"Against you?"

"Because my solution to Professor Snape worked better?"

"Oh."

"In my defence," she says, starting to recover enough to form complete uninterrupted sentences, "I'd assumed someone must have done that before. I mean, surely he hasn't started his bullying career with you!"

"He did seem sort of... focused."

"Yeah. You think that's because of something other than the celebrity thing?"

"I don't know and I'm not sure how to find out."

"...maybe ask McGonagall?"

"Maybe."

"By the way, Parkinson asked me if I had anything to do with that and I didn't really know what to tell her, what should I?"

"I don't know."

"I don't like lying. I'll just say it wasn't me and stay mum otherwise."

Nod.

She waves with two fingers and rejoins the Slytherins.

For the following couple of weeks Potions is the only class the Gryffindors share with the Slytherins. One morning, however, they spot a notice pinned up in the common room saying that flying lessons will be starting on Thursday afternoon with them.

That's good to know.

Neville is in a panic. Most other purebloods, Ron included, have some experience with broomsticks. Seamus Finnigan, to hear him tell it, spent his childhood on one, and if Malfoy is to be believed he's had near brushes with certain death by helicopter blade several times. Neville, however, has never been allowed on a broomstick, and given his propensity for merely terrestrial accidents that's probably not all bad.

On the morning of, he's sweating bullets and at times asking other kids for as many tips as they can give and quietly contemplating his certain impending death.

"I think you will probably be all right," Victor murmurs to him.

He's distracted from his misery by the arrival of mail. As usual, Malfoy gets a package of sweets (Dayo wondered aloud once what he needed all those sweets for, they're in Hogwarts for crying out loud), but even Dayo's occasional letter was more than Victor got.

This morning, a barn owl brings Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opens it excitedly and shows them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seems to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explains. "Gran knows I forget things—this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red—oh..." His face falls as the white smoke turns a deep red. "But I don't know what I forgot..."

That seems like kind of a cruel gift to get Neville Longbottom. Victor decides not to say that.

Neville's trying to remember what he's forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who's passing the Gryffindor table, snatches the Remembrall out of his hand. 

"That's not yours," says Victor. "Give it back, please."

Before Malfoy has time to formulate a response McGonagall's there. "What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Neville squeaks.

Scowling, Malfoy quickly drops the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he says, and goes away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.