Who: Neville & Sir Nick Where: Boys dormitory What: Neville enlists the help of a ghostly messenger When: Thursday Morning
Neville was lonely, but that was the least of his worries. With Luna dead, Ginny imprisoned and everyone else working hard for their masters, there was hardly anyone to talk to. Even in the evenings when there were a few people around in the dormitories, he got the feeling that no one really wanted to talk to him. He didn't sleep well and he was probably calling out in his nightmares. None of the younger boys wanted to get on the wrong side of Evan Rosier by making friends with his servant, and the older ones seemed uncomfortable with broaching even light subjects with him. Neville didn't really blame them. As much as he wanted to forget the last month, its events stood out in his mind like a blinding light that invaded his sight no matter which way he looked.
He needed to work, and he knew he could get chores from whoever didn't want them, but he also knew they wouldn't let him get them in trouble for shoddy work, which was all he could do without his former strength. Walking was getting easier with practice, but he could barely lift anything heavier than a book, and he knew his back would give out after less than ten minutes of hard labour.
So when the dormitory was empty, he stripped off his shirt and knelt on the floor, putting his hands shoulder-width apart on the cold stone. He gritted his teeth and leaned forward, letting his legs slide backwards and his knees lift slowly off the floor until he was holding himself up by his hands and toes. He bent his elbows and gasped as he felt a flicker of pain run down his spine. He tried to ignore it and to push himself back up again, but his arms shook uncontrollably and he fell chest-first onto the hard floor. He banged his head against his hands in frustration.