Neville Longbottom and the Boy Who Lived

Chapter 11 - Malfoy

It didn't take long for Neville to settle back into his routine. He was still taking dreamless sleep potion on Sunday nights, but the dreams no longer had the same sense of horror. His ability to identify what was frightening him allowed his conscious mind to confront those villains logically. Knowing Peeves was under orders from the Baron to leave him alone, and the three-headed dog was locked safely behind a door the animal could not possibly get through, gave Neville some sense of security.

January very quickly turned into the first week of February. Neville was due to start his private lessons with Madam Hooch on the first Friday afternoon of the month. The thought of flying continued to vex the young Gryffindor. He desperately wanted to learn how to control the broom. His family had laid out the reasons why it was important. But he couldn't get past his apprehension at the thought of defying gravity.

On Thursday night after dinner, Neville was in the library. He had finished up his potions essay for the next day's class earlier in the evening, and was looking up cushioning charms and braking spells in case of another incident the next day. When Madam Pince closed the library, Neville was forced to give up and head back to Gryffindor tower.

Neville was walking past Professor Binns' classroom when a voice caught his attention.

"It's not safe for someone so stupid to walk the halls at night." Neville turned to see who was speaking and found Draco Malfoy with his goons Crabbe and Goyle approaching menacingly. "You never know what, or where, you'll be forced to run."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"Careful Longbottom. You don't want to get me angry. Right now, I'm merely looking for amusement." Neville bolted for the exit, wanting to get away before the Slytherin trio got any closer. "Locomotor Mortis," Malfoy cried. Neville's legs were forced together and bound by the jinx. "I've been looking for someone to practice that on. Thanks, Longbottom."

"Huh. Good one, Draco," Crabbe laughed. "I'm gonna kick him. I want to see him cry."

"Now, now, Vincent. There are other ways to make someone cry besides brute force. Watch and learn." The smallest of the three Slytherins walked up to the Gryffindor.

"Longbottom, just how stupid are you? Which is smarter, you or that ugly animal you call a pet? Of course, what I really want to know is, how did you get into Gryffindor? I heard about your little encounter in the first floor girls' lavatory." Neville couldn't believe what he had heard. How could Malfoy know? Everyone had left when the incident occurred.

Draco continued. "That's right. So scared of a little girl ghost you passed out. When I heard about that, I laughed so hard I almost wet myself. So I'll ask you again. How did you get in Gryffindor? How did you avoid ending up in Huff'n'puff? For that matter, how did you get into school in the first place? It's clear you have no magical talent. You can't ride a broom. You can't even look at a potion without ruining it. I hear you're not any better in Charms and Transfiguration."

Neville tried to shut out the insults but he couldn't. Uncontrollably, he began to physically react to the mental anguish and his eyes became moist. Draco saw this and pressed further.

"I even heard your grandmother brought you back to school. You couldn't even take the train by yourself. You probably couldn't read the schedule to sort out when to catch it. And I hear you visit the infirmary every week. For nightmares! You're such a coward you can't even sleep with yourself. You're pathetic. You're weak. You have only a touch more magic than a Squib. And you are the dumbest person I've ever met to boot."

Neville couldn't take any more. He turned his head to try to hide the tears now flowing freely down his cheeks. Malfoy had hit on almost every nerve with his unprovoked verbal assault. The Slytherin turned back to his bodyguards.

"You see, Vincent? Plenty of tears and not a mark is left. I'd say our work here is done." The three boys turned back towards the dungeons leaving the Gryffindor alone.

*****

It took Neville the better part of ten minutes to stop crying and another five to pull himself up. He bunny-hopped through a torturous forty-five minute journey back to Gryffindor tower, that left him physically exhausted. He gave the password to the Fat Lady, and the portrait swung open, revealing the hole to the Gryffindor haven.

But now Neville was presented with another problem. There was no way he could get through the hole with his legs locked together. He tried to jump into the hole and duck at the same time, but only succeeded in banging his head. Eventually he bent over at the waist to put his head into the hole and fell forward. His hands grabbed the other end of the passage and he pulled himself through, tumbling into the common room.

What happened next hurt even more than Malfoy's insults. As Neville lay on the floor catching his breath, the entire room erupted in laughter. His own house, his supposed friends, the people who, as McGonagall said would be "like his family," were all having a hoot at his expense.

Except Hermione. In an instant she was at his side, and muttering the counter curse. Then she helped him to his feet, and Neville could see genuine concern in her face. She took him by the hand and brought him to Harry and Ron. "What happened?" she asked.

"Malfoy," Neville responded. He took a breath and fought back the tears. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

Hermione looked livid. "Go to Professor McGonagall! Report him!"

Neville was glad she was still in his corner, but he wanted this whole event to end. He shook his head. "I don't want more trouble."

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron interjected. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier." With every word Ron continued to cut Neville to the bone.

Neville gave up. "There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that." Neville could feel the tears start to well up again.

Harry reached into his pockets and pulled out a Chocolate Frog. Neville could see the boy hesitate for just a second, but he handed it to Neville. "You're worth twelve of Malfoy." Neville looked up, shocked by Harry's statement. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it?" Neville looked at Hermione who nodded, supporting Harry's assessment. "And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

The last few words made Neville smile. The chocolate made him feel even better. He tried to smile at the three first-years. "Thanks Harry...I think I'll go to bed." He looked at the card and saw the headmaster smile up at him. "D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?" He handed Harry the card as he turned and headed up the stairs.

*****

He was standing in a room. He was frozen in place, and the only thing he could move was his eyes. He saw his mother lying on a bed, and his father standing above her. Both were in their hospital gowns. He looked to the left and saw four people in dark hooded robes start towards his parents. He tried to scream a warning, but no sound came out. The four pulled wands, and shot spells at the helpless couple. He couldn't hear the screaming, but could see his mum and dad were in agony. Then the screaming stopped, and he could hear again.

Three of the people reached up and removed their hoods. He looked into the faces of three young men. He recognized all of them. They stood in a triangle formation, the smaller in front of the two larger ones. Then they spoke.

"Weakling," said the boy on the left. "Squib," said the boy on the right. "Coward," yelled the boy in the front."

The three approached him with wands raised. But before they could cast a spell, he noticed he was no longer alone; three people were behind him. "Stand up to them," said the red-haired boy. "You're worth twelve of them," said the green-eyed boy. "We believe in you," said the bushy-haired girl.

He turned back to the four cloaked figures. As he prepared to face them he was startled to see them meld into a pool of light. The light reformed itself into a single object.

A broom.

Before he could grasp the handle, he woke up.

*****

Neville awoke from the strangest dream he could ever remember. He was surprised to find he wasn't tired or scared. In fact, he had never felt better after a night with a dream. He wasn't shaking. His heart was beating at a normal rate. And his head was as clear as his Remembrall, or as clear as the Remembrall was before he picked it up.

The morning went smoothly despite the possibility for disaster. The Gryffindors had double Potions that morning, but with Hermione pairing him, and Ron and Harry keeping the Slytherins at bay, Neville had his most productive lesson ever. He was able to brew a competent potion, and Professor Snape could only sputter at his success. In the end, Snape gave Hermione the credit, and ignored Neville's contribution.

Defense Against the Dark Arts passed quickly enough. Professor Quirrell appeared distracted and could hardly keep his train of thought throughout the lesson. The Herbology class was working on individual projects, and Neville's hybrid of asphodel and dogwood was coming along nicely. He whistled to himself as he put his tools away and headed to lunch.

He found he didn't have much of an appetite. His attention was firmly set on the afternoon's flying lesson. He was hardly aware of Professor Binns during History of Magic, and when the ghost's lesson was over, he trudged up to his dormitory, deposited his belongings on his bed, and headed for the Quidditch pitch.

Madam Hooch met him at the entrance and both student and teacher made their way inside. She led the boy to the center of the pitch, where a single broom lay tethered by a rope to a stake shoved into the ground.

"All right, Mr. Longbottom," the instructor began. "I've taken precautions to keep the broom from flying too high or too far away. I have cast a series of cushioning spells on the ground in the radius of the rope. No matter what happens here, you will not get hurt. So put all of the fear out of your mind."

Neville nodded apprehensively. "You don't believe me, do you Mr. Longbottom? Very well." The teacher pointed her wand at Neville and cried, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Neville rose ten feet off the ground, and just as he was about to panic, Madam Hooch cancelled the spell. The student fell back to earth in an instant. But instead of meeting the cold hard ground, he fell onto an invisible pillow. He quickly scrambled back to his feet.

"Now do you believe me? I have no wish to harm you." Neville looked at his teacher with a new respect, and a new sense of confidence. "You remember the lesson from before. Let's start at the beginning. Stand by the broom." The student took his place by the broom, and cleared his mind.

"UP!" he cried. The broom leapt into his hand. Neville was startled by the broom's obedience. He swung his right leg over the broom and prepared to push off.

"Now, when I blow the whistle, push off SLIGHTLY, hover in the air for a moment, then touch back down. On my whistle."

Neville waited expectantly, and the whistle blew. He leaned onto his toes, flexed his feet, and gave a very small push with his eyes closed. After a few seconds, he opened them and realized he was hovering about four feet in the air. He concentrated back on the broom, and leaned back just a little, keeping a firm hold of the broom. He could feel the ground reappear beneath his feet.

"Very good, Mr. Longbottom," said Madam Hooch. "Are you ready for the next step?"

"I think so," replied Neville.

"No. That is your problem, Mr. Longbottom. It's doubt that keeps you from controlling your flight. You need to know that you are ready. Why wouldn't you know so? All of the reasons for your fear and doubt should be gone. No one here expects you to be capable of playing Seeker for England. You should know by now, the damage from a fall can be repaired, and right now, you don't even have to worry about pain.

"Put everything else out of your mind. If someone has hurt you, insulted you, or ignored you, it doesn't belong on a broom. You can't fly angry or scared. Put emotion aside and concentrate on what you are doing."

For the first time, Neville understood what had happened during his first attempts at flight. He had become so consumed by fear, the broom failed to trust the flyer and instead chose to do what it wanted. He looked his instructor directly in the eye.

"I'm ready."

"Good. Push off as before, then by exerting pressure on the handle - left and right, up and down for direction, forward and back to control your speed - I want you to fly in a circular pattern around the center of the pitch. It will better for you if you can do so without keeping the rope taut."

Neville nodded, and cleared his head. He leaned forward, and pushed off, and the broom again hovered. He pulled up on the handle, and the broom rose another five feet in the air. Then by applying pressure to the handle he maneuvered the broom until the rope was of the ground, but hanging limply. Slowly the broom began a circular pattern around the center of the pitch.

After a few moments, Neville realized the fear was gone, and in its place was a feeling of euphoria. He increased his speed, and although he knew it was nowhere near the speed of the Quidditch fliers, his hair and robes still trailed in his wake.

Before he knew it, Madam Hooch was signaling to come down, and Neville steered the broom to a stop next to the instructor. "Excellent, Mr. Longbottom. We'll come out again in a few weeks, without the training rope." Neville was grinning from ear to ear.

*****

The next afternoon the most important Hogwarts Quidditch match in seven years was being held. The Gryffindor students were within striking distance of Slytherin in the House Cup standings, and a victory in this match versus Hufflepuff, would put the house in the lead. Slytherin had won the last six House and Quidditch cups, making this an event the whole school was determined to see.

Neville went out to the pitch early to save seats for his fellow first-years. He was looking forward to watching the match through different eyes now that he had experienced his first success on a broom himself. Just before the match was scheduled to start, Ron and Hermione showed up. Both seemed extremely anxious about something, and to Neville's surprise, both had brought their wands.

"Are you two expecting trouble?" Neville asked.

"Just a precaution," Hermione responded.

Neville couldn't imagine why anyone needed a wand at a Quidditch match. Besides, all of the teachers were there, including Headmaster Dumbledore. He continued to scan the crowd, and was surprised to find Madam Hooch sitting with the rest of the staff.

He was about to ask if anyone knew what was happening, when Lee Jordan announced the lineups, and the referee. Professor Snape, it appeared, had somehow managed to talk Madam Hooch into letting him officiate. Now Neville knew why Ron and Hermione had brought their wands.

The game started, and Neville watched the Gryffindor team take the opening Quaffle. His concentration was very quickly interrupted when Ron yelled out in pain. An instant later, he heard the voice of his tormentor.

"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there." It was Malfoy. And behind him, as usual, were Crabbe and Goyle. "Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"

Neville tried his best to shut out Malfoy's insults. He glanced over at Ron and saw he was doing the same. Hermione was extremely focused on the match. However, instead of following the Quaffle, or trying to find the Snitch, she was keeping her eye on Snape.

Malfoy wasn't to be deterred however. "You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team? It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money - you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

Neville could feel his face began to burn. He thought of his lesson the day before, and how he learned to control a broom. He was the best in his class at Herbology. And he had dealt with things in his life that Malfoy couldn't possibly understand. Now he knew what Harry had meant. He turned around and looked Malfoy in the eye.

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy." The words were unfamiliar in his mouth. He couldn't recall standing up to anyone like this before. The three Slytherins burst out laughing. Neville turned around and brought his attention back to the game.

Ron leaned over to him. "You tell him, Neville."

But Malfoy wasn't done. "Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

Ron's face went white and he tore his attention away from the game. "I'm warning you, Malfoy - one more word - "

"Ron!" Hermione interrupted. "Harry -!"

The red-haired Gryffindor quickly turned his attention back to the game. "What? Where?"

Neville also looked back to the pitch. Harry was diving towards the ground like an eagle chasing its prey. First the crowd cheered, then it fell silent. Except one voice.

"You're in luck, Weasley," Malfoy sneered. "Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!"

Ron had had enough. He turned around and launched himself at a stunned Draco Malfoy, tackling him. Neville saw Crabbe and Goyle start to move in. There was no one to stop the two cronies from ganging up on Ron.

No one except Neville.

He climbed the seat and jumped at Crabbe, pushing the Slytherin into his fellow thug. All three students went down in a heap. Neville felt a hand grab his leg, and a knee connect with his chest. He swung his fists wildly, feeling them connect first with a face, and then a stomach. He heard one of his combatants grunt.

Neville knew it was a hopeless cause. Both Slytherins were bigger then he was, and the element of surprise had worn off. For every punch or kick Neville landed, Crabbe and Goyle landed three. Neville got a few more shots in when the crowd went wild, causing the Slytherins to look around. He brought his knee up into Crabbe's groin, and whipped his fist around to catch Goyle in the nose. Blood began to trickle from the wound.

The Slytherin boys quickly regrouped, and became merciless. Less then a moment later, Goyle landed a blow to the back of Neville's head, and the Gryffindor fell unconscious.

*****

It was evening before Neville came to. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't shocked to find himself in the Infirmary. But he was surprised to find Professor McGonagall sitting across from his bed.

"Poppy. He's awake," the teacher said.

The nurse quickly appeared at Neville's bedside, and looked him over. "Can you stand, Mr. Longbottom?" she asked.

"I...I think so." Neville tentatively got to his feet, and after a moment, had found his balance.

"Good. It looks like no long term damage was done." Madam Pomfrey handed Neville a small potion vial. "Take this before you go to bed tonight. This should help with any after-effects. A concussion is nasty business. If you have any problem with motor function, please return immediately."

Neville nodded and started toward the door, with Professor McGonagall on his heels.

"Mr. Longbottom, allow me to walk with you." The teacher collected her thoughts as they headed for the first stairwell, then spoke. "Would you like to tell me your side of the story?"

"There's not much to tell, really. Malfoy was being a git, and he kept making fun of me and Ron and Ron's family. Finally, Ron had enough, and went to shut him up. He would have been fine if it wasn't for Malfoy's goons, Crabbe and Goyle."

"Go on."

"Well, Ron didn't see them, and they were about to grab him. And three on one wasn't fair, and, well, Crabbe and Goyle have made fun of me every time they've seen me, even before school started. I couldn't let them gang up on Ron, so I jumped them. I guess I hoped other people would see what was happening, and break it all up."

"They might have, Mr. Longbottom. Unfortunately, your brawl occurred at the exact moment Mr. Potter made a brilliant catch of the Golden Snitch. Your fight didn't catch anyone's attention until after you were knocked out."

"Oh. Is Ron all right? I didn't see him in the hospital wing."

"Yes." The professor hushed her voice to a whisper. "Now I may not believe in fighting, but I am proud that you stood up for a fellow Gryffindor. I hope you have put to rest any lingering doubts about why you are in my house. And, if you repeat this part to anyone you'll have detention for a month, I'm proud that the two of you gave as good as you got. Mr. Weasley suffered a bloody lip. Mr. Malfoy, a black eye. Mr. Goyle received a broken nose, and Mr. Crabbe broke his hand when he hit you in the head. And both Crabbe and Goyle had several more bruises than I think they were counting on."

Her voice resumed its normal volume. "As it is your first offense, there will be no detention, and no points lost. But I must impress upon you how seriously we take brawling at Hogwarts. Any future fisticuffs will result in a heavy punishment. Do I make myself understood?"

Neville smiled at his head of house as they reached Gryffindor tower. "Absolutely, Professor. I understand perfectly."