A Neville SI

A Neville SI Chapter 4

"Damn, that looks cool! This will be my first-time doing magic," Neville thought. He reached into the sack of Floo powder, stepped into the fireplace facing McGonagall, took a deep breath, and threw down the powder, calling out, "Diagon Alley!"

Green flames erupted around him and consumed him.

Neville soon found himself stumbling out of a fireplace, some soot patch covering his clothes. His grandmother caught him and said, "Easy there! The first time using the Floo can be a bit jarring." She patted the soot off his clothes.

Looking around, Neville saw himself in an alleyway lined with multiple fireplaces on both sides of the wall, with wizards appearing and disappearing through them. It reminded him of the scene at the Ministry of Magic in the fifth Harry Potter movie.

….

Patting the soot off Neville, Augusta gestured for him to follow her. "Come on, Neville."

Neville followed her out of the alleyway and into Diagon Alley.

His first thought was, 'Wow, it's massive.' Unlike in the movies, Diagon Alley wasn't just an alley; it was more like a bustling district filled with people and shops.

Walking down the main street, Neville spotted an imposing snow-white, multistoried marble building and thought, 'That must be the wizarding bank, Gringotts.'

As they made their way through the bustling street, Neville noticed a bookstore with a sign reading Flourish and Blotts. Seeing the bookstore, he thought, 'I wonder if I could get Gran to buy me some books. Some books on defensive magic might help, though I could always read them in the Room of Requirement.'

They walked past the bookstore and eventually arrived at a small café.

Neville slid into the wooden chair, the legs scraping against the stone floor of the café. Augusta settled herself across from him with a gracefulness that seemed at odds with her stern demeanor. The table between them was small and round, its surface slightly worn, as if it had witnessed countless conversations over tea and pastries.

The waiter approached their table, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black trousers. His eyes darted between Augusta and Neville, awaiting their orders.

"Good afternoon," Augusta began, her voice steady and commanding as always. "I'll have an Earl Grey tea and the fish and chips, please."

The waiter jotted down her order with a swift nod before turning his attention to Neville. Neville hesitated. What did wizards even eat?

"I'll... I'll have the same," he finally said, hoping he didn't sound too unsure. The waiter nodded again, scribbling down the duplicate order before retreating to the kitchen.

"Fish and chips is always a good choice," Augusta remarked, bringing Neville back to the moment.

"Alright, Neville," she began after setting down her cup. "Since you don't remember anything, let's start from the beginning."

"Your name is Neville Longbottom," Augusta said, her eyes softening just a fraction. "You were born on July 30, 1980. That makes you eleven years old now."

Neville nodded.

"Your father's name is Frank Longbottom, and your mother's name is Alice Longbottom." Augusta's voice grew softer, tinged with a note of sorrow. "I am Frank's mother, which makes me your grandmother. We are wizards. With me so far?"

"Yes, Gran," he nodded.

"Now, your parents were war heroes," Augusta continued, her voice filled with emotion. "They were injured during the war, rendering them unable to take care of you. You were just one year old when that happened, and since then, I have been raising you."

"We can visit them this winter break," she added softly, her eyes softening for the briefest moment before she straightened up again, her usual stern demeanor returning.

Augusta peered at him over her spectacles, her eyes softening just a fraction. "Are you finding this overwhelming?"

Neville shook his head.

"Good," Augusta replied, offering a rare smile. "We'll take this one step at a time."

Their food arrived, and they ate in relative silence.

"Gran," Neville ventured, breaking the silence, "what were my parents like?" he asked wanting to sound like a kid who wanted to know about his parents.

Augusta paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. Her eyes misted over, and for a moment, Neville thought she might not answer.

"Brave," she finally said, placing her fork down gently. "They were both very brave."

"Let's finish our meal," Augusta said, her tone firm once more. "We have much to do today."

"Right," Neville agreed, taking another bite of his fish and chips.

"Gran," Neville ventured again, more confidently this time, "do you think we could stop by Flourish and Blotts on our way back? I saw some books that might be helpful... for school, I mean."

Augusta's eyebrows rose slightly, a rare sign of approval. "Of course, Neville. It's good to see you're taking an interest in your studies. Knowledge is power, after all."

"Thanks," Neville said, thinking, I can get some advanced books on spells; that would come in handy.

"Alright, let's finish up," Augusta said, her eyes flicking to the ornate silver stopwatch she drew from her robe. "It's half past two; we should get going."

They left the café and walked past Gringotts, making their way to a small, run-down shop with an old sign reading Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.

The shop's display featured a single wand lying on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

"After you," Augusta gestured, opening the door.

As they entered, the bell above the door rang. The shop was tiny, and empty except for a single, spindly chair in the corner. Thousands of narrow boxes containing wands were piled right up to the ceiling, and the whole place had a thin layer of dust about it.

"Ah, Madam Longbottom," he greeted Augusta with a slight bow. "Eight inches, willow, and dragon heartstring. Slightly bendy."

"And, young Mr. Longbottom," a soft rasp echoed around the room as a man emerged from the back. "I was expecting you a lot earlier."

"Mr. Ollivander," Augusta nodded back, her voice calm and respectful. She reached into her bag and produced Neville's broken wand, handing it over with a sigh. "My grandson broke his wand. Can you fix it?"

Ollivander took the fractured pieces, turning them over in his hands with a delicate touch, almost reverent. His eyes flicked up to meet Neville's, and for a moment, it felt as though he was peering into Neville's very soul.

"Let's see what we can do," he murmured, his attention already shifting back to the broken wand.

Ollivander's fingers traced the jagged edges of Neville's broken wand. He turned it over with a curious expression, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Ah," he said softly, "English oak and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. If this is the same wand I sold to your father, Frank Longbottom."

"Can you fix it?" Augusta asked, her voice tinged with hope.

Ollivander looked up, meeting her gaze with those pale, penetrating eyes. "I can fix it," he said carefully, "but it won't work for young Mr. Longbottom. This wand is bonded to its owner."

"English oak is known for its loyalty to its owner. It will not work for anyone but its original master," Ollivander explained, turning to Augusta, who nodded gravely. "The wand chooses the wizard, my lady. If Mr. Longbottom tries to use this wand, it will resist and fight back, making it quite difficult for him to keep up with his peers, as he might have noticed already."

Neville thought 'It was just like how Neville struggled in the books with the wand.'

"Well, if that's the case, then we would also like a new wand for Neville," Augusta said with a resigned sigh. "And how long would it take to fix this one?"

"I can have it done by the end of the week," Ollivander replied, his pale eyes examining Neville closely. "Please hold out your wand arm, Mr. Longbottom."

"Now let's see," Ollivander muttered, disappearing into the rows of towering shelves. Dust motes floated in the air, catching the light as he moved.

The measuring tape, seemingly alive, continued its task, looping around Neville's chest and shoulders.

"Try this," Ollivander said, emerging with a wand. "Cherry and unicorn hair, 13 inches, slightly bendy. Give it a wave."

Neville took the wand cautiously, feeling its smooth surface against his palm. The cherry wood was warm, almost inviting, but as he lifted it, there was no spark, no sense of connection. Still, he gave it a hesitant flick.

Nothing happened.

"Not quite right," Ollivander muttered, snatching the wand back with practiced speed. His pale eyes narrowed in concentration as he rummaged through another stack of boxes behind the counter.

Ollivander reappeared, clutching another wand. "Here, try this one," he said, thrusting it into Neville's hand before he'd even had a chance to brace himself. The wand felt heavier, more solid.

"Yew and dragon heartstring, 12 inches, unyielding. Go on, give it a wave."

Neville lifted the new wand, hoping this time something would be different. But as he swished it through the air, it remained stubbornly inert, like a piece of dead wood. No sparks, no magic.

"Interesting," Ollivander murmured, taking the wand back with a thoughtful frown. He seemed unfazed, as though this were all part of some intricate puzzle. "Very interesting indeed..."

"Try this one," Ollivander said, handing Neville yet another wand.

"Willow and phoenix feather, 11 inches, quite flexible."

Neville took it, feeling its smooth surface under his fingers. He gave it a tentative wave, but nothing happened. Not even a flicker of light or a puff of smoke. The wand was as lifeless as the others.

"Next," Ollivander said without missing a beat, taking the wand from Neville's hand and replacing it with another.

"How about Holly and dragon heartstring? 10 inches, swishy."

"Alright," Neville muttered, giving it a try. Again, nothing.

"Interesting," Ollivander murmured to himself, his eyes glinting with curiosity. He handed Neville another wand. "Aspen and unicorn hair, 12 inches, rigid."

Neville sighed, waving it through the air. It felt wrong, like trying to write with your non-dominant hand. Still, no magic.

"That's alright, Mr. Longbottom," Ollivander said, not losing his enthusiasm. "We have plenty more to go through."

"Six hours," Augusta whispered beside Neville, her voice barely masking her tiredness. "We've been here for six hours."

"One more," Ollivander insisted, almost gleefully. "Maple and phoenix feather, 13 inches, pliable."

"Okay," Neville said, though his hope was waning. He waved it, expecting the same result. And that's exactly what he got—nothing.

"Curious," Ollivander repeated, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Very curious indeed."

"Still no luck, I'm afraid," Neville said, glancing at the piles of rejected wands. They seemed to mock him, each one a reminder of his failure.

"Ah, but sometimes, the best matches come after the longest searches," Ollivander said cryptically. He paused, a sudden look of bewilderment crossing his face. His eyes widened, then narrowed thoughtfully. "Maybe that might work..."

"What's that?" Neville asked, curiosity piqued despite himself.

"Wait here," Ollivander instructed, disappearing into the depths of his shop.

Augusta and Neville exchanged puzzled glances, neither sure what to expect.

Minutes felt like hours before Ollivander reappeared, carrying an old, dusty wand box. It looked ancient like it had been forgotten on a high shelf for centuries. He placed it gently on the counter before them, treating it with a reverence Neville had never seen before.

He carefully opened the box, revealing a wand with dark, rich wood and intricate carvings along its length. It looked both delicate and powerful.

"Go on," Ollivander urged, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Give it a try."

Neville took the wand from the box, feeling the warm pulse of magic as he gripped it. As he raised it and gave a tentative flick, a soft, golden glow flared from the tip, illuminating the shop with a warm light. The air seemed to hum with a newfound energy, and for a moment, the dusty shop felt alive.

Ollivander's eyes widened in amazement, his pale face breaking into a rare, genuine smile. "Curious... curious indeed," he said softly, clearly awed by the wand's reaction. "A most remarkable match, if I may say so."

He stepped closer, his voice almost reverent. "This wand is made of Elder wood and Thestral tail hair, 11¾ inches. A most unusual combination."

Neville's eyes widen knowing the significance of Elder wood and Thestral tail hair. "Why is that...?" he asked hesitantly.

Ollivander nodded slowly. "Elder is one of the rarest wand woods, known for its immense power but also its fickleness. Thestral tail hair is incredibly difficult to master. Only a witch or wizard who has truly come to terms with death can wield it effectively."

Augusta's expression shifted between pride and concern. "What does that mean for Neville?"

"It means," Ollivander said, his gaze locking onto Neville, "that young Mr. Longbottom here has a special destiny ahead of him. This wand wouldn't choose just anyone. There must be something remarkable about you, something that sets you apart."

Neville swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the responsibility. "Has there ever been another wand like this?"

Ollivander's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Only one. Many have tried to replicate it, but only my grandfather succeeded in creating a wand with this combination. but No one had ever gotten the wand to produce magic—until now."

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