"And so I leave you the only legacy that I could give you: the experiences of a tragic, bittersweet past," says Neville Longbottom in his memoir about the life of Harry Potter.
From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/2701/
THE HOGWARTS CHRONICLES OF NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM
By Neville Longbottom and Chic_geek
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. The incomparable J.K. Rowling deserves all the credit.
AN INTRODUCTION
Several months ago, I was contacted by a journalist who worked for the Daily Prophet to share my experiences in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to the magical world. I turned down the offer at first and cited the fact that I am not qualified to share these stories because I was in the sidelines most of the time. But he refused to take my answer.
The journalist told me that the fact that I was an observer made me even more qualified. Although a participant in some of the events, I was a mere observer the rest of the time, thus, my memory would not be clouded by any biased views and any exaggerated stories. In short, I would tell them as I saw them.
But still, I refused.
For deep inside I know that I was just using my inexperience as an excuse. The real reason in why I did not want to cooperate with this commendable journalist was because of the fact that the past was the past. I did not want to reopen old wounds and I did not wish to start a scandal with a mere paragraph that I have shared. I wanted to leave the past alone.
But after being coaxed and badgered a little too much, I finally gave in. I wouldn’t hurt anyone anyway, for most of them have retired to the afterlife.
And so I leave you the only legacy that I could give you: the experiences of a tragic, bittersweet past.
And so be it.
Sincerely,
Neville Longbottom
Co-Author and Retired Hogwarts Headmaster
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I would really appreciate it if you could review this! If you have any suggestions don't hesitate to post it on the review board! Thanks!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. The incomparable J.K. Rowling deserves all the credit.
CHAPTER 1
I present to you, Harry Potter, the reticent hero who saved the magical world from the hands of evil and resurrected the world from darkness to light.
I present to you, Harry Potter, the reluctant hero who never quite fully understood why this was the kind of fate in stored for him.
Ladies and gentlemen, once again, I present to you, Harry Potter, the humble man who sacrificed his life for the sake of the lives of the witches and wizards around him.
Harry Potter changed the world. And it wouldn’t be an exaggeration when I say that,
“You are alive because of Harry Potter.”
Thank him, for he went to hell and back to do this.
I met Harry Potter during my first year in Hogwarts. He was an unassuming person, all modest and shy, even when everyone in the train stared at him with awe, curiosity and admiration.
“It’s Harry Potter!”
“Wait till I tell my folks about this!”
“Is that him? Is that really, really, really him?”
Questions were asked. There were gasps and sighs. The air was thick with admiration for him. But Harry Potter did not allow himself to bask in all the glory showered on him; instead, he preferred to lock himself inside the train compartment, away from the view of the interested public.
As the days went by, I got to know more about the famous young hero. We were roommates, along with his best friend, Ron Weasely, and two of our other friends, Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. The conversation inside our circular dormitory was slow at first, but after a good one week, the candles flickered until midnight and the talking continued until the wee hours of the morning. And have I mentioned that the once immaculate dorms started to resemble a garbage dump once we got comfortable with each other, much to the distress of the house elf that cleaned our rooms?
I could say that I was the last one in that dormitory who warmed up and got friendly with the group. I was the clumsy blubbering klutz and grandma’s little baby. And sharing a room with archetypical boys did not help. I felt too babyish compared to them and to their rather mature tastes. They talked about quidditch, sports, and the like while I sat in one corner dreaming about the day when I could talk to them about these things.
I felt so alone, but there was one boy in the room that noticed and helped bring me out of my shell. That boy was Harry Potter. For, like me, Harry did not really seem to belong to these kinds of conversations having stepped into the magical world for the first time in a decade or so. And this idea of not exactly “fitting in” gave us a chance to talk, no matter how shallow schoolboys’ talks were during those times.
Harry James Potter did not know much about his past until later on—and there were still a lot of questions left unanswered. What he knew was that he was the son of James and Lily Potter, two of the countless and heroic victims of the evil Lord Voldemort. He also knew that he survived the wrath of this devil, and much to his surprise, he was famous. He said all these in an offhand way, sometimes with amazement or a tinge of annoyance, but never with superiority. And that made me realize that Harry Potter was human after all, experiencing the same emotions and amazement that everyone in that room felt.
When I first met Harry Potter, he was short for his age. In fact, he was the antithesis of a hero. Instead of being tall and muscular, he was short and scrawny. Instead of being blonde and good-looking, he was cursed with unruly black hair and was bespectacled and pale. Instead of being the confident god-like champion, he was introverted and abhorred being noticed. He wasn’t the archetypical hero, but he still stood out. The scar on his forehead changed everything.
But as the years went by, Harry Potter did not only stand out because of his scar but rather because of his emerging physical characteristics as well. Adolescence had been good to him. Although he was bespectacled, Harry Potter definitely looked good—and that is saying something coming from a member of the male species. He was tall, well-proportioned with a lean and lithe frame, bestowed on him after many years of playing quidditch. And though he was still pale this suited him very well, and the female population of Hogwarts wasn’t immune to this—except, perhaps, Hermione Granger.
Harry Potter was rarely alone and was constantly with his two best friends, Ron Billius Weasely and Hermione Jane Granger. They were the most famous trio in Hogwarts: the combination of the hero, the comic sidekick, and the strong-headed heroine. Countless stories sprouted from this, and though most are false, a number of these stories were correct.
But I digress, Harry Potter, as I was saying, was the complete opposite of the hero, but what he had encountered in life was incomparable. Hercules, Odysseus and Hector were nothing compared to him, he was worth ten times the three of them combined.
And while being a hero has its perks, from appearing in countless papers and magazines, to all the special attention being lavished on him, I soon realized that behind all the fame and the glory, was a boy faced with a daunting task and an unrelenting search for peacefulness and an undisturbed life.
It wasn’t enough that Voldemort was always clinging on Harry’s back, unyielding in his manic desire to see Harry Potter dead. There were also the rumors that went out of control, the times they discredited him and never once acknowledging the sacrifice he made to save the magical community, there were the taunts on his sanity, and of course, last but not the least, and as shallow as it seems, Harry Potter was faced with the trials of adolescence and the educational institution.
The life of Harry Potter alone was very interesting, peppered with comedy and tragedy. But what made it very remarkable was the friendship he shared with his two best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasely. Theirs was a story of friendship, love, loyalty and courage; a friendship that stands the test of time and the boundary of life and death.
In every hero’s story there is the sidekick, the comic relief, the blubbering baboon, the confidante, everything actually—but he is always in the background, not sharing the spotlight with the godlike hero.
Ron Weasely never experienced what it was like to be the center of attention, long overshadowed by his over-achieving brothers (and even by his youngest sister, the alluring Ginny Weasely!) and by his friends, Harry and Hermione.
But fifth year came and Ron Weasely managed to make the Gryffindor team win in the school quidditch tournament. But there were a ton of obstacles before this happened, and after that, he preferred to be in the sidelines instead. But it doesn’t mean that Ron Weasely was not able to do anything, because in his own way, he was able to contribute to everything.
Ron Weasely belonged to a large family. And being in a large family certainly had its disadvantages. I do not like to sound tactless, even mean when I say this, but the fact that Ron Weasely was the sixth child out of the seven in the family, with everything handed down to him, his self-confidence and self-esteem was close to null. And with all the insults he suffered in the hands of Draco Malfoy and his cronies, he soon developed an inferiority complex and the idea that he would never live up to the legends that his brothers were.
The first time I laid eyes on the gangly, freckled face boy with flaming red hair, I knew right away that he belonged to the Weasely clan. My grandmother knew their family and I caught glimpses of them before we went to school. The first time I met Ron, I felt this air of “street-smartness” in him. He was a “been there, done that” type of person and knew about everything in the street-smartness sense and he couldn’t really suppress himself from sharing all that he knew. It was only Hermione Granger who could make him shut up, who could point at his mistakes and share a bunch of related information, straight from her very best friend, Hogwarts, a History.
I certainly got to know a lot about Ron. I had seen him happy, sad, angry and frustrated, and with his very distinguishable facial expressions, I could deduce right away what he felt any day. He also talked to me, a lot. He shared stories and thoughts and secrets he wouldn’t dare tell anyone in fear of being laughed at. He told me some of his deepest desires on days when he felt really low. He told me how much he wanted to build his own identity, away from the shadows of his brothers and his friends. He told me how he wanted to be known as Ron Weasely, not as Charlie’s brother or Harry’s best friend.
But unbeknownst to him, a couple of years later, the name Ronald “Ron” Billius Weasely would be a legend itself.
Hermione Jane Granger was the woman. Some might wonder why I christened her with this title. Certainly, Hermione Granger was a woman because of the fact that she belonged to fairer sex. But to christen her as the very epitome of the woman might be hard to grasp for others, so give me this opportunity to explain to you why.
When asked during conversations what the students of Hogwarts think about Hermione Granger, there was always a melting pot of mixed reactions. Some girls would say that she was a great and caring friend but others would say that she was an ugly know-it-all. Some would say that she was the epitome of the genius while others would say that she was a bossy nerd. But her closest friends gave me some very revealing remarks, that a couple of years later would be a prophecy fulfilled.
Hermione Granger to me was what “Portia” was in the “Merchant of Venice”, a play written by the great muggle playwright, William Shakespeare. She was intelligent, cunning, passionate, witty, and a woman not afraid to speak her mind. Hermione was also the “ugly duckling who turned into a swan” to others. But I can say that I do not agree with that idea. She may not be pretty in the conventional sense-- she was neither blonde nor tanned. But there was an ethereal quality in her that always appealed to you. She had an ice-queen persona broken only by the few people she deeply cared about. Hermione was definitely not an ugly duckling, and she proved them wrong when she rendered them speechless at the sight of the stunningly beautiful Hermione Granger during our fourth year Yule Ball dance.
But why do I call Hermione Granger the woman, you ask? It’s because she was the very epitome of one. She was the brave heroine, the helpless princess, the best friend, the enviable lady, the essence of refinement and culture, the beauty, and of course, the object of affections.
She was the brave heroine, exemplified by the courage she showed and the intelligence she shared in every battle against Lord Voldemort.
She was the helpless princess, who could be tough on the outside, but vulnerable underneath that ice-queen exterior. She could worry about a single mistake in a 200-item exam like there was no tomorrow and fret about what she’ll wear to the next ball.
She was the best friend, the other member of the fantastic trio. And I could say that Harry and Ron would not have survived without her. She saved their necks even when they took her for granted sometimes.
She was the enviable lady. Every member of the female population would like to be her for a day, no matter how hard they deny it. Hermione Granger was smart as she was beautiful. She was surrounded by two of the most eligible bachelors in the magical community. She was always noticed.
She was also the essence of refinement and culture. Her tastes were above the common teenage girl. She was the woman your parents would love to meet. Her ice queen aura and hot intense intelligence always resulted something admirable.
And last but not the least she was the beauty and the object of affections, a lot of which would be discussed later on in this memoir. There was the hero, the sidekick and the enemy.
I believe that all doubts are gone by now, after this very revealing passage. And I believe that you can all agree when I say once again that Hermione Granger was the woman.
The path of the hero was never smooth. The reason why he was called a hero was because of all the dangers and obstacles he overcame. And it's not an exaggeration when I say that one of the reasons why Harry Potter’s path was never smooth was because of Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy was stylishly evil. That is always the first thing that comes to mind when I think about him. I actually believe that tormenting someone was his form of entertainment— but he did this with flair that describing him as a bully wouldn’t do justice to his wicked ways. I am not condoning his malevolent ways rather I am describing him as I have described the others.
There was absolutely no doubt that Draco Malfoy personified his namesake, the dragon. His anger was unimaginable, his cunning unparalleled, his memory unrelenting, his image notorious, and his passion consummate. And if there was one thing that you should remember is that Draco Malfoy never forgets.
If you scorned him, expect to be scorned in return, tenfold.
If you embarrassed him, expect never to show your face out in the open again.
If you denied him, expect danger ahead.
If you are Harry Potter, expect your life to be a living hell.
But behind that exterior, was a person nobody really knew. He was a mystery to everyone but himself.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. The incomparable J.K. Rowling deserves all the credit.
CHAPTER 2
My experiences at Hogwarts were very fruitful. It was the place to be for all those who aspire to achieve the best in training and education. But I am not here to promote the institution, although I have just recently retired as headmaster after many long years. I am here to share what life was like at Hogwarts, behind the lessons and the classrooms.
Hogwarts was a place of extremities, where you could find happiness and grief at the same time, where the biggest and the smallest of problems coexist with each other, where pureness and maliciousness go hand in hand, where bravery and cowardice were two standing points and where goodness and evil battle each other.
It was also a place for friendships, love and betrayals. Where something could happen everyday, which would later on shape what was to come. But what made Hogwarts so unforgettable was the fact that my experiences there were unsurpassed by any other event in history, owed to the fact that the montage of the lives of Harry Potter, Ron Weasely, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were unmatched.
The first time I saw Hogwarts, fear and excitement intermingled beneath my senses. There was something magical yet imposing about it, with lights dancing around its stone exterior, as if fairies pranced around to light the castle. And as I made my way the first time towards its large wooden doors, I couldn’t suppress the feeling that this new phase in my life would be something very important.
Life at Hogwarts was splendid. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were an everyday affair and one can’t deny oneself of the wonderful pleasures of the food served at the institution. Entertainment was always full blown, from the late and brilliant Professor Dumbledore’s welcome speech to the end of the year party. And for the architecture enthusiasts, well, this was heaven for them, with all the twists and turns inside the castle, one could always discover a wonderfully constructed room, arch, or whatever their fancy may be. For the naturalists on the other hand, the sights of the picturesque mountains, gardens and forests were enough to make them fall in love with Hogwarts. Lastly, for the sports lover, Hogwarts would never be complete without a raucous and neck-to-neck game of Quidditch. It was an affair that everyone had to watch. Even those who did not understand the game and those who detested the game could be found in the sidelines, caught in the cheering for their respective teams sooner or later.
Hogwarts, first and foremost, was and is an educational institution. And while we greatly enjoyed all the entertainment that the institution offered, there were also the classes and the lessons we were obliged to attend to. There was Herbology, the most amazing class I had ever attended and the one area of knowledge that I actually excelled in. There was also Charms which was very enjoyable, there was Divination which was always a riot, there was Potions which was the bane of my existence, Care of Magical Creatures which alternates between breathtaking and downright scary and lastly, there was, of course, the Defense Against the Dark Arts, a cursed class they said, which alternated as boring, useful and wonderful, depending on the professor who taught the courses.
While many enjoyable and wonderful things happened at Hogwarts, there were, of course, the currents of sadness, anger, hatred and grief that subtly roamed the corridors of the school. There was the animosity between the houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin. The exchange of bitter remarks, of hurtful insults, of “deliberate accidents”, was common between these two houses, highly prevalent during my stay as a student. There were also the other things, not restricted to both houses: the rumor-mill which was legendary because of the unabashed, blatant rumors it circulated that could wreck one’s dignity and reputation, the sadness and grief experienced by everyone brought about by the deaths of loved-ones as the war waged on, the danger and fear of Lord Voldemort, and last but not the least, the personal demons we all had to encounter.
But as I had mentioned, nobody had encountered all these grief as much as Harry Potter did. And to this day, I could still recall the time when he suffered one of the most depressing times of his life. I was there, trying to talk to him as he hid from the world, anger and bitterness clawing his soul.
I knew right away that he was there as I entered the dormitory. I could hear his uneven breathing, muffled only by the drapes that surrounded his bed. I also knew the reason why he was hiding himself from the world: Hermione. Moments before, he got into an argument with Hermione, or rather, in a one-sided argument with Hermione, who I recall, never said anything but agree with what he said.
“I’ve had enough! You have no idea how much I’ve gone through— how many damning things I had to get through! So don’t tell me what to do!” Harry shouted and his face red with fury. He was on the staircase leading to the boy’s dormitory and, Hermione was right behind him on the verge of crying, while the rest of us watched from the common room.
“You’re right Harry, I’m so sorry,” she apologized again and again.
“It’s been too much, too much for heaven’s sake! Do you think I enjoy being ridiculed in the morning paper? Do you think I bask in the fact that I’m being called insane?”
“No Harry, of course you don’t, I understand--”
“Do you think I like the idea of having the murderer of half of the population clinging on my back, trying to kill me every chance he gets? Do you think I enjoy trying to kill myself for the sake of saving the world from his hands?”
“No Harry, you do not--”
“And do you think that I enjoy living my life like this? Do you think I’d rather be on guard all the time, getting scared of my own shadow rather than enjoy life like the rest are doing? Do you know how much I’d like to wake up one day without any troubles, madness and danger? To be able to laugh without thinking that this might be the last laugh I’ll ever give out, to--”
Harry stopped short. It was too painful. I could see that he tried to stop the tears that formed on his eyes, but to no avail. And Hermione broke down already; she was on her knees with her face flushed and tears on her face. At that moment I realized just how much pain he was in. Hermione felt that too. It was a heartbreaking sight.
Soon, they both realized that they were not alone. Harry shook his head then hurriedly ran up to his room and banged the door. Hermione stayed rooted on the spot, unable to move.
“She looks like the tragic Madonna,” Dean whispered behind me. It was only later on that I understood what he meant.
“Harry!” I finally called out, an hour after I entered the room. I felt that he wanted to talk, but gave him time so as not to intrude in his privacy.
“Harry, I know what you feel,” I mumbled quietly. There was no response. I heard his uneven breathing; I felt it echo in the crevices of the room.
“How would you know?” he suddenly asked. He caught me off-guard. “You never experienced half of what I did,” he continued.
For the first time I was the one who couldn’t say anything. He was right; I never experienced anything close to what he had. I was flustered, but I knew that I had to make him to talk to calm himself down.
“Everyday I envy the person beside me, the person eating his cereal without a care in the world, the person copying down notes whose only trouble is to be able to pass Transfiguration, do you get what I’m trying to say Neville?”
“I--” I started, but he didn’t let me continue.
“And then there’s me who has to be on guard all the time, knowing that any second I could be dead. There is so much I have to do. I have to live up to the expectations of the people because of one stupid scar, I have to allow myself to be degraded and to suffer from the hands of just about anyone because I’m the loony St. Potter. Tell me Neville, don’t you think that this is enough torture already or am I just exaggerating it?”
“No Harry, you’re not exaggerating--”
“And how can I forgive myself? Barking Hermione’s head off when she’s done nothing. Do you know how much it breaks my heart as I watch her accept the bitter words I spat out? And there she was trying to stop herself from crying while I go on and on hurting her; I’m a monster, Neville.”
“She understands Harry,”
“Of course she understands! And I’ve treated her like hell,”
“You can always ask for forgiveness,”
“I’ve hurt her so much that asking for forgiveness wouldn’t make any difference,”
“It would Harry, it would,”
“I think it’s better for me to kill myself,” he spat.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS! I really, really appreciate it! Once again, if you have any suggestions, please feel free to post it on the message board.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. The incomparable J.K. Rowling deserves all the credit.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Once again, thank you so much for the reviews! I really, really appreciate it. I'm currently experiencing a sort of writer's block right now, so this doesn't come out as I expect it to be. I'm so sorry if this comes out really bad! :-( Anyway, I'll try posting a chapter everyday or every two days depending on my schedule, so please wait for my next post. That's that, and have a good day everybody!
CHAPTER 3
Romance was always in full bloom at Hogwarts. In the gardens, couples walked together while they whispered sweet nothings to their lover’s ear. By the lake, the sight of a wizard sprawled on the grass with his head on the lap of his witch was quite common. And for those daring exhibitionists, well, there was always the broom cupboard. These were all the follies of our youth and no one was immune from it.
I say that our third year at Hogwarts may have marked the existence of our “hormones”, if I may use the scientific term, but it was our fourth year at Hogwarts that marked the beginning of the subtle (and not so subtle) romance between our protagonists. However, before the shocking realization, before the huge awakening, everyone was “in love”, if I may use it so lightly, with the absolutely wrong person. But then, as the great muggle playwright said “the course of true love never did run smooth”, and our protagonists were not spared from this.
Countless stories sprouted from the lives of our protagonists, and most of these stories were about their “tangled” and very much interesting love lives. Everybody wanted to know who these protagonists dated and busted. And to end the rumors that circulated about them, I would be separating fact from fiction and finally tell the interested public about the truth. But these stories are not limited in this section alone. They would be scattered all throughout this manuscript of my youth, inserted between fights, prophecies and deaths. The reason being was that love was the power that bounded their lives to their fate.
Our fourth year at Hogwarts was a year of life changing events and decisions. Some of these events were very crucial to what happened during the war, but there were also the events that changed the lives of the protagonists and possessed them with a new perspective in life. And the most significant of these events was the Yule Ball. That magical evening where everyone danced, dined and discovered new things. It was an evening of happiness and sadness, an evening of love and jealousy, and an evening of great realizations.
I was seated in one of the tables with Ginny as I tried to make a conversation that diverted from the usual “it’s a lovely evening don’t you think?” when the doors of the hall opened and in came two of the most anticipated people of the evening, Viktor Krum and his date. I heard Ginny gasp. For a split second I thought that she was admiring Krum in his rich textured robes, a magnificent sight indeed, but then I soon realized that she was staring at the girl Krum was with. Hermione Granger. She was a sight to behold. She wore a periwinkle robe that shimmered with every move she made, her hair magnificently fixed and, her complexion radiant. She was beautiful. But what stood out the most, her crowning glory, was the way she carried herself. She exuded confidence and grace. She was radiant. And I knew that I wasn’t the only one in the room who realized this. Girls stared at her in shock and incomprehension and boys stared at her in admiration and wonder. But not one can compare to the priceless expression plastered on Harry Potter’s face.
Harry Potter stared at his best friend with his mouth open. Just moments ago, his eyes were fixed on Cho Chang, the girl he has pined for since third year, but when Hermione entered the hall, stunning and ethereal with Krum on her arm, Harry couldn’t stop himself from gaping at Hermione. It was as if he had just discovered his best friend in a new light, detached from the old Hermione he knew. His face was a collage of expressions that ranged from amazement to disbelief to admiration. He was really another sight to behold.
Later on, everyone sat down for dinner. Harry, Ron, Hermione and their dates were all in one table. I heard Hermione trying to teach Krum how to pronounce her name, I saw Ron throwing angry looks at Krum, and I saw Harry furtively glanced at Hermione, who caught his eye later on. And the longer I stared at them, the more the things became clearer. I realized something that evening.
I realized that Ron finally became aware of his feelings for Hermione and regretted not asking her to the ball. I realized that Hermione was really one-of-a-kind; that any man she professes her love for would be “one lucky bastard”, as Seamus Finnegan puts it. I realized that Harry finally saw Hermione in a new light but was still quite unaware of why exactly he was seeing her in a new light. I realized a lot of other things, but I felt that it was too early to tell. If I had known that my other realizations would happen, I would have gone straight to Professor Trewlaney that evening and tell her that I was gifted with the inner eye.
While I pondered about the famous trio, my date for the evening, Ginny, actually noticed my preoccupation. She kicked me on my calf, a stern expression on her face.
“What?” I asked, in pain.
“Well, it looks like you’re more preoccupied with my brother and his friends rather than me! It would have been much better on your part if you asked Ron instead of me!” she answered. I stared at her in shock. Where did the naïve and shy Ginny Weasely go?
“Ginny, I don’t fancy your brother!” I finally muttered under my breath, in fear that someone might here me.
“Well then why were you staring at him then?”
“I was observing your brother along with Harry and Hermione,”
“Really? I presume that they’re much more interesting than me?”
“Ginny! Stop it! You are interesting too,” I retorted rather weakly.
“Oh yes, I can see that. I am definitely interesting to you!” she said, her voice filled with sarcasm.
“All right, all right, I’m sorry Ginny! It’s just that some things caught my attention.” She gave me a very curios look. “Things out of ordinary,” I continued, trying to save myself.
“And?”
“And what?”
“Neville, don’t keep me hanging! What things are you talking about?”
“I don’t think I’m the right person to divulge these things,”
“Really? Oh well, I could always talk to Fred and --” I knew what she tried to imply. Bring Fred and George Weasely into a conversation and you know that trouble’s not far behind.
“Fine!” I gave in. I recounted to her my thoughts and for a moment I feared that I sounded like a trashy tabloid. But when I saw the expression on Ginny’s face I knew that I had nothing to fear.
“Oh, I thought so! I thought so!” she repeated again and again.
After I divulged my realizations, our conversation was no longer on the shallow side. And as I conversed with her, I soon realized just how much interesting Ginny Weasely was.