His granny keeps a picture of Bellatrix Lestrange inside of a drawer.

He finds it one summer, a faded newspaper photo of girls standing in a line, their white-gloved fingers linked.

Neville sees her immediately. She is wearing a dress of pale gray, her hair twisted up. The other girls simper; she glares. For a moment he feels sorry for her, obviously trapped and uncomfortable at this society gathering.

She can't be more than sixteen. His age. The notion that she was once a girl, a student like him…he finds it repulsive.

He locks the drawer and throws away the key.