Chapter Two

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

31 July 1991

On 'Diagon Alley Day,' which was also Harry's birthday, Neville was so excited that he almost couldn't button his robes properly. He raced downstairs, tailed by Chloe and an unusually downcast Helen.

'We'll have the house practically to ourselves,' Chloe was saying. Helen brightened.

'Yeah . . . that'll be cool. But Uncle Arcturus won't — '

'Uncle Arcturus won't what?' said the uncle in question, appearing in the doorway. Harry was at his side, and had clearly been subjected to Sleekeazy's again, since his nature defying hair was straight and neatly parted. For a moment, between the hair and nose and utter self assurance, he looked for all the world like Arcturus' great grandson or something; then he grinned at his sisters and Neville, and he was just Harry again.

'Oh . . . nothing,' said Helen cheerfully. 'Happy birthday, Harry!'

'Thanks!' He slid into his seat, and the rest quickly poured in, all wishing him well, even Cygnus who'd been dragged out of his favourite study. They were quite cheerfully eating breakfast when there was a rushing noise, and two owls swept in. The wards kept all mail away, so Harry and Neville were still staring in astonishment when each owl dropped an envelope next to their plates.

It said, in bright green letters, Mr N. Longbottom, the Dining Room, 12 Grimmauld Place, London. Neville turned it over, and gasped. 'Harry! Harry, it's our — '

There were three separate flashes of light. Neville scowled. James, Sirius, and Cassie, each holding a camera, smiled unrepentantly.

'You didn't think we'd let this moment pass without pictures, did you?' Sirius demanded. 'All right, you can open them now.'

Both Harry and Neville ripped the letters open, and by the time Neville finished reading the invitation to Hogwarts, he was ready to strangle his uncles and aunt. There were still spots dancing in front of his eyes.

'Hogwarts,' Harry breathed reverently.

'I suppose we could send you to Durmstrang, if you're absolutely set on it,' James said.

'Eww,' said Neville, wrinkling his nose.

'I'm not,' Harry said, lifting his chin as he read through the letter once again.

They left not long afterwards, James, Sirius, Mr Longbottom, and Arcturus restoring whatever wards they'd changed to let the Hogwarts birds through. Harry gave his letter to his father, but Neville couldn't bring himself to let go of his own.

They went downstairs, past Walburga's portrait. She opened her mouth, but Arcturus simply looked at her. Even Walburga didn't dare cross him when he looked like that.

Then they were at the fireplace. Neville almost thought he could feel the air whooshing out of his lungs. He'd been outside to play, of course — the wards extended along the whole property, not just the house — but even still, it was nothing like, like, like this. Harry had gone to the Ministry and Diagon Alley and St Mungo's and even Hogsmeade a few times — it was nothing much for him. But Neville — this was Outside, for the very first time in his life. His teeth chattered and he clutched his cousin's hand.

Callidora and Melania looked equally terrified. Cassie and Arcturus had to forcibly detach them from each other.

'Remember to speak clearly,' James warned them, and one after another, they went through the fire. Harry and Neville were last, except for Sirius.

Neville tossed the powder into the fireplace, gathered his courage, and walked in, crying, 'Diagon Alley!'

-----

There were so many people. Neville had never seen so many in his life, witches and wizards everywhere, spilling out of stores, talking loudly in the street, hurrying this way and that. The blur of bright cloaks and robes was occasionally dotted by sombre dark trousers and coats, which inevitably belonged to some bewildered couple following a wizard or witch and their pale, wide-eyed children.

Muggleborns, Neville surmised. He'd never seen any before and just kept himself from staring at them.

'All right,' James was saying. 'We'll split up, it'll be faster that way.'

'I'll get their equipment,' Violetta volunteered. 'Melania, you're coming with me. Anything changed anything since your day, James?'

He perused Harry's letter. 'No. Cauldron — oh, only pewter now — phials — telescope — brass scales. Get him some basic potions ingredients too.'

'Right, then,' she said, and went off, pulling a dazed Melania behind her.

'Sirius and I have some things to get from Gringotts,' James went on. 'Neville, Harry, do you want to come with us?'

They looked at each other. 'Not really,' said Harry. 'There's enough money for everything, isn't there?'

Cassie snorted. 'Don't be ridiculous, boy. Enid, Algie, why don't you take Neville to the Menagerie for a pet? Go to Eeylops if he doesn't find anything he likes there. We'll go get Harry fitted at Madam Malkin's.'

'Very well,' said Enid. 'Neville, are you ready?'

He looked around his family with wide eyes. 'Er . . .' Harry patted him on the shoulder as he trailed after Cassie and Callidora.

'And no toads!' Sirius added in parting.

'Yes, I guess so,' Neville said. He wished he was like a Runespoor and had three heads, but made do with his own, standing on tiptoe as he looked around.

'— new Nimbus Two Thousand — fastest ever — '

'No point trying to get a broom, Neville,' said Enid, 'you can't bring one as a first year.'

'Let the boy be, Enid,' Algie told her. 'No harm in looking.'

'No, that's fine,' he said, sticking his hand behind his back. 'Uncle James' Comet Two Sixty is more thanfast enough, thanks.'

His aunt and uncle chuckled.

Before he quite knew what had happened, they were at Magical Menagerie, a store covered with cages and filled with the sounds of various animals — ravens croaking, snakes hissing, rabbits hopping, and cats miaowing, among others.

'You'll probably want an owl,' Enid said, 'but you might as well have a look around.'

'You might decide you'd like a toad after all.' Algie winked.

'All right,' Neville replied cheerfully. Cat, owl, toad, the letter said, but he knew there were plenty of exceptions. James said that the Weasley boys had passed down a rat, and when Sirius first went to Hogwarts, he got a Puffskein to irritate his family.

The ravens were annoying and he didn't like snakes, but he thought a cat might be just the thing. He sidled past a girl looking at some of them, then jumped as two kittens began attacking each other. The girl laughed.

'Don't think I'll get those ones, what about you?'

'Er — no,' said Neville awkwardly, for once grateful that his mousy hair had fallen in front of his face. 'I'd like something nice and calm, really.'

'Me too.' She grinned, tossing her long brown plait over her shoulder. 'Oh, sorry. I'm Susan.' She held out her hand.

'Neville,' said Neville, awkwardly, shaking it. He was half anticipating, half dreading, her reaction, whatever it might be.

Her eyes rounded. 'Neville? Neville Longbottom? Really?' Her eyes darted up to his forehead, then dropped to the floor. 'Oh, well, er . . . it's nice to meet you. I mean, really nice . . . you're going to Hogwarts?'

'Yes,' said Neville, and added unnecessarily, 'it's my first year.'

'Mine too,' Susan said, smiling shyly. 'My aunt was really pleased when I got my letter, because my mum's a Muggle and I never did anything that was, you know, for sure magic — and Auntie's way up in the Ministry — so she said I could have whatever pet I wanted and she'd see that there weren't any problems about it.'

'Oh, that's nice of her,' said Neville. 'It's sort of the same with me — all my family's wizarding, but I never did anything, except growing some weird plants, until I bounced down the stairs about a week ago. Everybody was really pleased, so they're letting me get a pet.' He laughed. 'My cousin wants a snake but I think I'll just get a cat or an owl.'

'A snake? Eww,' she said, wrinkling her nose up. 'An owl would be really useful, but cats are really sw — cute.'

Neville laughed. 'That's true. That black one looks nice, don't you think?'

Away from the angry kittens was another, hungrily lapping up milk. It was black and very small, composed chiefly of enormous ears and large green eyes. It turned towards them and miaowed, piteously.

'Yeah,' said Neville. 'It looks like a runt, see how small it is?'

'I'll get it,' Susan decided, 'unless you want it?'

'Nah.' He grinned. 'She's yours. I'll go to Eeylops, I think.' He paused before leaving. 'See you at Hogwarts, Susan.'

She blushed. 'See you there.'

He returned to his aunt and uncle to find that they had been watching him interestedly. 'Do you have a lady friend, Neville?' Enid teased.

'I never met her before!' he cried. 'But she seemed nice. Her people were worried that she wasn't magic, too.'

'Don't be silly, Nev, nobody thought you weren't magic,' Algie said. Neville ignored him and walked into Eeylops Owl Emporium, a dimly lit store full of all kinds of owls. He rather liked it there, since there was no danger of anybody recognising him and the hoots and screeches of the owls were peculiarly soothing. Fifteen minutes later, Neville walked out with a snowy white owl under his arm, and a broad smile on his face.

'Thanks, Auntie Enid,' he chirped. The owl hooted at him.

'She'll need a name,' Algie told him.

Neville wished Harry was there, he always knew stories and things. Then he thought of the greenhouse, and the portrait he'd saved. She was an Herbologist, and it was really the only important all Neville thing he'd ever done. Neville said firmly, 'Her name is Persephone.'

-----

'Harry!'

Neville waved his arm at his cousin, who, along with a number of other people, was staring longingly at the Nimbus Two Thousand on display at Quality Quidditch Supplies. With a visible effort, he tore himself away, followed by a slim blond boy. Apparently Harry, too, had made a friend of sorts — no surprise there, Harry'd always had a way of getting along with people.

'Hi, Neville,' Harry replied. 'Oh, so you did get an owl. Look, Draco, isn't she pretty?'

The other boy — up close, an extremely pale, colourless creature with a pointed face and cold grey eyes — examined her. 'Yes, rather,' he said eventually. 'What have you called her?'

'Persephone,' said Neville.

Harry grinned. 'That's brilliant, she'll be pleased,' he said, then clapped his hand over his mouth. 'Oh, I'm so sorry. Neville, this is my new friend, Draco Malfoy. Draco, my cousin, Neville Longbottom.'

'Nice to meet you, Longbottom,' drawled Malfoy. His voice was uncannily like Phineas'.

'And you, Malfoy,' Neville returned. Did Harry not know who the Malfoys were? Honestly, he'd never figured out how his cousin could be so knowledgable about some things and obtuse about others. 'Where are the aunts, Harry?'

'They're talking to Mrs Malfoy,' said Harry. 'Draco and I decided to come and get our wands.—Enid and Algie?'

'They met some old friend and I said I'd be fine. I wanted to see what Florean's was like.'

Harry laughed. 'Or what Florean's tasted like? They must have left you money, then.'

'Ten Galleons,' said Neville, blushing. 'Do you s'pose that will be enough?'

'Probably,' said Malfoy.

'I'll give you more if you need it,' Harry promised. 'Come on. Is Ollivander really as old as they say?'

The three boys hurried over to the shop. It was narrow, shabby, and in peeling gold letters announced itself Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A rather battered wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the window. Though this was what Neville had really been looking forward to, even he had to admit that on first sight the place was rather unprepossessing.

They walked in, and somewhere, a bell faintly tinkled. The shop was very small, the only furniture one spindly, delicate chair. There were shelves up to the wall, all full of long narrow boxes, and the air practically tingled with magic. Neville wasn't sure whether to be impressed, afraid, or just excited. Malfoy was looking around with a bizarre mixture of curiosity and condescension, while Harry seemed more delighted than anything else. Clearly this was just what an ancient wand shop ought to be according to the Harry Potter idea of the world.

'Good afternoon,' said a soft voice. All three jumped. Before them was a very old man, even in wizarding terms. He had wide shining pale eyes.

'Er, hello,' said Harry. 'I'm — '

'Harry Potter, yes,' the creepy old man — Ollivander, Neville supposed — said. 'I thought I'd be seeing you soon.' He sighed. 'You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches, long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for Charms work.' He moved closer to an unnerved and slightly angry Harry, staring at him unblinkingly. 'Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. A little more power, and excellent for Transfiguration.'

Neville could just believe it. 'When in doubt, Transfigure' seemed to be James Potter's answer to everything.

'— really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course,' Ollivander was saying; with a barely audible swish of his robes, he turned to Malfoy. 'Draco Malfoy. A bit longer since your parents were in here . . . my, you do look like your father. Twelve inches, willow, bendy. Dragon heartstring from a Hungarian Horntail, tricky piece of work too. Quite powerful . . .' His voice trailed off, and he blinked for the first time, then coughed. 'Your mother's was more subtle, rowan, nine inches, with a unicorn hair. Very pliable, pleasant wand . . . and Mr Longbottom. I couldn't forget Alice Gamp. Unusually short wand, quite rigid — ebony — a phoenix tail feather, most volatile. You are very like her. Except . . .' He touched the scar on Neville's forehead. 'I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Yew. Fourteen inches. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands . . . well, if I'd known what that wand was going out in the world to do . . .' He shook his head.

Malfoy looked uncomfortable and said firmly, 'We'd like to get our wands, sir.'

'Well now . . . Mr Potter. Which is your wand arm?'

'Right,' said Harry. As he was measured, Ollivander burbled on about wands, flitting around as he took down boxes.

'Beechwood and dragon heartstring — maple and phoenix feather — ebony and unicorn hair — ' They tried, and tried, and tried. Neville suppressed a yawn. Malfoy didn't bother. The boxes piled higher and higher, until —

'Unusual combination,' Ollivander was saying cheerfully. 'Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.'

Harry took the wand, and swished it through the air. A stream of red and gold shot from the end, lighting up the dim shop. Neville clapped enthusiastically, Malfoy congratulated him, and Mr Ollivander cried,

'Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh very good. Well.' His pale silvery eyes were fixed on the wand with a rather bemused expression, as if he had discovered something unexpected.

Malfoy was next, but he demanded to try the first wand Ollivander had pulled out, a beechwood and dragon heartstring one. It immediately shot out gold and silver sparks.

'Excellent, excellent,' Ollivander said, 'nice and flexible — a very fine wand, if I do say so myself. Norwegian Ridgeback.'

'How'd you know?' Harry hissed, and Malfoy shrugged.

'I wanted it,' he said.

Neville suspected this was Malfoy's answer to most questions.

As for Neville himself, he was nearly as long as Harry. Finally, however, the old wizard happened across a warm, attractive wand. 'Cherry, ten inches, unicorn hair,' he pronounced. 'Swishy, quite versatile . . .'

When Neville tentatively took the wand, he didn't have to swish. The blue and copper sparks were accompanied by a crash of broken glass and falling boxes. Harry and Malfoy ducked.

'Oh dear,' said Neville. 'Does that mean I'm going to be a Ravenclaw?'

-----

The weeks between their outing in Diagon Alley passed quickly. Harry and Neville were almost bouncing off the walls, in some cases quite literally. Helen was peevish while Chloe insisted she didn't want to go to Hogwarts at all. James threatened to keep them from coming to King's Cross too if they didn't start behaving.

Sirius gave Harry his old school trunk with a knowing wink. Neville was sure there was some secret there, but didn't find out until the night before their departure, when he caught Harry sneaking a Comet Two Sixty into the bottom of his luggage.

'But that's against the rules!' Neville hissed.

'You sound like a good Gryffindor already,' Harry teased him.

'I'll never get Sorted there,' he replied gloomily, and didn't realise until later how neatly the subject had been turned. Sirius and Harry had obviously conspired — it was just the sort of thing that Sirius would enjoy. And he'd been a Gryffindor too. Harry had to be wrong, Neville decided, since being a Gryffindor clearly had absolutely nothing to do with obeying rules.

Neville carefully packed all his belongings, plus the potions which he wrapped in socks and buried in his shoes. There were pictures, clothes, textbooks, various supplies—

And, of course, the Wand of Doom. It was, admittedly, much, much, better than any other wand he'd tried. His spells — at least those he'd tried — did tend to do, in a general way, what he wanted them to.

Of course, his Levitation Charm had sent Persephone's cage crashing into the ceiling. His Lumos had Harry diving under the bed. The horrid thing, as far as Neville was concerned, had a life of its own, and he still had no idea why it had chosen him. It wasn't fair; Harry had already grown inordinately attached to his nice, obedient wand — Neville half suspected he slept with it under his pillow — while he found himself eyeing his own suspiciously, dreading what it would get up to next.

But other than that, those last few weeks were wonderful. He would have died before admitting to anyone that he'd cried and said goodbye to his plants. Pip had, however, sworn that 'we is looking after Master Neville's weeds,' so he was hoping for the best. Old Persephone had sworn that she'd scream at them if they did anything wrong.

'But no punishing yourself,' he told the elf sternly.

By the end, he was quite reluctant to leave. Walburga and Kreacher were the only people he could honestly say he wouldn't miss. Helen and Chloe with their big inquisitive eyes and their little quarrels, Cassie bossing Callidora, Arcturus' gruff way of looking out for everybody, Algie and Enid and his gran, and most of all, James and Sirius.

He'd always called them 'uncle,' but they'd been as much his fathers as Harry's. Sirius with his jokes, his teasing, and the way he could suddenly be down-to-earth and sensible when Neville needed it. He could always talk to Sirius about the things that nobody else would understand, about how Harry made people like him without even trying ('it's called charisma, Nev'), or how afraid he was about ending up in Hufflepuff ('don't take this the wrong way, but you're not a team player'), or even that he was afraid of going to Hogwarts ('don't let the bravado fool you — everyone is, their first year, and sometimes later too'). And there was James, who was . . . well, he was James. It was impossible to imagine James as a young mischief maker, as both men insisted; Sirius, definitely, but James? James, grave, determined, powerful, with that touch of severity — no. James was the one that looked after him when he was sick, the one who gave Walburga what-for, the one who was always being quoted in the Prophet — he was . . . good. Neville trusted nobody, not even Harry, as much as he did James. Sometimes he was terrified of him, but only when he knew he'd done something he shouldn't; and when he'd done something right, he always ran to James, even before his gran. As long as Neville could remember, what he wanted more than anything was to make James proud of him.

If I'm in Gryffindor—

Neville pushed that thought away. Harry would be, naturally — Harry was practically fearless — but him? There were other things. There'd be Herbology. As long as he obeyed the rules and did well —

But there wouldn't be anybody looking out for him. He'd always been surrounded by people — and admittedly he was looking forward to being a bit less smothered — but he'd always known that no matter what he did, somebody would take care of it and him. Hogwarts wasn't like Grimmauld Place. Nowhere was like Grimmauld Place. There wouldn't even be the family portraits there . . .

Neville rubbed his nose against his sleeve, and got up. He wasn't going to cry. He'd cried once and only babies cried more than that.