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Hogwarts: Neville’s Insert Chapter 30
🕑 Added 2025-01-08 20:10:14 +0000 UTCHogwarts: Neville’s InsertChapter 30
Hermione stood still, tears slipping down her cheeks. Ron stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be all right,” Ron muttered, though he looked shaken too. “He’s tough, Hermione.”
Taking a shaky breath, Hermione nodded and brushed away her tears. She slowly sank down onto the couch by the fire. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just can’t believe this happened.”
“That’s not all,” Harry said, lowering his voice. “Firenze told me that the hooded man was Voldemort.”
Ron flinched. “Don’t say his name out loud, mate!”
Harry ignored him. “Don’t you get it? Snape is after the Stone for Voldemort. He attacked that unicorn to drink its blood…” Harry’s chest tightened at the memory.
Ron let out a low whistle, looking pale. “Blimey. So You-Know-Who is still alive, and Snape is after the Stone to help him?”
Harry nodded. “If Snape manages to steal the Stone, then…” He trailed off uneasily.
Hermione wiped her eyes, staring into the flickering flames. “But…Dumbledore is still here, right? He won’t let You-Know-Who get the Stone. Voldemort’s afraid of Dumbledore.”
….
Neville stirred in his bed, eyes flickering open to the muted light filtering through the edges of the drawn curtains around him. He blinked once, confusion flooding his mind. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was or why everything felt so achy. Then the memories came rushing back: the Forbidden Forest, the dead unicorn, Quirrell, and the searing pain of the Cruciatus Curse. Neville let out a shaky breath. He tried to sit up too quickly and groaned, his muscles protesting.
“Ugh,” he muttered under his breath, clenching his teeth as a throb pulsed down his legs and through his shoulders. His whole body felt like it had been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs. Neville let his head fall back onto the pillow, panting slightly from the effort. Curtains surrounded his bed, giving him a bit of privacy in what he realized was clearly the Hogwarts hospital wing. He could make out the sounds of students chatting beyond the room’s walls, though it was faint and muffled.
He swallowed, finding his throat dry and raw. The last thing he remembered was screaming at the top of his lungs when that curse hit. Neville shuddered at the memory of the agonizing pain that had ripped through his body. “Bloody hell,” he thought. “That bastard Quirrell used the torture curse on me. I’ll make sure he pays for that one day…”
His fingers dug into the bedsheets, and he stared up at the ceiling. That curse—he knew all about it from what had happened to his parents. They’d been tortured for hours by Death Eaters. It was the very reason they’d lost their minds and ended up in St. Mungo’s. Neville’s stomach twisted angrily at the thought. Quirrell had used that same Unforgivable Curse on him without hesitation, and if things had gone on any longer, who knew what sort of damage Neville would have suffered?
With a grunt, Neville tried again to sit up, although more carefully this time. Even that slight movement made him wince, and his arms shook from the effort. His vision wavered for a moment, and he needed a second to let everything settle.
He heard the swish of curtains being pulled back, followed by the soft click of shoes on the stone floor. Madam Pomfrey stepped inside his little enclosed space, her expression one of practiced sternness laced with genuine concern.
“Oh, you’re awake,” she said, in a brisk but not unkind voice. “Careful there, Mr. Longbottom, don’t go trying to hop out of bed just yet. You’ve had quite the night.” She set a tray of potions down on the small table beside him. “Drink this,” she said, handing him a goblet. “It’ll help with the soreness.”
Neville nodded, taking the goblet in unsteady hands. His fingers trembled, and it took all his concentration not to spill the potion. Slowly, he raised it to his mouth and sipped. The taste was bitter, and he had to fight the urge to gag. Still, he forced it down. Almost at once, a faint warmth spread through his limbs, easing the tight ache in his muscles.
Madam Pomfrey pressed her lips together as she watched him drink. Then she gave a small, exasperated sigh. “Honestly,” she muttered, shaking her head. “A detention that sends students into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night? Quite unthinkable. And now we have a student who’s been hit by the torture curse—of all curses. I sometimes wonder what’s become of Hogwarts these days.”
Neville swallowed the rest of the potion, feeling it settle uneasily in his stomach. “Thank you,” he rasped, grimacing at how weak his voice sounded. He cleared his throat, which stung horribly.
Madam Pomfrey nodded, carefully taking the goblet from him. “Lie back,” she said, gently guiding him down onto the pillows. “You’re lucky, Mr. Longbottom. The curse didn’t last very long. Still, you’ll be sore for a few days at least.” She placed a cool hand on his forehead, checking for fever. “Any lingering pain?” she asked, eyeing him closely. “Headaches? Spells of dizziness?”
Neville gave a tiny nod. “Yeah,” he said, his voice scratchy. “Everything hurts. Feels like I’ve been knocked about by a troll. And my throat—” He winced, remembering the screams he’d let out in the forest. “It’s so sore,” he croaked. “I can barely talk.”
Madam Pomfrey offered him a sympathetic look. “That’s quite normal, given the state you were in last night. Your body’s been through a shock, and your throat will feel raw from all that screaming.” She flicked her wand in a small, neat motion, conjuring a glass of water. “Here, sip this. Try not to speak too much if you can help it. It’ll only make your throat worse.”
Neville took the glass and sipped carefully. The cool water felt heavenly as it trickled down his throat, soothing some of the rawness. He let out a slow breath. His fingers twitched without him wanting them to, and he frowned at the sudden involuntary movement.
Noticing his twitching hand, Madam Pomfrey nodded in understanding. “Side effect of the curse,” she said briskly. “You’ll have a few shakes here and there, especially after such a painful experience. But it will pass in a few days. Lucky for you, it ended quickly. If you’d been under that curse for much longer, it might have been too much for your mind to bear.”
Neville’s stomach tightened at that reminder. A bitter taste touched his tongue that had nothing to do with the potion. “That’s…that’s what happened to my mum and dad,” he thought grimly. He clenched his fist, trying to steady the tremors. “They had it for hours,” he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure Madam Pomfrey even heard him. A flush of anger rose in his chest. Quirrell was the cause of all this, or perhaps Voldemort—whoever was controlling him. Neville vowed quietly that he wouldn’t forget or forgive.
Before he could dwell on it any longer, the curtain was tugged aside again, and this time the tall figure of Albus Dumbledore stepped in. The Headmaster’s eyes, so often twinkling and kind, were solemn as he looked down at Neville. “Good morning, Mr. Longbottom,” he said, his voice carrying that gentle note so many found comforting. “I’m glad to see you awake.” He glanced at Madam Pomfrey. “How is our patient faring?”
Madam Pomfrey set her hands on her hips. “He’ll need rest and potions,” she said, giving the Headmaster a pointed look. “Though I can’t imagine how this happened in the first place. A detention in the Forbidden Forest—ridiculous. And now this. What in Merlin’s name is the world coming to?” She picked up some salve from the tray. “But yes, he’s recovering.”
Dumbledore nodded, his expression grave. “Very good.” He turned his attention back to Neville. “Tell me, my boy, do you recall much of what happened last night?”
Neville stared as he left, annoyance building in his chest. 'Of course, Dumbledore was going to pretend he didn’t know,' Neville inhaled slowly and thought, 'then I will spell it out for you.'
“It was Professor Quirrell,” Neville said, each word scratching at his throat. “He used the curse on me.” He met Dumbledore’s eyes, refusing to look away. “He was the one hunting the unicorn. I saw his face in the forest.”
Neville heard Madam Pomfrey let out a startled gasp. She stopped fussing over him and snapped her head around to stare at Dumbledore. “Professor Quirrell?” she repeated, her voice trembling. “But that’s… that’s unthinkable. Are you sure, Mr. Longbottom?”
Neville gave a single, pained nod. “I’m sure. I know his voice. He cast the spell on me and Harry. He’s the one who… who was drinking the unicorn’s blood.”
A heavy silence fell around the bed for a few moments. Madam Pomfrey’s lips parted in disbelief, and Dumbledore’s expression darkened ever so slightly. The Headmaster’s eyes shifted, and Neville could’ve sworn he saw something flicker—a calculation, maybe. Then Dumbledore released a slow sigh.
“That is troubling news indeed,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Poppy… perhaps we should exercise caution before—”
Madam Pomfrey’s shock quickly turned to outrage. “Caution? Headmaster, if Mr. Longbottom is telling the truth, we have someone in the castle who’s willing to use that foul curse on children! I’ll inform the Aurors immediately. This is unthinkable—”
Neville watched her move to the edge of the curtains, thinking, “Yes, get the Aurors. Have them arrest Quirrell.” But the next instant, Madam Pomfrey seemed to freeze in place, her expression going blank. She stood there as though she’d forgotten what she was doing. Neville blinked, feeling a strange fog settle over his own mind. He tried to hold on to his thoughts, but for a moment, his head felt heavy, and he couldn’t quite recall why Madam Pomfrey was leaving.
He frowned, fighting the sudden wave of confusion. Then he spotted Dumbledore slipping something back into his long sleeve with a smooth movement. A wand, no doubt. The old wizard’s voice cut through the haze. “That was very unfortunate, Mr. Longbottom,” he said softly. “Be assured, such a thing will not happen again.” He paused, eyes shifting to Madam Pomfrey. “I think you’ll be quite safe now. I wish you a speedy recovery.”
Neville’s thoughts slowly cleared as Dumbledore’s words anchored him. He realized with a surge of dread what had just happened. Dumbledore had cast a spell—on Madam Pomfrey, and likely on him too, if only to muddy their memories or confuse them. That old man had effectively prevented Pomfrey from contacting the Aurors. Dumbledore gave him one last kind smile, as if nothing odd had happened, and turned back to Madam Pomfrey, who blinked and seemed to snap out of her trance.
Dumbledore gave him a kindly smile. “I’ll let you rest, my boy. I wish you a speedy recovery.” He bowed his head toward Madam Pomfrey. “I’ll leave him in your capable hands, Poppy.”
Neville’s jaw tightened, and he glared up at the back of Dumbledore’s head in mute anger.
“Yes, Professor,” she said, sounding slightly flustered, “I’ll see to it that Mr. Longbottom rests. He’ll be right as rain in a few days.”
“Wonderful,” Dumbledore said, with a small nod that made his half-moon glasses slide down his crooked nose. He pushed them back up. “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I’ll leave him in your capable hands.” With that, he turned and slipped out through the curtains, his robes swishing softly behind him.
Madam Pomfrey blinked again, then shook her head. “Yes, well,” she mumbled to herself, her voice somewhat distant. She turned to Neville, patted his shoulder gently, and said, “Make sure you rest, Mr. Longbottom. You’ll have another dose of your potion at lunch. No visitors until then, all right?” She gave him a small, polite smile and stepped away, drawing the curtains behind her.
Neville lay there, furious, his mind racing. He couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. “That old git actually wiped part of our memories,” he thought, feeling a chill run through him. “And probably Confunded us as well so we’d forget what I said about Quirrell.” Neville’s mouth went dry.
He closed his eyes, letting a flood of anger wash over him. He was sure that Dumbledore was controlling events, planning everything with Harry at the center. “He doesn’t want me derailing his grand scheme,” Neville thought bitterly. “Well, we’ll see about that.”
He was still fuming quietly when he heard voices outside the curtain—familiar ones. He recognized Hermione first, her tone full of worry and insistence. “…please, Madam Pomfrey, we won’t stay long. We just want to see how he’s doing.”
A sigh from Madam Pomfrey. “Oh, very well, Miss Granger. But only for half an hour, mind you, and keep your voices down. Mr. Longbottom needs rest.”
Neville heard Hermione’s excited “Thank you!” and then the curtains were pulled aside, letting in fresh light. Hermione Granger’s bushy hair and wide, worried eyes appeared first. The moment she spotted Neville, she practically ran over, flinging her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug.
“Oh, Neville,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “We were so worried! Are you all right?”
“Ow—” Neville hissed, though gently. He couldn’t help the small yelp that escaped him at the sudden pressure on his sore body. Still, he mustered a weak smile. “Hi, Hermione,” he managed, patting her back. “I’m… all right.”
Hermione pulled away, flushing slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to squeeze you,” she stammered. “I’m just so happy to see you awake. I’m sorry we didn’t come to see you sooner. We weren’t allowed to leave the common room until this morning. The professors have been coming around the castle, and all classes are canceled for the day.”
“Calm down, Hermione,” Neville interrupted gently, raising a hand to cover her mouth. “I’m fine, and I just woke up a few minutes ago, so no big deal.”
Hermione blushed and nodded, and Neville took his hand away from her mouth.
Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, who had come with Hermione, finally spoke.
“Blimey, mate,” Ron went on, “you gave us a fright.”
Harry nodded, stepping closer. “Glad you’re awake, Neville. You had us all worried. How are you feeling?”
Neville took a moment to breathe, then forced a small grin. “I’m fine,” he answered hoarsely. “Madam Pomfrey says I’ll be up and about in a few days. I just need to take it easy.”
Ron grimaced. “Harry said that you were under the Cruciatus Curse. Flaming hell, that’s an Unforgivable. Anyone using that should be chucked into Azkaban… or worse.”
Hermione hovered worriedly by his side, fiddling with the hem of her robes. “I can’t imagine how painful that curse must’ve been.” Her eyes glistened, but she kept her composure.
Neville said, “Yeah, it was the worst, but I’m just glad I wasn’t under it for too long. Speaking of which, what happened after I was hit by the curse?” he asked, looking at Harry.
Harry recounted what had happened. “You and I were both on the ground, and I was trying to get to you, but my scar felt like it was splitting my head apart. Then a centaur showed up—Firenze. He chased off the hooded man. He saved our lives, really. Took us back to Hagrid, who hurried us to the castle. You were already unconscious.”
Neville nodded slowly, as if this was new information. Of course, he remembered a decent chunk of it, but he had to keep up appearances. “So… they didn’t catch the hooded person, then?”
Harry shook his head, then leaned in and spoke in a low voice. “Nah, he fled when Firenze showed up, but Firenze reckoned it was… well… Voldemort.”
Ron flinched. “Mate, don’t say his name.”
Hermione pursed her lips. “Ron, don’t be silly—Voldemort’s just a name.”
Ron shot her a quick glare. “Yeah, but I don’t fancy hearing it any more than I have to.”
Neville feigned confusion, though he was quite aware of the situation. “So you lot think it was… Voldemort?” he asked in a low voice.
Harry nodded, a grim look settling on his face. “Firenze told me that unicorn’s blood can keep someone alive, even if they’re half-dead. He said it’s a cursed life, but if you only need a bit more time to get something else—the Stone—it can give you eternal life.”
Neville watched Harry, seeing the anger and worry flicker in his eyes. He decided to keep quiet about Quirrell in front of the others for now. After all, Dumbledore had just tried to wipe that revelation away. And from the look in Harry’s eyes, Harry already had his own suspicions—mostly aimed at Snape, no doubt. Let him hold onto that, Neville thought. No sense in fighting Dumbledore’s grand scheme just yet.
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.”
Comments
Alex Moon
Honestly, he should've just gone to the Hogsmeade in secret, flooed to Saint Mungo's, and gotten a checkup. Said, "I don't know what I was hit with. All I recall was feeling excruciating pain throughout my body that I wished would stop before passing out. All I remember telling them was that Professor Quirrell had hit me with it. All I was told was that I was hit with a dark curse. I asked multiple times to tell me what I was hit with, but that's all they said. It was like they couldn't tell me for some odd reason not like they didn't want to but just couldn't. It made even less sense that Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and I were sent into the forbidden forest for detention. It didn't even make sense why we'd go in there if something had recently started attacking unicorns, of all things. It had been an entire month after getting caught outside the common room late at night. I get punishment had to be dealt, but this is way too sketchy for my taste." Ambiguous, but leading enough to say that a confundus was cast, they'd find the torture curse with a diagnosis, would implicate Hogwarts in some serious s***. Dumbledore's reputation and credibility take a hit. It would probably get Hagrid, McGonagall, and Filch fired as becoming the fall guy.
Orion Chung
He’s needs to be careful when dealing with Dumbledore
