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Hogwarts: Neville’s Insert Chapter 31
🕑 Added 2025-01-13 09:14:53 +0000 UTCHogwarts: Neville’s Insert Chapter 31
Hermione frowned. “Well, like I said, as long as Dumbledore’s here, surely the Stone’s safe. He’s the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of.”
At that moment, Neville remembered something else: his wand. He glanced at the small table beside the bed, frowning when he didn’t see it. “My wand,” he asked, worry creeping into his voice. “Where’s my wand?”
Hermione brightened. “Oh! I almost forgot.” She reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out Neville’s wand, extending it toward him. “Harry picked it up after you dropped it in the forest. He gave it to me yesterday. I kept it safe.”
Harry nodded. “It was lying on the ground, near where you got hit by that curse,” he said. “Didn’t want it left there.”
Relieved, Neville took it from Hermione’s hand, feeling a gentle hum of familiar magic tingle against his palm. He let out a small sigh. “Thanks, you two,” he said, giving them both a grateful nod. “I thought I might have lost it forever.”
….
Neville, Hermione, Harry, and Ron stepped out of the castle and onto the sunny grounds. The warmth of the late spring sun and the light breeze made the end-of-term atmosphere feel almost festive. Students crowded the pathways, their voices loud and carefree as they made their way to the lake or other favorite spots to enjoy the afternoon.
Neville had his bag slung over his shoulder, his right hand gripping the strap while his left rested casually in his pocket as they descended the stone stairs.
“That was far easier than I thought it would be,” Hermione said, walking beside him. Her voice was light with relief as she clutched a stack of exam papers. “I needn’t have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager.”
Neville chuckled softly. “Even if you had known, you’d still have memorized it, Hermione.”
Hermione ignored the remark, flipping through the exam sheets in her hands. She always liked to review their answers after the fact, double-checking what they’d gotten right—or wrong. Neville didn’t mind; it was just Hermione being Hermione.
The group wandered down to the lake, where the water sparkled under the bright sunlight. Finding a shady spot beneath a large tree, they all flopped down on the grass. Neville let out a long sigh as he leaned back against the trunk, stretching his legs out in front of him.
“Well,” he said, “I’m just glad it’s done and over. Exams, everything.”
It had been a week since the incident in the Forbidden Forest. Neville had been discharged from the hospital wing two days afterward, though some lingering effects of the curse still remained. His fingers twitched occasionally, and Madam Pomfrey had reassured him it was normal and would fade in a few days.
Hagrid had visited him during his stay in the hospital wing, apologizing profusely for what had occurred. “I’m sorry, Neville,” he’d said, his voice thick with guilt. “I should’ve kept yeh outta there. Should’ve made sure nothin’ happened ter yeh.” He’d brought Neville a small potted plant as a gift, one that thrived in low light and smelled faintly of peppermint.
The school, of course, was abuzz with rumors about what had happened in the forest, though the specifics remained vague. The most popular story was that Neville had fainted after seeing something terrifying, and Neville didn’t bother correcting them.
What bothered Neville most, though, was something more subtle. When checking on him, Madam Pomfrey had referred to the curse that hit him as a “dark curse.” When Neville had asked her directly which curse had been used on him, she had only told him that it was a “dark curse,” without naming it.
When he’d asked Harry, he’d gotten a similar answer. “Firenze said it was a dark curse,” Harry told him, looking uncertain. “He didn’t call it anything specific.”
It was as though everyone had forgotten—or been made to forget—the exact nature of the curse. Neville’s suspicions turned to Dumbledore. Of course, he thought grimly, Dumbledore wouldn’t want anyone digging too deeply into what happened. A Cruciatus Curse hitting a student would lead to an investigation, and that would lead back to him and his decision to hide the Sorcerer’s Stone in Hogwarts. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the Headmaster quietly memory-charming everyone involved to protect the school—and himself.
Meanwhile, Harry had been plagued by nightmares ever since the forest encounter. Neville had noticed the dark circles under his eyes and how he would frequently rub his forehead. When Neville asked about it, Harry confided that his scar had been hurting more often since the night they saw the hooded figure.
On a brighter note, McGonagall’s demeanor had softened toward him and Harry. She was no longer as sharp or demanding as she had been after they were caught wandering the corridors after curfew. Neville suspected guilt weighed on her—it was she who had assigned them that detention, after all. Even if it had been Dumbledore’s idea, McGonagall clearly felt responsible, and her kindness now seemed an attempt to make amends.
Neville shook the thought from his mind. There was no point in dwelling on it now. He glanced around at his friends. Ron was lying on his back, staring up at the sky and talking lazily about their summer plans. Harry was skipping stones across the lake, and Hermione, of course, was still going through their exam papers, muttering about missed questions.
“No more studying,” Ron sighed happily, tilting his face up to the sun. “You could look more cheerful, Harry. We’ve got a week before we find out how badly we’ve done—no need to worry yet.”
Harry threw another stone into the lake and then sat cross-legged beside Ron, rubbing his forehead again. His expression darkened as he muttered, “I wish I knew what this means. My scar keeps hurting—it’s happened before, but never as often as this.”
“Go to Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione suggested, her tone brisk.
“I’m not ill,” Harry snapped, shaking his head. “I think it’s a warning. It means danger’s coming.”
Ron groaned again, flopping onto his back. “Can we just have one day without talking about curses, dark magic, or stones?” He waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, Harry. Hermione’s right—the Stone’s safe as long as Dumbledore’s around. Anyway, we’ve never had any proof Snape figured out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once—he’s not going to try again anytime soon. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down.”
Neville, plucking a few blades of grass, rolled them between his fingers. “I’m not so sure about that,” he said casually. “Hagrid does have a loose mouth. After all, he’s the one who gave us most of the information about the Stone so far.”
He shrugged, glancing sidelong at Harry.
Harry’s eyes widened as the implications of Neville’s words hit him. Suddenly, he leapt to his feet, his face pale.
“Where’re you going?” Ron asked sleepily, squinting up at Harry.
“I’ve just thought of something,” Harry said, his voice urgent. “We’ve got to go and see Hagrid. Now.” Without waiting for a response, he took off running.
Neville groaned, pushing himself to his feet. “Oh, here we go again,” he muttered, jogging after Harry. Hermione and Ron scrambled to follow, trying to keep up with Harry’s frantic pace.
“Why?” panted Hermione, struggling to match his speed.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd,” Harry said, scrambling up the grassy slope, “that what Hagrid wants more than anything in the world is a dragon, and then a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people walk around with dragon eggs when it’s against wizarding law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don’t you think? Why didn’t I see it before?”
“What are you talking about?” Ron asked, completely baffled.
Neville sighed and cut in, his tone dry. “What Harry’s saying is that Hagrid getting the dragon egg wasn’t a coincidence. That stranger probably used it to get Hagrid to talk. And Hagrid might’ve already let slip how to get past Fluffy.”
Ron’s eyes widened as he turned to Neville. “You already knew Hagrid might’ve let something slip about Fluffy? Why didn’t you tell us?”
Neville raised an eyebrow at him. “Of course I didn’t tell you. You’d have freaked out—just like you’re doing now. Besides,” he added with a shrug, “I’ve been saying it all along—the Stone is probably a fake.”
Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Harry wasn’t listening. He was already sprinting toward Hagrid’s hut, the others doing their best to keep up.
As they crossed the grounds, the forest loomed in the distance, its dark edges contrasting with the bright sunlight. Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house, his trousers and sleeves rolled up as he shelled peas into a large bowl.
“Hullo,” Hagrid greeted them with a smile, looking up from his work. “Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?”
“Yeah, sure thing, Hagrid,” Neville said casually, but Harry cut him off, his urgency overriding any sense of politeness.
“No, we’re in a hurry. Hagrid, I’ve got to ask you something,” Harry said, stepping closer. “You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?”
Hagrid frowned, thinking. “Dunno,” he said with a shrug. “He wouldn’ take his cloak off.” He noticed the stunned looks on their faces and raised his eyebrows. “It’s not that unusual. Yeh get a lot o’ funny folk in the Hog’s Head—that’s the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn’t he? I never saw his face; he kept his hood up the whole time.”
Harry sank down next to Hagrid’s bowl of peas, his expression tense. “What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?”
Hagrid frowned again, clearly trying to recall. “Mighta come up,” he said slowly. “Yeah… he asked what I did, an’ I told him I was gamekeeper here. He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after… so I told him… an’ I said what I’d always really wanted was a dragon. Then… I can’ remember too well, ’cause he kept buyin’ me drinks… Let’s see… yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an’ we could play cards fer it if I wanted. But he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn’ want it ter go ter any old home. So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy.”
Harry froze. “And did he—did he seem interested in Fluffy?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady.
“Well—yeah—how many three-headed dogs d’yeh meet, even around Hogwarts?” Hagrid replied, looking confused at the question. “So I told him, Fluffy’s a piece o’ cake if yeh know how to calm him down. Jus’ play him a bit o’ music, an’ he’ll go straight off ter sleep—”
Hagrid suddenly froze, his face pale as realization dawned on him. “I shouldn’ta told yeh that!” he blurted out, looking horrified. “Forget I said it! Hey—where’re yeh goin’?”
But Harry was already running back toward the castle, his face set with determination. Neville groaned and pushed himself up, muttering, “Always running,” as he jogged after Harry, with Hermione and Ron close behind.
None of them spoke as they raced into the Entrance Hall, the cool, dim interior a sharp contrast to the sunny grounds they’d just left. Harry skidded to a stop and turned to the others, his voice urgent. “We’ve got to go to Dumbledore. Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak. It must’ve been easy, once they’d gotten Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up—if Bane doesn’t stop him.”
Harry looked around, his urgency growing. “Where’s Dumbledore’s office?”
Hermione’s gaze flicked to Neville. “Neville, you’ve been to Dumbledore’s office, haven’t you?”
Neville sighed, nodding reluctantly. “Yeah. It’s on the seventh floor behind the gargoyle statue,” he said, already bracing himself for the inevitable sprint up seven flights of stairs.
“Then come on!” Harry said, taking off toward the nearest staircase.
Neville groaned, muttering under his breath as he jogged after Harry. “I should’ve stayed by the lake.” But before they could make it far, a sharp voice rang out across the hall.
“What are you four doing inside?” It was Professor McGonagall, balancing a large pile of books in her arms.
“We want to see Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione said bravely, stepping forward.
“See Professor Dumbledore?” Professor McGonagall repeated, her tone laced with suspicion. “Why?”
Harry swallowed hard. Now what? “It’s… sort of secret,” he stammered, immediately regretting his choice of words.
Professor McGonagall’s expression turned colder. “Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago,” she said curtly. “He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once.”
“He’s gone?” Harry asked frantically. “Now?”
“Professor Dumbledore is a very important wizard, Mr. Potter,” she said sharply. “He has many demands on his time—”
“But this is important,” Ron interrupted, trying to reason with her.
Neville remained at the back of the group, staying silent as he watched the exchange unfold.
“Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?” McGonagall said, her tone clipped and her expression stern.
Harry, throwing caution to the wind, blurted, “Professor—it’s about the—”
But before he could finish, Neville stepped forward and cut him off. “Harry would like to know if he could stay at Hogwarts for the holiday, Professor.”
Harry turned to Neville, his eyes wide with shock, but Neville ignored him and pressed on. “You see, Professor, Harry’s relatives aren’t exactly kind to him. So, he wanted to know if the Headmaster would allow him to stay for the summer break.”
Ron and Hermione looked just as stunned as Harry, but they held their tongues.
Whatever McGonagall had been expecting, it wasn’t that. Her stern expression softened, her lips pressing together in a thoughtful line. “I see,” she said after a pause. “Normally, students aren’t allowed to stay in the castle during the summer holiday, but there have been exceptions made before. Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow. I’ll speak with him when he returns and see if something can be arranged.”
Harry tried to protest, starting with, “But Professor—”
Neville cut him off again. “Thank you, Professor. We really appreciate your help.”
McGonagall’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked between them, her suspicion returning. “If that’s all, I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine,” she said, shooing them off with a wave of her hand before heading down the corridor with her books.
Once she was out of earshot, Harry spun toward Neville, furious. “What was that?” he whisper-shouted. “We could’ve told her about the Stone, about Hagrid letting slip how to get past Fluffy—”
Neville met Harry’s glare with a calm, steady gaze. “And you really think she’d just believe you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You think it’s that simple?”
Harry opened his mouth, but Neville continued before he could argue. “McGonagall just started being less cold toward us after the whole Norbert incident. You want to throw that progress away so soon? You think she’ll listen to first-years rambling about the Stone? How are you going to explain how we even know about it in the first place, huh? Say that Hagrid told us? Then wouldn’t Hagrid get into trouble for that?”
Neville already knew that telling McGonagall about the Stone wouldn’t do any good, since it was all part of Dumbledore’s plan. Aware of what was likely to happen, he didn’t want to be on bad terms with McGonagall. He still hoped to get some tips on Transfiguration for next year’s curriculum—and he wasn’t going to let Harry ruin that for him.
Harry faltered, his anger fading into uncertainty. Hermione and Ron exchanged glances but said nothing, letting Neville’s words sink in.
After a tense pause, Harry sighed. “Fine. But we’re running out of time. What are we supposed to do now? Snape’s going through the trapdoor tonight. He’s found out everything he needs, and now he’s got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note—I bet the Ministry of Magic is going to get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up.”
Neville rolled his eyes but said nothing, thinking to himself, 'Yeah, right. If he wanted to go to the Ministry, it would only have taken a few seconds with the Floo. The old bastard is probably still in the castle.'
“But what can we—” Hermione started, but her words caught in her throat as Harry and Ron froze, their eyes widening. Neville turned to see what had startled them.
Snape was standing there, his dark robes billowing slightly, his expression unreadable. “Good afternoon,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
They stared at him, frozen like deer caught in wandlight.
“You shouldn’t be inside on a day like this,” Snape added, a twisted smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “People might think you’re up to something.”
“We were—” Harry began, scrambling for an excuse but clearly at a loss for words.
“You’d best be more careful,” Snape interrupted. “Hanging around like this gives the wrong impression. And Gryffindor can’t afford to lose any more points, can it?”
Neville thought, 'Yeah, he isn't helping himself right now. his just making himself look like the one after the Stone.' Then he wondered, 'Is he in on Dumbledore’s plans as well? That would explain why Snape is taunting us right now.'
Harry flushed, his face turning as red as a Gryffindor banner. The group turned to head outside, but Snape’s voice stopped them in their tracks.
“Be warned, Potter, Longbottom—any more nighttime wanderings, and I will personally ensure you’re expelled. Good day to you.”
With a dramatic swirl of his robes, Snape strode off toward the staffroom, leaving the four of them standing in tense silence.
Once they were outside on the stone steps, Harry turned to the others, his voice low and urgent. “Right, here’s what we’ve got to do. One of us has to keep an eye on Snape—wait outside the staffroom and follow him if he leaves. Hermione, you’d better do that.”
“Why me?” Hermione asked, looking slightly put out.
“It’s obvious,” Ron said with a smirk. “You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick. You know…” He put on a high, mockingly sweet voice, “‘Oh, Professor Flitwick, I’m so worried, I think I got question fourteen b wrong!’”
“Oh, shut up, Ron,” Hermione snapped, though her cheeks turned slightly pink. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
Neville sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll go with Hermione,” he said reluctantly. He didn’t want to interfere with Dumbledore’s plan—he knew better than that. Dumbledore had already tried to erase his memories once, and Neville wasn’t eager to give him another reason to do so. For now, he would have to play along.
