Chapter 17
Hermione's eyes ached when she finally decided to greet the day, but she peeled them open when she realized her hand felt unusually warm.
Neville was still there.
He was holding her hand as nonchalantly as any twelve-year-old boy could hold the hand of the girl who was his best friend.
And might one day become more.
Thoughts of such things were far from their minds, of course, as two pairs of brown eyes met for the briefest instant, both full of questions, before Hermione's gaze skittered away again. Her free hand busied itself with the edge of the blanket tucked neatly over her waist, fingers twitching as her thoughts tumbled over each other in a wild search to find something, anything, that she could say without sounding totally ridiculous, given their current situation.
As if of its own accord, her mouth opened and words fell out. "How did you find out?"
Neville was about to respond when Hermione spoke again, gaze still averted uncomfortably. "Not many people know, you see?" She started listing them off on her fingers. "My parents, obviously. Professor McGonagall." Raising a hesitant fourth finger, she added, "That probably means Professor Dumbledore also knows, though he's never spoken to me about it. I suspect a few other professors know, not to mention Hagrid. He always knows more about things than he should, and-"
"Hermione." Neville's voice was tinged with laughter, and that finally brought her gaze to his face.
Of all the responses she could have expected when one of her friends found out about her condition, this was the last one she would have imagined.
Laughing. He was actually laughing at her.
She smiled back, a bit unsure of herself but feeling gratitude for her best friend warm her heart as his soft chuckle quieted and he spoke again.
"You know all that time I was spending on my Herbology project?"
Hermione nodded, remembering several evenings when he'd declined her offer to join her by the fire in the Gryffindor common room to study after dinner, saying he had an important project to check on in the greenhouses. Now her curiosity was piqued. What had he really been up to?
Clearing his throat, Neville continued, "I was actually in the library, trying to figure out what was going on with you. Books were bloody rubbish, of course." He reddened at his coarse language but pushed on. "I ordered some more with some of the spending money Gran gave me at Diagon Alley ages ago. Anyway, I found a few things that were actually helpful, and then I started to worry about you. Sounds as if the transformation is usually horrid, and I couldn't imagine going through that alone."
Heaving a sigh, Hermione shook her head. "It isn't exactly enjoyable, but the transformation is over fairly quickly. And from the books I've read, I have it better than most." She suspected that it had something to do with the way she was raised by Muggles, with so little stigma behind the creature that she became once a month. Sure, there were horror movies and horrifyingly inaccurate werewolf romances that she couldn't even bring herself to finish, but no one feared the reality of werewolves the way they did in the magical community. She felt bad for anyone who had grown up with such prejudice against a disease that was not at all their fault and thought she might like to work in the Ministry of Magic one day to advocate for werewolf rights.
Continuing her explanation to Neville, she said, "At home, I had a place in the forest where I would be contained for the moon. I never had any problems, and I'm used to doing it alone. Once I came to school, Professor McGonagall said she had reason to believe Animagi could safely accompany werewolves on the night of the full moon. She offered her assistance and I accepted, since I was a bit nervous about how the wolf would react to being in an unfamiliar place. Things have been fine, but this was my first night on my own here at school, and it was a bit harder to get back up to the castle than I expected." Her voice trailed off, embarrassed at the memory of her restless night caused by her worries about this particular boy and the ensuing exhaustion that had made her accept a Christmas tree sleigh ride from Hagrid.
Neville looked intrigued. "McGonagall helped you? In her Animagus form?"
Hermione nodded. "Just until I thought I would be alright on my own."
Peering down at his intertwined fingers in his lap, Neville whispered, "Do you think I could do that?"
She was taken aback. She had never expected anyone to do anything so challenging-virtually impossible for a first year so new to magic to even dream of accomplishing within the foreseeable future. Yet here Neville was, offering to do just that.
Her chest hurt with the kindness and generosity of his offer.
She sniffled as quietly as possible, pretending there weren't tears in her eyes. "I think you could do anything you set your mind to, Neville," she told him, smiling and willing the tears to stay in check.
This conversation was already a lot for him to take in without her bursting into grateful hysterics.
His answering smile was timid and small and possibly the sweetest one she'd ever seen.
XxxX
Neville rapped more sharply than he'd meant to on the door to Professor McGonagall's office, jumping slightly at the expected-but still sharply Scottish-reply of "Enter!"
She looked slightly harassed when he pulled open the door. Instead of sitting at her desk where she usually accepted her student visitors, she was standing at the window, watching the ongoing Gryffindor quidditch practice. Only her profile was visible to him, her mouth turned down at the corner and her eyes were like a hawk's, trained on the distant house team down at the pitch. Neville found himself wondering if her spectacles had been charmed to allow her to see all that way. He wouldn't put it past his Head of House to have spectacles that doubled as omnioculars. McGonagall scoffed in disgust at whatever was happening outside the diamond-paned glass of her office window, startling Neville out of his musings and causing him to flinch, before abruptly spinning on her heel and marching to her desk, motioning for Neville to take a seat as she did the same.
Once she truly took in his rumpled appearance for the first time, her features softened. "I think I know what this is about," she informed him gently.
Neville clarified, "Hermione?"
Professor McGonagall nodded. "I'm quite impressed you've figured it out, young man. Not many your age would be able to recognise the signs."
"She's my friend!" Neville blustered. "I don't know how I could have missed it. I would have figured it out sooner, but all the books on werewolves in the library were absolute rubbish." His cheeks burned red, and he pulled at his wrinkled shirt as if he could iron them out by sheer willpower.
Minerva considered casting a wrinkle-removing charm his way to stop the boy's fidgeting, but she refrained. "What is it you'd like to know?" she asked. "I'm not sure what Hermione would be comfortable with me telling you-"
Neville cut her off with a shake of his head. "It's nothing like that, Professor. I've already spoken with Hermione. I was just wondering if...erm...you might teach me some more advanced transfiguration." He screwed up his face as he said the last few words.
McGonagall pursed her lips to hide her smile, her thin eyebrows arching in a mix of disbelief and delight. "And what 'more advanced transfiguration' might that be, young man?" she asked, tone kind but firm. There was no sense in dilly-dallying around his true request, that much was clear.
"I know it's something that's supposed to take years," Neville said, "but one of my mum's old journals said something about how she thought a few of the blokes in her year at school had figured out the Animagus transfiguration on their own. I know I'm no Hermione," McGonagall chuckled a bit at that, "but I want to be able to help her in any way I can."
"The Animagus transformation is highly technical and dangerous magic, Mr Longbottom, as I'm sure you're aware."
Neville nodded, not missing the way she opted not to respond to his claim that there may have been underage, unregistered Animagi housed in Gryffindor Tower some years before. Either she knew about it and chose to say nothing, or it was news to her and she didn't want to show her surprise.
McGonagall continued, "What you're seeking to undertake would require more time spent in the Transfiguration classroom and many more hours of reading, young man." Her gaze held Neville to the seat of the burgundy velvet chair he sat on, as if determining whether he would make a worthy apprentice.
He was quite sure that he didn't measure up to the task. But he'd come this far. That wasn't going to stop him.
"I'm quite determined, ma'am," he proclaimed, squaring his shoulders.
"Very well," she replied. "Our lessons start tomorrow after dinner. I will have the necessary books sent to your dormitory." Squaring her own tartan-clad shoulders, she reminded him, "This task requires the utmost care and secrecy, Mr Longbottom." He nodded, and she continued, "I expect your housemates and grandmother will not be hearing of this until the proper time? This is Hermione's secret to share, not yours, and I don't want the rest of your friends trying to turn themselves into who-knows-what without proper supervision. While working to achieve a proper Animagus form is something to be proud of, it's best not to go blathering on about it to every person one comes across, am I understood? The books are to be read in private and kept out of sight, and our lessons will be private. If necessary, you may claim that you are serving some of the detentions given to you by Professor Snape under my watchful eye."
Neville's face flamed again, as the lie burned with truth.
"I think that should be enough to convince them," she said, not unkindly.
It was widely known that the head of Slytherin House hated Neville almost as much as he hated some of the boys' friends. To say Professor Snape was unkind to Neville was a gross understatement. The man bullied the boy. And Neville suffered for it. His potions were never very good, even with Hermione's help.
When Neville left Professor McGonagall's office, he felt bigger and brighter and somehow like a better friend than he had when he entered.
McGonagall couldn't help the happy smile that graced her face as she turned back to watch the quidditch practice outside her window once more, just enough to see a tiny speck of gold disappear into the hand of one young Mr Harry Potter.
"Your parents would be proud," she whispered into the glass of the window. "Of both of you."
A/N: Hey, guys! SO sorry about the long wait. Life has been ridiculously busy, and my muse has been pretty much nonexistent. But! I had some inspiration a little while back and thought this might make a lovely little Christmas gift for my wonderful readers. Thank you for continuing to love and support my stories even though updates are few and far between at the moment. The reviews and messages you've sent telling me to take my time but letting me know you'd love to see more make me smile every time. I'm glad you love this story as much as I do! I have no intention of abandoning TLL, but it may be a while before updates come more regularly again. This chapter was not edited by my beta, as she is just as busy as I am, so all errors are my own. I hope you enjoyed this update! I have part of the next chapter written and am hoping to get it posted soon. Merry Christmas!