Gran's letter, a reply to Neve's Gryffindor-ness, was as expected.
She had expected the hat to brush a single blonde strand on her head and deem her a Hufflepuff plant-lover instantly. In some ways, Neve wished it had.
Her Gryffindor peers were energetic, boisterous, extroverted and would rather spend their leisure time in the red and gold common room, lit with warm, flickering firelight. Neve, however, had not sat in the common room since her first day in Hogwarts.
She dreaded going to class besides Herbology, which most other Gryffindor students, or most students Neve supposed, seemed to disdain, or found it morbidly fascinating. Girls shrieked and giggled at the magical plants and the soil on their aprons and boys tried their best to get as dirty as possible, a measuring contest of who would have to shower for the longest. Besides Hermione, brooding, moody, often vanishing Hermione, she had no friends to laugh or play trivial contests with.
Of course, she wrote none of this in the letter—Gran didn't need much more evidence to know her granddaughter was proceeding through her first year just like she had anticipated.
Gran had added something to her letter, a gleaming glass sphere which refused to crack or shatter despite Neve dropping it too many times to count. A Remembrall. Neve kept it on her most times, a weight that helped her fuse her mind to her body, no matter the distraction—she would be the first to say that they didn't help much, the Remembrall nor her efforts to keep focus.
Neve frowned, brushing through her hair as she got ready to have breakfast in the Great Hall. All wasn't so bad. Today she had herbology and that was…enough. Just enough, she thought despondently.
Lavender and Parvati were looking over their uniforms together, Lavender righting the other's hair bow at the base of her long braid, Parvati affirming for the fourth time that Lavender's robe were, as always, crease-free and her hair sleek. They were laughing about something, a boy or an incident with a boy, but Neve shut them out quickly, making buzzing sounds in her head to dull their words, feeling left out despite never having been let in. Hermione had already left before the rest had even rubbed the crust from their eyes.
Breakfast was uneventful, classes were uneventful, besides Herbology, in which Professor Sprout discussed the acute differences between a 'muggle' plant and a magical one. Most of the writing in Neve's notebook were from Herbology, always thorough and detailed, at least three pages per class of dot points and diagrams meticulously depicted in a multitude of colours. Compared to the notes from a class like Potions, Neve would have thought the notebook was being shared by two very, very different students with very, very different studying methods.
Weeks went on like this, Neve waking up, eating, being bored in class, eating, being excited for a certain class, eating, sleeping. Every once in a while, she would have weird meetings with Hermione. She would suddenly drag her to the library to study with her, then not speak the entire time. Or she would wait for her in the Common Room for breakfast and they would eat together, idle chatter mostly filled by Hermione's laments and Neve's miniscule contributions. Then she would disappear once more and notice her at the far corner of the classroom later on, not a note of recognition on her face.
She'd soon stop speaking to her completely, suddenly attached at the hips with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, chattering amongst themselves in their mysterious little bubble. For now, however, Hermione was, begrudgingly, the closest thing to a friend Neve had.
Harry Potter. She had tried not think about him (or his very beautiful owl) much. She was still a little embarrassed by things he probably could not care less about or could scarcely recall in the first place. Still, her image of The Boy Who Lived was not how the infamous Harry Potter was like.
In fact, he was quite sheepish for a celebrity of his calibre.
He was mostly quiet but seemed to always have something to say, a sudden sharp remark after an hour of glazed staring into his books, as though he could see right through the layers of paper and words and the wood of the desk and floors, right down to the school's dungeons. She would not find it hard to believe he did have some super-ability no-one knew about, that set him apart from everyone else. How else would he be here, if not?
She hoped he didn't find out she sometimes visited the Owlery to admire his owl.
Neve's first flying class rapidly came to speed, and she was soon clutching a broom to her chest, jostling between her ecstatic peers as they made their way outside the castle. The Slytherin's would be taking the class with the Gryffindor's and a heightened tension was palpable in the air, the two houses keeping an ample distance between each other. Perhaps it was because of the unspoken rift between the houses but it felt worse today. The stakes seemed higher, the burning glares shooting between the two groups more venomous than ever, the thrill of competition ripe and ready.
Neve had to sometimes remind herself how huge Quidditch and flying sports were. She clutched her Remembrall through her robe, the glass ball heavy in her pocket.
Madam Hooch was nice enough, but her eyes were striking in a way that made Neve look away the second it seemed they were going to sweep over her. I…I can't do this, Neve realised after her fifth time of shouting 'come' as softly as she could.
"I can't do this!"
Someone seemed to have read aloud her mind.
Lavender Brown huffed in frustration, her eyebrows knotting together as she called to her broom again. Parvati snickered into her arm, broom secure in her fist.
Neve focused on her immovable broom, shutting her eyes and begging it to rise. Wood thwacked into her palm and promptly fell back to the ground at impact. Neve's eyes flew open, and a laugh bubbled from her throat, Neve swiftly snatching the broom up before anyone could see. She was already imagining herself gliding through the sky, Quidditch robes flapping gracefully in the wind, her (soon to be) long blonde mane drifting behind her.
A chuckle sounded behind her, and she turned to see Lavender and Parvati watching her, amused smiles on their faces.
"Nice one, Neve," Parvati said and from most people, those words would have surely been incredulous, disparaging. They simply found what had happened…funny. Still, there was something distinctly untrustworthy about pretty girls that could talk a mile a minute and accumulated friends and acquaintances like flowers from a field, cradled deftly in their arms before they eventually dumped them into the nearest bin. Or, at least, that was how Hermione described them.
Neve's shackles lowered anyways, and she smiled back shyly, picking at the splinters on her broom.
Lavender's broom flew into her hand a minute later and soon Madam Hooch was urging them to fly on their brooms. Only a centimetre though, a hairsbreadth from the ground so that you were airborne for less than a second.
Neve usually followed the rules. No, she did. Today, she simply had not been allowed to follow them.
She was airborne for that magnificent, euphoric second, the tips of her shoes brushing the grass, and she could feel cool morning breeze sifting through her hair. Then it was two seconds, then ten, her broom shifting steadily upwards, and it became quite clear she didn't exactly know how to lower herself.
Lavender was the first to notice Neve in the air, her grin twisting into a gasp.
Madam Hooch turned away from helping Blaise Zabini to gape at Neve, who was now at least a few feet from the ground and felt as though she was going to be sick very soon. Everyone was looking up at her, Malfoy's mouth wide open before he began guffawing and nudging his Slytherin friends, the lot of them proceeding to laugh along and point. Hermione glowered up at her with potent jealousy, despite Neve and the rest of the class having heard her incessantly muttering about how ridiculous flying was. Parvati looked more impressed than shocked, her gaping mouth lifting at its edges. Potter and Weasley looked up at her with their own jealousy, though it was more in awe and surprise than ill-intended.
She had expected herself to scream at this point, Neve now a good yard between the ground and her broom, Madam Hooch's shouts to "Come down Neve," (the entire reason she was so high up was because she couldn't get down!) and Malfoy's laughter below ringing in her ears. But she was simply frozen, clutching the broom with white-knuckled hands, staring forward into the windows of Hogwarts, wishing she were looking out of one rather than suspended in the air in front of one.
It wasn't until she saw a familiar face squinting at her incredulously from behind their office window that she lunged forward to hug the broom tightly, as though she could possibly hide from Professor McGonagall's blazing eyes. But she missed the broom entirely, her fingers scraping onto its edge and slipping, splinters puncturing her fingertips.
She wasn't sure how her lack of co-ordination had manifested in her hands missing a six-foot broomstick she was literally mounted on, but it seemed Neve's mind was never at a loss on ways it could potentially embarrass her, or harm her.
The fall was fast and swift, and her impact had been semi-softened by Madam Hooch's levitation charm, but her arm had slammed into the ground before she could cast it, Neve's body crumpling on top of its awkward position.
Her ears were ringing. Her eyes were squeezed shut. She heard the muffled sound of the broom falling to the ground and the burning sensation that about thirty first years were hovering around her in curiosity and mild concern, all of it mixed with a tinge of morbid excitement. She supposed they'd have something to chat about amongst the warmth of their Common Room's fireplace later in the evening.
Madam Hooch bundled Neve up to her feet, desperately dusting off grass blades as though that might instantly undo what had just happened. Still, she couldn't muster the courage to see everyone's stares, matching murmurs and whispers with faces. Her arm was throbbing with shock more so than pain, but that would come soon. As nonsensical as it was, her lack of sight seemed as though it was preventing her lack of feeling too.
"Oh dear," Madam Hooch muttered from beside Neve, "you're arms not looking too good, Neve."
Neve grimaced. "I'm sure it's not, miss."
Someone snorted in the crowd around her. Everything felt airy—she wasn't too concerned with what she was saying right now.
Madam Hooch decided to ignore Neve's comment, raising her voice slightly to address the students. "Alright, boys, girls, I'll be back in a moment. No less. Miss Longbottom needs to be seen to the infirmary right away." Neve imagined Madam Hooch looked quite menacing as she said, "I would like to think I can trust you kids to not make any more of a fuss than there's already been. As in, if I sense a peep of trouble coming from this field while I'm gone, you can farewell any thought of fun in this class."
"We can stay with Neve, Madam!" she heard Parvati say and in Madam Hooch's state of disorder, she somehow agreed. Neve knew it was only to get out of class. They rushed over to the infirmary, and she was bundled into a bed in minutes, Madam Hooch excusing herself and returning hurriedly to fill her absence. She wouldn't notice it, but her robe pocket felt lighter than it had been.
As Lavender and Parvati buzzed around her, Madam Pomfrey had studied her arm, prodding, and squeezing the tender skin, assessing her wrist and fingers, then up to her forearm and elbow. Neve instantly cringed away from her, pain lancing up her arm. Madam Pomfrey tutted.
"It's a clean fracture, right in the middle of your arm," she said, snatching her wand from her apron and steadying Neve's arm in her grip. "If you'd landed on it a little higher, I would have had to charm the whole bone away then force Skele-Gro down your throat. Unbearable discomfort, that potion. The smell doesn't help, neither."
Lavender delved into her brother's experience with Skele-Gro from a duelling injury that had apparently almost killed him, Parvati gasping at every twist and turn of the story.
"What do you have to do for landing where I did?" she asked Madam Pomfrey cautiously, wincing with every twitch and motion of her hand.
"This." She muttered a spell and beneath Neve's skin, the fractured bone fused together slowly, the feeling of the moving bones visceral and shocking in sensation.
Her arm still ached after the bone had repaired its fracture and Madam Pomfrey had warned that she would feel nauseous and ill after the spell. The information proved to be very correct as she had already hurled the contents of her stomach into a bucket twice, enough times to lull her into am exhausted, tear-streaked sleep.
The days following her accident had been strangely numb but clearly overwhelming. Madam Pomfrey had discharged her an hour after she had awoken despite Neve looking so pale she may as well have been a ghoul, her knees wobbly and her hair plastered to her skin.
She had been sent right back after she had vomited in a corner of her dormitory, Professor McGonagall charming it away with pursed lips, Lavender and Parvati all but dragging her to the infirmary. The memory of her arm breaking when she had fell and then melding back together had been vividly replaying in her mind endlessly and it made her gag every time she thought about how it had felt.
She had been relieved of most of her homework even if it was just one weeks' worth. Not because Professor McGonagall wished for her to have a truly restful, stress-free recovery, but because she "would not possibly retain any of it if her teachers were not there to hammer it into her," which Lavender and Parvati had a long, long laugh about. Her lunch breaks would be taken over by intensive tutoring on all the information on which she had missed. Neve had, however, asked very tentatively, as not to test her luck, whether she could still receive homework from her herbology classes. McGonagall had squinted at her for what felt like an eternity, then simply agreed.
Hermione hadn't visited yet. She tried not to dwell on it much, and Lavender and Parvati made sure to comfort her on the matter.
"Ignore that sourpuss," Lavender mumbled around a bite of the cake and desserts they had brought Neve one evening. "She's worse than Filch, and don't get me started on the hair!"
"Oh, she can't help that," Parvati pointed out, though Neve doubted she was trying to be mindful at all. Not with that sly smirk.
"Oh, yes she can! I've a mind to shave it all off while she's sleeping." They giggled at that, though Lavender added that was a joke, out of caution.
A day after her accident, Gran had been notified. She had promptly made her way to Hogwarts and been so stricken by Neve's slightly bruised arm and pallor, even though her nausea had mostly cleared up, that she had demanded for Madam Hooch's dismissal. She'd apologised, of course, but carried an air of mild mistrust in the school before she left, her thin brow furrowed as she scrutinised its old walls and homicidal stairs. When Dumbledore saw her off to Hogsmeade, it was obvious he found it amusing, a gnarled, heavily adorned hand hiding his crooked smile.
Neve had watched from a window at the infirmary, stumbling on her tippy toes as she peered below. She still wore a long hospital gown and her hair had been in the same ponytail, a short and bristly thing the only bun her hair could manage, since she'd fallen days before. Lavender had brought Neve her the thickly knitted socks, a large N and the number 11 sewn onto each sole, that Aunt Enid had insisted she pack in her luggage, which provided some level of comfort.
She knew Gran's moment of doubt would be glossed over soon enough, whether it would be during her frequent arguments with friends over for tea, who all found the Headmaster to be a tad more queer than acceptable. Or when she oft smirked proudly as she read a new column in The Daily Prophet about Hogwarts's excellence or some profile piece on the man himself. Regardless, Albus Dumbledore would most definitely be in Gran's high esteem soon enough and Neve was probably not going to hear the end of it in her next letter. Gran would also possibly insinuate Neve was simply too clueless to ride a broom and so it had been entirely her fault. Obviously, Neve anticipated a very exciting letter.
Behind her, a sudden shoe squeak caused Neve to pause her scowl and spin around.
Harry Potter was frozen in place mid-step near the wide swinging doors, his stance resembling a thief caught red-handed. There was no one else in the infirmary besides them. Quickly, he straightened and looked suddenly alarmed, green eyes wide behind enormous glasses.
"I didn't steal it—I swear!"
Neve looked even more alarmed than him, blood creeping up her neck at whatever confrontation this was. Was she being confronted, or was he doing the confronting?
"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" she shrilled, eyes large.
Harry seemed to gather himself slightly, frowning. "You're thing. Um…a Remembrall, Hermione said. You dropped it when you fell. At class, the other day."
Neve stared at him for a substantial minute, recalling the weight of it in her robes and the complete lack of significance she must have for it, not to have noticed it at all. She actually quite liked it. Even if it got her more baffled than she had been before staring into its smoky depths.
Harry blinked at her, scrubbing his hair. There was a collection of branches nestled in the tangle of curls and cowlicks, and she realised then he was in fact wearing quidditch robes, dyed in their house colours of red and gold, kneecaps and knuckles protected in gear and a smear of dirt streaking his face. It was ill-fitting, almost draped like curtains on his small, thin frame, but she supposed he would grow into it. Gran always bought her larger clothes that she would 'grow into.'
"I meant to leave it by your bed, I swear," Harry went on, "But you were always awake when I wanted to drop it off, or your friends were with you. I've left it on the table there."
Neve went to look, and sure enough, the Remembrall churned grey smoke, propped by the lamp. There were too many tangents of thought in her head, but she managed to smile at him, kindly she hoped. She could feel her smile stretching taut, warm cheeks—she looked as gracious as she did deranged.
"Err, thank you. I really appreciate it. Not a lot of people would be as…considerate." Neve almost heard Gran's polished tone as she lifted her brows at Harry in what she thought portrayed gratitude.
Harry simply considered her, slightly perplexed, and slightly relieved. She hadn't thought he would be so…emotive. But she also wasn't sure what she had expected. Perhaps a living statue of stone who spoke a catalogue of learnt words?
"Great." he muttered, then jerked his hand in a wave and marched out
He'd said friends. And he hadn't wanted to risk contact, so much so that he would wait until she was sufficiently unconscious to drop it off. He wasn't successful, she thought.
Slowly, she shuffled back to her bed and thought about the interaction for the entire evening, even as Lavender and Parvati delivered her dinner and Madam Pomphrey checked her arm quite harshly.
Harry Potter had gone out his way to return something of hers. He had remembered. And she'd been a floundering mess, as usual.
The lights turned off and she nestled her head into a too-soft pillow that made her neck stiff, watching the calm clouds of her Remembrall on the table. She blinked at it, then reached for her wand, racking her brain for the light charm and shone a bright light from its tip. It suddenly shifted red, the clouds swirling violently within the small glass.
Nothing came to mind as she thought of the last week. Only the dread of looming homework and a week of having to catch up with lessons. She shuddered at the thought of Potions and Snape's oily hair falling around his sneering face. At least Herbology would be a respite, if anything—she was at least a month of lessons ahead.
She didn't sleep much that night.
"We should've snuck into Yara's party," Lavender grumbled for the umpteenth time, curled up in their compartment as she broodingly watched the rolling landscape.
Neve and Parvati shared a look. She had been like this since the last week of school, every now and again bringing up the lost opportunity of sneaking into a fourth year's birthday party. It didn't help that Yara's brother was in their year, a Ravenclaw, and had been raving about the booze and music and wildness of it all to anyone that would listen as he had been invited. Neve still doubted he had gone at all.
"We would've gotten in trouble," Parvati reminded her not for the first time. "And I'm telling you now, there was definitely no booze."
"Maybe some butterbeer," Neve said absently, then winced when Parvati elbowed her in her side.
"You're so helpful, Neve," she crooned sweetly, though her smile was tight and irritated. "Just so comforting." Trevor croaked almost sardonically, curled up in his own little ball in his cage set on the table, though she saw one beady eye blinking open.
"See! I would have loved some butterbeer!" Lavender exclaimed and slumped back into her robes, loose black curls obscuring her face. She had been so despondent all week she hadn't straightened her hair not once. Even when Parvati and Neve both offered to do it themselves for her—a simple spell besides a specific hand motion that either resulted in ridiculous-looking, bouncy ringlets or the glossy, streamlined sheet of hair Lavender preferred—she had still declined. Parvati had said that it probably made Lavender feel more depressed than she actually was.
Parvati and Neve left Lavender to her own devices after that, chattering about what they might do for holidays and recalling Gryffindor's win this year, the Hogwarts Express doddering not so gently across the lush, verdant fields of Scotland.
"My mum says that if your house wins your first year at school, it only sets up your luck for the rest of your years," Parvati said, popping a toffee into her mouth, crushing the wrapper in her hand and perfectly throwing the tiny paper ball up into the overhead baggage compartment.
"Gryffindor is definitely not winning again next year," Neve said, tossing her own toffee wrapper with squinted eyes and hawk-like focus. It dismally missed and bounced off Lavender's head, whipping out from under the veil of her hair as they burst into laughter.
Lavender scowled but couldn't contain her grin, sitting up and snatching her own toffee from the table. "It was luck this year. That's all. I bet Slytherin will take the win next year."
Parvati feigned a gag and Neve wrinkled her nose.
Despite having been around the two girls almost the whole year, it still surprised her how easily they could take to practically anyone with the confidence and assurance of ministers. They coaxed older girls and boys to help with their homework and jabbered away at them in compensation, as though they had not just conned their way onto their table, leaving with books full of answers and an ever-growing gossip chain ranging from the seventh years to the staff that taught them. They gleefully poked at sensitive Ravenclaw's (Padma joined in sometimes—friendly fire, she insisted), ordered around susceptible Hufflepuff's, unapologetically went head-to-head with Slytherins and even their fellow Gryffindor's were not spared.
They were a blinding force and Neve giddily floated along, her friends at once a shield and a sword, defending her back at the slightest remarks.
She almost felt sheltered around them, even if she knew every scandalous titbit about everyone who had and would graduate from Hogwarts. Neve sometimes wondered her fate if she had not been in their dorm and shuddered at the thought. She would probably still be trailing Hermione when she deigned she could be around her, then promptly desert her once Harry Potter and Ron Weasley beckoned.
Still, even as the girls whispered secrets to her and giggled around breakfast and vowed to send each other letters and played with Parvati's cat and snuck up to the owlery with Neve after she had confessed she sometimes stalked Harry Potter's snowy owl, she hesitated to think of that word—friends. It felt as though she was testing her luck, the promise of letters crumbling as the holidays rolled by and they ignored her for the rest of her years at Hogwarts.
"Neve!"
She jolted out of her meandering thoughts, blinking at an amused Lavender, whose robes were no longer wrapped around her, hair pushed away from her face and a wicked sparkle in her eye.
"Well, you've cheered up," Neve remarked.
"Oh, shut up," Lavender tossed her paper wrapper at Neve and it hit her ever-flushed cheek, "We were saying that despite him being an insufferable sot, isn't Draco so pretty? He walked by a second ago and made a face like he was disgusted with us? Baffling."
Neve gaped, rubbing her cheek.
"Absolutely not!" she said, turning to Parvati for a partner in this.
"No, I agree," Parvati asserted.
"Are you sure about that, Neve…" Lavender crooned suggestively, waggling her eyebrows.
She conceded in the end, cheeks flushed even as she grimaced at the thought of petulant Malfoy being anything but petulant. He was no older than a toddler, she was sure, and had somehow snuck his way into school. There was simply no other explanation.
For the remainder of the train ride to Kings Cross, they talked about everything they possibly could, boys and their favourite subjects (they rolled their eyes in unison as Neve delved into the new species of plants she had been researching) and annoying relatives and what their second year might be like, and their third and fourth and fifth until they graduated, and even whatever afterwards might be, mirth and excitement making their voices pitch squeakily.
A warmth bloomed in Neve's chest, an elated buzzing in her stomach. It felt strange, choking, and she had to take deep breaths to settle it though it did little. It only began dissipating as she waved farewell to them on the platform, her arms aching from the suffocating hug Lavender had crushed her in, Parvati's much more delicate, pecking a kiss on Neve's cheek.
Neve stood by a pillar with a grin that made her cheeks feel close to bursting as she watched her friends reunite with their families among the bustling sea of people, her luggage and Trevor's cage towering against the pillar.
Lavender's older brother, who Neve had discovered was in fifth year, was dragging her to their waiting parents whose arms were snugly wrapped around each other, and Parvati seemed to have found her twin, the two girls making their way to an old, gnarled woman and a very tall, stiff-looking woman. While Lavender's reunion was a wholesomely lovely scene as her parents gathered their children in a hug, even as her brother looked mortified but resigned, Parvati and Padma simply stood before the two women, the tall woman resting a light hand on Padma's shoulder, then Parvati's. They all promptly strode to the brick wall, the twins suddenly as rigid as the woman, backs ramrod-straight and plait's swaying with every determined step.
She didn't have much longer to ponder the strange scene as large, wrinkled hands pressed against her eyes, smelling faintly of bacon grease and mints and her stomach sank.
She spun around to face her a grinning Granduncle Algie, and behind him Gran, who was frowning at Algie, and Grandaunt Enid, placid and sweetly smiling as always.
Neve blew out an anxious breath as she looked up at their familiar faces, only relieved Uncle Algie was not picking her up alone.