Hogwarts: Neville's Insert Chapter 57
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 me ssages 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."
…
Wednesday, December 17th– Great Hall, after dinner, 8pm
The long house tables had vanished, except for one right in the middle of the hall. It was much wider than usual, draped in a deep blue cloth. On closer look, the cloth wasn't just a normal table cover—it had the moon phases embroidered across it, shifting from new moon to full and back again.
Most of the school had gathered around it, buzzing with excitement, wands clutched in eager hands.
Neville stood off to the right side of the hall, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, looking properly annoyed.
"Do we really have to be here, Hermione?" he muttered, glancing to his right where Hermione stood practically bouncing on her feet.
She didn't even look at him, just waved him off. "Oh, come off it, Nev! We could learn loads from this. We've only ever read about duelling in books—this could give us actual visual instructions."
Harry, standing next to Neville, nodded. "She's right, Nev. Could be useful."
Ron, further along the group, shot Neville a look. "No one's forcing you to stay here, mate."
Neville rolled his eyes and didn't bother replying. 'Wouldn't be here if I had a choice…'
"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" Hermione said out loud, her tone hopeful.
"Yeah," Ron added. "Someone told me Flitwick was a duelling champion when he was younger. Maybe it'll be him."
Neville snorted. "It'd be brilliant if it were Flitwick—but I doubt it. And honestly, we might be better off practising on our own if I'm right about who's leading this so-called club."
Hermione turned to him, curious. "Huh? Who?"
Neville gave her a flat look. "Who else? The prancing peacock himself."
Harry chuckled. "Yeah… if it's him, we might as well leave now. Doubt we'll learn anything useful."
"Oh, come on," Hermione protested. "I'll admit Professor Lockhart isn't the best teacher—"
Neville and Harry both gave her identical looks.
"Alright, alright! He's absolutely rubbish at teaching, but duelling might be different! He did do all those things he wrote about in his books, didn't he?"
Ron groaned. "Oh, come off it, Hermione. The only thing he's good at is bragging about his Witch Weekly awards."
Neville sighed and shook his head. "Hermione, Hermione, Hermione..." he said, in a mock-dramatic voice, patting her gently on the head. "You've still got a lot to learn about the real world. You're too naïve."
Hermione swatted his hand away and glared at him.
Ron added, "I bet half the stuff in his books is nicked from someone else."
Neville stifled a chuckle. 'Oh Ron, you don't even know how right you are.'
"Hello," came Luna's soft voice as she drifted over to them. "Do you mind if I join you?"
Hermione smiled and shook her head. "You're welcome to join us, Luna."
Luna gave a pleased little hum and leaned against the wall beside Hermione. She looked around at the group and asked, "Are you all excited about the Duelling Club too?"
Hermione gave a half-sigh. "Well, some of us are," she said, giving Neville a pointed look.
Neville rolled his eyes. "Luna, maybe you can knock some sense into Hermione. She still thinks Lockhart is actually good at something."
Luna tilted her head, considering. "Well… I do think he's good at storytelling."
Neville, Harry, and even Ron had to smother their laughter.
"Did you hear that, Hermione?" Harry wheezed. "Lockhart's true gift revealed at last!"
Hermione shot all three of them a glare. "Honestly—"
"I quite like his reenactments in class," Luna continued dreamily, ignoring the tension. "Although… the pirate eye-patch was upside-down last Thursday."
Neville and Harry lost it, bursting into full-on laughter. Ron thumped the wall to stop himself from choking.
Hermione folded her arms tightly. "Finished?"
"Not entirely," Luna said in a whisper, leaning forward like she was sharing a secret. "I also think he's hiding something. I'm fairly certain he's part of the Mirror-Quill Cartel."
Four blank stares met her gaze.
Luna nodded, looking dead serious. "Oh yes. They breed tiny beetles with mirrored shells. The beetles record other people's heroic deeds and then project the reflections onto their owner, so everyone thinks the owner did them. Very useful if you've never actually fought a banshee."
Ron's mouth opened, then closed. "Er… beetles?"
"Mirror-Quills," Luna corrected brightly. "And he feeds them essays—ink keeps their reflections shiny."
Neville blinked, then murmured, 'Huh… does she know Lockhart stole those stories? That's way too close to the truth to be a coincidence.'
Hermione opened her mouth, looked uncertain, then shut it again.
Neville snapped his fingers. "See, Hermione? Even Luna reckons there's something dodgy about Lockhart. And she's the most optimistic person in the castle."
Before Hermione could reply, the huge doors of the Great Hall swung open with dramatic flair.
In strode Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing—of all things—a cape. The fabric shimmered like it had been woven from peacock feathers and bad decisions.
Neville, Harry, and Ron all groaned in unison.
"Oh, brilliant," Ron muttered.
Lockhart strutted up to the front, hopping onto the wide table like he was walking a red carpet. He spread his arms theatrically. "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!"
Neville grumbled under his breath. 'He always talks like he's narrating his own book.'
"Now," Lockhart said, pacing to the centre of the stage, "Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Duelling Club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves—as I myself have done on countless occasions!" He gave a dazzling smile. "For full details, see my published works."
He gestured grandly. "Let me introduce my assistant—Professor Snape!"
Neville let out another groan the moment the name left Lockhart's lips. "Oh, no…"
Thwack! Hermione smacked him lightly on the arm, glaring at him.
"ow!" Neville winced and gave her a look. She raised her eyebrows in warning but said nothing.
Snape walked up onto the table with all the enthusiasm of someone being forced to attend a children's party. His expression said he'd rather be anywhere else.
Lockhart beamed. "Professor Snape… has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry—you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"
"Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron muttered out the corner of his mouth, earning quiet sniggers from Harry and Neville.
At the front, Snape and Lockhart raised their wands, stepping into position for a wand salute.
Neville glanced at Hermione and said, "Well, I'm leaving. Not gonna waste my time with them. Doubt we'll learn anything."
He pushed himself off the wall and started walking toward the doors, brushing past a few curious students in the crowd.
"—Neville!" Hermione hissed, hurrying after him.
Harry and Luna exchanged looks, then followed too.
Seeing Harry walking away with Neville, Ron called out, "Oi! Harry! Where are you going?"
They'd just reached the far end of the table when Lockhart suddenly flew backwards off the stage, slammed into the stone wall with a loud thud, then slumped to the floor in a heap. A cheer went up from the Slytherins—Malfoy laughed loudest.
Hermione jumped in surprise. "Do you think he's all right?"
Neville gave her a look that clearly said 'Seriously?'
Lockhart, wobbling, got unsteadily to his feet and staggered back up onto the platform. "Well, there you have it!" he said, forcing a smile. "That was a Disarming Charm—note how I've lost my wand—ah, thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape. Though if I might say… it was very obvious what you were about to do. Had I wanted to stop you, I'd have done it easily. But I thought it'd be instructive to let them see—"
Neville sighed and kept walking.
He was just about to reach the door when Snape's voice cut across the hall like a whip. "Longbottom, where are you going?"
Neville froze mid-step. 'Of course he'd notice me… bloody typical.' He turned around slowly, feeling everyone's eyes on him.
Snape sneered, lips curling. "Since Mister Longbottom believes he's above the lesson, perhaps he'd care to teach it. Flint!" he barked. "Front and centre."
Hermione looked alarmed. "But Professor, that isn't fair—Marcus Flint's a seventh year!"
Lockhart gave a wobbly nod. "She's right, Professor Snape. Perhaps someone a bit closer to Mister Longbottom's age?"
Snape shot Lockhart a glare that could've frozen fire.
"I am well aware of that," he said coldly. "Longbottom insists on operating well beyond his year group. A little humility will do him good."
Then, turning sharply to Neville, Snape snapped again, "We don't have all day, Longbottom."
With a dramatic swish of his cloak, he turned and walked back over to where Flint was waiting.
Neville let out a sigh and started pulling off his outer robes and bag. "Let's just get this over with," he muttered, handing them to Luna. "Mind holding on to this for me, Luna?"
Luna nodded calmly, already cradling his bag like it was made of feathers.
Hermione, standing beside him now, looked tense. "Neville, you can't do this. We should just leave—he's doing this on purpose!"
"I'll be fine, Hermione. Don't worry," Neville said, giving her a calm, reassuring look.
He reached into his front shirt pocket and gently pulled out Lumina. "Mind holding onto Lumina for me?" he asked, looking at Hermione.
Hermione bit her lip, clearly torn, but nodded. "Okay… just be careful," she murmured, taking Lumina carefully into her hands.
Lumina gave a cheerful chirp, flapping her tiny wings once as if wishing him luck.
Harry gave him a nod. "Good luck, mate."
Luna smiled serenely. "Good luck, Neville."
Neville walked up the stage calmly, rolling up his sleeves as he did. His arms, now lean and well-toned after months of steady training, caught a few surprised looks from the crowd.
He drew his wand, letting it rest loosely between his fingers as he stood in a relaxed, almost lazy posture.
"Bow," Snape ordered coldly.
Neville shook his head. "I'm not doing that." Looks daft, all that pointless wand-waving and bowing…
"Arrogant," Snape sneered, then leaned in close to Flint and whispered something in his ear before stepping off the stage.
Lockhart followed, clearly not eager to be caught in the crossfire.
"Begin!" Snape barked.
Flint wasted no time. "Expelliarmus!"
Neville side-stepped easily, the spell flashing past him.
"Stupefy! Impedimenta!" Flint growled, flinging spell after spell. Charms fired rapid and sharp.
Neville moved with purpose, dodging, weaving, blocking with quick casts of Protego, and even firing a few spells back to cancel Flint's out mid-air—wandlight flashing and colliding in brief sparks.
Then with perfect timing, Neville flicked his wand and shouted, "Locomotor Mortis!"
Flint's legs snapped together instantly. He keeled over with a thud, hitting the floor like a sack of bricks.
Laughter broke out across the hall—Gryffindors cheering the loudest, and a few Ravenclaws chuckling along.
Flint growled, wand jerking as he hissed, "Finite!" The Leg-Locker Curse vanished, and he scrambled to his feet and instantly started firing spells again, his face twisted in fury.
"STAND STILL!" he roared. He jabbed his wand forward with all his strength. "Confringo!" The curse shot through the air like a blazing rocket, full force and far too fast.
Neville's eyes widened. 'That'll hurt if it hits me—bloody hell!' He flicked his wand up and cast, "Protego!"
Neville's shield flared just in time, but Flint's Confringo smashed through it with a loud crack. The shield shattered, but it held just long enough for Neville to twist his body to the side. The spell whizzed past—just barely—but still caught the edge of his left arm, scorching it as it went.
Neville hissed, pain flaring. His eyes narrowed.
He gritted his teeth, pulled his wand back, gave it a tight twirl, and flung it forward an overpowered. "Stupefy!"
The spell burst from his wand. Flint tried to throw up a shield—"Protego!"—but the red jet of light slammed into it, shattering it like glass.
The Stupefy struck Flint square in the chest and launched him backwards. He flew across the stage like a ragdoll, hit the wall with a thud, and crumpled to the floor in a heap.
The crowd erupted—Gryffindors whooping, a few Ravenclaws clapping, and even cheers from the Hufflepuff.
Neville lowered his wand, breathing hard. He looked down and raised his left arm—the skin was torn slightly and was bleeding.
Snape stormed over to Flint's crumpled form, wand out. He cast a diagnostic spell with a flick, then gave a curt wave. "Enervate."
Flint stirred and groaned. Snape shot him a glare before turning and marching back to the platform.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor for excessive force," he announced coldly, voice sharp and biting.
Neville shook his head, muttering, "Yeah, right," as he walked off the stage toward Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Luna.
Lockhart bustled forward, clapping far too loudly. "Splendid display of—er—raw talent!" he said with a bright smile. "Fifty points to Gryffindor for excellent wandwork!"
He immediately launched into a dramatic breakdown of both duelists' moves—what they did right, what they could've done better—though nobody seemed to be listening.
As Neville reached the group, Harry grinned. "You did great, mate."
Ron nodded eagerly. "Yeah, you should've seen the faces of those slimy Slytherins—brilliant!"
"You were really good out there," Luna added with a smile, holding out his robe and bag.
Lumina gave a joyful chirp from Hermione's hands, clearly proud.
Hermione, though, was focused on Neville's arm. "You're hurt," she said softly.
"I'm fine," he whispered back, glancing at the cut and slight burn along his arm. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small packet of wet tissues, tearing one free.
Just then, Lockhart's voice rang out again. "Perhaps another pair? Mr Finch-Fletchley and Mr Finnegan?"
"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," Snape said coldly, stepping forward. "Finnegan has a tendency to make things explode—even with the simplest of spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley to the hospital wing in a matchbox." He paused, then added with a twisted smile, "How about Malfoy and Potter?"
"Excellent idea!" Lockhart beamed, gesturing dramatically. "Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter—on stage, if you please!"
Harry blinked, surprised to be called, but a little excited too. He quickly made his way toward the duelling platform.
As Harry passed, Neville said absentmindedly, "Good luck, mate."
Ron nodded. "Yeah—teach Malfoy a lesson."
Neville gritted his teeth as he wiped at the wound on his arm. The tissue, soaked in a pale green solution, hissed softly against the injury—and the skin beneath began to heal rapidly.
Hermione's eyes widened. "Wait—how did you do that?"
Neville nodded toward the tissue. "It's soaked in Dittany. Thought it'd be easier to use, you know?"
Hermione smiled. "That's brilliant, Neville."
Luna nodded beside her in agreement, humming softly.
After tending to the wound, Neville returned the packet to his bag, then gently took back his belongings from Luna. He reached out for Lumina, who Hermione had been holding, and tucked her back into the safety of his enchanted pocket.
Just as he zipped the pocket shut, the hall erupted in gasps.
They turned just in time to catch Harry dodging Malfoy's spells and sending him flying across the stage with a Knockback Jinx. Malfoy landed hard with a groan.
Snape walked over, yanked Malfoy up by the arm, and shoved him back into place.
Malfoy snarled, flicked his wand, and shouted, "Serpensortia!"
A snake burst onto the stage with a hiss and coiled, ready to strike.
"Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily as he stepped forward. "I'll get rid of it..."
"Allow me!" Lockhart shouted, puffing out his chest.
Neville groaned softly.
Hermione turned to him, concerned. "What's wrong?"
Neville sighed. "It's nothing, Hermione."
With a dramatic flick of his wand, Lockhart tried to banish the snake. Instead, it was blasted ten feet into the air and landed with a loud smack, even more enraged.
It slithered straight toward Dean Thomas, raised itself, and bared its fangs, ready to strike.
Then—Harry hissed. Loudly.
The entire hall fell dead silent as Harry stepped forward and began speaking to the snake in a strange, hissing tongue.
Neville facepalmed. "Of course..." he muttered. 'Just had to go and speak snake, didn't he?'
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