Chapter 9
Neville's Transformer, Part 1

At the start-of-term banquet, Neville Longbottom had gotten the idea that the Slytherins disliked everything, going by the rather extreme amount of jeering they produced at the sight of anyone being Sorted into any other House. By the end of his first Potions lesson, Neville knew he'd been wrong. If their Head of House was anything to go by, they didn't dislike everything - they hated everything.

That Friday morning, Professor Snape, a tall, pale, and dark-haired man, made quite the impression upon them all as he walked into the classroom amid the Gryffindors' and Slytherins' chatter. At the sound of him entering, everyone fell silent and watched him. He strolled stiffly up to a podium of sorts at the front of the room. He didn't seem unaware of the many stares he was earning himself from the Gryffindors, but he also seemed entirely unfazed by them. The Slytherins simply didn't care a whole lot, eyeing him with boredom.

Class started off normally, with Snape reading from the list of first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins who were attending his class. Nothing of interest happened until Snape's eyes fell upon a specific name on the list: Harry Potter.

"Harry Potter," Snape enunciated carefully. Neville, watching with a nervous sweat, noticed that when he said Potter, Snape's frown twisted into a scowl. "Our new... celebrity."

He said this as if he cared as much about celebrities as he did about mud on his shoe.

Neville kept his head down and didn't say anything, but inside, he was steaming. A glance at Harry, seated not too far from Neville himself, showed how nervous the boy was. Obviously he'd heard the same stories about Snape as everyone else. Neville was frankly shocked that with the sort of glower Snape was leveling Harry with, the Boy Who Lived wasn't wetting his trousers.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," Snape continued. Neville wasn't paying him as much attention as Harry, though. He watched the last Potter out of the corner of his eye. He seemed like a nice boy, and since they'd met on the train, Neville had wanted to be his friend. He'd been too nervous to ask, though. But Neville didn't like how Snape was treating Harry now; suddenly striking up a pop quiz and only accepting answers from the poor boy. It was too much to ask of anyone on their first Potions class, except perhaps Hermione, going by the way she seemed to be trying to touch the ceiling with her outstretched arm.

Then again, Hermione was Hermione, so her case was... a little different.

As Snape again demanded to know of Harry what the difference was between monkshood and wolfs... something, soft sounds caught Neville's ear. He turned to where Draco Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle sat, and his eyes widened. They were laughing silently in their seats, clutching their stomachs and heaving. And Snape wasn't even so much as batting an eye in their direction. Anger pooled deep down in Neville; how unfair was that? But he was too nervous to speak up about anything. What if he lost Gryffindor some House Points in the very first week? Neville's fist clenched. He wanted so badly to use that to teach them a lesson, but...

Gran would kill him. Neville shuddered at the thought of her and her big, ridiculous hat dashing furiously up to him.

No, no, he'd keep his nose down.

"I don't know sir," Harry admitted at last to Snape, who scowled deeper. Somehow. "I think Hermione does, though. Why don't you try asking her?"

Quiet laughter bubbled up from a large number of the Gryffindors and even one or two Slytherins. Seamus Finnigan winked approvingly at the wizarding world's hero. A dirty look from Snape, however, shut them all up.

"Sit down," the man snapped at Hermione, who had been reaching up so eagerly that she'd actually risen from her seat. Chastised, the girl immediately plopped back down in her chair with a blush. Snape then rolled right into a lecture about where to find a bezoar, and how monkshood and wolfsbane were the same thing (which really confused Neville; why were they called different things, then?) and which ended with the entire class desperately scribbling notes on paper. He then split them up into groups to brew their first potions.

"Neville Longbottom," Snape said as he listed off names. He looked up from his sheet of students to peer at the suddenly stiffening young man. "Since you were paying about as much attention as young Mister Potter, you two shall be paired together. Maybe then you will actually learn to learn."

Neville paled. Uh-oh.

He walked stiffly over to Harry's table, where the raven-haired boy waved apologetically and held out his hand. "I know you from the train," Harry said with a soft smile. "Sorry I pulled you into this with me."

"I-I-It's my fault," Neville stammered softly, not looking Harry in the eyes. He held out a trembling hand, grasped, and shook Harry's, then quickly pulled it back. Harry blinked at that, but shrugged to himself and turned to the chalkboard.

"Let's see here, so we're supposed to be making a Boil-Curing Potion..."

They tried to get the potion right, but nothing seemed to be working properly. By the time Snape was busy congratulating Draco for the perfect hue of the boy's own potion, Harry's cauldron was starting to bubble a disturbing and dangerous-looking amount. Harry seemed to be catching on to this, too; as Snape swept angrily over to them, he pointed at the cauldron. Then, fast enough that Neville's eyes thought they might be deceiving him, the young Longbottom saw a flash of what looked like a yellow arm punch the surface of the cauldron. Then the arm was gone like it had never been there.

To Neville's surprise, the surface of the potion iced over.

The bubbling stopped. It couldn't really continue, since the weird, dark froth was now frozen.

Snape, now looming over them and frowning as he stared down at the potion, looked carefully at Harry. "A boil-curer shouldn't freeze like that," Snape intoned darkly. "You must've messed something up in a truly remarkable way."

Draco snickered. "Leave it to Potter to manage to freeze a hot potion," he chuckled, glaring at the boy in question. Neville's brow furrowed angrily at that. All morning - indeed, for the past couple days - Draco had seemed furious whenever he'd caught Harry's eye. Neville was watching carefully, and it seemed there was some sort of animosity between them. He hoped it didn't have anything to do with rule-breaking.

Either way, Neville's fists shook beneath his and Harry's table; his cheeks reddened with anger. Nothing could be done about Snape picking on Harry; the man was a professor, after all. But Snape and Draco... that was too much. Harry had to be feeling like crap right now. Neville glanced at him. By the way the lightning-scarred boy's eyes flicked nervously around, he was feeling like crap.

"You may dump out the ice into the bin," Snape said carefully, pointing to a garbage bucket with a plastic bag in it, shoved against the side of the dungeon's wall. "But be careful. It may still be volatile, and we wouldn't want our... celebrity going home with severe burns and one less limb."

The class stared as Harry followed the instructions with gritted teeth. Nearly an hour later, they were no closer to completing their potion which they had had to restart. Under his breath, Draco kept making snide remarks about Neville's poor skills that made poor Neville clench his teeth.

Finally, Draco's eyes turned to Crabbe just before the end of the period. "Can you believe Potter would screw up so badly that he and Longbottom couldn't even complete their first potion?" he sneered. "Just goes to show that fame isn't everything."

Neville's jaw set. Enough was enough.

"[Transformer]," he whispered, pointing at Draco with his right arm. That familiar feeling washed over him, his arm gaining a metallic sheen as the ghost-like thing's arm surrounded it. It was round and had a scope, along with an extended part that revealed five holes.

The end-of-period bell rang, and Crabbe and Goyle, having cleaned up along with everyone else, immediately gathered up their belongings.

A soft, muffled crack echoed through the classroom as his arm flashed with light. Golden bullets flew through the air and struck into Draco's side, sinking in without making any wounds.

Crabbe and Goyle looked up at Draco, then blinked in confusion and glanced around the room.

"Did you see Draco leave?" Goyle asked Crabbe while looking.

"No. His bags are still here..."

"Guys, guys!?" Draco demanded, waving in front of their faces. Confusion was etched across his face. "I'm right here! Hello!?"

Crabbe and Goyle stared at each other.

They both shrugged. "He must've left early and forgotten his bags," they concluded, reaching down and grabbing Draco's bags. They both promptly left the dungeon without a second glance. Neville chuckled under his breath as Draco, panicking now, raced after them, shouting desperately for them to wait up.

Harry blinked. "Why are those two acting so weird, do you think?" he asked Neville, who startled and glanced at him in shock. "Draco's right there, after all. Weird..."

"I... I dunno what you're talking about," Neville stammered, twiddling his thumbs and quickly standing up. "I-I've gotta get my bags. See you, Harry."

Harry tilted his head. "See you. Huh..." he added once Neville was out of earshot. "Weird boy, him."

As Neville hurriedly gathered his belongings up and swept out of the Potions dungeon, he wiped sweat off his brow with a trembling fist. Could Harry see Draco? But as far as Neville had ever known, the only person who'd been able to see those hit by Transformer's bullets had been Neville himself...

Something bizarre was going on. That was for sure...

-TO BE CONTINUED-

Stand: Transformer (based on Transformer by M.A. Foster)
Stand user: Neville Longbottom
Ability: Anything shot by Transformer's arm cannon will be turned into a Stand and gain the properties thereof, with the exception of the struck object/person/spell gaining an extra ability. Only Stand users will be able to see or hear them; they will be able to interact with other Stands; damage inflicted upon them will also be inflicted upon Transformer's Stand user. A maximum of two objects/people/spells may be turned into a Stand, and anything may be turned into a Stand as long as it is not greater in size than an average room.
Stats:

Destructive Power: non-existent. When interacting with things pierced by its bullets, A.

Speed: E

Range: A+

Precision: A

Durability: C

Developmental Potential: D