Neville never TRIED to misbehave. He always did his best to make his grandmother proud. Unfortunately, he was clumsy, and while he was quite intelligent, he wasn't clever in the sharp, obvious way that everyone else valued.
The good news was that his grandmother was not abusive like some pure-blood families, and she loved Neville in her stern, critical way. The bad news was that she was old-fashioned, and she still used methods of discipline that hadn't even been used on most of his parents' generation.
“Aww, has someone been a naughty boy?” Neville's Great-Aunt Alma cooed.
“Yes, Aunt Alma,” Neville whimpered. He squirmed and tried to pull his shirt down so no cloth touched his underarms, but of course, it didn't work.
“It brings back so many memories, doesn't it?” Cousin Agatha reminisced. They both giggled and patted his head, as if this were cute.
“The old ways truly are the best ways,” Great-Aunt Alma said. “Now bear your punishment like a man.”
“Yes, Aunt Alma,” Neville gasped again. He hugged himself instinctively, but of course, that didn't help either.
A hundred years ago, the Tickle Shirt was considered a mild punishment for magical children. Once it was put on a child, only an adult with a wand could remove it. It clung to the skin and could almost be described as cozy if it weren't for the enchantment that tickled in random patterns anywhere the cloth touched. Most of the world had moved on from this quaint form of discipline, but some, like Augusta Longbottom, had not.
Neville easily remembered the time Daphne Greengrass found out that his grandmother made him wear a Tickle Shirt as punishment.
“My GRANDPARENTS talk about being punished with Tickle Shirts when they were kids. That's positively ancient! Are you serious? Oh, this is brilliant! Wait until Tracey hears about this!”
Nathanael Kristofferson, the only time Neville had ever visited the Kristofferson family, had a different viewpoint. Nathanael had eagerly shown Neville his favorite painting in the Kristofferson manor, a painting of a boy, about seven years old, wearing a Tickle Shirt and perpetually rolling on the floor laughing. Nathanael was enraptured by the painting, but it made Neville's stomach flip uncomfortably. Could paintings feel tickling? Was the boy in the painting just being tickled forever?
Neville wriggled his shoulders as the shirt tickled the back of his neck. It only made it worse that his grandmother made him wear it when they had visitors. Usually he just had to try and fail to sit still until Grandmother decided the punishment was over, but today she'd deemed his transgression bad enough not to delay punishment. Neville closed his eyes. The Tickle Shirt wasn't designed to torture, but his resistance was almost worn through. He'd only been wearing the shirt for a few minutes, but the tickling was driving Neville – well, it really bothered him.
A feathery feeling trailed down his sides, and Neville broke. He giggled. Neville's elderly relations smiled knowingly. Neville felt his cheeks grow pink, but now that the dam had broken, he couldn't stop giggling.
Neville shifted in his seat. The tickly feeling moved and fluttered on his ribs. “Teeheeheeheehee!” He twisted slightly in response and hugged himself again, but it just pressed the tickles into his skin. He forced himself to place both hands on the seat of the settee.
Next he felt the tickle magic circle in large spirals on his round tummy. He made aborted movements to hug himself and draw his feet onto the settee, but he stopped himself just in time. Over and over and over again the tickling started at his belly button and swirled outward, and then it spiraled back inward. Neville's giggling and squirming grew worse the longer this went on. Finally, he lost the battle with his self-control and started trying to “catch” what was tickling him with his hands. He heard one of his relatives coo at him.
“Grahahahandmohohotherher! Ihihihit tihihickles!” Neville giggled. “How muhuhuch lohohonger?
“That is the point, foolish child,” Grandmother replied. “Twenty more minutes.”
Neville gasped. His grandmother had never left the Tickle Shirt on for longer than fifteen minutes before. Twenty MORE minutes meant having the shirt on for an entire half an hour. Neville tried to groan, but it was swallowed by more giggles as the tickling jumped to the creases in his elbows.
People never talked about the creases in their elbows as being a particularly ticklish spot, but they always bothered Neville. The feeling of feathers sawed back and forth. Neville covered his inner elbows with his hands and bent his elbows even though he knew it was counterproductive.
The tickling returned to his sides, and Neville began to kick in protest. This time it moved in circles up and down. “Eeeeeheeheeheehee! Heeeeheeheeheeheehee!” Neville squeezed his eyes shut. It as if pure ticklishness flowed up his sides into his brain.
When the tickling lingered under his arms, he gave up and curled into as small of a ball as he could manage in the corner of the settee. He kept his arms clamped down uselessly.
“Awwww! Does it tickle, Neville?” Cousin Agatha asked in a baby voice.
The shirt painted light patterns under his arms. It was hard to concentrate on anything other than that. “Yehehehehess, Cousihihin Ahahahahagathahahaha! Oooooohohohohohoho!”
Despite the light, teasing nature of the tickling, Neville shrieked when the shirt began to tease the outside of his belly button He hadn't realized he'd pressed his shirt against his middle that much. “AAAAhahahahahaha!”
“Neville, don't make a scene,” Grandmother chided.
At least he'd managed to keep the shirt out of his navel so far. He remembered the one time that the shirt had gotten stuck inside his belly button. By the time his punishment was over, he had been well and truly desperate to stop the tickling. Now, though, the tickling was going around the very rim of his navel, and he kept flinching and jerking at the sensations. He couldn't even properly pull at his shirt again. He just tried to curl up even tighter.
The tickling began to scratch at his chubby lower belly. He hid his face in his hands, giggling helplessly. “Ooooohohohohohoho! Oooooooohoohoohoo! Pleeeeheeheeheehease, Grahahahahandmohohother! Ihhihihihi'll be goohoohoohood!”
Grandmother did not reply.
The shirt continued feathering all over his tummy for several minutes. Neville's eyes teared up. He had never been tickled for so long before. His thoughts scattered in a million directions. He honestly wasn't sure he could take much more of this.
An invisible feather began to circle his waist. Neville squirmed as the magic tickled a wobbly line over his lower stomach, flinched as it passed over his lower sides, and wriggled as the feather crossed his lower back. Eventually it began to leave tickling behind until it felt like he was wearing a belt of feathers.
“Ihihihihihi'm sohohohohorryhy! Ihihihihihi'm sohohohohorry!”
“He's just so adorable like that,” Neville vaguely heard Great-Aunt Alma say.
Finally, Grandmother said, “All right, Neville. Come here.”
Moving seemed impossible. The shirt spider tickled Neville's ribs. However, a lifetime of obeying his grandmother and a desperation for the tickling to stop helped Neville shakily push himself to his feet and stumble toward Grandmother's chair. With a swish of her wand, the shirt was gone, replaced with his normal robes. Neville sagged briefly in relief.
“I hope you've learned a lesson, Neville.”
“Yes, Grandmother,” Neville replied, immediately straightening to perfect posture.
“Now sit back down.”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
“See, the old ways are the best ways. Nothing produces results like some time in the Tickle Shirt.”
Neville returned to the settee. The tickling left him tired and unsteady, but he displayed perfect manners through the rest of the visit.
XXX
Years later, Neville was in disgrace. Since Sir Cadogen had taken over as the portrait guarding the Gryffindor Common Room, Neville simply couldn't remember the passwords. He'd had to write them down so he could exit and enter. Unfortunately, Sirius Black had gotten hold of Neville's list and used it to enter the tower. Now Neville was forbidden from all future Hogsmeade visits, given detention, and he had to wait for someone else to let him into the tower every time he wished to enter.
He thought the situation had gotten as bad as it could get when his grandmother sent him a howler, but he was proven wrong the next day. His grandmother came to Hogwarts in person to see him. Neville shook as Professor McGonagall led his grandmother into the Gryffindor Common Room.
He gulped in horror as his grandmother held up a very familiar shirt.