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Hogwarts: Neville’s Insert Chapter 27
🕑 Added 2024-12-27 07:13:13 +0000 UTCHogwarts: Neville’s Insert Chapter 27
Neville snorted. “Must be a record,” he said dryly. “Good thing Hermione wasn’t caught with us. That would’ve made it one hundred and fifty.”
Harry managed a weak chuckle but didn’t say anything.
When they climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, Hermione was waiting for them. The moment she saw Neville, she flung herself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Neville!” she cried, her voice thick with emotion. “I should’ve been caught with you. I’m so sorry—I should’ve been there.”
Neville gently patted her shoulder, prying her off him. “If you’d been caught, we’d have lost even more points,” he said with a faint grin. “As it is, we’ve already lost one hundred. No need to make it worse.”
Hermione’s face crumpled slightly, but she nodded, sniffling.
Neville turned to Harry with a sarcastic smile. “Get ready, mate. We’re about to be ostracized by the rest of Gryffindor.” He wiped an imaginary tear from his cheek and added dryly, “Ah, the wonders of peer pressure.”
Harry groaned again, collapsing into an armchair by the fire. “Tomorrow’s going to be awful.”
….
Neville stood in the middle of an almost empty classroom, his wand clutched tightly in his right hand. He was winded, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Beads of sweat trickled down his temple, but he paid them no mind.
“Diffindo!” he shouted, slashing his wand toward a chair in front of him. The spell cut through it cleanly. Without pausing, he rolled to his right, springing up quickly. “Glacius!” he cast at another target, freezing a desk solid. He spun on his heels, spotting another imaginary foe, and with a sharp flick of his wand, yelled, “Expelliarmus!” Then, with a leap to his left, he rolled to the ground, coming to a stop in a crouch. “Petrificus Totalus!” The spell shot toward the final target, locking the imagined enemy in place.
Neville straightened, panting heavily. Around him lay the aftermath of his practice: chairs and desks in various states of destruction. One was sliced neatly in half, another encased in ice, and a few were toppled over, bearing the marks of his improvised training session.
“I really need some moving targets to practice with,” Neville muttered to himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He dropped to the floor, sitting cross-legged to catch his breath. The stillness of the abandoned classroom seemed to press in around him as he gathered his thoughts.
Neville had been practicing rapid spellcasting, chaining one spell to another while adding imaginary dodges to simulate battle conditions. It was the closest he could get to preparing for a real fight. He wished he could use the Room of Requirement, but with Voldemort’s presence at Hogwarts, it was far too risky. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself. So, he made do with what he had—this forgotten classroom, filled with old chairs and desks that no one would miss.
Pulling himself to his feet, Neville pointed his wand at one of the broken chairs. “Reparo,” he said, and the scattered wood pieces flew together, mending seamlessly until the chair looked as good as new. He moved around the room, casting the charm repeatedly. Each ruined desk and chair returned to its former state under the soft glow of his magic.
Satisfied with the results, Neville checked his watch. His stomach sank as he saw the time. “4:40,” he muttered. “Shit, I’m late.” Shoving his wand into his pocket, he grabbed his bag from one of the tables and slung it over his shoulder. Without another glance at the room, he bolted out the door, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.
As he made his way to the Gryffindor common room, Neville’s thoughts drifted. It had been a month since they’d been caught out after curfew. For the first few days, nothing much had happened. But it hadn’t taken long for rumors to spread like wildfire. The whispers, the glares, and the pointed comments had made it clear that the fallout was far from over.
At first, Gryffindors passing the giant hourglasses that recorded the house points thought there’d been a mistake. How could they possibly be a hundred points down from the day before? Whispers broke out among the students, confusion quickly turned to outrage.
It didn’t take long for the story to spread like wildfire: Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter, their hero of two Quidditch matches, had cost them all those points—him and another first-year boy. The two of them had become the most hated students in Gryffindor almost overnight. The anger wasn’t limited to their own house, either. Even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had turned on them, furious that Gryffindor’s chances of unseating Slytherin in the House Cup had been dashed.
The first few days after the rumors started were awful. Wherever Harry and Neville went, they were met with glares, whispers, and open insults. Nobody bothered to lower their voices as they hurled comments like:
“Great going, Potter!”
“Longbottom, you’re a bloody disgrace to Gryffindor!”
“Maybe they should just kick you both out.”
The Slytherins, of course, were having the time of their lives. They jeered and cheered whenever Harry or Neville passed by, often whistling sarcastically and calling out, “Thanks, Potter, we owe you one!” or “Good job, Longbottom—don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”
Unlike when the rumors about the troll incident had circulated, Neville bore the brunt of Gryffindor’s anger. Harry still had a loyal circle of supporters—Ron, Hermione, and a few others who admired his reputation as the Boy Who Lived. But Neville didn’t have that luxury. For him, the isolation was absolute.
When he was alone, things got worse. He’d been cornered more than once by angry Gryffindors looking to vent their frustrations. One time, someone hit him square in the face with a pie, the custard blinding him as he stumbled down a few stairs. Fortunately, he’d only been on the fourth step and escaped with nothing more than bruised dignity.
During one of their study sessions in the corner of the Gryffindor common room, Ron tried his best to lift Harry’s spirits. “They’ll all forget this in a few weeks,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Fred and George have lost loads of points in their time, and people still like them.”
Harry sat slumped over his parchment, a deep frown creasing his face. “They’ve never lost a hundred and fifty points in one go, though, have they?” he replied miserably.
“Well—no,” Ron admitted after a moment’s hesitation.
Sitting nearby, Neville didn’t bother joining the conversation. He kept his head down, focused on his notes. What was the point of chiming in? No matter how much they talked about it, nothing would change the way their housemates looked at them now.
Nearby, Neville sat quietly, scribbling in his notebook. He didn’t bother to join the conversation. What was the point? The damage had already been done, and words wouldn’t change how the rest of the house felt about them.
For Harry, the shame of it all was unbearable. He was so ashamed of himself that earlier that week,
Neville had rolled his eyes when Harry recounted the incident. ‘Harry and his resolutions,’ Neville thought with a sigh. Harry had sworn not to meddle in anything that didn’t concern him, but Neville knew better. ‘It’s only a matter of time before he’s back to sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.’
harry gone to Oliver Wood and offered to resign from the Quidditch team. He’d hoped it might ease some of the resentment from his teammates, but Neville had warned him it wouldn’t go as planned.
As usual, Neville had been right.
“Resign?” Wood had thundered, his voice echoing through the empty corridor. “What good’ll that do? How are we supposed to get any points back if we can’t win at Quidditch?” Wood’s frustration had been palpable, and Harry had left the meeting red-faced and defeated.
In fact, the entire Gryffindor house had stopped talking to them. Even the first years—Seamus, Dean, Parvati, and Lavender—had quietly distanced themselves from Neville and Harry. There were no outright confrontations or insults, just a cold, deliberate silence that felt even worse. They acted as though the two boys didn’t exist, and it was suffocating.
The only ones who still spoke to them were Ron and Hermione. Neville was actually glad he’d thought to drape the Invisibility Cloak over Hermione that night, shielding her from being caught. If she had been, she’d be suffering the same ostracization, and Neville didn’t think she would have coped with it as well as they had. Even so, the ordeal had changed her. Hermione no longer raised her hand in class or challenged the professors. She kept her head down, quietly doing her work and drawing as little attention to herself as possible. It was a stark contrast to the confident, eager Hermione he’d first met.
Even Professor McGonagall was sharper with them. She wasn’t outright cruel, but her patience had clearly worn thin. Her tone was curt, her reprimands harsher than usual, and she seemed to hold Harry and Neville to a stricter standard than the rest of the class.
Neville, however, didn’t care whether the other students spoke to him or not. The cold shoulders and glares didn’t bother him as much as the sheer stupidity of the situation. All this fuss over the bloody House Cup? The winning house got nothing tangible—just some decorations in the Great Hall for a few days. In Neville’s opinion, the entire house system was idiotic. Sure, it encouraged competition, but it also bred animosity between the houses, creating divisions that Voldemort had exploited to build his army. Cooperation would make Hogwarts stronger, but instead, they clung to this outdated system that only encouraged rivalries.
Reaching the Fat Lady’s portrait, Neville muttered the password and stepped into the Gryffindor common room. As soon as he entered, several students turned to glare at him. He met their gazes briefly before turning away, ignoring them entirely. Their judgmental looks didn’t faze him anymore.
He made his way to the far corner of the room, where Ron and Hermione were sitting with their books spread out before them. Both were engrossed in their work.
Neville dropped his bag onto the floor and slid into the chair beside Hermione. “I see you two started without me, huh?” he said, his tone light as he pulled his Astronomy book from his bag.
Hermione looked up from her notes, her brows furrowed in annoyance. “You’re late,” she said sharply. “We agreed to meet here at five. Where have you been?”
Neville smiled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, sorry about that. I, uh, lost track of time practicing spells,” he admitted, flipping open his book to the chapter they were revising.
Hermione sighed, clearly still annoyed but choosing not to press the matter. She turned back to her parchment, her quill scratching away as she resumed her work. Final exams were only a week away, and the pressure was palpable.
Just as they settled into studying, Harry burst into the common room, looking winded. He made his way over and plopped down in the seat beside Ron, brushing his messy hair out of his eyes.
“What took you so long, mate?” Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.
Harry leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I was walking back from the library,” he began, glancing around to ensure no one was eavesdropping. “I heard someone whimpering in a classroom up ahead. As I got closer, I realized it was Quirrell’s voice. He was saying, ‘No—no—not again, please—’ like someone was threatening him.”
Ron and Hermione exchanged startled looks, but Harry continued. “I crept closer and heard him sob, ‘All right—all right—’ Then Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom, straightening his turban. He looked pale—like he’d been crying—and didn’t even notice me standing there. As soon as his footsteps faded, I looked into the room. It was empty, but there was a door at the other end, slightly open.”
Harry hesitated for a moment, then admitted, “I was halfway toward it before I remembered my promise not to meddle anymore. But…” He paused, his expression darkening. “I’d bet twelve Sorcerer’s Stones that Snape had just left the room. Quirrell looked like he’d finally caved.”
Neville, who had been flipping through his Astronomy book, rolled his eyes at Harry’s dramatic retelling. Quirrell’s probably crying because Voldemort tortured him for failing to get the Stone, Neville thought dryly. He didn’t bother voicing his opinion, knowing Harry wouldn’t listen.
“Snape’s done it, then!” Ron exclaimed, his voice loud enough that Neville winced and glanced toward the rest of the common room. “If Quirrell’s told him how to break his Anti-Dark Force spell—”
“There’s still Fluffy, though,” Hermione interjected, her tone thoughtful.
“Maybe Snape’s figured out how to get past Fluffy without asking Hagrid,” Ron suggested. His eyes lit up with a familiar spark of excitement. “I bet there’s a book somewhere in here about how to get past a giant three-headed dog. So what do we do, Harry?”
Before Harry could answer, Hermione cut in firmly. “Go to Dumbledore. That’s what we should have done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves, we’ll be expelled for sure.”
"But we’ve got no proof!" said Harry, frustration evident in his voice. "Quirrell’s too scared to back us up. Snape’s only got to say he doesn’t know how the troll got in on Halloween and that he was nowhere near the third floor—who do you think they’ll believe? Him or us? It’s no secret we hate him. Dumbledore’ll just think we made it up to get him sacked. Filch wouldn’t help us if his life depended on it—he’s too friendly with Snape. The more students that get thrown out, the better, as far as he’s concerned. And don’t forget, we’re not even supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy. That’ll take a lot of explaining.”
Neville didn’t look up from his work, flipping a page in his Astronomy book as he spoke. “Even if we had proof, it’d be a waste of time. I’m telling you, the Stone must be a fake. There’s no way it’s actually here in Hogwarts. Only an idiot would place something that important in a school full of children. We’re wasting our time thinking about that stupid Stone.”
Hermione glanced between Neville and Harry, clearly considering Neville’s point, but Ron frowned, unconvinced. “If we just do a bit of poking around—”
“No,” Harry said firmly, cutting Ron off. “We’ve done enough poking around.” He pulled a map of Jupiter toward him and focused on learning the names of its moons, clearly done with the conversation.
….
The following morning, Neville, Hermione, Harry, and Ron sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table, away from the rest of their housemates. It had become their norm—no one wanted to sit near them, and they preferred the quiet anyway.
Neville took a bite of his bacon sandwich, glancing up occasionally as he listened to the soft rustle of Hermione flipping through the Daily Prophet beside him. As usual, she was eating toast with one hand while scanning the paper with the other. Across the table, Harry and Ron picked at their breakfasts, speaking in low voices.
Just then, two folded paper planes glided through the air toward them, landing neatly in front of Neville and Harry. The planes unfolded themselves, revealing identical notes written in Professor McGonagall’s neat handwriting.
Neville picked up the note, scanning the contents:
Your detention will take place at eleven o’clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the Entrance Hall.
Signed, Professor McGonagall.
He glanced up at Harry, who was already looking at him, holding his own note. Wordlessly, Neville raised his parchment. “You got the same?” he asked.
Harry nodded, his expression one of resignation.
Neville shrugged, setting the note back on the table. “Well, I was wondering when it might be,” he said casually before taking another bite of his sandwich. it had been over a month and they still havent been assigned thier detention yet neville thought. As he chewed, Neville couldn’t help but think, ‘Dumbledore was probably waiting for Quirrell to go after the unicorns. It made sense in a way.’
Hermione leaned over and plucked the note from Neville’s hands, reading it quickly. “Detention at eleven o’clock at night? That seems late, even for Filch,” she said, her tone tinged with concern.
Neville shrugged again, unbothered. “Filch probably thinks it’ll scare us more if it’s dark,” he replied, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Can’t imagine it’ll be anything good, though.”
Hermione’s frown deepened as she passed the note back to Neville. “Well, you’ll need to be careful,” she said, her tone serious. “Filch is bound to make it as awful as possible.”
“Not like we have a choice,” Harry muttered, folding his note back into a square and stuffing it into his pocket.
