CHAPTER 2 - PENPALS
CHAPTER 2 – PENPALS
Neville wasn’t exactly sure what to say to Charlie.
His address was another thing he’d been unsure of, but thankfully Charlie’s owl was still in the owlery, resting. Neville figured he could attach something to his leg that he could take back on the return trip.
The note had been re-drafted multiple times, but the last draft turned out a little like this:
To Charlie,
I told Harry, Ron and Hermione (the girl with the bushy hair you forgot the name of) about Norbeta (who I think is the dragon but for some reason they thought was called Norbert).
I saw Hagrid and he said he already knew because Harry told him and then he was saying about his big spiders and he asked me to ask you whether or not you wanted to see them and I said I would ask you so if you want to see them can you please tell him?
This is where Neville started to have trouble with the letter. He tapped the nib of his quill on the study desk and created a well of ink. He dripped it back into the ink bottle.
There was some thestral hair in the envelope and I think you put it in by mistake so I’m putting it back in here just in case you’re searching for it and have lost it. I thought it was very pretty.
Thank you, Neville
Neville thought the ending sounded a little too formal but he was tired of drafting and re-drafting the same note. For some reason he wanted to impress Charlie and was embarrassed that he’d spent so much time replying to a note that was sent to him on the back of a cereal box.
Neville petted the owl, fed it some nuts from his hand. He spent a good half an hour with it – it was a pretty little thing, with chestnut feathers on its head and brown feathers further to its feet. He tied the letter to one of its feet and when the bird was ready, it took flight with wings of glory.
-
This letter was most certainly not from his grandmother.
Neville knew this because the letter was not delivered in a conventional way.
Owls fluttered through the great hall, thankfully not pooing anywhere near him, but amongst the masses was one bird that didn’t really look like a bird…
Tied around the neck of a Yorkish Silverscale was a note. The small, dog-sized dragon landed on Neville’s breakfast with the loudest crash, rattling all of the dishes and knocking over his orange juice. It curled up there, tail around its head. The thing was seeping onto the table like Trevor when he got himself stuck in the cardboard of a loo roll.
People were looking at Neville with a little more than mild curiosity.
Neville was wordless.
The dragon was sleeping. Sleeping! Why was there a dragon on his table? Neville knew the thing was harmless unless you were a fish, which he most certainly was not, though he still had no idea what to do with it.
Teachers were starting to notice. Neville froze. He couldn’t touch the dragon, even though he’d been spending the last few days wishing he’d touched Charlie’s Ridgeback. Quite a bit of the table looked on in confusion, though some students continued eating as if that type of thing was a regular occurrence.
Neville could hear the sound of clicking shoes and the back of his neck heated with a blush.
“Mr Longbottom,” Professor McGonagall said. “I hardly think the dining table is an appropriate place for a dragon.”
“Yes, Professor,” Neville muttered helplessly.
She clicked her tongue. “Come with me, and we’ll see if we can find a more appropriate place for him.”
Neville stood, arms shaking a little, confronted with the reality that he would have to pick up the dragon himself and follow after Professor McGonagall, two things he was hardly keen to do. He took a deep breath and reached for the Yorkish Silverscale – it jittered a little in its sleep but thankfully did little more than yawn and adjust its position in Neville’s arms before he was frogmarched out of the Great Hall.
Once in McGonagall’s office the dragon was used for more like protection against her, though the thing was harmless. It was a barrier, at least.
“Biscuit, Neville?”
“Um – no thank you, Professor.” He shifted nervously between his feet as armfuls of dragon slept over him.
“A gingernut?”
“Uh, I’m – I’m okay, Professor.”
She sat silently behind her desk and motioned for Neville to do the same, which he did.
“I hope you understand that having a dragon deliver mail is hardly appropriate.”
“Yes, Professor,” Neville said helplessly as she continued.
“Now, I would normally punish a student for keeping a dragon in Hogwarts, though considering the arrival of the dragon doesn’t APPEAR to be your fault – I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here, and if I find out you REQUESTED the dragon be sent here then I will punish you accordingly. Do you understand, Mr Longbottom?”
“Yes, Professor,” Neville said weakly. The dragon rumbled in his arms.
“Perfect,” Professor McGonagall said. “I suggest you find out who sent you the dragon and I’ll enlist Professor Hagrid to help you send him back. I hear he’s got a – liking – for magical creatures.”
Neville didn’t understand if she was referencing The Charlie Incident or if she just knew Hagrid liked dragons. He pressed himself into the chair, cradling the Yorkish, and McGonagall nodded at him.
“Well, off you go. I’ll tell your first teacher not to expect you. Do you know where Hagrid lives?”