"Dragon's ash, Jupiter rising, stars ablaze…"
Neville's eyes were glazed, clutching the rough parchment of the password list, the moment feeling strangely unreal. "That… was my spell?"
Melvin didn't answer, just gave his shoulder another pat and asked casually, "Got the password now. Can you make it back on your own?"
"I… think so?"
Neville's voice still quivered.
Melvin shook his head and scanned the portrait frames lining the corridor walls. "Sir Cadogan? Are you there, Sir Cadogan?"
"With a noble heart and sturdy frame, call for Sir Cadogan when you need aid!"
A boisterous shout echoed as a stout, armored knight charged out from a distant corner of a painting, trailed by a equally stout pony clopping along. Who'd passed him the word, no one knew.
"Sir Cadogan," Melvin said, thumping his chest in a knightly salute. "This lad's lost his way. Could you escort him back to Gryffindor Tower?"
"A guarding quest! Leave it to me!"
The knight's eyes gleamed as he tried to mount his pony, only to be shaken off with a flick of its mane.
Undeterred, Cadogan steadied himself, adjusted his sword, pulled down his visor, and turned to Neville. "Stay close, soldier!"
He dove into the next painting—a nun's portrait—and was promptly chased out, then barreled into another, this time a lady in a hoop skirt, who gave him a thrashing as he fled, clanging all the way.
Neville glanced at the retreating knight, then at the professor beside him, before hurrying after Cadogan, waving back. "Goodbye, Professor Levent!"
Melvin chuckled. "The castle's portraits are quite the characters."
"The Summoning Charm I remember didn't have that kind of flair," came a voice, "and Longbottom's change…"
Dumbledore stepped out from a stairwell, holding a steaming mug of cocoa, his brow furrowed in thought. "Melvin, how did you do it?"
"Just a small teaching trick."
Melvin wasn't surprised. Not long after he'd found Neville, he'd sensed the headmaster lurking nearby. Who knew if Dumbledore had charmed the corridors to keep tabs?
"The boy's wandwork was textbook," Melvin continued. "An ill-fitting wand can hinder, but not ruin, a spell. From what I saw, his biggest issue is self-doubt…"
He shifted gears. "In the Muggle world, there's a short-range transport called a bicycle. It relies on the gyroscopic effect of two spinning wheels and the rider's balance. For beginners, it's tough—partly because the bike's tricky, but mostly because of mental barriers. Muggle parents have a teaching method for it.
"When teaching a child to ride, they pretend to hold the bike steady from behind, helping the learner find balance. As the wheels spin faster, the gyroscopic effect kicks in, stabilizing the bike. The child, thinking the parent's still supporting them, rides freely with confidence.
"They pedal a good distance before realizing the parent let go ages ago. By then, they've overcome the mental block and learned to ride."
"You're saying…?"
"Give him a firm belief, even a false one, and it can help him find his balance to ride forward on his own."
Dumbledore's blue eyes widened, twinkling. "The Summoning Charm doesn't summon gales, but a Cleaning Charm can whip up a wind. You cast a Cleaning Charm to create the gust, and Longbottom thought it was his Summoning Charm at work. That belief, paired with proper wandwork, let him cast the real spell…"
"First-years don't have strong magic, but luckily, that password list was close by."
"An astonishing miracle," Dumbledore said softly.
"Magic always surprises us."
"I meant your approach." Dumbledore's voice was warm with admiration. "I'm glad, Melvin, so glad I invited you that night."
"The honor's mine."
"Melvin, are you free tomorrow? I could use your help with something."
"I'm heading to Hogsmeade in the morning. Afternoon work?"
"I'll be in my office."
"See you then."
"See you, Melvin."
…
"Lumen Mirabilis."
The Fat Lady favored Latin or astrological terms for passwords, lending an air of elegance.
As the password was spoken, the stone passage behind her portrait rumbled open, revealing the way to the Gryffindor common room.
Neville bid Sir Cadogan farewell, wished the Fat Lady goodnight, and stepped inside, still dazed.
Had he really cast such a powerful Summoning Charm?
Lights-out was nearly half an hour ago, and the common room was dark, lit only by faint starlight filtering through the windows. Neville glanced at his hands—one holding his wand, the other the password list.
A wooden staircase connected the common room to the dorms, with paths splitting to the boys' and girls' sides. The first-year boys' dorm was deeper in, perhaps for privacy. This corridor had no portraits or ghosts, and thus little oversight. The walls bore scattered graffiti—some finely drawn, others just ink blobs. Even the house-elves' regular cleaning missed spots, and hidden crevices held students' scrawls from centuries past.
Neville eased open the dorm door. His roommates were in pajamas, ready for bed. Seamus and Dean were fast asleep, while Harry and Ron whispered about visiting Hagrid, the gamekeeper, tomorrow.
"You're back, Neville!"
"Thought you'd be spending the night in the hospital wing."
Ron and Harry kept their voices low.
"Shh, we'll talk tomorrow," Neville said, finger to his lips.
"Oh, right…"
"Okay."
His roommates were kind, never minding his shaky classroom performance. Unlike Hermione, who tutored him, they didn't explain lessons but always walked him back to the dorm after dinner, worried he'd forget the password or lose the list. Today's Potions class mishap had thrown things off.
The night was deep, moonlight spilling through the window, damp mist seeping through the cracks, carrying a faint humidity.
Neville washed up in the bathroom, changed into pajamas, and returned half an hour later, lying in bed, lost in thought.
His parents' enemies, his grandmother's expectations, his uncle's hopes, the view from the second-floor window at home, the potion-scented air of St. Mungo's locked ward, his mother's candy wrapper…
Memories he thought he'd forgotten surfaced vividly.
That was Neville Longbottom's first eleven years.
His roommates' help, classmates' explanations, professors' care, the Great Hall's feasts, the greenhouse plants in Herbology, and the late-night corridor's whistling breeze.
That was his first week at Hogwarts.
Born at the end of July, Neville lay sleepless, glancing at the bedside drawer where an unsent letter to his grandmother waited.
He raised his wand, pointing at the drawer.
His lips moved silently, voice barely a whisper.
The drawer slid open smoothly, and the parchment envelope floated out.
Neville gripped it, knuckles white, murmuring, "Gran, I've learned the Summoning Charm."