AN: Thanks again to everyone reading and reviewing. Just to be clear, this is an AU fic… I do not own Harry Potter, I'm not Rowling, and I'm just working with a basic what-if premise and moving forward. Most of the major changes I will explain in the fic at some point, but if you don't like fics with changes from canon set in an AU universe, then I wouldn't recommend reading mine. I try to ground my universe in canon, but I extrapolate and project what might have happened if something was different. You're welcome to disagree with me and the ideas I present, and I'll try to flesh out what I can without detracting from my story.
With regard to Harry Potter, the only person that we've seen Harry be particularly nasty to in this fic is Draco Malfoy (and Neville a bit). Yes, Lily Evans Potter is Harry's mum, but I'd venture that the combined influence of James and Sirius would have strongly brought out his anti-Slytherin side, especially at a young age when he doesn't know any better. And to him currently, Malfoy represents Slytherin, which equals the Death Eaters, which equals irredeemable evil. But I have plans for Harry. And no, I won't be forgetting he's Lily's son too.
It's early in my universe to have people pegged. Neville, Harry, Draco, Ariadne and all the characters I play with have to navigate their Houses and the whole of Hogwarts. They're all schoolchildren, and (hopefully, but I'm not telling) they will grow and change and mature over the course of this year and all of their Hogwarts years (assuming I write more fics!)
Now, onward with the story! I was pledging to myself to update in April: now I have!
On the morning after the Sorting, Neville woke up a full hour before the rest of his housemates. He hurriedly freshened up, changed into his robes, and carried his puppy down to the Great Hall. Vali would be fed and looked after by Hagrid during the day, and would be a companion of sorts to the man's giant boarhound. These were the conditions Dumbledore had set with Grandmother Longbottom in order for Neville to bring his dog to Hogwarts, and Neville wanted to make sure Vali was in good hands.
He sat at the Gryffindor table, idly eating some toast and stroking Vali's fur, when Hagrid came up and smiled widely at him.
"An' yer Neville Longbottom," the giant man said happily. "Yeh look a lot like yer mum, but there's summat o' Frank in yeh, I can see that."
"Thanks," the boy stammered. "And thanks for taking care of Vali."
The man waved it off, as though it were nothing. He whistled, and Vali immediately perked up in Neville's arms. Then the man was walking, and the intelligent Finnish Lapphund knew enough to follow Hagrid out of the Great Hall and onto the grounds.
After Hagrid had left, Neville could barely finish his breakfast. The Norweigan transplant was excited and nervous: he'd been waiting for a year to go to wizarding school, and though it certainly wasn't Valhalla, he could still look forward to it all the same.
His first class at Hogwarts was Herbology with the Hufflepuff first-years, headed by a dumpy, squat witch called Professor Sprout. She took them outdoors to Greenhouse 1, where the species for lower years were. They stopped outside the door to the greenhouse, where the professor launched into an overview of Herbology, its purposes and practices, and a general outline of the curriculum for their first year. Neville paid attention closely: Herbology was one of his mother and Aunt Clare's favorite subjects, and based on his own love for their garden in Norway, he suspected it would be a favorite of his as well.
"Now, can anyone tell me anything about the umua plant?"
Hermione Granger's hand shot in the air. Neville raised his a few seconds later, but Professor Sprout had already called on the girl.
"The umua plant is a marine magical plant, growing mainly in mangrove forests. It's cultivated mostly for its root, which is used in a variety of potions. It flowers twice annually, and it attracts the more beneficial insects."
"Excellent, take five points to Gryffindor. Now, it's extremely difficult to harvest umua root, mainly because the plants are very strong minded. Your first task will be to familiarize yourself with the mangrove forest currently being housed in Greenhouse 3, and each Gryffindor and Hufflepuff will pair with someone from the other house to work on a plant."
She opened the doors, and Neville was awestruck. Even though she said there was a mangrove forest in the greenhouse, seeing it, smelling it, feeling the humidity of the ecosystem in a building in northern Scotland… he couldn't help but marvel at it and all the possibilities of plants he'd come to know at Hogwarts.
The Gyrffindors and Hufflepuffs quickly filed into Greenhouse 3's swampy entrance. A row of tall wading boots in various sizes, colors, and patterns were lined up at the entrance. Neville picked out a navy pair with a pattern of orange Kneazles batting at string.
Seeing his classmates pair up, he walked over to a clearing of umua plants and stood next to a Hufflepuff, a tall, thin boy with long, shaggy blond hair. The boy shook his hand eagerly.
"I'm Wilmer Pendrake, and I see you're Neville Longbottom. Good to meet you."
Neville and Wilmer barely talked the rest of the class, concentrating on how to get the deeply rooting plants out of the soil to harvest the roots. It was tough work, but no more difficult in his opinion than some of the weeding and growing he usually did in the summer.
In the end, he managed to coax the plant into parting with some root, by humming and talking quietly to the plant all class. As Neville quietly soothed the plant, Wilmer cut a sample of the root carefully away. A beaming Professor Sprout gave Neville and Wilmer ten points each to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. He thought he saw Hermione Granger glare at him after class, but he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.
His next class was with Professor McGonogall for Transfiguration. Teaching the appropriate wand movement, the class was instructed to each try and change their match into a needle. Neville's match stubbornly remained a match, no matter how hard he willed it to change. Most his fellow Gryffindors weren't much better.
By the end of class, Hermione Granger had managed to turn hers silver and pointy, though still a match, while Harry Potter had changed it completely into a needle. She earned five points from McGonogall, while he earned ten, and out of the corner of his eye, Neville swore he saw Hermione glare at Potter as well.
The entire week was Neville's first foray into British magical education, and it was slightly surprising, as well as somewhat of a disappointment. He found himself enjoying Herbology and Charms, as he was interested and quite liked cheerful Professor Sprout and the excitably knowledgeable Professor Flitwick. He was still mildly in fear and awe of his Head of House, and Transfiguration he thought was truly difficult but it was still a good class.
History of Magic was quite a poor course, taught by ghostly Professor Binns who droned on repetitively about random goblin uprisings in British history. He had been looking forward to History, as he knew little about the history of magic in Britain, and it was one of Oscar's favorite classes at Valhalla as Neville recalled his cousin waxing on about it:
"We've studied the early part of the Golden Age of Magic in first year, and now we're getting to Ragnarok. Professor Kjærgaard knows her history, but the best part is that she is has such incredible skill with besvergelstemme - she's a certified Magihistorian and has a Mastery of Magical Storytelling. So everything comes to life when she uses the besvergelstemme, the voice magics... it's like we've actually experienced the Golden Age for ourselves!"
Defense Against the Dark Arts was a similar letdown, not least because Professor Quirrell seemed to be afraid of his own shadow and had them simply read their textbooks all class. Astronomy was fairly boring, and useless in Neville's opinion. He knew that at Valhalla, Astronomy was offered as an elective course to second year students and above, and according to Oscar, only students who were on a Divination track, and occasionally a Magical-Muggle Interdisciplinary track chose to pick up the course (the Valhalla Institute was unique in Europe for its Magical-Muggle Interdisciplinary Studies program: in fact, and a handful of European Space Agency astronauts were actually Valhalla graduates.)
He had most of his classes just with Gryffindor, and so far he had mixed feelings about his housemates in his year, as well as the older Gryffs. He'd been nearly accosted on the first day of classes ("Do you remember anything about You-Know-Who?" "Let's see your scar!" "Can you speak English?" "'Course he can't, he's one of them foreign types.") and there hadn't been any letup in the common room that night until the Weasley prefect - Percy, he recalled - had finally forced everyone to disband, as they were disturbing the more studious members of the house, namely himself and Hermione Granger.
The first year girls were alright. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were terrible gigglers and found something silly about nearly everything, Gemma D'Avis and Iris Archimmel mainly kept to themselves and were slightly standoffish, and Hermione Granger was probably the most well-read person Neville had ever met, who had memorized every textbook and books not even part of the curriculum, but also one of the most irritating. He decided that she would glare at anyone, regardless of House or year, if she felt like they were besting her in class.
Of the Gryffindor male Firsties, Neville liked Dean Thomas best. He was a nice, well-meaning sort of bloke, Muggleborn and curious about the wizarding world, but adapting swiftly. Seamus Finnegan was certainly funny, but Neville couldn't take anything he said seriously. Then there was Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. The two were inseparable, fond of mischief and mayhem - rumor was they were this close to a full-on prank war with Ron's older brothers, the Weasley Twins - but they were also very charming and friendly, and while Harry had already gained a reputation of something of a Transfigurations prodigy, Ron Weasley had bested all of the first, second, and third year Gryffindors at wizard's chess in an impromptu tournament in the common room. Overall, they were extremely well-liked. For his part, Neville had not forgotten the incident on the Hogwarts Express, nor had Harry and Ron. The boys were cordial, but kept their distance from each other.
His final class of the week was Friday afternoon Double Potions in the dungeons of the castle, something he was greatly looking forward to. It was his only class with the Slytherins, and he was excited to see Draco for the first time since the Sorting. Walking into the classroom ahead of his fellow Gryffindors, he saw that all the Slytherins had taken up seats on the right side of the room. He caught sight of Ariadne talking quietly to a blonde girl with ice blue eyes with a Slytherin tie. He found Draco alone at a table at the rear of the room.
"Hey!" Neville called out brightly, dropping his books into the other seat amidst scandalized and affronted looks from the Gryffindors, and dark glares and confused stares from the Slytherins.
"I'm glad we have this class together at least."
Draco managed to grin back. "Me too."
The hook nosed teacher, Professor Snape, swooped in, robes billowing behind him. The entire group of Slytherins and Gryffindors were silent immediately.
Snape read the roll aloud as other teacher's had done, but had odd responses to a few of the names, in Neville's opinion. When Snape said Ariadne's name, with faint distaste, he looked at her closely. Ariadne looked straight back at the professor until the man continued reading the roll.
At Neville's own name, Snape smirked slightly.
"Neville Longbottom, ah yes… our new… celebrity."
Neville flushed, but Snape looked from him to his Draco, and said nothing more. Draco's name he said with some fondness, although the boy himself seemed less than pleased.
As he spat Harry's name, he gave the boy a deadly look. Potter glared defiantly back.
When he finished the roll, Snape spoke in mysterious tones about the nature of Potions. Neville was intimidated by his air and still trying to make sense of what he perceived to be odd relationships between the professor and some of the students. His attention was sharply called back into the classroom as the monologue ended, and Snape called out suddenly:
"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry's eyes widened, while Hermione leaped from her seat with her hand waving furiously in the air.
"Uh, I don't know. Sir."
Snape smirked evilly. "Typical Gryffindor, didn't even bother to open a book before coming. Mr. Zabini, care to enlighten the more behind members of the class?"
"Draught of Living Death, sir," replied the black Slytherin boy lazily.
"Ten points to Slytherin," Snape responded.
Harry flushed. The Slytherins broke into small giggles.
"Weasley, shall we see what you remember from the text, or if you're as empty-headed as your seatmate? Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Ron paled as Hermione waved her hand even more vigorously in the air.. "I-I dunno, sir."
The professor looked nastily him. "That is a fairly basic question, Weasley. Miss Black, are you comfortable with basic questions? Or do they elude you as well?"
Neville watched Ariadne straighten up at her desk and look her professor in the eye.
"A bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat, Professor."
The professor looked at her inscrutably. "Five points to Slytherin."
Snape turned to the Gryfindor side of the classroom and raised an eyebrow. Ron Weasley was now nearly as red as his hair, and Harry was still flushed, although based on his twitching hands, it was now in indignation rather than embarrassment.
"Rather than bravery, has the sorting hat decided that Gryffindor is now the house of excess stupidity?"
The Slytherins were full on now: Pansy Parkinson was doubled over in her chair, and Blaise Zabini was laughing loudly with the two large boys named Crabbe and Goyle. He's not really that funny, Neville thought, they're just having a go at our house. Neville felt better when he glanced out the corner of his eye at Draco, not laughing but looking warily around him. They made eye contact, and the two boys seemed to share their confusion in a glance. The Gryffindors meanwhile were glaring at Snape, though no one voiced the injustice of it aloud. The Hogwarts rumor mill ensured that first-year students knew well in advance just what the Potions professor was capable of.
Snape's gaze turned to Draco and Neville, the only two members of the class neither laughing nor scowling.
"Longbottom," he said silkily, and the whole room stilled and looked at Neville. "Can the hero of the wizarding world redeem his house?"
Neville didn't say a word. He was completely off balance and totally afraid to embarrass himself in front of this professor, and in front of his classmates. He hadn't known the answers to the two questions Snape had asked Harry and Ron, and he wasn't optimistic about his chances this time either. He looked tentatively up at the professor, ignoring Draco's nervous look and Hermione's crouched position, the better to shoot her hand and whole body into the air.
"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
And then Snape, the Slytherins, and the Gryffindors were all surprised, as something occurred in a first-year Potions class that had not occurred in the entirety of Snape's tenure: someone smiled slightly at one of Snape's questions.
"Nothing, they're two names for the same plant. It's also known as aconite, sir."
The whole class just goggled at him.
"Indeed, Longbottom," Snape said softly. "Now, why aren't the rest of you copying this down?"
There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. As Neville reached for his own, he became aware that the professor had not awarded any points to Gryffindor.
Snape glared at the students scribbling hastily, before sweeping back to the front of the room. He waved his wand, and brewing instructions appeared on the board in front of the class. It wasn't a particularly complicated potion - just a cure for boils - but the work was gruelling and required a great deal of attention. In fact, it was obvious to Neville by the end of class, Potions was probably the most dangerous class at Hogwarts. Ron Weasley had scalded his hands when he inserted the snake fangs, Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas had melted down the top lip of their cauldron, and Tracey Davis had accidently gotten dust from crushed dried nettles into her eye, causing the entire left side of her face to swell and purple dramatically. Three people had left for the hospital wing before class ended, and the remaining first years had results that only slightly resembled the boil cure potion they were supposed to be creating.
As Draco and Neville cleaned their station at the end of class, having made it through Potions without any incidents, Ariadne walked by swiftly. A bit of parchment fell out of her copy of Magical Drafts and Potions, which she ignored as she swept out of the dungeon. Draco picked it up, and unfolded the crumpled parchment.
D & N,
Meet me in a half hour by the lake. I'll get supplies for some supper.
A. B.
Neville glanced at Draco. "I don't have anything to do, besides homework I suppose. It would be nice to catch up with you lot, hear how your week's been."
The Slytherin nodded. "It would be interesting to hear how you're doing in Gryffindor, and I'm sure Ariadne has things to tell us as well."
"So, I'll run up to the tower and then meet you in the Great Hall and-"
"Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Malfoy," and both boys turned with some fear at the advancing Potions professor. They had completely forgotten they were still in the classroom, in fact, they were the only students left. Neville gulped involuntarily, while Draco balled up Ariadne's note in his hand and paled further.
"Yes, Professor?"
Snape sneered at Neville, then looked directly at Draco.
"Your potion was satisfactory, but I expect better from you, Draco," and Neville was surprised that the man's voice was simply stern, rather than hostile and nasty. The professor looked coldly at Neville and then back to Draco. "No matter the caliber of your partner, only the highest quality work will suffice."
"I know sir," Draco replied, "We'll do much better next time." Snape raised an eyebrow and Draco cast his eyes down to the floor. There was a momentary awkward pause, and Neville wasn't sure if perhaps he should say something as well, but then Snape continued.
"Class has ended. I suggest that you make haste and enjoy what remains of your afternoon." Neville nearly would have let his jaw drop to the floor, had Draco not taken the initiative to stamp firmly, but not painfully, on his foot.
"Yes, you're right, Professor. We were just leaving."
He gathered both their books, nodded to the Potions professor, and half led, half pushed Neville out the classroom door.
"Not here," Draco muttered before Neville could get out a shocked word. "Just meet me and Ariadne out by the lake, I'll tell you then."
Forty-five minutes later, Neville was strolling onto the grounds of Hogwarts, hurriedly looking for Draco and Ariadne. He found them on a green and silver blanket next to a rather large cluster of purple fanged geranium - Neville had gotten a nasty bite from one when he was six, and subsequently was quite good at identifiying the carnivourous plants from their docile, dainty cousins. Skirting the flowers, he plopped down on the blanket. There was a veritable feast spread out before him. Turnovers, Cornish pasties, assorted biscuits, a few apples and oranges, a bunch of grapes, bags of Canbuxford Crisps in flavours like Marmite & Cheese and Clementine & Maple Syrup, deviled eggs, various sandwiches... he barely knew where to begin!
Ariadne was sitting serenely with her legs folded underneath her, idly munching on an apple. Draco, well, Neville wasn't quite sure what the young Malfoy boy was doing. He appeared to be squatting near the edge of the blanket, but taking care not to touch it or any of the treats. Neville blinked at him quizzically, then looked at Ariadne.
"Where'd you get all the food?"
"Kitchens," the girl waved impatiently. "Long story, but I'll show you the entrance if we ever walk by."
"Took you long enough to get here," Draco observed.
"Gryffindor Tower is a ways from the dungeons." Neville looked at Draco again, then at Ariadne. "What's with him?"
The girl sighed and tossed her black hair. "He thinks we're doing something distinctly Muggle, and refuses to fully commit to a nice afternoon among friends."
"Well it is Muggle," Draco said crossly. "I know it, this is that pinky-kicking thing you're always doing with the Potters."
Ariadne rolled her eyes and swallowed her bite of apple.
"For Merlin's sake, it's picknicking, not pinky-kicking, and as a matter of fact wizards do this as well."
Draco turned sharply to Neville as though demanding whether or not that was true. The boy smiled slightly.
"Wizards and witches do this often where I live, especially when the weather is good. It's a nice way to enjoy the sunshine."
The pale Slytherin seemed slightly mollified: though he still neglected to sit on the blanket and remained in a crouch, he did grab a sandwich from the basket and started eating.
"So how is Slytherin? Are your housemates nice? Why is Professor Snape so... mean? But why does he like you so much?"
The last question was directed at Draco, but before the pale boy could swallow and respond, Neville was struck with another thought.
"And why does he seem to hate you so much?"
Ariadne looked at him in mock despair.
"He's got so much to learn, doesn't he Draco?"
Her cousin shrugged, nibbling the corner crust off of his sandwich.
"Well, to start with, I imagine he rather dislikes me because my father was his mortal enemy when they went to Hogwarts together. The only person Snape might hate more is James Potter, Harry's dad."
Neville looked at Ariadne with wide eyes, while reaching for a turnover. "They were all in the same year?"
"Yup," the girl nodded. "James is my godfather, actually, like my dad is Harry's. They were best friends, along with Remus Lupin, and they were always exchanging hexes and curses with Snape in school. In fact, there was one time my dad nearly had Snape killed." Her face darkened considerably as Draco and Neville exchanged an astonished glance mid-chew.
"My mum swore me to secrecy on the details, and it's better you don't know. If I told you, and there was the slight chance Snape ever got wind of it-" Ariadne shuddered, and not for effect. "Yes, it's better you don't know."
Neither boy looked like they were willing to simply let the story die, but Ariadne shifted topics quickly.
"Neville, my mum told me that your mum was in my dad's year as well. Although, your mum was a Hufflepuff, and never had much to do with either the Marauders-"
"The what?"
"It's what my dad and his friends called themselves," Ariadne explained. "She didn't interact with them a great deal at Hogwarts, much less Professor Snape, although she was very good friends with Harry's mother, and she and my mum got along well."
There was a beat, and, the tale of Snape's brush with death forgotten, Neville asked before he could lose his nerve,
"Was my dad in their year too?"
Ariadne smiled. "He was a Gryffindor like them, but ahead of them by a year, and Head Boy besides. According to my mum, they all got on much better after the Marauders graduated, and matured."
Draco snorted into his sandwich.
"As much as they could mature, I suppose," Ariadne amended. "My dad often still behaves like an overgrown schoolboy, especially when with my godfather, and seeing as they're both Aurors, it's nearly daily."
Neville was thoughtful. He was curious about his parents' Hogwarts days, it seemed to give him more connection to the castle. He couldn't believe that his mum was friendly with Ariadne's mum, or that the reason Snape was so rude to Harry and Ariadne was because he went to school with their fathers. He glanced at Draco, who was still snorting somewhat.
"Were your parents in the same year as my mum and Ariadne's dad?"
The question wiped the smirk off of Draco's face. He seemed to hunch even more in his squat over the blanket. After a minute, Neville was terribly afraid he'd offended the boy. Just when he was ready to change the topic, Draco began to respond, haltingly at first.
"My fath- my father was not, he was a seventh year when they began school. My mother was in the same year as Ariadne's mum, though."
Ariadne took up from there. "Yes, Draco's mum was a Slytherin, and my mum was in Ravenclaw. I suppose they had a fair number of classes together and became good friends. I think that's how my mum knew Snape, and I assume he hates me less than Harry only for that reason and I was Sorted into his House. And Professor Snape loves Draco because Draco is his godson."
Everyone seemed to know everyone in the British magical world! He supposed it was because Norway had larger populations of witches, wizards and magical beings, and were generally well dispersed over the country.
"He's your godfather?"
The pale boy looked away. "Professor Snape is my godfather, yes. He knew my mother in school, and he was a - well, he knew my father as well. He comes round every now and then to see me and Mum, but that's it." The last bit came out somewhat oddly, as though Draco were clenching his teeth while saying the words.
"It's all very insular, isn't it?" Neville was trying to understand, but it came out a bit unkindly. Draco bristled slightly, but Ariadne shot her cousin a look.
"It certainly can be," she replied.
Draco suddenly stood up from his squat and dusted off his robes.
"I've got a letter to finish to Mum." Without so much as a wave, the Slytherin headed back in the direction of the castle. Neville watched him go, wondering if he had said too much.
"He's had a tough time of it." Neville turned back to Ariadne, whose blue-gray eyes were fixed on her cousin's retreating form.
"In Slytherin, it's tricky. Two of the boys in his year, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, follow Theodore Nott almost unquestionably, and the three will have nothing to do with Draco. Blaise Zabini is harder to read, but won't upset the status quo."
"Why's that so important?"
"Your position within your year determines your larger position in the House," Ariadne responded. "So since Draco is ignored by those in power as first-years, he's a pariah in the rest of the house as well. It's because he has no family status anymore, and his father is imprisoned. The old supporters of You-Know-Who who are not in prison avoided incarceration by claiming to be under spells, or by bribing the Ministry, my dad told me. So these boys have no ties to Draco, and since his social standing is so poor despite his mother's family, they look down upon him. Removes a potential opponent for power struggles as well."
The boy's head was spinning. He was only worried about turning his match into a needle. Gryffindor didn't have such weird power structures.
"What about you?"
Ariadne smiled.
"Pansy Parkinson is already one of Nott's most vocal admirers. Millicent Bulstrode and Tracey Davis are her answer to Nott's Crabbe and Goyle: neither girl is particularly special, and they have the perfect family background to be followers. Both Daphne Greengrass and I are respected in the year for being from strong and well-known pureblood families, but we are not cultivated as 'friends' since neither of us show any inclination to follow."
Neville absorbed that. So friends for Slytherins were followers? He had to believe that some Snakes had actual friendships, and he asked Ariadne.
"Oh, of course. But most true friendships are only had by those slightly outside the Core, that is, Slytherins without a taste for following or leading within the House. And the majority of those friendships are with similarly minded Slytherins, or with pureblood Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs."
"But not Gryffindors," Neville said sadly.
"Gryffindors tend to see Slytherins as one. And in fairness, Slytherins see Gryffindors the same way. It's hard to break through the conditioned stereotyping. And for Draco, it's worse. The first year Gryffindors, especially Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and that Finnegan guy, have already made it their mission to pick on Draco as much as possible."
"Why?"
"Because they can, I suspect," she said somewhat angrily. "Because his father is a known Death Eater in Azkaban, because no one ever let the old squabbles, feuds, and hatred go after the war, because to them Draco is a sign of everything they've been brought up to despise and to rail against. I've tried reasoning with Potter, since he's practically my cousin as well, and we've known each other since we were born. It hasn't worked. I've defended Draco from them once this week, but Draco wants me to keep out of it, says he'll take care of himself."
Ariadne flushed a bit here, and Neville could see the girl's annoyance and concern for her cousin.
"Well, I think it's good of you to try."
The girl flashed a smile at him again, then took a bite of a biscuit, and moved on to the more innocuous topic of the levitation Charm. He and Ariadne spent a bit more time talking before packing up and returning to the castle, but, as nice as it was, Draco's miserable situation loomed in the back of Neville's mind.
Neville had nearly no time to ruminate further on the intersecting relatonships between British wizards and witches, and the odd power struggles in Gryffindor and Slytherin, as Flying was scheduled for the following Thursday on the Quidditch Pitch. Naturally, the Gryffindor first years did not pay attention to the notice until late Wednesday evening in the Gryffindor common room.
"Bloody hell! We've got to learn to fly with the Slytherins?" Seamus was whinging at the notice board.
"I'm sure it'll be fine, Seamus," Dean said. "Madam Hooch is overseeing everything, so they won't be able to cause trouble."
Harry and Ron didn't say anything, but Neville saw them giving each other excited and devious looks. He was more worried about them causing trouble than any Slytherins. Although if there was trouble, it would certainly involve Draco. Neville groaned at the prospect.
Thursday morning, Neville dutifully attended History of Magic and Charms, trying to be attentive and take notes, but his mind was wandering to the prospect of Flying lessons.
As class ended, he moved with tremendous speed to the Great Hall, sitting with a thump at the table, and began to devour whatever food was in front of him. Gemma D'Avis look scandalized, but he didn't have time to care. He needed to catch up with Draco before the flying class, and warn him about - well, he wasn't sure. But at least put him on his guard about Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.
The Slytherin was walking toward the front steps, in the direction of the Quidditch Pitch. Neville had just about caught up to him and was about to intercept him, when a school owl swooped down towards Draco. The pale boy quickly took the letter and parcel in its talons, and the owl flew off promptly, its service rendered.
Neville approached Draco with a small smile.
"A reply from your mum?"
Draco looked up, and nodded. He unwrapped the parcel, revealing a smooth, black sphere the size of an orange. Neville looked at it quizzically. Draco scanned the letter from his mother, first looking for the name of the object.
"It's an orbis exercito,"
"Oh, cool." Neville had heard of, but never seen, an orbis exercito. They were made from onyx, and were enchanted as a portable means to test the effectiveness of one's spellcasting. The orbs were enchanted to absorb whatever spell, curse or jinx was sent its way, and would give off a green glow if done correctly, a blue glow if the pronunciation, movement, or intent and execution needed work. They would then send the curse back to the caster, allowing for practice of dodging or Shield Charms. They were regularly used by hitwizards, Aurors, and duelers in recruitment and training.
Draco was reading more carefully now, and Neville didn't want to bother him, but did certainly want to tell him about the Gryffindors. Before he could open his mouth again, the rest of the first year Gryffindors began to surge in their direction, and Draco quickly excused himself to head towards the pitch. Neville sighed, but waited for his fellow firsties to arrive, then fell in step just behind Iris Archimmel.
By the time the Gryffindors arrived to the well-manicured lawn where the lesson was to be held, the Slytherins were already silently lined up, and twenty broomsticks were arrayed neatly before them. Neville shot a quick look at the Snakes: a thin, reedy looking boy was looking disdainfully at the school brooms lined up. He was flanked by two hulking, ugly first year boys, and Neville assumed that he was Theodore Nott, and the other two were Crabbe and Goyle.
The flying instructor, Madam Hooch, was looking at the Gryffindors impatiently. "What are you waiting around for, you lot?"
The Gryffindors hurriedly lined up, each with one of the old school broomsticks in front of them. Neville noticed the woman's hawk-like yellow eyes scrutinizing each first year.
She directed everyone to stick their hands out and shout up, which everyone did, although everyone's broom did not comply immediately. Neville had had a bit of a time getting his broom to respond, but after his third attempt the broom shot up into his hand. Then the teacher weaved among the students, showing them how to properly mount the broom and grip the handle. She spent quite a bit of time with the Muggleborn students, especially Hermione Granger, and Neville heard her tell Harry Potter he had a naturally perfect grip. Neville refrained from rolling his eyes.
Finally, they were directed to kick off, rise up slowly and come down, but before Madam Hooch had blown her whistle, one of Theodore Nott's bodyguards had panicked, shot up into the air about twelve feet. He then began streaking towards the ground, and Draco had to jump sideways towards the Gryffindors to avoid being squashed. The unfortunate boy - Neville couldn't tell if it was Crabbe or Goyle - then crash landed back on the ground with a loud, sickening crunch.
Madam Hooch bustled over to the boy, her face white as a sheet. She waved her wand over him, muttered to herself, and stood the Slytherin up. He himself looked no worse for wear, other than being deathly pale, but his right foot or ankle seemed to be broken, as he was placing all of his weight on his left.
The woman helped the hobbling boy to the hospital wing, but not before assuring the first years that if they moved or touched their brooms while she was gone, they would be expelled from Hogwarts.
As soon as she had left, the Gryffindors broke out in small chuckles quietly. Neville made his way over to Draco.
"You ok, Draco?"
"Yes," the blonde said. "But I just barely missed Crabbe. I don't think he can be any more incompetent, pity for Nott his followers are so useless beyond their size."
"What's this?"
Both boys turned at the sound of the voice. Ron Weasley had walked over and reached down to pick up a glittering ball on the grass. As he held it up, Neville recognized Draco's orbis exercito, which must have fallen out of the boy's pocket in the attempt to get out of the path of the plummeting Crabbe. He could see Ron's eyebrows rise with interest, and tried to stop Weasley before the situation spiralled out of control.
"Weasley, it isn't your property. Give it back to Draco."
"Why's Malfoy ball your business, Longbottom?" Harry Potter had come over, frowning at his fellow Gryffindor. "And besides, he's only looking at it. What's the harm?"
"It's mine," Draco broke in, "hand it over, Weasley."
Harry looked the orb at more closely.
"How'd you get yourself an orbis exercito, Malfoy? And what are you doing with one anyway?"
"They aren't against the rules, Potter," Neville tried to stick up for Draco, though he was improvising, "so just give it back to Draco."
Ron pretended to not hear Neville, and turned with a thoughtful air to his black-haired friend.
"Whatever it is, it's not exactly the size of a Snitch or a Quaffle, but it'd be good for a quick toss before Madam Hooch gets back. What'd you say, Harry?"
"Give it back!" Neville and Draco chorused. By now, the rest of the Slytherin and Gryffindor was watching the power play between the two sets of boys. Neville could see Ariadne watching with a frown, but remembered her pledge to let Draco fight his own battles with Harry.
Harry thumped Ron on the back, and took the orbis into his own hand. "Good idea, mate!" And before Draco or Neville could say a word, he had kicked off and was airborne on his broom with tremendous speed and skill. The whole group of students collectively held their breath; the first move had been made.
"Harry! You'll get us all in trouble!" Hermione Granger's screeches momentarily distracted everyone, but the Slytherin angrily mounted his broom and took off in pursuit, flying as well as Harry had.
Ron made to mount his broom as well, until Hermione pointed her wand at the boy.
"Don't even try it, Ronald Weasley. I've learned all our first year coursebooks by heart, and I'll put the full Body-Bind on you if you even think of getting on that broom."
The redhead scowled, and his face crimsoned until it nearly matched his hair.
"Are you some kind of mental, Slytherin dark wizard lover?"
"No, I am not! I simply think Potter is bound to lose our House some points with his shenanigans, and don't think we need to lose any more!"
Hermione's bushy hair was getting bushier as she yelled back at Weasley. Neville looked up in the air: Harry and Draco were circling each other slowly. He had to get up there and help his friend, or at least, the boy he wanted to be his friend.
The boy stole another look at the Granger-Weasley row, and with a burst of courage he didn't really know he had, Neville kicked off and was airborne on the broom before anyone could pull a wand on him.
"NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!" Hermione's shriek resounded through the air, but he tuned it out. He didn't really like flying - he'd had somewhat of a fear of brooms after a fall from Oscar's toy broom when he was five - but to his surprise, he found that he could handle it fairly well as he made his way toward Harry and Draco.
"Not much of a flier are you, Longbottom."
"I made it here, Potter, and I'm good enough to keep up with you on these school brooms." Neville looked evenly at the boy, then cast his gaze on Draco. He looked ashen and close to tears, though his face was scrunched into a scowl and he had his eyes glued to Harry. What could Harry have said to him?
"Just give Draco back his orbis, Harry," Neville sighed.
"I don't think I've quite finished with it yet," Harry taunted, throwing the onyx sphere from hand to hand on the broom.
"There are two of us up here, and I don't think Weasley's coming to save your neck anytime soon." Draco had found his voice at last.
Harry looked at the two boys, then back down to the Quidditch pitch. He smirked.
"Fair enough, it's yours, if you can catch it!" And with that the orbis exercito was thrown high in the air and plummeting back to the ground, while Harry flew swiftly back toward the Gryffindors.
"Draco!" Neville looked on with horror as the pale Slytherin dropped into a sharp dive, gathering speed and dodging branches, and he could hear the cries from the pitch below. Neville eased his broom back towards the ground, his eyes never removing themselves from the streaking Malfoy. When Draco stretched out his hand and caught the orbis exercito, before rolling in air and landing with a small bump on the grass, Neville let out the breath he'd been holding and landed himself. Crisis averted.
"Mr. Malfoy. Mr Longbottom."
Nevermind.
Draco and Neville did not look anywhere but the ground as a livid Professor Snape demanded they follow him, and they obeyed, shuffling along to certain doom. It was good that they didn't look up, or they would have seen the triumphant faces of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley (and some of the other Gryffindors, who slapped Harry's back at the great entertainment), Hermione's indignant fury which was boiling over, and Ariadne's stricken face watching her cousin and The-Boy-Who-Lived hauled off by the scariest teacher in Hogwarts and probably due for immediate expulsion.
Neville moved through the castle following the Potions Master. He supposed being expelled would not be the worst thing in the world for him. He could go home, and enroll at Valhalla with Oscar, and stop feeling so out of place and alone. As he thought that, a brief spark of hope and happiness ignited in his chest, but it was quickly doused as he thought about the confirmed disappointment of Grandmother Longbottom, and that despite his initial reluctance, he was beginning to feel more comfortable at Hogwarts. There was also his fledgling friendships with Draco and Ariadne, and learning more about his parents and their experiences in the same school. His heart sank once again.
Surprisingly though, instead of the dungeons, or Dumbledore's office wherever that was, Snape led them back through the castle and then outside yet again, to the greenhouses on the opposite side of the castle from the Quidditch pitch.
As they neared the door to Greenhouse 3, Snape fixed the two of them with a dangerous look.
"Do not move, and do not speak while I am inside."
The professor didn't wait for assent, but turned and entered the greenhouse. Neville was desperately curious, and afraid, at what Snape was going to come out of the greenhouse with, and his mind whirled with possibilities. Perhaps we'll have to fight our way out of Devil's Snare without wands? All his anxious theories were dashed when the professor emerged swiftly with an older Slytherin student who was broad-shouldered and dark-haired, and looked nastily at the two first-years before him.
"Follow me," Snape said silkily, and the three boys followed the man back into the castle to an empty classroom on the same level as the dungeons. With a wave of his wand, Snape closed the door, and regarded the two first year students very seriously. He spent a whole minute studying Draco's face, then turned to Neville and stared at him as well. Neville could only hold the gaze so long before he had to look away, he was so anxious and frightened.
"You will both serve detention with Filch every evening next week for that idiotic display and blatant disregard of rules."
Neville expected Snape to go on about expulsion or something even more nasty and horrible, but he was surprised when he turned to Draco.
"Malfoy, this is Marcus Flint. Flint, I've found you a Seeker."
Marcus Flint's face went from surly to flummoxed. Draco, meanwhile, had brightened up considerably upon learning they weren't being expelled, and stood straight.
"This is Draco Malfoy," Snape's voice had a bite of impatience to it, as though he expected the Quidditch captain to take his meaning much more swiftly. "I have just had the great fortune to see Mr. Malfoy pull off a fifty-foot dive on a school broom, caught the orbis that you see in his hand, and pulled out with barely a scratch on him."
Now Flint showed some interest, although he looked at the first year skeptically. Draco's face was mask-like as he stared back at the older boy.
"By all means, test him yourself at the Quidditch pitch. Loathe as I am to compare any Slytherin to a Gryffindor," Snape continued with a disgusted face, "he is far superior to the poor excuses for Seekers we've had in the last few years, winnning the Cup in spite of rather than because of them. The best comparison for his talent would be Charles Weasley."
Now the Quidditch captain smiled predatorily at the first year. "He does have the build for a Seeker, Professor. And if he's as good as you say he is, then we'll win the House Cup again for sure."
"I will speak with the Headmaster, and come up with a way around the first year rule. And I shall see to it that Malfoy receives a decent broom."
Flint looked at Draco. "Saturday evening, on the pitch, seven o'clock."
Malfoy inclined his head.
"Professor," and Flint nodded happily to the Potions Master, then left the classroom.
"Draco, you are also excused, but we will be discussing your lack of judgment later in my office. And I expect stellar marks during your tenure on the Quidditch team or you will answer to me," Snape said in a slightly softer tone. "Now go."
Draco shot a glance at Neville, who was elated for Draco's good fortune but now looked disturbed at having to remain in the classroom with Snape. Alone.
The door closed behind Malfoy. Neville felt his apprenhension bubbling, but forced himself to look up at Snape. The man was looking at him closely, but without the omnipresent sneer.
"Longbottom."
"Sir," the boy replied nervously.
"Explain yourself."
"Sir?"
"I understand that Draco was attempting to recover his property from Mr. Potter," and the professor said the name with a slight snarl, "and while I was unable to punish Mr. Potter since he was planted firmly on the ground with no broom in his hands when I arrived, I am aware of his involvement in the incident. What I am missing thus far is why you felt the need to insert yourself in the situation, and how you came to be on your broom, defying a direct order from Madam Hooch. So you will explain. Now."
"Well, you see, it was Weasley who started it, Ron I mean," Neville explained awkwardly. "I tried to ask him to give it back, but he didn't care. And then he threw it to Harry and Harry was up in the air and Draco went after him. And well, I know that they've been bull- I mean, I heard he's been having some problems with them. And it didn't look like anyone else was going to help him get his orbis back, but I thought it was wrong and... and I flew to help him. Because he's my friend- or at least, I want to be friends."
The boy trailed off, speaking the final bit in an undertone that he wasn't sure if Snape had heard. He felt awkward and embarrassed, he hadn't meant to say such things to the Potions professor. There was absolute silence. Neville looked at the ground, not wanting to even chance to see what kind of expression was on Snape's face after that bit of truth came out.
"I see." Neville raised his eyes slightly to see Snape looking at him impassively.
"Well, Longbottom, you should know that a friendship between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin can be extremely difficult to maintain even under normal circumstances. And a friendship between the Boy-Who-Lived and a Malfoy," the professor sneered just slightly, "is all but impossible."
"All the same, sir," and Nevill could hardly believe the voice coming out of his mouth belonged to him, "I want to try."
"Do try, Mr. Longbottom. Though don't be surprised if no good comes of it."
The professor's face was unreadable. The final remark was ominous, and seemed to be an ending of sorts to the conversation. Feeling this, Neville tried to imitate Malfoy and Flint by nodding, but only ended up bobbling his head awkwardly at Snape. Flushing slightly, the boy beat a hasty retreat and quickly exited the classroom.
"Hey."
Draco was waiting for him. Neville let out the breath he'd been holding.
"Hey."
"I didn't get a chance to say- well, I wanted to..." the blonde trailed off, before straightening his back and looking at Neville squarely.
"Thank you for flying with me on the pitch."
Neville blushed slightly.
"Er, well it was the right thing to do. Friends stick together, you know?"
Draco was pensive for a moment, then offered a small smile to Neville.
"Yeah. Yes. Friends do."
Neville smiled back.
"Right, now let's go find Ariadne and tell her we're not expelled and I made our House Quidditch team!"
AN: Thanks for reading! TBC...