Few people knew what first-year Neville experienced by the Black Lake that evening.
Even Neville himself found it a bit blurry in hindsight.
He only remembered Linus encouraging his talent in Herbology and then setting a date for Quidditch training the next afternoon.
Before Neville could decline, Linus glanced at the last sliver of sunlight sinking below the horizon, scrambled up, and rushed toward the library.
“I’m running out of time for today, Neville!
Remember to be on time tomorrow!”
When an apprehensive Neville arrived punctually at the Quidditch pitch, the person waiting for him wasn’t Linus, but Harry, Hermione, and Ron.
In the common room the day before, Linus had told the trio, “Listen up, guys.
The first grand undertaking of the Four Tigers of Gryffindor is about to begin.”
The opening speech got Ron’s blood pumping.
“Say the word!
Who are we taking down?
Blowing up the Slytherin dungeon?”
“The Sorting Hat really underestimated you by not sending you straight to Azkaban,” Linus said, twitching his lips.
“Just tell us what you want us to do, Linus,” Harry replied much more sensibly.
“I smell a scheme,” Hermione said, eyeing Linus thoughtfully.
Linus beckoned their heads closer and lowered his voice.
“Don’t you guys think Neville is too pitiful?
We have to help him.”
“How?
It’s not like we can eat, sleep, or cast spells for him,” Ron said, looking bewildered.
“I want to help him,” Harry said, raising a hand.
He was reminded of his own life at his uncle’s house not so long ago.
“Tell us your idea, Linus,” Hermione said, crossing her arms as she settled onto the sofa.
Linus settled into a comfortable spot as well.
“Obviously, Neville is a die-hard Quidditch fan.”
“Is he?
Neville never talks about that with me,” Harry questioned doubtfully.
“Absolutely!
Neville goes with me to cheer for you at every Quidditch match, and he’s the only one who patiently listens to my play-by-play reviews on the way back to the dorm,” Ron asserted, firmly believing that every wizard loved Quidditch.
“Because he’s the only one too polite to shut down your endless hindsight commentary,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
“So I want you guys to spend some time helping Neville with special Quidditch training.
Ideally, he’ll reach the level to join the Gryffindor team next year or the year after,” Linus continued.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Ron said, his mouth agape in shock.
“I’m actually quite serious,” Linus replied with a smile.
“We’ll do our best,” Harry promised solemnly.
In his heart, he didn’t think joining the team was that difficult a task.
‘That’s precisely one of the reasons I want you spending time on Neville.
Do something useful, kids.
Professor Snape has hinted countless times that I should put a stop to your childish playing-detective games.’
Linus thought to himself, though aloud he said, “I’ll handle Professor Snape’s side.
Your top priority right now is helping Neville build up his confidence.”
“Alright then,” Hermione eventually agreed.
Seeing the other two nod, Ron went along with it as well.
Thus, on this Sunday afternoon, the trio arrived early at the Quidditch pitch to wait for the chubby little boy.
When the four met on the field, eight eyes locked onto each other in silence for a long moment until Hermione broke the ice.
“Hi, Neville.”
Neville was clearly startled by their presence, looking around anxiously.
“H-Hello, everyone.
I…
I mean, w-where’s Linus?
Have…
have you seen him?”
“Linus is off watching—” Ron began, only to get a hard jab in the ribs from Hermione’s elbow.
“Linus has other business to take care of, so he asked us to help with your training,” Hermione said to Neville.
(At that exact moment, training in the Room of Requirement, Linus felt an itch in his nose.) “Also, you can take your time speaking.
No need to be nervous.”
Neville took another deep breath.
“B-But yesterday, Linus didn’t say anyone else would be here.”
“No more buts, Neville!
Time is precious, and I want to get some practice in too!” Ron threw an arm around Neville’s shoulders.
Harry held out a hand to Neville.
“Come on, Neville.
We’re going to pull off something big today.”
Neville sniffled, took Harry’s outstretched hand, and nodded.
Harry let go, stepped back, and pointed to the open space in the middle of the pitch.
“Alright, Neville, let’s start with taking off.
Remember, just like Madam Hooch taught us: push off with both legs, apply firm power when leaving the ground, but don’t kick off too hard.”
Neville awkwardly straddled the old school broomstick, his hands trembling as he gripped the handle.
Nearby, Ron grinned while holding a bright red Quaffle—a spare borrowed from the team by Harry.
“Don’t worry, Neville!” Hermione called from the sidelines, her voice tinged with nervousness.
“Focus!”
Neville swallowed hard, imitating the motion Harry had demonstrated: he kicked hard off the ground, and the broom wobbled up a few feet into the air before shaking violently.
“Good job!
Not falling off on the first try is progress,” Harry encouraged, and a faint, weak smile appeared on Neville’s face.
Next, Ron tossed the Quaffle into the air and mounted his broom.
“Now, dodging practice!
Neville, you need to be agile, like dodging a Bludger—though don’t worry, this is just a Quaffle, it won’t chase you down like a Bludger would!” Ron lobbed the Quaffle hard toward Neville, the ball tracing an arc through the air.
Neville shrieked and instinctively pitched his broom low as the ball zoomed over his head.
“Hey, you dodged it!” Ron cheered.
“Again!”
Hermione frowned.
“Ron, go easy!
Neville’s just starting out.” She turned to Neville.
“Don’t panic!
A Quaffle isn’t that fast.
Just lean aside or pull up.”
Neville nodded.
On his second attempt, he tilted his body slightly as Harry had taught him, and the Quaffle brushed past his robes without hitting him.
“I…
I did it!” Neville stammered, surprised delight in his voice.
Harry flew over and patted his back.
“Awesome, Neville.” The training went on for an hour; though Neville was still wobbly, he no longer screamed when dodging, biting his lip instead as he worked hard to control the broom.
In the shadows of the pitch, Professor McGonagall smiled warmly, recalling the moment Linus had burst hurriedly into her office that morning.
“Is something the matter, Mr.
Sangwood?” Clad in her dressing gown, Professor McGonagall was buried in lesson plans, leaving it uncertain whether she had woken up early or hadn’t slept all night.
“Professor, I was hoping to ask you for a favor,” Linus said with a bright smile.
Professor McGonagall felt as though she were looking at a second Dumbledore, a foreboding hunch rising in her chest.
“This afternoon, I asked Harry, Hermione, and Ron to help Neville train on the Quidditch pitch.
Could you please keep a watchful eye on them from the shadows?” Linus revealed his purpose.
“No, that is far too dangerous.
Young students practicing flying on their own without upperclassmen present—what if they fall from the sky?
It could kill them!” Professor McGonagall’s immediate instinct was to ensure student safety.
“That’s exactly why I’m asking you to watch over them,” Linus grinned broadly.
“But I haven’t—” Professor McGonagall started, but Linus cut her off.
“Professor, Neville hasn’t had the easiest first year, as I’m sure you know.”
Professor McGonagall fell silent, a rare sight for her.
“I believe flying freely will quickly help Neville build confidence and regain his courage, shaking off the weight of his family background.” Linus rested his hands on her desk and leaned forward slightly.
“Please help us out, Professor.
If they don’t run into any real danger, you won’t even need to step in.
Just give it a few weeks, and once Neville gets the hang of it, you won’t have to worry.”