Hermione fidgeted as she sat in the stands, ready to see as much of the game as possible. It was Harry's first Quidditch game, and she was here to support him - as well as the rest of the team, given it was her House - but she was primarily eager to see an actual game of Quidditch play out. After the experience with the troll, she'd come to realize that reading about something and actually seeing or experiencing it were two completely different things, and she wanted to experience as much as she could now...safely, that is. Still, seeing a game from the stands should be safe, right? Wizards and witches wouldn't flock to these games if watchers regularly got hurt, would they?
...oh, who was she kidding? She'd already seen enough to conclude that prolonged exposure to magic weakened common sense, though she wasn't yet sure if that was an advantage in using magic or not.
"That git!" Ron suddenly growled next to her, looking not up in the air where Harry was circling as the teams went after the Quaffle and Bludgers, but down at the ground. "I can't believe he's really doing it! Why's Madam Hooch lettin' him get away with it?"
Curious, Hermione followed his gaze...and saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle with an expanded cushion held between them, racing back and forth on the pitch while looking upward. Glancing directly up from them, she saw they were following Harry as he circled...holding a cushion for 'when he fell' just like they'd said. About to get upset about it, she frowned as she noticed Harry look down and smile before putting two fingers of his right hand to above his glasses. Glancing down, she saw Malfoy smirk immediately after. "Harry doesn't seem upset about it," she observed, somewhat confused. "Is he worried about falling?"
"No," Neville spoke up absently from nearby. "It's Draco doing this, not Malfoy, and that's why he's happy."
"Wot?" Ron asked in confusion. "Aren't they the same bloke?"
"Not exactly," Neville replied just as absently, still staring at his wand. "Like Draco Malfoy, I'm the Heir of a House, House Longbottom to be specific. Gran taught me growing up that meant I'd have to have two faces: one as House Longbottom, one as myself. When Harry described Draco separate from Malfoy, I realized that meant that he'd gotten to see Draco's face, as opposed to the Malfoy Heir's."
"Huh," Hermione murmured thoughtfully. She'd only ever encountered something like that in fiction and fantasy set in a medieval setting, with knights, lords, wizards...oh. "So that's the world I'm in now..."
"Budge up there, move along!"
Hermione jerked up as she heard that call. "Hagrid!" she called happily alongside Ron as they scooted to give him room to sit.
"Was watchin' the game from me hut, but it ain't the same as being in the crowd," Hagrid explained with a wide grin. He then frowned. "What's Malfoy doin' with that cushion?"
"Draco is apparently carrying the cushion in case Harry falls," Hermione explained, making sure to note the distinction of the name. "Harry seemed happy to see it."
Hagrid blinked in surprise. "Well, ain't that sumthin'? Knew Harry'd make friends here, but that's one ah didn' expect." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Guess what he did wit' his Dematio left an impact."
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked curiously. "What did his Dematio do when he used it that first time?"
"From what he, Malfoy, and Dumbledore said, it made Malfoy - and Dumbledore, when Harry used it on him at his instructions - experience everything Harry'd gone through ta become who and what he is t'day, what it was that gave him his Determination." He frowned sorrowfully. "Get the feelin' from how Professor Dumbledore acted that it ain't a pleasant tale..."
"So he literally made Draco walk a mile in his shoes?" Hermione asked in surprise. "That is an impressive bit of magic-"
"His shoes?" Hagrid demanded, confused. "What are ya on about?"
"It's a Muggle saying," Hermione explained quickly, "about how you're not supposed to judge someone until you've seen them how they see themselves and understand what it's like to be them-"
Her words were interrupted by a shocked cry from the stands, dragging her attention back to the game where Harry spun on his broom, looking somewhat dazed as though he'd just hit something. "Flint deliberately blocked Harry going for the Snitch!" Ron snapped out angrily. "That's a foul for sure!"
"Send him off, ref!" a fellow Muggleborn Gryffindor, Dean Thomas, shouted from lower in the stands. "Red card!"
As Ron started debating comparative sports with Dean other that declaration, Hermione kept her focus on Harry. He seemed to be doing alright as he rolled out of the way of a Bludger...but his broom suddenly gave a lurch. As he gripped his broom tighter than he had all game, it lurched back and forth like a bucking bronco.
"Has Harry lost control of his broom?" Hagrid asked in confusion. "But what could'a caused that?" He lifted his binoculars for a better look.
A thought striking her, Hermione snatched the binoculars away and began scanning the stands. Seeing what she feared to find, she snapped out, "It's Snape! He's jinxing Harry's broom!"
"It can't be!" Ron countered insistently. "He likes Harry too much ta be trying ta hurt him!"
"But he's got his eyes locked on Harry and muttering, and he's not blinking!" Hermione pointed out insistently.
"He might be castin' a counter-jinx," Hagrid pointed out. "Same rules apply for those as jinxes-"
Before he could say more, a blazing light seemed to erupt from nowhere, hiding the entire pitch and all above it from view. Several cried out in surprise and pain as they shielded their eyes.
K'vin hissed spitefully as he flowed aggressively out from under the Gryffindor stands towards the teacher seats. He'd recognized the dark magic as soon as it seized Harry's broom, as well as the magic that was countering it and letting Harry stay on the broom as long as he was. He knew that jinx far too well, as it was a favorite of the last Speaker to have walked Hogwarts' halls. Now he knew why that teacher made his fangs itch. He wouldn't be able to prove it to anyone who would understand, and even now it felt more like gut instinct than reasoned thought...but if he got to the stands and found Professor Quirrel was the one jinxing Harry's broom, he wouldn't hesitate to sink his fangs into the stuttering fool...aye, and rip his leg off in the process for a bit of added pain and a snack!
Before he'd made it halfway to the stands, however, the blazing light erupted. It was only on the human visible spectrum, so K'vin was able to see the pitch through it when no other observer would have been able to. He saw when the jinx broke as a result of the blinding light, and Harry went into a steep dive. He saw nearly everyone in the stands either covering their eyes or blinking away the glare.
He saw Serverus squinting, tears streaming from his eyes as they visibly burned from the glare to K'vin's vision, still muttering.
K'vin couldn't help but smile at that. Serverus had apparently been unwilling to count on the one doing the jinx to look away during the blaze, and had risked his own vision to keep eye contact on Harry so as not to interrupt his counter-jinx. Perhaps he was finally starting to grow up after all. That would honestly be worth waiting on dealing with whoever jinxed Harry's broom.
Turning towards the stands, he spotted something that he couldn't help but smile at. He knew no one else would have spotted it, so he decided he'd keep it to himself for now. Still, it showed you never should judge someone until they've shown what they're really capable of...
Harry slammed into the cushion a lot harder than he'd intended, coughing and gagging as he struggled not to choke. His Nimbus 2000 was buried halfway into the cushion, and he had his hands over his mouth as he slumped into the soft material.
"Think we should charge him fer that?" Crabbe observed, his tone too dull and dry to tell if he was joking or not.
"It ain't our cushion," Goyle countered blithely, setting it down as Draco moved to do the same.
Just before anyone else could speak, Harry finally got what was clogging his breathing out, the golden ball landing in his hand. "I've caught the Snitch!" he called out excitedly, holding it up for the stands to see.
As everyone cheered, Draco smirked at him. "And here I thought it was only Snakes that caught things that way," he observed ironically, pleased when that got a choking laugh from Harry.
Neville had spent the entire game staring at his wand, his father's wand. Harry had confirmed that it was all but dead. That was why he could barely get any magic through it. Even so, he was unwilling to take it to Ollivander's, for fear the wandmaker would either consign it to keepsake or declare him unfit for it.
His father's wand had always been around, as long as he could remember. Gran' would put it up on a shelf, or in a display case, somewhere it could be seen but not touched...but somehow it always found its way to Neville's bedside table by morning, though usually on the floor beside it. When Neville first was old enough to truly understand what had happened to his parents and that it was his father's wand, he'd concluded - aloud - that his father's wand was trying to look out for him, now his father couldn't. He hadn't recognized the expression on Gran's face when she'd allowed for the possibility, but he knew it now. She hadn't believed it, but had been willing to let him believe it if it gave him some comfort and strength.
While Gran had tried to convince him he would need his own wand for Hogwarts, he'd been insistent on using his father's. It couldn't just be coincidence that every time he left the wand on his nightstand as he left his room, it would fall off and bounce towards him of its own accord, even when there were objects between where it had been and the edge of the nightstand left undisturbed. He'd done the bravest thing he'd ever done before their trip to Diagon Alley when he'd defied Gran's insistence on getting his own wand from Ollivander, declaring that he would go to Hogwarts with his father's wand. She had looked at him oddly as he'd declared that, standing in silence as he squirmed under her gaze but refused to back down. He'd never been more shocked than when she'd agreed, even if it had been with the caveat that she'd happily take him to Ollivander's if things didn't work out with his father's wand.
Despite the trouble he'd been having with the wand lessons, he hadn't written to Gran about it, or told the teachers he had an unmatched wand after he'd heard about that getting easier grading. He didn't want to admit to anyone that his father's wand was 'unmatched' or that he was having trouble. He'd only brought it up with Hermione because he was afraid that the wand had decided to abandon him...only to learn from Harry how little strength was left in it. Now he had to decide how to help his father's wand help him...but what choice was there?
He jolted from his thoughts as he heard Hermione talk about Harry's broom being jinxed. Looking up, he saw Harry struggling to grip his broom. He knew about jinxes, knew it required eye contact. A bright enough light would break the jinx easy...but he couldn't even cast a proper Lumos! There's no way he would be able to help Harry...
...unless he could help himself. As the formulae Professor Flitwick had written up on the board regarding the Dematio bounced in his head, he thought back to what Harry'd said. His father's wand was determined to serve him...and he was determined to use it. And he was determined to help Harry!
He lifted his wand, felt his magic surge...and for a brief moment, nothing seemed to happen. And then the light had enveloped the pitch, but not touched his own eyes. Glancing down at his father's wand, he saw a tiny crimson tiger perched there in a crouch, barely big enough to stretch from wand tip to base from nose to tail tip, its jaw open wide in a roar that was light rather than sound. As it closed its mouth, the light faded, and Harry was diving for the Snitch. As Neville brought the wand closer so he could see the tiger clearer, it looked up at him and smiled a feline smile...before dissolving into dust that sank into the wood of the wand, bringing forth a lustrous, crimson sheen.
Cupping his hand over the tip as he felt the power in his wand respond to his own, he whispered, "Lumos." A ball of light half again as large as the Snitch appeared on the tip, neither rotating nor spinning, merely awaiting further directive. Seeing how stable it was, Neville couldn't help but smile as it refused to extinguish until he whispered, "Nox."
Unlike the now extinguished tip of his wand, his future now looked bright.