Hermione wore the same green robe to Diagon Alley that she had before, taking all her other robes with her to trade with Madame Malkin before Neville arrived for tea. Madame Malkin had rolled her eyes but exchanged them, and Hermione happily paid her the difference and stashed the new robes into her bag.

The weather was pleasant, so Hermione and Neville took tea outside of a small shop on Diagon Alley. Neville was visibly happy to see her.

"I don't get to see my friends much," Neville admitted. "My Grandmother isn't big on having people to the manor. She's very strict. I was lucky that she left me here so she could do 'ladies' shopping', but I have to meet her at the Leaky at 5 o'clock sharp to go home."

"Have you seen anyone over the summer?" Hermione asked.

"I saw Seamus a couple weeks ago, I think? But I just ran into him at Gringotts. Not like a planned thing or anything."

"Oh! That reminds me!"

Hermione rummaged around in her bag, withdrawing a box and handing it to Neville, who opened it carefully.

"This is… our school books for the year?" Neville asked. He looked up at her, confused. "Thanks, Hermione. I mean, I was going to get these later myself, but-"

"I didn't buy them," Hermione interrupted. "I made them."

Neville's eyes got wide.

"You made them?" he said. "That's- what- how-?"

"My summer internship is at the publisher's. They let me keep whatever books I could copy one day," Hermione told him proudly. "I made sets for my friends."

Though she'd also made sets for the Weasleys. Hermione didn't exactly count them as 'friends,' but she definitely didn't mind having them feeling like they owed her one.

"That's awesome, Hermione!" Neville exclaimed. "Good for you! Wizarding publishing isn't easy, from what I've heard. I'm impressed you can do it already."

Hermione chatted happily with Neville about her internship, about how she got to read books all day, and how she'd read their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's latest book.

"He's a fraud," Hermione told him, fierce. "A fraud, Neville. His books have contradicting information, and their timelines clash with each other. I can't believe he's going to teach us."

"Dumbledore didn't have much of a choice," Neville told her grimly. "After the mess with Quirrell last year… parents were mad, Hermione. You-Know-Who teaching their children… there was an inquiry at the Ministry and everything."

"Wait, what?" Hermione gaped at him. "How have I not heard about this before?"

"Sealed Wizengamot session," Neville said. "My grandmother holds a seat. She told me everything. It was a scandal, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot being summoned for an inquiry."

"So what happened?" Hermione asked. "He… got called in?"

"Apparently, when everyone went home, a bunch of students told their parents what had happened with Quirrell," Neville said. "Enough parents checked with each other, and when they realized that all the stories were consistent, they realized there must be some truth to it – even with the You-Know-Who part."

It had never occurred to Hermione that students would go home and tell their parents that the Dark Lord had been at Hogwarts. When she'd been retelling the tale to everyone, she'd just been focused on providing accurate information so the rumor mill didn't end up spinning things out of control. But with the whole story being known by more than just a few people…

And in this case, the truth was probably stranger and more horrifying than any fiction the rumor mill could have made up.

"The Wizengamot called a closed session. Dumbledore had to answer questions from everyone." Neville paused. "Apparently, a lot of the more Slytherin Pureblooded families were really upset – the Malfoys, the Notts, the Greengrasses."

"You sound surprised," Hermione commented. "Why does that surprise you?"

Neville gave her a wry smile.

"If anyone wouldn't be upset about You-Know-Who teaching students, I imagine it'd be them," Neville told her. "They… those families have Dark associations and reputations left over from the war."

The Malfoys and the Notts, Hermione had known; Ron had regularly ranted about Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott being baby Death Eaters in training.

"The Greengrasses, too?" Hermione asked. "I didn't realize they were associated with the Dark."

"They were close with a few families that went Dark, and they kind of got stained by association, I think," Neville said. "The Blacks, the Notts, the Carrows…"

"So what did they ask Dumbledore?" Hermione wanted to know. "I didn't think the Ministry had control over Hogwarts."

"It doesn't. Not really. But because it became a 'safety of the children' issue, they hauled Dumbledore in to question him." Neville sipped his tea. "In the end, they ruled it was unreasonable to expect Dumbledore to have known Quirrell had gotten possessed by You-Know-Who over the summer; Quirrell had taught Muggle Studies for years beforehand with no issues. But public outcry was still high enough that Dumbledore needed to appoint a teacher that no one could object to for Defense Against the Dark Arts this time around."

"So he chooses a fiction writer?" Hermione scoffed.

"Gilderoy Lockhart is really famous, Hermione," Neville said, shrugging. "He probably did do the things he wrote about, and then just exaggerated them to make a better story. I'm sure it'll be fine."

Hermione laughed. "You're too trusting, Neville."

"You're not trusting enough, Hermione," Neville teased her back, though his face flushed. "At least give him the benefit of the doubt."

Hermione rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, sipping her tea. She didn't think she was being unreasonable, but she supposed it wouldn't hurt anything to try and keep an open mind before going into Lockhart's class the first time.

"I guess," she finally conceded. "Though I hope he can at least teach us some things. I want to learn the Patronus Charm – I read about it over the summer, and it seems like a really good thing to know offhand. I want to learn the shield charm, too."

"As a second year?" Neville laughed. "You're crazy, Hermione. We won't cover those for another few years. I doubt I'll be able to get them even then."

Hermione looked at Neville quizzically. "Why not?"

Neville looked at her uncertainly. "…because it's me?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, confused. "Why wouldn't you be able to learn them?"

"Oh." Neville looked down at the table. "I forgot. You're… we're not in many classes together, are we?"

He looked down at the table, and a silence fell over them. Hermione looked at Neville carefully, taking in his quiet, subdued manner.

"Not really," Hermione said neutrally. "I think they try to keep Gryffindors and Slytherins on separate schedule tracks deliberately."

"Ah. That's probably smart. Well…" Neville took a deep breath, then looked at Hermione, determined. "I'm not a very good wizard, Hermione."

He looked so serious, with such a brave face on, like he was scared she was going to reject him, that Hermione forced herself to bite back her instinctive reaction – which was to laugh.

"I don't believe that for a second," Hermione said instead, decisively. "Neville, why would you say such a thing?"

"Because it's true," Neville said. He looked upset. "I'm always last to learn new spells in class, Hermione. My homework marks are what helped me pass Charms and Transfiguration. Herbology is the only thing I'm really good in. I just… I don't have enough magic to really use my wand."

Neville looked so ashamed that Hermione could only just stare at him in silence.

There was no way Neville could be that bad of a wizard, Hermione thought. There just was no way. A large part of learning magic, it seemed, was just practice and determination, and Neville had that in spades. He did well in Herbology, and it seemed like the more powerful a witch or wizard you were, the more your plants flourished. And if Hermione could tutor Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle enough to pass their Charms practical, there was no way Neville couldn't do the same.

Hermione gave Neville an evaluating look, considering what he'd told her. Neville squirmed under her gaze.

"Do you have your wand on you?" she said finally.

"Of course." Neville looked surprised. "Why?"

"Can I see your wand?" Hermione said, gesturing. "If you're only struggling in the classes that use your wand, maybe it's broken."

"You- you want to see my wand?" Neville blushed a brilliant red, but handed it over to Hermione, not meeting her eyes. "H-Here."

Hermione didn't know if it was a societal no-no to hold someone else's wand or if she'd unknowingly stepped into a well-known wizarding innuendo, but judging from Neville's reaction, she guessed it was one of the two. She blushed a bit herself, but she tried to force the embarrassment from her mind.

Neville's wand was longish and worn, the handle smoothed and faded. There were no obvious chips or cracks, though it looked well-used. Hermione considered carefully, examining it.

"What is it?" she said finally. "Unicorn hair?"

"I think a dragon heartstring?" Neville ventured. "I know it's oak, though."

"You're not sure?" Hermione was surprised. "Ollivander didn't tell you?"

"I didn't get it from Ollivander," Neville said. "It was my father's."

Hermione stared.

"Neville," she said flatly. "That's why."

Neville blinked. "Why what?"

"Why you're having trouble with your magic," Hermione said, exasperated. "Neville, a wand has to choose you. A wand isn't something you can just inherit."

Neville looked miserable. "My Grandmother gave it to me. She said I needed to live up to my father's legacy. If I can't use it, it's because I can't live up to it."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione snapped. "That's like giving a brilliant violinist a flute and demanding they make music with it. The musician's certainly capable of producing beautiful music, but they need the right tool in order to do so."

Neville stared at her, something like hope flickering in the back of his eyes.

"I… you really think so?" he ventured.

"I know so," Hermione asserted. "Neville, we're going to have to get you a new wand. Now."

"My Grandmother will never go for it," Neville objected. "She'll say I'm disgracing my family, not using my father's wand."

"Then we won't tell her," Hermione argued. "Neville, this is a big deal. You need your own wand."

"Inheriting someone else's wand is done all the time, though," Neville tried. "Ron uses one of his older brother's old wands."

"You're using Ron Weasley as your standard for academic excellence?!" Hermione threw her hands up. "I can't believe this!"

Neville's face bloomed with color.

"…okay," he admitted. "Not really."

Hermione took a deep breath, before letting it out in a sigh.

"What's really going on, Neville?" she asked quietly. "The issue isn't actually your grandmother, is it? If it was, I'm sure we could come up with a plan where you got your current wand broken in a heroic manner – or even fake a broken wand while you hide this one away as a keepsake. But it seems like you don't want to get a new wand. Why not?"

Neville bit his lip, looking down into his murky tea.

"It's okay, Neville," Hermione said softly, laying a hand on top of his. "You can tell me anything."

Neville looked up at her, and Hermione was shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes.

"What if I get one and I'm still a terrible wizard, Hermione?" Neville's voice quavered. "What if I get a new wand, and everything's worse?"

"Then at least we'll know, Neville," she said gently. "It's always better to know."

Neville sighed, rubbing his eyes fiercely.

"Everyone's always told me I'm a terrible wizard," Neville said miserably. "My family thought I was practically a Squib. I don't think– Hermione, it won't work."

"Then do it for me," Hermione said. "Neville. Neville. Look at me."

Her tone was commanding, and Neville looked back at her immediately.

"Do this as a favor for me," Hermione said. "If you never use the wand ever again, fine. That's your choice. But come with me and at least get one. Alright?"

Neville looked uncertain, then resigned.

"Only because you're a friend, Hermione," he said. "In the name of our friendship, I will. But don't be disappointed when it doesn't work."

"We'll see," Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes as she stood. She fished a couple galleons out of her bag to leave on the table and looked at Neville expectantly.

"What?" Neville scrambled. "Now?"

"No time like the present," Hermione said pleasantly. "And the tea was cold, anyway."

Neville stood and followed her, mumbling something about warming charms, but Hermione paid him no mind, sweeping toward Ollivander's, Neville hurrying to catch up.

"How are you so fast?" Neville wanted to know, and Hermione laughed.

"I've already hit my growth spurt," she said. "It'll be done soon, I think, if it hasn't finished already. But my legs are longer, now."

"I wish I was taller," Neville said, and Hermione shrugged.

"You have time; you'll get there," she said. "You probably won't hit your growth spurt for another year or two, and then you'll get a lot taller."

Neville gave her an odd look. "Growth spurt?"

Hermione stopped short.

"Yes, your growth spurt," she said slowly. "When you hit puberty. One of the first things that happens is your body begins to change from a boy's into a man's."

Neville's eyes were wide.

"And that's… that's called puberty?"

Her eyes widened in astonishment.

"…yes. That's called puberty."

As she pushed open the door to the wand shop, Hermione despaired, wondering if Hogwarts had anything akin to a Sex Ed class for the students to take.

Ollivander's shop was dusty and dingy as ever. Neville jumped a little when Ollivander emerged from the back. Hermione entertained herself by looking at the wand holsters on the wall while Ollivander went through his "the wand chooses the wizard" spiel with Neville, who was quietly shaking.

When Ollivander went into the back, Hermione turned to face Neville.

"It'll be fine, Neville," she reassured him. "This might take a while, but Ollivander will help you find the wand that suits you best."

Ollivander emerged from the back.

"Twelve and a quarter, holly, unicorn tail hair. Try it."

Neville waved the wand, and a box fell off the shelf. Ollivander snatched it back.

"Eleven and a half, elm, dragon heart string."

A blast of smoke went off, sending everyone into a coughing fit.

"Not that one either," Ollivander muttered. "Try this…"

Hermione watched as Neville obligingly waved wand after wand for a while, each wand misfiring as it was tried. When Ollivander ran out of them for him to try and had to return to the back shelves for more, Neville looked back at Hermione, anxiety written across his face.

"Is it normally like this?" he asked. "When wands don't match up properly?"

Hermione winced. "Ah… the magic misfires, yes. Sometimes things break."

"Break?" Neville looked frightened, not even paying attention as Ollivander muttered at his side, handing him a new wand, which produced a sad red spark and was quickly snatched away.

"Not the wand, or you," Hermione assured him. "Just… Ollivander's light globes, sometimes. There's a reason this store is so dark and dingy."

Neville looked torn, with part of him horrified, and another part painfully relieved.

"At least it's not just me," Neville said, waving another wand. A loud bang sounded as several boxes were blown off the shelves. "If everyone's magic does all these crazy things before they find the right wand..."

"Thirteen and a quarter, alder, phoenix feather core," Ollivander said. "Try."

Neville took the wand, Hermione watched with satisfaction as an expression of shock and epiphany spread over his face. When he waved the wand, a shower of brilliant sparks and glittering lights came out, drifting softly to the ground.

Neville turned to face Hermione, his face open, reverent. "This… you…"

Hermione was smug.

"Remember this feeling the next time you doubt me, yes?" she teased. "Hermione's always right."

"That'll be seven galleons," Ollivander informed him, looking around at the mess Neville had made. "Now get out of my shop."