Hogwarts: Neville's Insert Chapter 56
"Yeah," Neville said. "Ron's got a habit of blurting things out. He might've gone straight to Dumbledore. And while I think Dumbledore probably already knows what the monster is, if word got out that we know… the Heir might target us next. For now, we need to stay quiet and focus on figuring out who the Heir is—and where the Chamber entrance might be."
Hermione nodded. "Okay… but how are we going to do that?"
Neville leaned forward slightly. "Old newspapers. The Chamber must have been opened before—and I think it has, because how else would people know so much about it we need to lock into old papaer and see if there has been any death or petrifcation at hogwarts before."
Neville leaned forward slightly, his voice low and serious. "Old newspapers. The Chamber must've been opened before—I'm sure of it. How else would people know so much about it? We need to look through old papers, see if there were any deaths or petrifications at Hogwarts in the past. That's our best chance of finding out who opened it last time… and maybe even where the entrance is."
He needed to find an old newspaper article about Myrtle Warren's death. If he could show them that she died the last time the Chamber was opened, it would give him a believable reason for how he figured out where the entrance might be.
…
Sunday, November 8th – Second-Year Gryffindor Boys' Dormitory, 7:00 AM
Sunlight streamed through the high windows of the second-year Gryffind b the oys' dorm, casting warm beams across the wooden floor. The room was still, filled only with the soft breathing of sleeping boys and the occasional rustle of bedcovers.
Neville was fast asleep, lying on his belly with his face turned to the side, snoring gently into his pillow. It was Sunday—his rest day—and he fully intended to sleep in.
On the bedside table, nestled inside the small cage Neville had transfigured and lined with warming charms, Lumina stirred. She yawned, her beak parting slightly as she stretched, curling deeper into the cushion beneath her. But her peace was short-lived—her stomach gave a loud, impatient grumble.
Her eyes blinked open.
She looked over and spotted Neville still sleeping.
With no hesitation, she chirped—once, then again, louder.
Neville's eyelids fluttered as the noise reached him. He rolled over onto his back, groaning softly.
From the next bed over, Seamus grumbled, voice muffled by his pillow, "Mate, shut that bird up… it's too early for this."
"Right, right… I'm up," Neville mumbled, answering both Seamus and Lumina. He sat up slowly, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Lumina chirped again, louder this time, clearly demanding: 'Get on with it, I'm hungry.'
Neville glanced at her and sighed. "Alright, alright. Calm down, I'll feed you."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his face. Still yawning, he shuffled to the foot of his bed and picked up his bag. With a thump, it hit the floor as he rummaged through it and pulled out a small wooden box and a pair of tweezers.
He placed the box on the table, flicked the lid open, and reached inside for a wriggling worm.
Lumina was already at the door of her cage, watching him with intense focus.
Neville unlatched the cage and held the worm out. She snapped it up eagerly, chirping with satisfaction.
Over the next few minutes, he fed her a few more until she gave a quiet, contented chirp and tucked her head back into her feathers.
Neville closed the box and stood, stretching. He grabbed the towel draped over his chair, preparing to head down to the showers.
Seamus sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes groggily. "Mate, your bird woke me up."
Neville sighed, glancing over as he packed up Lumina's box. "Sorry about that, mate. You should get some more sleep—she won't chirp again."
Seamus shook his head and yawned. "Doubt I can now. Might as well head down for breakfast." He looked over at the other beds. "How are Ron and Dean still asleep? That was loud."
Neville chuckled and shrugged, grabbing a set of casual clothes. "Not sure about Dean, but Ron? He could sleep through a tornado."
Seamus let out a chuckle, stretching his arms. "You're not wrong."
Neville slung his towel over his shoulder. "Right, I'm off for a shower. See you in a bit."
Seamus gave him a nod as he settled onto the edge of his bed.
A little while later, Neville returned to the dorm, a towel draped over his head as he dried his hair. He was wearing a simple short-sleeved T-shirt and black sweatpants, still rubbing at his damp hair as he stepped inside.
As he entered, Seamus was just leaving. The two exchanged nods as they passed each other.
Ron and Dean were still snoring away, completely undisturbed. Harry's bed, however, was empty—he was still in the hospital wing, recovering after yesterday's Quidditch match against Slytherin. A rogue Bludger had broken his right arm mid-game, and then Lockhart—trying to show off—had made things worse by vanishing all the bones in it while attempting to fix the break. Madam Pomfrey had to give him Skele-Gro and kept him overnight so she could monitor him while the bones regrew.
He pulled the towel off his head and hung it neatly over his chair. Wand in hand, he slipped it into his pocket and slung his bag over his shoulder. With gentle fingers, he lifted Lumina from her cage and nestled her inside the padded pouch he'd added to his bag.
Then made his way down the stairs and into the Gryffindor common room.
The room was quiet, a few upper-year students scattered about, lounging in armchairs or huddled together, whispering about something in hushed tones. Neville raised an eyebrow as he passed, catching fragments of conversation he couldn't quite piece together.
That's when he spotted Hermione, curled up in one of the armchairs near the fire, nose buried in a book—his book, actually, the one he'd lent her a few days ago.
He made his way over.
"Morning, Hermione," he said, offering her a soft smile. "What're you up to?"
Hermione looked up at the sound of his voice, eyes lighting up. She snapped the book shut and stood. "Neville! You're awake. Finally. I was going mad waiting—I was about to go wake you up myself."
Neville raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "What, are you that hungry?"
Hermione blinked. "What? No, it's not that." She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "It happened again. I overheard the prefects talking earlier—the Heir attacked someone late last night."
Neville's eyes widened, his stomach tightening. "Wait—again? Did they… did someone die?"
'No… did someone actually die?' he thought, alarm creeping in.
Hermione quickly shook her head. "No, no—well, I don't know. I just heard the prefects saying someone was attacked by the Heir of Slytherin. They didn't say anything about a death."
Neville looked at her, then exhaled. "Petrified then… that's good then."
'Still time,' he thought. 'If I can just figure out who has the diary before something worse happens…'
"That's good?" Hermione whisper-shouted, looking outraged.
Neville sighed. "I mean, it's good that it was just an attack. If someone had died, they wouldn't be whispering—they'd be panicking. So whoever it was… most likely just petrified."
Hermione hesitated, then nodded slowly. "You're right. But we still need to find out who the Heir is."
Neville nodded. "Do you know who was attacked?"
"No," Hermione said. "But I heard it was a Gryffindor."
Neville ran a hand through his hair. "Let's go see Harry in the hospital wing. We might spot who it was if they've been moved there."
He turned toward the portrait hole without waiting for a reply.
Hermione nodded, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she quickly followed Neville out of the Gryffindor common room.
As they made their way down the stairs, she asked in a quiet voice, "Shouldn't we tell someone, Neville?"
Neville sighed. "Like I said, Hermione, I'm pretty sure Dumbledore already knows."
She bit her lip, hesitating. "What about your gran? She's on the Board of Governors, right? Surely she could do something about all this."
Neville gave a weary shrug. "Do you really think she'd believe us, Hermione? All we've got is guesswork and hunches. No proof."
Neville also didn't want anyone else getting involved, not yet. They had to destroy the Horcrux. His memories were improving thanks to Occlumency. He didn't remember every detail of Harry's years at Hogwarts, but the major events—the key turning points—were clear enough. If the diary fell into the hands of the Aurors or, worse, the Unspeakables, they'd take it away, and Neville would have no way of knowing if it had ever been destroyed. And if that happened, defeating Voldemort would become impossible.
As much as he dreaded it, Neville was beginning to accept that he might have to face the basilisk himself. The real problem was that he still didn't know who the diary Horcrux was possessing—and until he figured that out, there was little he could do.
To make things worse, they hadn't been able to find the old newspaper that covered Myrtle Warren's death at Hogwarts. Neville had hoped to use it as a logical basis to 'discover' the location of the Chamber of Secrets. But the article was gone. Vanished from the archives. He knew Myrtle had died while Dumbledore was still a professor at the school—but he didn't know the exact date.
Neville was almost certain Dumbledore had taken it out of the archive at some point, for reasons he could only guess at.
They walked in silence for a few more minutes before finally reaching the South Wing of the castle.
Neville climbed the narrow staircase that led to the hospital wing, shaking his head. "Honestly, it's completely daft having the hospital wing all the way up here. Should've been on the ground floor—much easier to get to."
Hermione let out a sigh. "Why do you always find flaws in everything?"
Neville gave Hermione a look. "I don't do that—I just point out stupid things that are clearly bad decisions. You've got to admit, Hermione, the hospital wing would be way easier to get to if it were on the ground floor. Think about it—what if you fell down the stairs and broke your leg? Or got hurt near the Black Lake, or during Care of Magical Creatures? You'd have to limp up four bloody flights of stairs just to get patched up."
He let out a small huff as they reached the top step and approached the hospital wing doors.
Inside, they spotted Harry sitting upright on the second-last bed to the right. Madam Pomfrey was hovering beside him, inspecting his arm as she gently bent it and moved it in small circles.
"All in order," she said briskly, clearly satisfied.
Noticing Neville and Hermione approaching, she turned to them. "It seems your friends are here to see you," she told Harry. "I assume you'll want to join them for breakfast in the Great Hall."
Neville grinned and gave a lazy wave. "Hey there, Harry. Good morning, Madam Pomfrey—you're looking lovely today, if I may say."
Hermione gave him a look, then turned to Pomfrey. "Good morning, Madam Pomfrey. Harry. How's his arm?"
"Hey, guys," Harry greeted them, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
Madam Pomfrey gave a curt nod. "Good to see you too, Mr Longbottom, Miss Granger. And yes, Mr. Potter is fine. Bones all regrown. He's free to go."
She narrowed her eyes slightly at Neville. "And I do hope you're not here because you've done something else reckless, Mr Longbottom. I'm still not over what you put me through last year."
Neville gave her a sheepish grin. "Honestly, Madam Pomfrey—you make it sound like I meant to do all that."
She sighed and shook her head. "Once Mister Potter finishes changing, you can all head out. Just don't disturb the other patients."
With that, she turned and bustled off down the ward.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Hermione looked over at Harry. "How are you feeling, Harry?"
Harry rolled his shoulder and grimaced slightly. "Fine now. But I never want to go through that again. Skele-Gro's the worst."
Neville leaned against the bedpost and said casually, "You know, Harry, Skele-Gro was actually invented by one of your ancestors. Twelfth century, if I remember right."
Harry blinked. "Wait, really?"
Hermione turned to Neville, looking surprised. "I didn't know that. How'd you find that out?"
Neville shrugged. "Found it in one of the potions books from the Longbottom library. The same bloke also came up with Pepperup Potion. Actually, your family's got a bit of a reputation when it comes to potion-making. Most of the Potter gold came from potions, especially Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Your grandfather invented it, sold the rights to a company, and made a fortune."
Harry blinked again. "I… had no idea."
Neville smirked. "The more you know."
Then he nudged Harry's pile of clothes. "Now go on, get changed. We need to talk."
Harry said, "Yeah, give me a second, let me get changed."
Neville and Hermione stepped aside and waited near the entrance of the hospital wing while Harry dressed. A few minutes later, he joined them, running a hand through his messy hair.
"Thanks for waiting, guys. Let's go."
Neville stopped them just before they reached the stairs. "Come with me," he said, leading them through a nearby corridor and into the quiet clock tower passage.
Once they were alone, Neville flicked his wand, casting a quick Muffliato. The distant ticking of gears faded, and silence settled in.
"All right," he said, arms folded. "It happened again, didn't it? Who was it this time?"
Harry nodded grimly. "Yeah. It was Colin. McGonagall and Dumbledore brought him in last night. Apparently, Dumbledore found him—he was out getting hot cocoa."
Hermione frowned. "Colin? What was he doing out at night?"
Neville shrugged. "Probably snuck out to see Harry or something."
Harry nodded. "McGonagall thought the same."
"There's something else," Harry added, running a hand through his hair again. "Dobby came to visit me in the middle of the night."
Hermione blinked. "Dobby? That house-elf who took your mail?"
Neville crossed his arms. "What did he want?"
Harry sighed. "Turns out Dobby was the one who tampered with the Bludger. He didn't want me in Hogwarts."
Neville raised an eyebrow. "So... he tried to kill you with a Bludger?"
Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I don't really get his plan either."
He looked at Neville. "But you were right, Neville. The Chamber's been opened before."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Wait—so the Chamber has been opened before?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah. Dobby said it happened before."
Neville asked, leaning against the wall. "Did he say when it was opened?"
Harry shook his head. "No—just that history's repeating itself. Then, later, when Dumbledore brought in Colin, I overheard him telling McGonagall that Hogwarts isn't safe anymore… and that the Chamber really is open."
He looked between them seriously. "If your guess about the monster being a basilisk is right, Neville… we need to find out who the Heir is. Before someone actually dies."
Hermione fidgeted, chewing her lip. "But how? How are we even supposed to figure out who it is?"
Harry sighed. "If only we knew who opened it last time—or what actually happened back then."
Neville stood quietly for a moment, then said, "How did they know the Chamber was open the last time?"
Harry and Hermione looked at him, puzzled.
"Huh…. What d'you mean?" Harry asked.
Neville leaned back slightly, frowning in thought. "But how did Dumbledore or Dobby, for that matter, know the Chamber had been opened before? I mean, it's supposed to be a secret, right? Was it like this time, with messages written on the wall? Or did something else happen back then?"
Harry shook his head. "I don't know."
Neville let out a slow breath. "Maybe we should ask Gran over the winter break. She might know something—she's on the Board of Governors, after all."
With a flick of his wand, he cancelled the Muffliato charm. "Anyway… we should head to the Great Hall. I'm starving."
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