A deep stinging pain in his chest, that was all he could remember from that night where his old life and his new met. Who was he now? The 20 year old potterhead, desperately clinging to fantasy to escape mundane life; or Neville Longbottom, the 13 year old herbalist prodigy, who struggled with even the most basic potions? Perhaps both or… neither? It was still unclear, even after a week in this body. He needed to keep busy, to do something. So what did he do? He improved himself. Charms, Transfiguration, even potions… anything to keep his mind off of the uncomfortable questions. His grandmother was delighted that his skills were improving but there was a thorn amongst the roses of this situation.
Even though his new selves magical skills were far greater than Neville Longbottom's, he was still held back. He couldn't achieve his full potential, not with a wand which didn't fit him. Apple tree wood, dragon heartstring, 11 inches… it originally belonged to Frank Longbottom, Neville's father but after he had been driven insane, Augusta Longbottom demanded he use it, even if it didn't fit him. She set him up for failure.
Neville had been too cowardly to disagree. He couldn't face the woman who raised him. His courage was there, just a fragile flower not yet in bloom but this new Neville had no such weakness. He respected his grandmother, only a fool wouldn't respect Augusta Longbottom but he didn't fear her and he knew that, were he to keep that wand, he would never achieve greatness.
He wouldn't wait for the fifth year, like the original. He would start his third year with a matching wand. It was hard but he snapped his wand in half.
Augusta, at first, tried fixing it. She went to Ollivander, Gregorovitch, even some Asian wandmaker, whose name Neville couldn't possibly pronounce but all said the same, it couldn't be fixed. Small cracks could be mended, faded cores could be replaced but the wand had been snapped in Twain. Neville knew that only the elderwand could fix this kind of damage. Of course, she couldn't let her grandson go to school with a broken wand, so she reluctantly took him wand shopping at Ollivanders.
Neville smiled at the thought. It had been a magical moment, that first contact with his matching wand. The power he felt… it was intoxicating. It was like crack. He couldn't stop casting with that wand. Every spell was like a new note in a symphony, composed of countless sounds. Every spell felt different but all came with that rush of power, travelling down his arm and into his wand. Mahogany wood and unicorn hair core, 13 inches long. Elegant, twisted as a root and dark.
Equipped with this new wand and a good new determination, he knew it would be only a matter of time before he became a legendary wizard. Perhaps, had he reincarnated earlier, he might've been put in Slytherin, he was proud and ambitious after all but Gryffindor didn't seem that far off either.
In the end, he couldn't change his house placement, nor did he want to. Gryffindor was fine and he couldn't wait to show everyone that he was no longer the scared little kid he had once been. He twirled the twisted wand in between his fingers as he gently flipped to the next page of his new charms text book, the standard book of spells, grade 3.
"The freezing spell, Glacius. This spell is easy in use, so it was once taught in the first year. After a series of unfortunate cases of frostbite, resulting in amputations, this charm was moved to third grade. An advanced version of this spell is taught in fifth year, which can imbue the effect into an object, to be unleashed once a specific condition is met, such as someone touching the object" he read out loud, "interesting… let's try it… Glacius!"
He traced the wand movement and pointed his wand at the nearby window. Despite it being a warm summer's day, ice formed on the glass surface, forming patterns of frost, much like a snowflake. He watched with fascination. He loved magic, he really did.
"What are you doing? I expected to find you in the green house, as always", a voice cut through the silence.
Neville smiled, turning around, "great uncle Algie!"
Algie Longbottom was an older man, his once golden hair now turning grey and his charming blue eyes sparkling with youthful vigor.
He stretched out his arms, "come here, Nev, give your uncle a hug", They embraced, "I couldn't believe what my sister in law told me… you have changed… but not in a bad way. It's good to see you exploring magic. I told Augusta you needed your own wand. Look at you before, skittish, afraid of your own shadow and hopeless in anything except Herbology and now, a proud man whose skills are on par, if not superior to your peers. Good for you, good for you… I thought that maybe you want to accompany me to Diagon Alley? I need to get some potion supplies and floo powder, I'm running low on both"
"I would love to", Neville snapped the book close and dusted off his robes. They weren't dirty but it was a habit he had inherited from the boy which was a part of him.
They walked through the hallways of Longbottom manor, past portraits of well known Longbottom men and women. Harfang Longbottom and his wife Callidora Black for example, who smiled proudly, seeing Neville walk with such confidence. Truly, if he kept this up, he would one day make a fine Lord Longbottom. His father was still officially Lord Longbottom until Neville reached maturity, though he couldn't exactly fulfill his duties, so his seat in the Wizengamot remained empty. Augusta would've taken the seat, had she been allowed to but not being a Longbottom by blood, she had no right to it.