Neville Longbottom and the Philosopher's Stone

Part 7

It was a bright sunny Thursday of the second week of the Hogwarts term, but Neville wasn't taking much notice of the weather. He was fretting again about the coming day, as was becoming a regular occurrence. Particularly the afternoon, which consisted of the next Transfiguration lesson with McGonagall and then their first Flying lesson with Madam Hooch. Neville had never been allowed near a broom before and he wasn't looking forward to his first experience.

He'd spent most of the previous weekend in his dormitory or the common room, not feeling up to going out anywhere. For most of the new week he'd just walked straight from class to class, trailing behind Hermione for the most part and trying to avoid the gazes or remarks of the other students. For much of the time he and Hermione went everywhere together. It was an odd sort of friendship, as friendship it was now, he supposed. He'd never actually had a friend before. Neither of them seemed to have any other real friends, indeed Neville got the impression Hermione was generally unpopular, though he couldn't see why. Neville himself was regarded as something of a curiosity, nobody was quite sure of him or what he might do, so they tended to leave him alone, a situation that Neville did nothing to change.

Nonetheless it was a quite unequal friendship as it mainly consisted of Hermione talking at length about work or the latest thing she had read, and Neville listening and trying to remember what she'd just said. It quite surprised Neville to discover that Hermione was just as worried about her abilities as Neville was about his. She fretted terribly the moment she thought she'd got anything wrong and was petrified at the thought of disappointing any of the teachers. But when it came to Neville's academic difficulties she was patient and understanding, and so far this week she'd made lessons just about bearable.

What the other first-year Gryffindors made of this odd pair, Neville wasn't sure as he didn't talk to them once, except Seamus occasionally, who tended to look out for him from time to time and make sure he was OK, when he wasn't off somewhere with Dean. Harry and Ron were always busy with their own schemes, or off with Ron's brothers, to notice him much. And the girls, who seemed to have isolated Hermione, barely ever acknowledged him.

It was breakfast time in the Great Hall and the post was arriving. The owls swooped and dived amongst the students, delivering their letters and packages. Suddenly Neville felt a gentle peck on his shoulder and he turned to see his own family owl, Elwin, nibbling at his sleeve. He was carrying a small package which Neville took, before feeding Elwin a small piece of bread and sending him on his way. Neville opened the package. Inside was a letter from Gran and a small box. Neville opened the letter and read.

Dear Neville,

Thank you for finally remembering to write home and let your Gran know how you are getting on. Congratulations on being sorted into Gryffindor, I must say it was a most pleasant surprise when I read that. Your parents would be most proud. I sincerely hope you will maintain their proud reputation. In pursuit of this, enclosed is a small gift I purchased yesterday in Diagon Alley in recognition of your achievement. I hope you are keeping yourself well and remembering to clean your teeth twice a day. Perhaps this will help. Love,

Gran

Neville tugged open the box. Inside was a small glass ball filled with white smoke. He held it up to examine it closely.

"Hey, that's a Remembrall, isn't it?" said Hermione sitting next to him. "I've read about them, but never seen one. If the smoke turns red..."

The cloud inside the ball turned a vivid shade of crimson. "...you've forgotten something," finished Neville glumly. He felt Gran was trying to tease him. His memory had always been terrible, he didn't need some flashy magical object telling him that. He placed the Remembrall on the table with his hand on top of it to stop it rolling away, put his chin on the table and stared at the ball, hoping maybe that he would be able to remember whatever it was he was supposed to have forgotten. It was, of course, hopeless. Frankly he considered the object next to useless.

Suddenly he heard a loud voice from across the Hall and looked up. It was Draco Malfoy, who had got up from the Slytherin table and leaning across the Ravenclaw table in Neville's direction. "Oy, Longbottom," he shouted. "If you screw up your face any more, maybe that scar will pop off your forehead. Or are you trying to remember where you left your brain?"

"Bog off, Malfoy," said Seamus, but Draco merely laughed and went back to his friends on the Slytherin table. "Just ignore him," said Seamus to Neville. "He's nothing but a petty bully. You're way better than him." Neville didn't believe it though. For the rest of breakfast he stared at the Remembrall but try as he might he couldn't get rid of the red smoke. When the time came to leave, he shoved it in his pocket, and forgot about it.

It was mid-afternoon when the Gryffindors all filed out of the castle for their Flying lesson, Neville bringing up the rear and dragging his feet. The previous Transfiguration lesson had again been a miserable experience, with McGonagall having to step in more than once to prevent Neville doing serious damage to himself or Hermione. Now some fool was going to let him loose with a broomstick. Not the best of ideas, he thought.

When he looked up as they arrived, his heart sank as he saw the Slytherin first-years standing there, milling around the laid-out brooms. Nobody had mentioned to him they were sharing the lesson with them. He could see Malfoy already, with that sick smirk on his face, just itching to throw out his latest barb. Neville tried to hide himself behind the other Gryffindors.

But Madam Hooch also arrived at that moment and ordered them all to line up alongside a broom. Neville found himself directly across from Malfoy, who just sneered and looked down at Neville as if he was something on the bottom of his shoe. When Hooch told them all to call up their brooms, Draco's shot into his hand almost immediately, but Neville's wouldn't budge an inch. "What's the matter, Longbottom? Allergic to wood are you?" taunted Draco.

"Be quiet, Mr Malfoy," snapped Madam Hooch. "Oh, Mr Longbottom, just pick it up. We haven't got all day." Sheepishly, Neville lifted up his broom. "Now, on my signal, we're going to try a little hovering. Just lift off from the ground and hold as long as you can... Longbottom? Longbottom, what do you think you're doing?" Neville's broom had begun to rise. And rise. Frantically, Neville's right hand froze hard onto the handle of the broom as it pulled up and up skywards. He shut his eyes and desperately tried to think down, down. But that only seemed to make things worse. The broom was rising faster.

By now the Slytherins were falling about themselves with laughter and the Gryffindors were just staring at the ground in embarrassment. Neville finally opened his eyes and wished he hadn't. He was now floating some ten feet above the ground, out of the reach of everybody. He'd finally managed to get his left hand onto the broom, but that wasn't helping. His hands felt stuck to the broom and he couldn't let go even if he had dared to. The more he panicked and fretted it seemed, the higher the broom rose. "Just relax, Mr Longbottom," called out Madam Hooch. "Let it drift back down." But relaxing was the last thing Neville was going to do. He wrestled heavily with the broom, trying to get back on top of it. But this only made it begin to buck and swerve violently, throwing Neville about.

Suddenly it took a steep turn and plunged towards the castle walls. Horrified Neville saw the stonework hurtling towards him at alarming speed. The students and Madam Hooch watched on helplessly as Neville crashed into the wall, let the broken broom slip from his fingers and plummet twenty feet to the grass below. There was an ugly sounding "crack" and for a moment Neville's world went black.