So it turned out Neville didn't like Hogwarts much.

He'd had high hopes for it (fool--what did hoping ever get you?) but the reality fell short of what his family had told him (like his parents--heroes who drooled and gave him gum wrappers and screamed and screamed and weren't parents at all). His grandmother and uncles and aunts had talked of magic and wonder and friendships and some transformation that would make Neville as good a wizard as everyone else. The reality was classes and teachers who yelled at him (large, sallow-skinned teachers he could hear snarling crucio in his dreams, tall stern teachers who looked at him like dirt, short teachers with goblin blood too kind to really be nice who kept hem after class and made him practice over and over, wingardium leviosa and yellow-eyed teachers with broomsticks, chasing him) and no one really liked him (you lost *how* many points already?) and poltergeists and bullies and his wand was still his father's (screaming) and he was still just Neville Frank, not Frank himself, and it didn't didn't didn't want him, and Neville didn't want it back.

Percy was kind of nice, though. Percy, one of the fifth-year prefects, with red hair and freckles and too many brothers to get noticed. Percy smiled at him, when he didn't screw up too badly, and Percy understood being overlooked and Percy wasn't smart, he studied hard.

"Hours," Percy said. "I make a schedule, every year, and allocate..."

Hours. But Neville didn't exactly have friends, anyway, and he could avoid Malfoy in the library, Malfoy who had a father and was thin and sharp and

"Hogwarts isn't easy," Percy said. "It isn't meant to be. It's work, but of course it pays off in better job opportunities with better pay and prestige. I myself would like to work at the Ministry."

The Ministry.

Gran would respect him then, if he could ever get there. But that was probably not as good as it sounded, either. Nothing was, they were always worse, they were always--

"Let me help you," Percy said.

"You. You would do that?"

"Sure." Percy slid an arm around Neville's shoulders. "Tutoring looks excellent on a resume, you know."

Neville looked up at him. "*Thank* you. I, I'm alright at Herbology, I quite like it, but P-P-Potions, and--"

"Yes, Professor Snape is quite strict."

"and Transfigurations, and Charms, and flying--"

Percy made a face. "I shouldn't worry about flying," he said. "It's alright if you're a jock, but scholars needn't bother with it."

Nothing was ever as good as it seemed. Nothing. But maybe Percy? And Percy would be there another two years. Surely by fourth year he'd get the hang of things.

Later, Dean and Seamus would try to lure him outside with the promise of teaching him "football", whatever that was. "I--" he glanced at Percy, "I have to study."

Percy nodded and smiled at him, a brilliant, gracious, you-understand.

"Oh come," Dean said. "*Football*" Behind his back, Seamus rolled his eyes.

"I have to do homework," Neville said, bolstered by Percy's approval.

"It's not like it's life and death," Dean muttered as Seamus dragged him away. "'S only school."

Percy snorted. "Don't listen to them," he said. "There's nothing as important as passing your classes."

It would be four and a half years until Neville learned otherwise, two years after Percy went on to the Ministry. His father's wand (doesn't want you) broken in his hand, Death Eaters all around, Hermione limp in his arms, Harry, Harry who was really a friend, somewhere Ron and Ginny and Luna, somewhere beyond his sight, fighting as well, and he was using knowledge, but he'd gained it on his own, and Potions could go to Hell, and Transfiguration, and classes at Hogwarts had never seemed less important.

He spared a thought for Percy, then, when the Aurors arrived. He remembered that nothing was ever as good as it seemed. Ginny had said that Percy disowned them, that he didn't believe You-Kno--Voldemort was back. Bellatrix Lestrange (crucio) was back. Life and death, and Percy fell by the wayside, like everything else in Neville's life.