The Courtship of Neville Longbottom

Neville stepped off of the train, anxious to be rid of Luna Lovegood. It wasn't that he didn't like her. Neville assumed that the fight they had both been in at the Department of Mysteries was a common bond that they would share for the rest of their lives. In addition to this, when he really thought about it, Luna had very few friends much like himself. Neville visibly shuddered. He knew the reason why he had so few friends was because he was awkward and shy, but at least he wasn't batty like Luna.

He couldn't put his finger on it. There was something about Luna that made him more uncomfortable than usual. Neville shook his head. He had other things to think about than Luna Lovegood. The thought of his class registration form burned in the back of his mind along with his N.E.W.T.-level Transfiguration book.

"First years! First years over here please!"

Professor McGonagall's sharp and stern tone carried over the masses of students exiting the train. At the sound of it, Neville promptly tripped, nearly dropping his suitcase. Surely his worrying over Transfiguration hadn't caused him to imagine that Hagrid was Professor McGonagall. Neville looked up to see that it was indeed Professor McGonagall who was herding the nervous and small-looking first year students.

"You will all assemble quickly and quietly," Professor McGonagall said. "We don't want to leave anyone behind!"

"Hey! Longbottom!" Neville turned around to see the grinning face of Seamus Finnigan, who was followed by Dean Thomas and Ginny Weasley. Neville breathed a small sigh of relief and smiled.

"Hey Seamus. Hullo Dean, Ginny," Neville said. As they opened their mouths to reply, Seamus began to talk loudly in his distinct Irish accent.

"So why do you think McGonagall's out here? Think Hagrid's sick?" Seamus asked.

"I dunno," Neville replied, shaking his head.

Later on that night Neville found himself sleepily sitting on the edge of his bed. It had been a good day overall, and Neville was pleased to be back at school, despite the fact that there were certain subjects he was dreading. He blearily rubbed his eyes. The black letters on the piece of parchment in his lap swam in and out of focus before sharpening again. He dipped his quill in ink for what seemed like the 100^th time and allowed it to hover slightly above the paper. Swiftly, without spilling so much as a drop, he wrote his name in the appropriate box at the top of the form.

Neville groaned and bit his lower lip. He had been sitting there for at least an hour with his class registration form in his lap. He closed his eyes. Even behind his eyelids the form swam into focus, memorized from an hour of scanning, debating, and brooding. On the left was the list of all the N.E.W.T.-level courses. To the right of this was a list of Neville's O.W.L. grades for every subject he had chosen to be tested in. Even further to the right there was a blank list where Neville could write his desired N.E.W.T. courses before meeting with his Head of House.

Running his fingers through his hair, Neville groaned again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. Dipping his quill once more, he neatly wrote in Herbology in the first empty slot. Neville couldn't stop the broad grin from spreading across his face as he thought of another year of Herbology with Professor Sprout. He was especially interested in what she would have to say about some of the rare plants he had acquired over the summer break.

He looked back over his O.W.L. grades before scratching in Defense Against the Dark Arts underneath Herbology. His eyes quickly glanced at the galleon sitting on his windowsill, the only physical proof that Neville had been in the D.A. Although Harry had said there wouldn't be any D.A. meetings this year, Neville held out the hope that maybe Harry would change his mind and decide to practice once a month, especially with the ongoing war. And maybe, if they did meet, it would give Neville more chances to talk to her.

Neville suddenly coughed and blushed to himself. He quickly turned around so he was lying on his stomach and forced himself to focus on his registration form. Scanning his O.W.L. grades quickly he saw his 'Acceptable' grades in both History of Magic and Astronomy. As neither class required an 'E' or above to continue, Neville wrote them both into his schedule. Professor McGonagall could help him choose which class would be better.

This left Transfiguration or Charms. Neville sighed and closed his eyes again. It wasn't his class registration form that swam into his vision this time, but his grandmother's expression in Flourish and Blotts. Resigned, he opened his eyes and gritted his teeth. As if he was signing away his soul, he gravely wrote in Transfiguration onto his class schedule.

Nodding to himself, he folded the parchment and placed it on his nightstand next to his inkbottle. Admiring his new wand once more, he softly whispered, "Nox," and the light extinguished itself, leaving the room in darkness.