Neville stood and stared, his mouth agape. He didn't move. He didn't breathe, and he couldn't think. He knew her face, and it wasn't the face of one who was tortured. It was the face he'd seen in his gran's photo albums. This was a cruel trick, and he expected Draco Malfoy and his cronies to come around a corner, laughing.
But how would they know? How could they know? Neville hadn't even told his friends about any of this. About his parents. About his greatest wish. He started to take a step, but his legs didn't know if he was trying to go forward or backward, and he wound up tangled in his robes.
He managed to fall backwards instead of forwards, so he didn't lose sight of her. "Mu--mu--ar--are you Alice Longbottom?"