Beuwulf
patreon
The Starlord - Chapter - 48
🕑 Added 2025-10-04 16:03:20 +0000 UTCThe morning sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, pale and golden. At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Neville, and Hermione were seated together, each of them halfway through breakfast. Plates were filled with eggs and toast, but Neville barely touched his food; he was fidgeting with his quill, clearly distracted.
It was then the brown eagle owl swooped low through the rafters, its wings broad and silent. It landed right in front of Neville, scattering crumbs from the plate and earning a surprised squeak from Hermione.
“A strange one,” Harry muttered, eyeing the owl. “Not a school owl. Not one I’ve seen around here.”
Neville frowned but untied the thick parchment letter from the owl’s leg. His hands trembled slightly as he broke the seal. Harry and Hermione leaned closer. Neville’s eyes moved quickly across the words, and then he froze.
Hermione’s brows knit together. “Neville? What’s wrong? What does it say?”
Neville swallowed, his voice breaking as he spoke.
“It’s… it’s from my mum.”
Harry and Hermione exchanged stunned looks. Neville’s mother, Alice Longbottom, writing to him for the first time since he could remember—after more than a decade of silence.
“Let me read it,” Neville whispered, and then, with hands trembling, he read aloud.
"My dearest Neville,
Your father and I are well. We are writing to tell you that we would like to meet you—properly, in person. We owe Harry a debt that cannot be put into words, but we want to thank him with our own voices.
Please, come see us. We will be at the Hog’s Head Inn in Hogsmeade this coming Sunday. We thought it better to meet quietly than in public view.
With all our love,
Mum
And below, scrawled in stronger, hurried script was a postscript from Frank Longbottom:
"P.S. We know you and Harry found your way to St. Mungo’s without anyone noticing. I suspect you two know a few secret passages out of Hogwarts. Travel discreetly. The fewer who know of this meeting, the better."
Neville’s eyes filled with tears, his knuckles white around the parchment. His voice was raw when he whispered, “She… she called me dearest, Hermione. She hasn’t written me anything in my whole life. And now she—now they both—”
Hermione reached across and gripped his arm firmly.
“Oh, Neville,” she said softly. “This is wonderful. Truly wonderful.”
Harry gave Neville a small smile. “Looks like your parents want to make up for lost time. You deserve this more than anyone, Neville.”
Neville nodded, blinking rapidly, still overwhelmed. “And they want to thank you too, Harry. They want to see you, because you’re the one who—who brought them back.”
Harry shrugged awkwardly, uncomfortable with the praise. “I only did what I could. But if they want to meet, then we’ll go. Quietly.”
Hermione leaned closer, lowering her voice so no one else at the Gryffindor table could overhear.
“But the Hog’s Head? That’s not exactly the safest of places. Aberforth Dumbledore’s pub is known for its… shady crowd.”
Neville shook his head. “If Mum and Dad chose it, they must have a reason. Maybe they don’t want to be in a place crawling with Ministry eyes. You’ve seen what the Prophet writes every day. If people knew they were meeting Harry, it would turn into a circus.”
Harry considered, then nodded. “Your father’s postscript makes sense. They want us to slip out unnoticed. And we can. I still have the map, and the cloak. We’ll choose one of the old tunnels.”
Hermione sighed, already resigned to it. “You’re going to do it no matter what I say, aren’t you?”
Harry smirked. “Of course. That’s why you’ll be coming too. To make sure Neville doesn’t faint before we get there.”
Neville flushed scarlet, but he smiled for the first time that morning.
As they continued to whisper, the Gryffindor table buzzed with normal chatter around them—students trading Chocolate Frog cards, others gossiping about Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang. Fred and George strolled past, betting slips in their hands, but when they noticed Neville clutching the parchment with watery eyes, they slowed.
“You all right there, Nev?” George asked, half-joking, half-curious.
Neville quickly folded the letter and tucked it inside his robes. “I’m fine. Just… news from home.”
Harry gave the twins a sharp look, one that warned them off without a word. Fred raised his brows, then nudged George, and they moved along, muttering.
Hermione leaned closer again. “We’ll need to plan carefully. Sunday morning. We can say we’re going to the library if anyone asks. Harry, you’ll have to check the map for patrols, and make sure none of the teachers are anywhere near the passage we pick.”
Harry nodded, calm and serious. “Already in my head. The tunnel through the statue of the one-eyed witch leads straight to Honeydukes’ cellar. Perfect for slipping out quietly. From there, it’s just a short walk to the Hog’s Head.”
Neville exhaled shakily, holding onto the thought like a lifeline. “I… I can’t believe this is happening. I never thought—I never thought I’d get to see them like this.”
Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re going to see them, Neville. And they’re going to see you. Not just as their boy, but as the young wizard you’ve become.”
For the rest of breakfast, Neville hardly ate a bite, but his face was glowing with an anxious joy Harry had never seen before.
Hermione, though still worried about the risks, smiled quietly whenever she caught Neville re-reading the letter, lips moving silently over the words “dearest Neville.”
Harry, for his part, kept his eyes on the eagle owl perched at the end of the table, watching the bird until it finally spread its wings and soared out through the enchanted ceiling.
Sunday dawned bright and cold. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall showed pale winter skies, but at the Gryffindor table there were three students who looked far more excited than hungry.
Neville hardly touched his toast, instead fussing over a folded letter he had read so many times the parchment was soft around the creases. Hermione, neat as ever, had her bag already packed with parchment, quills, and a small purse of coins. Harry sat quietly, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he pushed his food around his plate.
“Eat something,” Hermione scolded Neville, sliding a bowl of porridge towards him. “We’ll be walking all the way to Hogsmeade once we’re through the tunnel. You’ll faint before you see your parents.”
Neville mumbled, “I’m fine, Hermione,” but obediently spooned a little porridge into his mouth. His eyes kept straying to the owl perch, as if expecting another eagle owl to arrive with a follow-up note.
Harry leaned closer. “You already wrote back with the time and place, right?”
“Yes,” Neville said quickly. “Told them we’d come through the passageway to Honeydukes’ cellar. Dad hinted it’d be better to avoid being seen. They’ll be waiting for us in the Hog’s Head by ten.”
Harry gave a firm nod. “Good. Then we move at nine. That gives us time.”
By early morning, when the castle corridors were still mostly empty and quiet, the three of them slipped out of Gryffindor Tower. Hermione fussed at Harry until he pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his bag and threw it over the three of them.
“You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached,” she muttered.
Harry only smirked, leading them with the Marauder’s Map open in his hand. The little inked footsteps showed Filch patrolling far on the other side of the castle, Mrs. Norris a tiny dot near the kitchens. They were safe.
The statue of the One-Eyed Witch stood crooked and ancient at the end of a disused corridor. Dust floated in the air, disturbed only when Harry whispered, “Dissendium,” and tapped the hump of the witch’s back.
With a creak and a rumble, the hump slid open, revealing the narrow tunnel yawning beneath.
Neville’s eyes widened. “I’ve never used one of these passages before.”
Hermione sighed, brushing cobwebs from her sleeve. “I can’t believe I’m doing this again. One day, Harry, you’ll get me expelled.”
Harry chuckled, ducking into the tunnel. “Not today.”
The tunnel was long, low, and dusty. Their footsteps echoed faintly, and every now and then Neville stumbled on loose stone. Hermione’s wand tip glowed faintly to light the way, but Harry kept the map open, occasionally glancing down at the dots moving above them in the castle.
“Imagine,” Neville whispered, “students used this for sweets, and here we are, sneaking out to meet my parents…” His voice cracked on the last word.
Harry, walking just ahead, softened his tone. “It’s worth it, Neville. This isn’t breaking rules—it’s taking what you deserve.”
Hermione murmured, “Still breaking rules. But… yes, worth it.”
When they finally reached the trapdoor, Harry pressed his ear against it, listening. The muffled noises of clinking glass and the shuffle of feet above told him the shop was open.
“Careful,” Harry whispered, and pushed the door open a crack.
The familiar cellar of Honeydukes appeared above them, rows of shelves heavy with sweets. No one was downstairs. Quietly, the three of them climbed up and slipped between towering barrels of Fizzing Whizzbees and Choco-Cauldrons, emerging into the main shop.
A bell jingled as another customer entered, but the three of them were already pulling their hoods low and stepping out into the snowy street of Hogsmeade.
The village was unusually peaceful for a Sunday morning. No students laughed or ran in groups; no carriages clattered over cobblestones. Only the faint smoke from chimneys and the crunch of their boots on snow disturbed the quiet.
Hermione adjusted her hood, whispering, “It feels strange without the other students here.”
“Perfect cover,” Harry said, scanning the street with sharp eyes. His senses prickled with the Force, reaching out to feel if anyone was following. Nothing suspicious yet.
Neville walked between them, gripping the parchment letter through his robes as though it might vanish if he let go. His breath misted in the air. “I’m really going to see them again,” he murmured. “Properly. Talk to them. Not just stare while they… wander about.”
Harry placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to get your parents back, Neville. Today’s the start of that.”
They turned down a narrow lane, where the Hog’s Head Inn leaned against the snow-covered street like a tired, slouching man. Its crooked sign swung faintly in the breeze, creaking.
Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I can already smell the goats.”
Harry smirked. “That means we’re in the right place.”
The crooked door of the Hog’s Head creaked as Harry reached for the handle. But before they could push it open, the door burst outward. A man stumbled into the snowy street, nearly colliding with them.
Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm, pulling her back just in time. Neville froze.
The man’s face was pale, lips trembling, eyes darting like a hunted animal. His robes were buttoned wrong, his hair disheveled. He muttered incoherently, clutching at his head as if his thoughts were a battlefield.
Harry’s eyes widened.
“Merlin’s beard…” Hermione whispered.
“That’s—” Neville started.
“Barty Crouch,” Harry finished, his voice sharp.
It was unmistakable. They had all seen his face, Barty Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. But Crouch was supposed to be gravely ill—so sick that Percy Weasley had been acting in his stead, carrying instructions through letters.
Yet here he was, stumbling out of the Hog’s Head like a man half-demented, whispering fragments of sentences.
“I… I must… no, no, it’s not safe… the Dark Lord… must be stopped… Percy, the letters… not safe, not safe…”
He fell to his knees in the snow, clawing at the cobblestones.
Hermione gasped. “Harry—we should help him! Or… or call a Healer!”
Harry’s instincts screamed something else. He felt the dark ripples of confusion and compulsion magic in the air around Crouch. “Something’s wrong with him. Very wrong,” he muttered.
He glanced at Hermione, his jaw tight. “We follow him. Now.”
But before he could take a step forward—
A voice broke through the tension.
“Neville!”
Harry turned, and there they were.
Frank and Alice Longbottom walked toward them, wrapped in fine wizarding robes. But it wasn’t the clothes that stopped Harry’s breath—it was the transformation.
Alice’s shoulder-length hair gleamed in the sunlight, glossy and full. Frank’s hair was trimmed short and neat, his stance strong and proud. Their faces glowed with health, smiles radiant and warm.
No trace of the broken, shuffling figures from St. Mungo’s remained.
For a moment Harry almost forgot Barty Crouch still knelt nearby, mumbling into the snow.
Neville didn’t hesitate. He rushed forward, tears brimming in his eyes. “Mum! Dad!”
Alice caught him in a crushing embrace, pressing kiss after kiss to his cheeks. Frank wrapped his arms around both of them, his proud smile trembling with emotion.
Hermione’s eyes shone as she whispered, “They look… perfect.”
Harry nodded slowly, feeling a swell of pride in his chest. I did this.
But then, reality intruded. Barty Crouch gave a strangled cry and staggered to his feet, lurching further down the street. His words floated back to them—broken fragments about the Tournament, about “Moody,” about “the cup.”
Harry clenched his fists. Every instinct screamed to chase him. Whoever had attacked Harry in the castle, whoever had been pulling strings, whoever was behind this madness—it had to be connected.
But Neville’s parents were here. They were radiant, alive, looking at him with gratitude and affection.
Alice reached out to Harry, her voice warm. “Hello Harry… oh, you do look like James. But those eyes… Lily’s eyes. We owe you everything.”
Frank clasped his shoulder firmly. “You gave us back our lives. You gave Neville back his parents.” His voice cracked slightly. “How do we thank you for that?”
Harry, torn between pursuit and reunion, forced a smile. “You don’t owe me anything. Neville deserved his family.”
Hermione leaned closer to him, whispering urgently, “Harry— Mr. Crouch. He’s getting away.”
Harry’s eyes flicked to the stumbling figure disappearing down the alley. He could follow… or he could stay.
