Changing Everything

The Begining

Transcript from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix:

(I do not own it...this belongs to J.K Rowling)

"And — oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?" Harry's head spun round. The curtains had been drawn back from the two beds at the end of the ward and two visitors were walking back down the aisle between the beds: a formidable-looking old witch wearing a long green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur, and a pointed hat decorated with what was unmistakably a stuffed vulture and, trailing behind her looking thoroughly depressed — Neville. 

With a sudden rush of understanding, Harry realized who the people in the end beds must be. He cast around wildly for some means of distracting the others  so that Neville could leave the ward unnoticed and unquestioned, but Ron had looked up at the sound of the name "Longbottom" too, and before Harry could stop him had called, "Neville!"

Neville jumped and cowered as though a bullet had narrowly missed him. "It's us, Neville!" said Ron brightly, getting to his feet. "Have you seen? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?" 

"Friends of yours, Neville, dear?" said Neville's grandmother graciously, bearing down upon them all. 

Neville looked as though he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. A dull purple flush was creeping up his plump face and he was not making eye contact with any of them.

"Ah, yes," said his grandmother, looking closely at Harry and sticking out a shrivelled, claw-like hand for him to shake. "Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you."

"Er — thanks," said Harry, shaking hands. Neville did not look at him, but stared at his own feet, the color deepening in his face all the while. 

"And you two are clearly Weasleys," Mrs. Longbottom continued, proffering her hand regally to Ron and Ginny in turn. "Yes, I know your parents — not well, of course — but fine people, fine people . . . and you must be Hermione Granger?"

Hermione looked rather startled that Mrs. Longbottom knew her name, but shook hands all the same. 

"Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy," she said, casting a sternly appraising look down her rather bony nose at Neville, "but he hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say. . . ." And she jerked her head in the direction of the two beds at the end of the ward, so that the stuffed vulture on her hat trembled alarmingly.

"What?" said Ron, looking amazed (Harry wanted to stamp on Ron's foot, but that sort of thing was much harder to bring off unnoticed when you were wearing jeans rather than robes). "Is that your dad down the end, Neville?" 

"What's this?" said Mrs. Longbottom sharply. "Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?" 

Neville took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling, and shook his head. Harry could not remember ever feeling sorrier for anyone, but he could not think of any way of helping Neville out of the situation. 

"Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!" said Mrs. Longbottom angrily. "You should be proud, Neville, proud! They didn't give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!"

"I'm not ashamed," said Neville very faintly, still looking anywhere but at Harry and the others. Ron was now standing on tiptoe to look over at the inhabitants of the two beds.

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!" said Mrs. Longbottom. 

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