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Professor Neville Longbottom (profplant) wrote in silverage,

Neville watched the younger man go through several stages of surprise and fear, and felt like- to be honest, he felt a bit like he was looking in a mirror. Himself at that age- same haircut, same fear, same nervous energy channeled into worry about being trapped. He smiled a little, and stood up, walking closer and offering his hand. "Neville. Neville Longbottom. And I should say I know Gryffindor- pulled the damn sword of Godric out of the Sorting Hat." He shook his head- he didn't drink often and apparently just a few glasses of wine were enough to make him say things that were deliberately stupid. "Sorry. I'm a Gryffindor. Or, I was, back at school. So yes, I'm a wizard."

The feeling of familiarity was back, and Neville didn't think it was just the anxiety. He'd seen this man before, at the gathering of magic users Galen had set up. But Neville had been avoiding Lily, and this man never left her side. "I'm sorry, but do I know you? I just feel like I should. I've seen you before, I know. With Lily- but you looked familiar then too."

Neville shook his head again, harder, trying to clear it. Lack of sleep and a breakfast of port wasn't something he should repeat too often. Had the man let out an "eff" sound upon seeing him? Probably the beginning of a curse. He smiled, hoping he didn't look like too much of a nutter. "What's the occasion, for two bottles?"