Fic: Neville Makes a Friend (gen, Neville-centric, G)
So, clare_dragonfly asked for a drabble about Neville. And as always when I try to write drabbles about Neville, this one went over its intended word count...
Title: Neville Makes a Friend
Rating: G (warning for a cute small child in a garden)
Summary: An alternate origin story for Trevor the Toad. Neville saves a life and is rewarded.
Word Count: ~900
Once upon a time there was a little boy called Neville Longbottom, and he lived with his gran in a big creaky old house at the edge of a small creaky old town. Neville’s gran was a witch, and everyone in the family had been very concerned that Neville turn out to be a wizard, since he was sort of nervous and clumsy, and that was bad enough without his being a Squib too.
Except that once Neville had proven himself magical (after his rather thoughtless uncle had dropped him out a window and he’d bounced), he couldn’t seem to stop his magic from doing things it oughtn’t. Sometimes the chairs at the kitchen table would tip over as he approached. Or Gran’s handbag would levitate so far she had to hook it with the end of her broom to get it down from the parlour ceiling. And so as to avoid a repetition of The Incident With The Butterscotch Pudding, Neville spent more and more of his time outdoors, wandering through the back garden, where at least if anything exploded the smoke would clear faster in the open air.
Which was how, one day, Neville met Trevor. Neville did not, of course, at that point know it was Trevor he was meeting. Trevor, for that matter, did not know his name was Trevor. But Neville had been walking along the edge of Gran’s mandrake patch when he came upon Hortense, the Crup from next door, kicking up a fuss over something which on closer inspection turned out to be a small and very frightened toad cowering in the grass. “Stop that!” Neville told her. “Go pick on someone your own size.” He tried to give Hortense a stern look down his nose, the way his gran gave him when he asked a silly question or broke something important, but Hortense just wagged her single tail at him and went back to barking at the toad.
Neville didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to watch Hortense devour something so small and helpless, but he was afraid if he tried to take the toad away she would go after him instead, and for such a small animal, her teeth looked quite large. If only he was a grown-up wizard who could use magic properly, then he’d just cast a Confundus Charm and the Crup would wander distractedly off; or he might lift her up and put her in some other part of the garden, away from the toad. But instead he was a nine-year-old almost-Squib, and Hortense was every second moving closer to the quivering amphibian. Who then, quite suddenly, wasn’t there.
Hortense whined, and sniffed around the spot where the toad had been, as if she was sure it was still around somewhere, before going off to have a pee against the side of the woodshed. Neville bit his lip. He didn’t know where the toad had gone, or if he’d had anything to do with it, and just as he’d decided to forget it and go indoors for lunch, there was a soft croak and something landed on the toe of his shoe. But when he looked down, there was nothing there.
And then Neville knew what he’d done. He grabbed the invisible toad, which struggled and gave an indignant croak, off his shoe, and rushed for the house, tripping through the back door, and straight into his gran.
Neville’s gran, who by this time was much too used to clearing up after Neville’s messes, said simply, “What have you done now, boy?”
And Neville whimpered the whole story, the Crup, and the toad, and he’d told her to go away but she hadn’t, and all he’d wanted to do was make sure the toad was safe, and now look! He held out a small piece of nothing at all, which said distinctly, “Rbbpt.”
And Neville’s gran, not yelling or anything, though the stuffed vulture on her hat seemed to make the toad distinctly nervous (it was wriggling hard between Neville’s fingers), took out her wand and tapped the little creature on the head. Colour-brown and a little bit of green in spots-flooded the toad, and Neville nearly dropped it in surprise.
“Loosen your grip a little, Neville,” said Gran. “Give him some room to breathe.”
Neville obeyed, but as soon as he did the toad worked its way out from between his hands, leapt up to his shoulder and then onto his head, where it settled into Neville’s thick, curly hair. Neville rolled his eyes up, but of course he couldn’t see it. And when he looked back at Gran, she was smiling, for the first time in a long while.
“You saved that toad’s life,” she told him. “I think he’s grateful.” The toad gave an affirming croak. “Maybe, boy, there’s something of your father in you yet.”
Neville wanted to cry, or shout, or sing, or maybe just ask why Gran thought his father would have saved a toad, but before he could choose which to do, she had turned and hobbled off towards the kitchen. So he just patted the top of his head and asked, “Do you think you’d like to be called Trevor?”
“Grrbbt,” replied Trevor. And that was that.
The End
Feedback is loved and adored and fed chocolate biscuits.
Title: Neville Makes a Friend
Rating: G (warning for a cute small child in a garden)
Summary: An alternate origin story for Trevor the Toad. Neville saves a life and is rewarded.
Word Count: ~900
Once upon a time there was a little boy called Neville Longbottom, and he lived with his gran in a big creaky old house at the edge of a small creaky old town. Neville’s gran was a witch, and everyone in the family had been very concerned that Neville turn out to be a wizard, since he was sort of nervous and clumsy, and that was bad enough without his being a Squib too.
Except that once Neville had proven himself magical (after his rather thoughtless uncle had dropped him out a window and he’d bounced), he couldn’t seem to stop his magic from doing things it oughtn’t. Sometimes the chairs at the kitchen table would tip over as he approached. Or Gran’s handbag would levitate so far she had to hook it with the end of her broom to get it down from the parlour ceiling. And so as to avoid a repetition of The Incident With The Butterscotch Pudding, Neville spent more and more of his time outdoors, wandering through the back garden, where at least if anything exploded the smoke would clear faster in the open air.
Which was how, one day, Neville met Trevor. Neville did not, of course, at that point know it was Trevor he was meeting. Trevor, for that matter, did not know his name was Trevor. But Neville had been walking along the edge of Gran’s mandrake patch when he came upon Hortense, the Crup from next door, kicking up a fuss over something which on closer inspection turned out to be a small and very frightened toad cowering in the grass. “Stop that!” Neville told her. “Go pick on someone your own size.” He tried to give Hortense a stern look down his nose, the way his gran gave him when he asked a silly question or broke something important, but Hortense just wagged her single tail at him and went back to barking at the toad.
Neville didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to watch Hortense devour something so small and helpless, but he was afraid if he tried to take the toad away she would go after him instead, and for such a small animal, her teeth looked quite large. If only he was a grown-up wizard who could use magic properly, then he’d just cast a Confundus Charm and the Crup would wander distractedly off; or he might lift her up and put her in some other part of the garden, away from the toad. But instead he was a nine-year-old almost-Squib, and Hortense was every second moving closer to the quivering amphibian. Who then, quite suddenly, wasn’t there.
Hortense whined, and sniffed around the spot where the toad had been, as if she was sure it was still around somewhere, before going off to have a pee against the side of the woodshed. Neville bit his lip. He didn’t know where the toad had gone, or if he’d had anything to do with it, and just as he’d decided to forget it and go indoors for lunch, there was a soft croak and something landed on the toe of his shoe. But when he looked down, there was nothing there.
And then Neville knew what he’d done. He grabbed the invisible toad, which struggled and gave an indignant croak, off his shoe, and rushed for the house, tripping through the back door, and straight into his gran.
Neville’s gran, who by this time was much too used to clearing up after Neville’s messes, said simply, “What have you done now, boy?”
And Neville whimpered the whole story, the Crup, and the toad, and he’d told her to go away but she hadn’t, and all he’d wanted to do was make sure the toad was safe, and now look! He held out a small piece of nothing at all, which said distinctly, “Rbbpt.”
And Neville’s gran, not yelling or anything, though the stuffed vulture on her hat seemed to make the toad distinctly nervous (it was wriggling hard between Neville’s fingers), took out her wand and tapped the little creature on the head. Colour-brown and a little bit of green in spots-flooded the toad, and Neville nearly dropped it in surprise.
“Loosen your grip a little, Neville,” said Gran. “Give him some room to breathe.”
Neville obeyed, but as soon as he did the toad worked its way out from between his hands, leapt up to his shoulder and then onto his head, where it settled into Neville’s thick, curly hair. Neville rolled his eyes up, but of course he couldn’t see it. And when he looked back at Gran, she was smiling, for the first time in a long while.
“You saved that toad’s life,” she told him. “I think he’s grateful.” The toad gave an affirming croak. “Maybe, boy, there’s something of your father in you yet.”
Neville wanted to cry, or shout, or sing, or maybe just ask why Gran thought his father would have saved a toad, but before he could choose which to do, she had turned and hobbled off towards the kitchen. So he just patted the top of his head and asked, “Do you think you’d like to be called Trevor?”
“Grrbbt,” replied Trevor. And that was that.
The End
Feedback is loved and adored and fed chocolate biscuits.