered as his second. It's happening at the third floor trophy room, at midnight."

"Why would he challenge Harry to a wizards duel?" Neville asked, perplexed. Those were essentially fights with honor on the line. A wizard or witch that feels they've been wronged in some way will challenge another, and the winner gets to dictate a term, usually a public apology of some sort.

"Malfoy found your pouch from when you fell," Ron disclosed. Neville's eyes widened in horror. Seeing this, Ron quickly continued. "But Harry chased him around on broomstick until the snake threw it. Harry caught it, and McGonagall saw. She made Harry the new Seeker for the Quidditch team, and Malfoy got mad that Harry wasn't in trouble."

Sighing out, Neville patted Harry on the shoulder. "Thanks, mate. That bag is important to me."

Harry smiled, his glasses reflecting a bit of light. "It's fine, Neville. I left it in your desk drawer."

"Brilliant. I owe you."

"If you really want to make it up to me, you could go back to the Fat Lady's frame and take Granger with you."

Neville shook his head, amused by Hermione's silent outrage. "'fraid not. She'd tear my hide."

Harry sighed. "Worth a try."

They moved through the corridors as quietly as the could. Harry looked like he expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris at every turn. They sprinted up the staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Malfoy wasn't there yet, making the large circular room look even larger. Crystal trophy cases glimmered in the moonlight. While Ron and Harry waited in the middle of the room and Hermione kept her eye on them, Neville looked around, curious to see who some of these trophies were for.

He had to stop at the sight of a young Frank Longbottom, casually holding a beaters bat in a Quidditch picture. The year was dated for '75, meaning that his dad was sixteen when the picture was taken.

Neville felt his lungs constrict as he stared at the picture. He forced himself to look away, wiping the wetness from his eye. It didn't do to think to hard on his dad. Frank Longbottom wasn't the only person of note in this picture, James Potter was there as well.

"Harry," Neville whispered, his voice echoing through the room. "I found your dad. The plaque says he was a Chaser for Gryffindor from '74 to '78. Head Boy, too."

Harry rushed over to Neville's side, staring at the picture with a sort of reverence. Neville could sympathize greatly. The pair stared at the picture, thoughts of what was lost firmly entrenched in their mind.

"He's late, maybe he chickened out." Ron whispered, snapping them out of their reverie.

A noise in the next room sounded from the next room, and the quartet startled. The noise turned into a voice, and it wasn't Malfoy's voice.

"Sniff around, my sweet." The voice echoed. "They might be lurking in a corner."

Neville knew that voice, if only in passing. It was Filch.

Harry grabbed Neville by the sleeve, whispering "This way!" loud enough for Hermione and Ron to hear. The group could hear Filch getting nearer. Ron's skin turned a pasty white and he broke into a run, tripping loudly into a suit of armor. It was obvious where they were now.

"RUN!" Harry yelled, throwing caution to the wind. The four sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether or not Filch was on their tail. They swung around a doorpost and ran down one corridor then another with Harry in the lead and likely no idea where he was going. He tripped on his shoelace into a tapestry, only for the painting to shimmer out of existence and make was for a hidden passageway that seemed to lead to the Charms classroom, which should have been impossible since it was on the other side of the school.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leading against a cold wall as he wiped his forehead. Neville was bent doubled over, wheezing and spluttering. He'd not run this much since his last P.E. evaluation.

He was not a fan.

"I told you," Hermione gasped, clutching at her chest. "I. Told. You."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," Ron said, ignoring her. "Quick as possible."

"Malfoy tricked you." Hermione told Harry. "You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to being the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."

Harry scowled at her, jerking his head forward. "Let's go."

Naturally, something worse than Filch came upon them in that moment. They hadn't walked more than a dozen steps before a door to the side opened wide. It was Peeves. By his squeal of delight, the quartet knew they weren't going to like whatever the poltergeist had up his sleeve.

"Shut up, Peeves. Please, you'll get us thrown out," Harry pleaded.

Peeves just cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, ickle firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away. Peeves, please." Harry tried once more.

"Should tell Filch, I should." Peeves said in a saintly voice, his eyes glittering wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," Ron snapped, swiping his wand through the air. Whatever he intended to do, it did not happen. Bubbles burst forth from Ron's wand, causing Peeves to cackle even louder and the ginger to swear.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED, DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Ducking under Peeves, the group ran for their lives, right into the end of the corridor where they slammed into a locked door.

"This is it!" Ron moaned as they pushed and pulled helplessly at the door. "We're done for! This is the end!"

Footsteps were echoing down the hall, Filch was running as fast as he could towards the shouting specter.

"Oh, budge over." Hermione snarled, her hair frizzing with stress. She snatched Harry's wand right out of his hand, tapped the lock, and fiercely whispered: "Alohomora!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open, and they piled through, shutting it not a second later, pressing their backs against its wood.

"Where'd you figure out the unlocking charm?" Neville asked through gasps of air. Madam Pince did not have a lock they could practice with and was less inclined to let them try the spell out in any case.

"Fay had a locket she let me borrow," Hermione answered. "I got Collorportus down too, though I'm struggling with Intactamora."

"We'll figure it out later." Neville promised. She nodded strongly, needing to take her mind away from things.

"Did you hear what they were saying?" Harry asked, his ear pressed against the door. "Filch thinks the door is locked. I think we'll be okay – get off, Ron!" Ron had been tugging on the sleeve of his bathrobe. "What?"

Ron pointed and Harry turned, as did Neville and Hermione. They saw something that should not have been. It was like the world was against them, there was just too much bad happening.

Neville stared straight into the black eyes of the middle head of a monstrously large dog, its left and right heads staring down Ron and Harry respectively. All three heads were drooling. A Cerberus, a class XXX magical creature.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Neville felt the only reason they weren't being attack yet was because their sudden appearance took it by surprise.

Hermione opened the door, Ron and Harry rushed out, and Neville, not wanting to be stuck in here, followed as well. Still holding Harry's wand, Hermione used Collorportus to lock the door back up. The group of four turned to one another, their eyes wide and their throats caught, and it was unanimously decided that now would be a perfect time to return to the Gryffindor dorms. They ran as fast as they could, more than willing to risk the wrath of Filch when compared to the stomach of a Cerberus. Five minutes of nonstop running had them in front of the Fat Lady's portrait on the seventh floor. Luckily, she'd returned to frame.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at the clothes sticking to their skin and their sweat covered faces."

"Never mind that – Pig snout, Pig snout!" Harry urged and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed soon after, trembling into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them spoke, preoccupied catching their breaths and bearings as they were.

"What do you think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" Ron asked. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Hermione shot him a glare. "You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Harry suggested sarcastically. "I wasn't looking at its feet, too busy with the heads."

"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something."

She stood, glaring at them. "I hope you two are pleased with yourselves. We could have all been killed – or worse, expelled."

Involuntarily, Neville broke into snickers. Hermione had a strange set of priorities.

She glared at him, sweeping a cross look to Harry and Ron as well. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed."

Ron stared after her, his mouth open. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you."

"Maybe not, but she's one got thing right at least. Whatever that thing guarding is beyond us." Neville intoned. "Remember what Dumbledore said at the beginning of the year? A painful death? No thanks."

Ron pulled a face, mulling those words. Harry seemed quite interested in whatever was under that trap door.

Neville groaned and made his way to his bed, unwilling to keep the Boy-Who-Lived alive – not when he wants to chase after that kind of crazy. On Harry's head be it.

(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)

Neville was sat on the foot of his bed, eyes narrowed and muscles clenched. His wand was inside the drawer of his dresser, leaving him with only his own power. He gathered it together, pushing the whole of his will into one area and focused it towards a pebble he placed on the wooden frame of his trunk.

The pebble rolled a centimeter at the most.

Neville slumped, feeling annoyed and a little ridiculous. That much build up for this small of a result was certainly not worth celebrating. At least he was alone in the dorm rooms, so nobody was there to watch and laugh.

He'd long ago learned that magic was linked to his emotions. When wanting to be invisible, while it was true he needed to keep in mind who he was hiding from and where he intended to hide, he needed to firmly hold down the mindset of fear for his safety. The stronger the emotion was, the more powerful and the longer lasting the resulting magic was. He'd been practicing with his magic for years and had managed to get some results even when he wasn't feeling incredibly distressed, but it was slow going.

With his wand though…

He took his cherry wand and jabbed it through the air, the pebble darting forward at a more devastating speed, ripping a few strands through the curtains of his bed, bouncing from a wall to Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand, which had Neville wincing. Oh well. The spell wasn't much and would only bruise somebody at best, but Neville figured it was impressive for a firstie that had only been at Hogwarts for two months.

This whole spot of experimentation started due to his study time with Hermione yesterday. She'd found a curious hex that animated clothes, thinking it a fantastic way to show off to her parents of the hols. However, the wand movements seemed ridiculous, involving the casters wand to twirl through their fingers like a fish to water. Neville didn't have that kind of dexterity, nor did Hermione for that matter. But she was determined to get it down, no matter how much Neville said it wasn't worth the time.

It seemed ridiculous, to need all that swishing and flicking. Just because everybody else was doing it didn't mean it was right. When practicing his spells, Neville only had to say the words half the time, and even that was progressively shrinking. Power was neither in the wand motions nor in the words, but in the intent of the caster.

He'd ask Professor Flitwick. They had a double Charms period tomorrow and, Halloween or not, Neville wanted his question answered.

(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)

The object of the Charms class this time around was to make objects fly, something Neville and Hermione had both figured out a while ago. This was the annoying part of being ahead, when there was nothing new to learn.

Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harry was with Seamus, Neville was with Dean, and Hermione was with Ron. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione were angrier about this. She'd not warmed up to the Weasley boy at all, especially not after the debacle in the third floor corridor. Apparently, near-death experiences did not a bond make. At least, not in that case.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

Dean seemed to be having trouble with it. He swished and flicked as best he could, but his feather just stayed on the desktop. He started to get impatient with it and prodded it with his wand, accidentally turning it to ash.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron shouted from across the room, waving his arms like a windmill. That, that right there was why Neville thought the whole swish and flick thing was silly.

"You're saying it wrong," Neville heard Hermione snap. "It's Wing-gar -dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever."

At this point, Neville tuned things out. He held his wand aloft and, instead of flicking and swishing it, waved it about like a conductor in an orchestra. His feather floated, moving around with each motion of his wand. On the other side of the room, Hermione'd brought her own feather into the air.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick. "Everyone, look around. Miss Granger's done it, as has Mr. Clawke!"

"How'd you do that?" Dean asked, frowning.

Neville shrugged, his feather dropping on Deans shoulder. "I didn't really think about the spell much. I wanted the feather to float more than anything. That's the big deal, remember? From McGonagall's class? Imagination. Just keep what you want to do in mind and it should be easier."

Dean scrunched up his nose and used Neville's feather. He swished and flicked his wand and spoke the spell words, and the feather lifted about a foot in the air before falling. His eyes went bright, and he kept playing with his newfound ability.

Class was dismissed twenty minutes later. Five minutes past that and Neville was the only person still in the room. Something the diminutive professor noticed as well.

"Did you need something, Mr. Clawke?"

"Yes sir. I had some questions I was hoping I could ask you. Do you have time to talk?"

The professor hummed, sitting on a book that was orbiting Neville like a moon. "I've a class with the fifth years in thirty minutes. I can spare the time between classes, if that will do?"

"I think it will." Neville might be late for History, but what did Binns care? Or Neville, for that matter.

"Good, follow me then! We'll go to my classroom office."

He floated towards a wall and tapped it methodically with his wand, part of the wall popping out to reveal a room. Neville piled in, looking around curiously. It was a small office, befitting the tiny Charms Master, with a childs desk and a miniature arm chair behind it.

"I'm afraid I don't often invite people inside, so I've no chairs for you to use. The floor will do. The carpet is charmed to be soft like a pillow."

Indeed, the floor was soft. Soft enough that Neville let out a yawn, to Flitwick's amusement.

"Now," he said, having taken the seat at his desk. "What seems to be on your mind?"

"Er," Neville stalled, uncertain how to word this. "I just wanted to know why wand motions are necessary."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Hermione and I are a little ahead." Neville admitted. "I'd already known the spell from today's lesson, same as her. But I practiced a bit more and didn't need seem to need the swish and flick after a while. Same for a few other spells."

Professor Flitwick smiled widely, clapping merrily. "Impressive! Most impressive, Neville. Let me ask you another question, what do you think wand motions are for?"

"Uhm," Neville blinked. "I… though they were to trick people into focusing properly on a spell. Same as incantations."

Flitwick actually laughed, jumping in his seat. "Almost correct! I will admit, the incantations are indeed just a trick to focus the mind of beginners on the effects of a spell, but the wand motions serve a purpose. When you wave your wand, it pulls on your magic in specific ways and shapes it into the spell you desire. One of the concerns involved in the field of Arithmancy is which wand motions are best suited to certain spell effects. For you to have come to that conclusion, I assumed you can cast silently and motionlessly?"

"Not motionlessly." Neville said, surprised that such a thing was possible. Though he had a hunch that his use of the disillusionment spell was closer to being motionless than anything. "I can do some spell silently though. I'm getting better at it."

"Motionless casting is a great deal harder," nodded the professor. "To do so means you can pull your magic in those specific patterns using your mind alone. It requires a much greater focus on the part of the caster."

"I see…" Neville said.

"I must say, I'm mightily impressed with you Mr. Clawke. That you can cast silently at all is rare, and your fledgling steps into motionless casting are astounding to say the least. I don't get asked these questions often, perhaps two or three times a school year, certainly not by a first year."

Neville scratched at his scalp in embarrassment, uncertain on how to take the praise.

"Is there anything you'd like to ask?" Flitwick inquired. "Before I get back to my duties, that is."

"What about wandless casting?" Neville blurted out. His experiments with it weren't to an acceptable level. The pebble from yesterday was proof of such.

"What about it?" Flitwick asked, his eyes sparkling.

"Well, that is to say… How do you make it reliable?" At this point, there was no reason to hide his interests. Professor Flitwick seemed more interested than anything. "Before I had my wand, I was able to control my accidental magic a bit."

"Astounding indeed," the professor murmured. "Well, while it does not require a wand, that is not wandless magic."

"But-"

"No, I understand your confusion. In the wizarding world, the definition for wandless magic does not equate to a witch or wizard that can perform magic without a wand like you might suspect. It actually means a witch or wizard that can perform the spell of a wand without said wand. This means the witch or wizard in question is able to pull their magic in the same way the would need to with a wand, without a wand, and release it by way of their body."

"But- accidental magic-"

"Is just that." Flitwick interrupted. "Accidental. It is not meant to happen. Having control over your accidental magic, while impressive, is not necessarily rare. There is a branch of magic that many magical families try to have their children master called Occlumency: it is the art of shielding your mind. It also has an added affect of letting you control your emotions, and since accidental magic is partly emotional... Masters of Occlumency are able to call upon whatever emotion they wish in an instant, giving them control over their magic to fantastical degrees. Our headmaster is one such person."

Neville had only vaguely known of Occlumency. Not only had the Longbottoms brought it up, he'd also found talk of it in Besmirching the Brain, one of the books he'd bought to learn about mind altering magics. The book hadn't detailed anything specific regarding Occlumency, primarily because it was a primer on wizarding laws and systems involving memory charms. But with this information… Something just didn't sit right with Neville.

"But if you have Occlumency, why would you ever want a wand?"

"Because wands were developed for a reason." Flitwick sighed. "To use wandless magic normally takes a long period. The caster must shape their spell and then release it in such a way that doesn't negatively affect themselves. This takes time. Professor Dumbledore is proficient in many wandless spells, and even he needs about a minute to get things right. When in combat or in an emergency, that time could be the difference between life and death. Wands were made to help the whole of the wizarding world, quickening the process of using magic with minimal downsides. Do you understand?"

"I, I think so." Neville allowed. "But what about before wands? What did the old wizards do?"

"A curious topic," Flitwick hummed. "Truthfully, we don't rightly know. Wands were made commonplace by the Romans, who had a poor habit of dashing the histories and cultures of the peoples they conquered. Before this, we have only conjecture of two ideas. The first is that a wizard would devote the whole of their life towards controlling their accidental magic; with the resources we have today, this seems pointless. The second, which I personally believe in, is that they made pacts with magical creatures."

"Like a familiar?"

"Perhaps," the professor allowed. "Familiars are traditionally subservient to the witch or wizard they are bound to. But back before wands, most wizards couldn't hope to tame magical creatures. That is why I say they made pacts. A contract between man and beast, where man could channel their magic through beast to hold power in exchange for something or other. Sometimes food, sometimes shelter. We don't know. But the few pieces of lore that the Romans missed lead us to this conclusion."

"How would they even do that? Channel their magic through them, I mean."

Professor Flitwick pulled out his wand and twirled it. "The same way we channel our magic through our wands. We believe this is how wands were originally developed. Wizards learned they didn't need the whole of a magical creature, just a part of one. What is your wand core made from?"

"Unicorn hair…" Neville muttered, starting to understand.

"Mine is from a dragon's flamesack. The matter of wandless magic is not that it can't be done, but that the power and precision needed to perform such is leaps and bounds behind wands."

"I think I understand," Neville said, looking thoughtful. "Thank you, this was really helpful. Could I talk to you again if I had any more questions?"

"Certainly!" Flitwick agreed, more than happy to help his newest favorite.

(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)

Because Neville stayed behind to speak to Professor Flitwick, he was not around when Ron tossed a careless and hurtful remark towards Hermione out of frustration. Having decided to skip History of Magic to process the information that the Charms Master had given him, he did not know that she'd run away in tears.

During the feast, Neville, while curious as to the location of his friend, did not ask his year-mates. He simply had a seat saved for her for whenever she came by. Even when she did not stop over, he wasn't worried. Hermione had skipped dinner before due to a book, and he assumed it would not be the last time she did this. More than likely, she was in her dorm room.

He did grow concerned when Professor Quirrell barreled through to announced that there was a troll in the dungeons.

Neville found himself swept up with the Gryffindor crowd and bodily forced to return to Gryffindor tower by their pack mentality. The common room was swelled with the populace of the house, and the prefects did a head count.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were all missing.

Sleep did not come easily that night.

(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)

Neville woke up late the next day, and quickly made his way to the Great Hall for whatever breakfast scraps remained. And it was there, at Gryffindor's long table, that he became confused.

Hermione was there, which helped his mind settle. Harry and Ron were there too. But they were all sat together, eating food and chatting amiably.

This was strange. Just yesterday Hermione hated Ron something fierce, and yet she was now having an honest-to-goodness conversation with him, Harry piping in on the occasion.

Neville became worried once more… for about a minute. Then he shrugged and sat with them, snagging a rasher of bacon from Hermione's plate, earning him an exacerbated side-eye from the bushy-haired girl.

She could talk to whoever she wanted. Neville was her friend, not her minder.

Though he would be mightily cross if Ron and Harry tried to take up their study time.

(o_=[-{+}-]=_o)

Later on in the day, after a double period of Transfiguration and a kip in History of Magic, Neville and Hermione made their way to their special little nook of the Arithmancy section.

Harry and Ron followed.

An assignment that should have taken twenty minutes to complete at a maximum took Neville over two hours due to the constant distractions that were Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Hermione didn't seem to mind, oddly enough. But those two hours were the only free time they had for the day, they had to go to dinner and then Astronomy after this.

Ron and Harry and Hermione laughed all throughout dinner, talking about this and that.

Neville was mightily cross.