Chapter Text
“Wake up Neville! Come down with the rest of the boys to eat your bloody breakfast!”
“Ugh… What? Oh, coming Mrs. Doyle!” Neville called through the door. He quickly got up and rifled through his drawers to find something to wear. He settled with his too-big grey sweater and some jeans that were frayed on the bottom. Then he picked up his comb and worked at getting some knots out.
“Neville Longbottom! Would you please come down!” Neville darted down the stairs to the dining area as fast as he could.
“Sorry, Mrs. Doyle,” he apologized.
“Make sure it doesn’t happen again, or you won’t be getting breakfast,” she snapped.
“Yes, Mrs. Doyle,” came his reply. Head down, he sat down at the nearest table and awaited his pancakes and maple syrup. Bored, he dreamily stared outside the large pane window. There was a sweeping grass lawn, easily an acre. There was some cherry trees dotted along every couple of yards that were currently in bloom. Eventually his eyes fell upon the sign by the road. He couldn’t see what it said from this side, but he didn’t need to see it to know what it said. Neville had this sign memorized. He had grown up with it for as long as he could remember.
Mrs. Merriweather Doyle’s Orphanage
For Young Wizards or Witches
In Need
Of course, Neville was just about eleven. He was not considered a “young” child anymore. Or at least he thought. He would be getting his letter to Hogwarts any day now! Unless….No. He can’t be a Squib. His parents were wizards; powerful Aurors, at that. He could be too, if he wanted.Absentmindedly, he reached to his forehead and touched his scar. What if his injury had some how zapped all of the magic out of him? What if, what if?
That question and more circled through his mind, and he was so absorbed with his worries that he didn’t know that every child in the building was trying to get his attention. Eventually he noticed when Ernie Haffter, a seven-year-old who slept in the dorm next to Neville, screamed in his ear.
“NEVILLE! YOUR HOGWARTS LETTER IS HERE!”
“What? It is? Now?” Neville asked, very confused. In his daydreams, he had more than half-convinced himself that he was, indeed, a Squib. “Uh-huh! Open it! Open it!” Ernie pleaded.
A chant of “O-Pen! O-Pen!” rang throughout the dining hall. Neville had never had so much attention in his life, and he blushed bright red. “Alright, I’ll open it! I’ll open it!” and with that he tore it open. It read:
Dear Mr. Longbottom,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl no later than July 31st.
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
“I’m going to Hogwarts! I’m going to Hogwarts!” Neville whooped once he had finished
reading the long awaited letter.
“Looks like we’re making a trip to Diagon Alley!” called Mrs. Doyle to all the students.
“Everyone finish up quickly please and get ready to leave by eleven o’clock!”
Neville wolfed down his food and rushed up the two flights of stairs back to his dorm. He looked over his list and read all of the books he would need, his uniform, the cauldron, his animal, and...his wand. He was most excited about his wand. Which of course meant he should save that for last! Neville liked to save the best for last. This method has always helped him to carry through with his day.