Subject #3
Do you think there's any reason to get blindingly drunk?
Neville can remember someone trying to kill him when he was five years old. Then again at six, seven, and eight. With each attempt, it became more and more like just another part of his life: work in the garden, sneak sweets when Gran wasn't looking, almost die. It wasn't until he was much older and he could compare his experiences to Seamus's or Ron's that he realised that this might not be the natural order of things.
The first time had been his birthday. Birthdays were always a dreaded affair for Neville. All his relatives were old, no children his age lived nearby, and though his Gran was usually a great cook, she was under the mistaken impression that he was a great fan of carrot cake. Great Uncle Algie arrived early, pouring himself glass after glass of a brown liquid, and spoke softly into Neville's ear. Frank got magic when he turned six. Maybe you'll beat your daddy?
Algie had offered Neville his glass and, wanting to be polite, Neville had taken a small sip. His face had instantly pursed and even the small bit burned his tongue and his throat. Algie laughed throatily. Got your courage now, Neville? Let's try it out.
So, Neville had followed Great Uncle Algie to the washroom, not knowing any better. He perched on the edge of the toilet, patiently waiting as Uncle Algie filled up the bathtub, not quite sure what was going on. After a moment, Algie scooped him up. Squirming, Neville tried to escape his uncle's grip, getting a whiff of something that smelled like overripe fruit, before he plunged headfirst into water that was far too hot for his skin.
Neville flailed his arms, struggled to reach the surface, but Algie wouldn't let go. Neville kicked, but soon he couldn't hold his breath anymore and his movements slowed. Things were hazy when he heard his Gran's muffled yell. Algie, what on Earth...?!
He was hauled out of the water, droplets sticking to his face and neck. Gasping for air, he stared wide-eyed at his uncle and grandmother before tearing out of the room.
Algie kept trying to pull the magic from him. Not a hint, even during the nearly identical incident at Blackpool. But every time was accompanied by tumblers of dark liquid and the smell of produce left out in the sun.
So, no. Neville Longbottom doesn't think there's any reason to get blindingly drunk.
Neville can remember someone trying to kill him when he was five years old. Then again at six, seven, and eight. With each attempt, it became more and more like just another part of his life: work in the garden, sneak sweets when Gran wasn't looking, almost die. It wasn't until he was much older and he could compare his experiences to Seamus's or Ron's that he realised that this might not be the natural order of things.
The first time had been his birthday. Birthdays were always a dreaded affair for Neville. All his relatives were old, no children his age lived nearby, and though his Gran was usually a great cook, she was under the mistaken impression that he was a great fan of carrot cake. Great Uncle Algie arrived early, pouring himself glass after glass of a brown liquid, and spoke softly into Neville's ear. Frank got magic when he turned six. Maybe you'll beat your daddy?
Algie had offered Neville his glass and, wanting to be polite, Neville had taken a small sip. His face had instantly pursed and even the small bit burned his tongue and his throat. Algie laughed throatily. Got your courage now, Neville? Let's try it out.
So, Neville had followed Great Uncle Algie to the washroom, not knowing any better. He perched on the edge of the toilet, patiently waiting as Uncle Algie filled up the bathtub, not quite sure what was going on. After a moment, Algie scooped him up. Squirming, Neville tried to escape his uncle's grip, getting a whiff of something that smelled like overripe fruit, before he plunged headfirst into water that was far too hot for his skin.
Neville flailed his arms, struggled to reach the surface, but Algie wouldn't let go. Neville kicked, but soon he couldn't hold his breath anymore and his movements slowed. Things were hazy when he heard his Gran's muffled yell. Algie, what on Earth...?!
He was hauled out of the water, droplets sticking to his face and neck. Gasping for air, he stared wide-eyed at his uncle and grandmother before tearing out of the room.
Algie kept trying to pull the magic from him. Not a hint, even during the nearly identical incident at Blackpool. But every time was accompanied by tumblers of dark liquid and the smell of produce left out in the sun.
So, no. Neville Longbottom doesn't think there's any reason to get blindingly drunk.