Chapter 7
"Neville!"
The sound of the curtains of his four-poster bed being drawn back only made him snuggle deeper into his pillow. He kept his eyes shut firmly, wanting to ignore both the grating voice of his dorm mate and the bright sunlight streaming through the window.
"Wake up!" yelled Dean, grabbing his duvet and attempting to pull it off the limpet-like Gryffindor, only to end up in a rather undignified tug of war. Dean finally gave up and, with an angry huff, headed for the showers.
With a sleepy smile of triumph, Neville curled up again.
"Neville, come on, we'll miss breakfast," Seamus complained from where he was rummaging haphazardly through his wardrobe. The sound of running water came from the adjacent bathroom.
"Not movin'," mumbled Neville from under his covers. He knew he would have to get up eventually, but wanted to cling on to the last vestiges of sleep for as long as possible. His dreams had been particularly pleasant that night. The Dark Side had attacked Hogwarts, but had been heroically defeated by Neville and his friends. Neville had reassured the terrified students that he would save them from the evil wizards, and had valiantly fought off dozens of deatheaters single-handedly, ultimately saving the day. With the usual impreciseness of dreams, Neville never actually battled Voldemort, but knew he had defeated him anyway. His parents had suddenly appeared beside him, as had Dumbledore, and the whole school had cheered for him...
"Neville!" yelled Dean again, his voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. This had always been Dean's technique. Victory through repetition.
Wincing from both the harsh noise and the strong sunlight, Neville blearily sat up, grumpy at being forced to waken. Dreams were much more comforting than reality. In dreams, he was invincible; he became what the world expected him to be, and what he wished to be himself. Brave, powerful, determined; the Dark Lord's equal and the true Child of Prophecy, capable of facing anything and everything.
Then he would wake up.
Due to his friends or his parents, or just his own body's treachery, he would be forced awake to live in reality. A reality where he was a fifteen-year-old wizard, not even qualified yet, barely average in school, and a disappointment to everyone.
"Neville!"
Grumbling and muttering epithets under his breath, Neville finally rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom, grabbing a red towel on his way. He knew from experience that his persistent dorm mate would not allow him to fall back to sleep.
As he stood under the strong cascade of warm water, Neville reflected that it was not so much that people saw him as a disappointment; rather it was their determination to see him as the Saviour that bothered him. All of Hogwarts viewed him as a hero despite evidence to the contrary and refused to see the truth; that Neville was nothing special. Neville was dreading the day when they would become disillusioned. Already the people closest to him seemed to have realised his mediocrity.
Dumbledore was always prepared to give him kind words and advice, but did not seem inclined to treat him as anything other than a rather dim teenager. His teachers' smiled encouragingly at his efforts in class, but he could often see their exasperation at his lack of improvement. His parents refused to let him fight, and protected him from the true horror of the war. They had been largely successful in keeping him ignorant of the crisis the country was facing, as it was only once he'd started Hogwarts and began talking to other students that Neville realised how desperate the situation was. He'd known about Voldemort, and the Prophecy, but it was only when he was confronted with the dozens of deaths reported daily, and the hundreds of students who looked to him to save them, that Neville had truly understood the responsibility he held.
The smiles in the corridors, the glances of awe and respect, the overwhelming popularity: these were all things that Neville enjoyed. Walking through the school he felt confident, imposing and almost able to delude himself into thinking that he truly was the person his peers thought him to be. Only when he was alone did he begin to doubt himself, wondering if he would ever find 'the Power the Dark Lord knows not' and if he would ever succeed in his allotted destiny. He was terrified of the disappointment and angry incriminations that would fall upon him if the world ever found out his duplicity. The one thing he was certain of was that he had to avoid that happening and at any cost.
"All right, mate?" called Seamus. "You've been spending an age in that shower."
Reluctantly, Neville stepped out onto the already wet floor of the bathroom, wrapping his towel around him.
"I know you don't get the importance of personal hygiene, Seamus," Neville quipped, smiling to show he meant no offence, "but try not to flaunt your ignorance, ok?"
"Oy!"
Recognising the warning signs of outrage, Neville prepared to duck any incoming hexes from the irate Irishman. He need not have worried. Unable to find his wand in the chaotic devastation that was his side of the room, Seamus resorted to throwing a harmless pillow at him instead, glaring at the other Gryffindor.
"Don't worry, Seamus, Parvati seems to like you despite the smell," smirked Dean, joining in. He had already finished getting ready, and stood brandishing his wand over his trunk. "Unpack!" he yelled hopefully over his neatly folded clothes. Nothing happened.
"Do either of you know a good banishing charm?" he asked.
Seamus ignored him. "Do you really think Parvati likes me?"
"No," said Dean, "now what about a banishing charm?"
"She actually smiled at me last night, you know? I think I'm getting somewhere," continued Seamus, struggling to pull on a sock while forcing rolls of parchment into a fraying bag.
"I'd do it by hand if I were you," Neville warned Dean. "Remember what happened last time? You managed to vanish all your clothes. And Seamus, she smiles at everyone."
"They turned up eventually," shrugged Dean dismissively.
"Yeah, two weeks later in the middle of the lake," reminded Seamus, abandoning his romantic speculations in favour of reminding his friend of this embarrassing event. "I have to admit the squid did look quite fetching with your underpants on its tentacles."
"Shut up," mumbled Dean. "Ha, for once I was glad I'm muggleborn. My parents couldn't send me a howler for losing all my stuff."
There was a rather awkward pause. Seamus nodded sympathetically, while Neville busied himself with searching for a quill. He knew, of course, that muggleborns were just as good as pureblood wizards, but still, it was hardly the sort of...difference one discussed, even amongst friends.
Dean broke the silence. "You guys ready yet, I'm starving."
Neville shrugged on a black robe before nodding. "Yep, ready to go."
The three Gryffindor boys enthusiastically began making their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. As usual the welcoming feast seemed days ago. Neville knew that at least for Seamus, regular meals of the size served at Hogwarts were rare. There was high unemployment throughout the wizarding world; as a witch who had married a muggle, Seamus' mother was one of the first to lose her job. His father had been killed years ago in a Deatheater attack.
Due to the late hour breakfast was almost over, though the Hall was still quite full. Lavender and Parvati were already seated at the end of the Gryffindor table, and the boys headed over to join them at the predictable insistence of Seamus.
"Late, as usual," smiled Lavender as Neville sat down beside her and began helping himself to some toast, shooting her a sheepish smile.
"McGonagall already came by with our timetables," said Pavati, waving a few slips of paper at them. "You guys have Potions with the Slytherins first thing. Here, see for yourselves."
While Neville and Dean burst out with a few choice phrases at the unfairness of their schedule, Seamus smiled adoringly at Parvati, touching her hand for an inordinate amount of time as he took the proffered piece of paper.
"Potions followed by history!" exclaimed Dean, examining his timetable. "Worst two lessons first thing on a Monday; I never thought McGonagall was such a sadist."
"We can catch up on our sleep during history," shrugged Neville. "We'll need it after Snape's gruelling lesson."
"At least Survival Skills is on a Friday, giving us the whole weekend to recover from that torture," said Lavender in relief.
"It's a brilliant class," Parvati disagreed with her friend, waving her fork around for emphasis. "Professor Santigo really knows her stuff."
"Yeah sure, but three hours of swimming round lakes and trekking through forests is not my idea of fun," snapped Lavender. Neville and the other boys ignored them. The argument was a familiar one, and Neville doubted they'd ever reach an agreement.
Instead, he looked down the table at the rest of his housemates. The few who caught his eye nodded and smiled in greeting. Others were busy bemoaning their timetables or finishing homework, while a group of sixth and seventh years were angrily discussing something further down the table. They were frowning and shooting furious glances at the Slytherin table, and Neville recognised the slight shimmer in the air surrounding them as a privacy ward.
He nudged a fourth year sitting beside him, Alberic van Bracht, catching his attention before nodding at the group.
"What are they planning?"
Dean and Seamus leaned over to hear the answer.
"Not sure," van Bracht shrugged. "Painful retribution is a good guess. Two second years, one a Gryff, are down in the hospital wing, and won't be leaving for the next couple of days. They've been hit with a couple of very nasty curses."
"Do they know which Slytherin did it?" asked Dean.
"Not exactly, but Malfoy's gang at least knew about it."
Glaring across the hall at Draco Malfoy, Neville agreed with this assessment. The blond Slytherin was one of the more violent members of his house, and was looking particularly smug at the moment. Neville hated that self-satisfied bastard. His hand curled into a fist as he watched the blond lean over and say something to Zabini, before both of them turned to meet his gaze with amused smirks. Neville continued to glare even after the two turned back to their meal. His gaze was only broken when the bell rang and students began to stand and head off to their classes.
"Come on, mate, let's go," Seamus muttered, pulling him out of his chair and towards the door.
His friends shot him sympathetic glances as they headed down to the dungeons. Two years ago, Lucius Malfoy had been part of an attack on Diagon Alley. During the ensuing fight, Frank Longbottom was hit by a blasting curse cast by Malfoy which had destroyed his wand arm. The Aurors managed to regain control of the alley, but Malfoy escaped. Frank Longbottom's magical skills had decreased severely, now only able to hold a wand in his left hand.
Ever since then the rivalry between Neville and Draco Malfoy had escalated considerably; but to Neville's shame, Malfoy normally won their fights. The Slytherin's spells were more powerful, his tactics more successful and his spells more varied. The blond embodied all of Neville's fears. If the Child of Prophecy could not even defeat a fellow fifth year in a duel, how could he defeat the Dark Lord? And to Neville's frustration, the Slytherins unlike the rest of the school, realised this and viewed him as a failure. This drove Neville to even more reckless attacks on the members of that House which he invariably lost, and in turn caused them to look at him with even more derision. It was a vicious circle that Neville recognised, but could not escape.