Neville Longbottom and the Philosopher's Stone

Part 8

He came to almost immediately to find Madam Hooch leaning over him, with the other students gathering around behind her and whispering to each other. His first thought was "This is the second time this had happened to me" and he wondered if he had bounced. His next several thoughts were of pain. Shooting, agonising pain in both his left wrist and right ankle, which Madam Hooch was now examining. "We'll have to get you to the hospital wing," she said. "Come on, up you get, lean on me." Neville gingerly got up on his left leg, put his right arm around Madam Hooch and, with her support, hopped in a rather pathetic fashion into the castle. He didn't dare look back to see the jeers of the Slytherins behind him, or the look of pity on Hermione's face.

It took them a good ten minutes to make the short trip up to the hospital wing on the second floor. There he was delivered into the capable hands of Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse. She was very sympathetic and didn't push Neville on how he'd acquired the injuries. Hooch left to return to her class, and Pomfrey found Neville a bed by a window and looked carefully at his wrist and ankle. "Well, your wrist's broken and your ankle's dislocated, but nothing I can't fix in a jiffy," she said confidently. "You'll have to rest up for a while on that ankle though. Just a couple of hours or so, till I can be sure it's safe to walk on. Now hold still."

She had Neville's wrist fixed in less than a minute, and took not much more time to fix his ankle, but she propped it up on a block once she was done and left Neville to rest. Neville lay back in the comfortable hospital bed and soon dozed off. He awoke, feeling much better, until he remembered exactly why he'd come to be in the hospital wing. He roused himself and examined his ankle. It seemed fine now.

Madam Pomfrey noticed him awake and came over. "Yes, you're fine now, you're free to go," she said. "I must say, I think you overslept a little."

Neville looked at his watch. "I've missed supper!" he moaned.

"Well I'm sorry, this is a hospital, not a hotel," she replied. "Look," she continued, seeing Neville's forlorn face. "I can give you some sandwiches for you to take back up to your common room. But don't you go telling anyone I gave you them." She went over to a cupboard and handed him a pack of tuna sandwiches. Neville gratefully took them and stuffed them in his pocket. The pocket felt curiously empty. What had he had in there? He couldn't remember. He left the hospital wing heading for Gryffindor tower.

He got horribly lost on the way and in the end had to find his way back down to the ground floor so he could retrace his usual route from the Great Hall up to the tower. As he tended to follow Hermione round everywhere, he hadn't really learned anything of the layout of the castle beyond his day-to-day routine, so anything off the beaten track was a mystery to him. Eventually, and worn out from climbing up all the stairs, he reached the Fat Lady's portrait, which guarded the entrance to Gryffindor tower. In front of it, Neville stopped dead, stared and scratched the back of his neck.

"Well, what is it?" asked the Fat Lady, sounding a little cross.

"Er, well, I've forgotten the password," said Neville. "Look, can't you let me in anyway. You know who I am."

"I'm sorry. No one gets in without the password," stated the Fat Lady firmly. Great, thought Neville. Now what? He guessed he'd just have to wait here till someone else showed up to let him in. He sat down with his back to the portrait and took out his sandwiches and ate them, trying to remember the password. He'd always relied on Hermione to say it. He really should start doing things for himself, he thought. He was pathetic.

Neville sat there feeling sorry for himself, and a minute became ten minutes, then an hour, and nearly an hour and a half and still no one came to the door. Everyone was inside by now, and there would be no reason for anybody to come out. He could be stuck here till morning. He thought about going to sleep, but after the nap down at the hospital wing he didn't really feel tired. Suddenly he had an idea. The hospital wing, it was bound to still be open. He could go down there and explain to Madam Pomfrey. He was sure she'd understand, she'd seemed very kind. He couldn't really stay here all night, after all students weren't allowed out in the castle after dark.

The hospital wing was down on the first floor, so Neville set off down the staircases. But after several flights, he found himself horribly confused. If he had counted directly, which he strongly doubted, he should have reached the first floor by now. But the surroundings he found himself in were completely unfamiliar. Maybe he'd just come down the wrong staircase, he figured. If he followed the corridor he'd find the hospital wing on this floor eventually.

He turned a corner and found himself in a large room filled with gleaming gold and silver objects. Various cups, shields and plaques filled large display cases on every wall. This must be the Hogwarts trophy room, Neville guessed. Prominently above one display case on the longest wall was a large wooden board on which was inscribed a list of every Head Boy and Girl in the long history of Hogwarts. Neville couldn't resist having a look at some of the more recent names. To his disappointment he saw a "Potter" and a "Weasley" among the Head Boys, but no Longbottom. So much for his family's reputation, he thought.

All of a sudden he heard a noise from the far door of the room and spun round. A small, thin cat with yellow eyes had walked into the room and was now standing by the doorway looking at Neville in a curious and disconcerting manner. Like every student at Hogwarts, Neville recognised the cat immediately. It was Mrs Norris, the cat belonging to Argus Filch, the cantankerous caretaker. If Mrs Norris was here, then Filch would not be far away, and a whole lot of trouble would not be far behind him. Neville took a few seconds to consider his options, then ran. In a panicked dash, he sprinted out of the room and down another corridor. He didn't stop to look back, but he fancied he heard the patter of Mrs Norris's paws right behind him.

A door barred his way. Neville tried the handle. It was locked. Desperately, Neville whipped out his wand. What was that spell Hermione had told him about? Alerma? Arahoma? "Alohomora!" he cried, tapping the lock. It sprung open. With a quick glance behind him, he leapt through the doorway and half shut the door, leaving a small crack to peer out of.

For a moment he felt quite pleased with himself. After all, he'd actually pulled off a genuine spell under pressure for almost the first time, and without Hermione's help. He seemed to have shaken off Mrs Norris as well. That was until he heard the sound behind. It was a low, scraping sound, combined with what felt with a strong gust of wind. Nervously, Neville turned around.

He was in a long room with a high ceiling and a hard stone floor. Set into the floor, Neville noticed, was a wooden trapdoor with a heavy iron ring. But, as his eyes rose from the floor, it was what was on top of the trapdoor that commanded his attention. Four heavy paws, then a massive hairy body, topped with three overly large heads. Neville's immediate and random thought was that if you have to count the heads on something, then it was never a good sign; particularly if that something was a huge and extremely vicious-looking dog.

Neville froze in terror. Six great beady eyes looked down at him and three sets of sharp teeth were bared in his direction. The dog heaved itself to its feet. Neville felt rooted to the spot. The dog took a couple of steps forward and lifted its front paw to swat down the poor small boy. Neville desperately tried to move his feet, but he couldn't. Almost in slow-motion, he saw the dog's paw swinging towards him and he closed his eyes and braced for the pain.

Suddenly, he felt his collar jerk backwards and he was pulled back violently. The paw swung passed and missed him by mere inches. He felt a hand seize him by the arm and drag him out of the door in an instant. Turning, he discovered it was Harry Potter holding his arm. His friend Ron was busy shutting the door again and trapping the three-headed dog inside once more. "Neville, are you OK?" said Harry. "What was that?"