Hogwarts: Neville's Insert Chapter 53
Neville gave her a tired look. "We'll talk in the morning, yeah? You lot look exhausted."
Hermione sighed but nodded. "You better explain properly," she muttered, then turned to Luna and said, "Come on, I'll show you where you'll be sleeping."
Neville and Harry watched the girls disappear up the stairs before turning and heading to their own dormitory.
As they climbed the stairs, Harry gave Neville a sideways glance. "So… you really fell asleep in a classroom?"
Neville nodded. "Yeah. Properly out cold. Only woke up a little while ago."
Harry chuckled. "Mental. So what's that in your hands, then?"
"Oh—this?" Neville held up the small nest. "Found her in the Room of Requirement. Not sure how, but… well, we sort of bonded. Luna named her Lumina."
Harry gave the bird a curious look but shrugged. "Right. Well—good night, mate."
"'Night, Harry."
As Harry collapsed onto his bed, Neville walked over to his own. He frowned, then drew his wand and transfigured one of his spare quills into a simple cage. He gently placed the nest inside, nestling it in carefully.
Lumina chirped sleepily, settling in without fuss.
Neville looked down at himself, "I really need a shower," he muttered.
….
October 31st, 1992 – Gryffindor Common Room, Afternoon
Rain lashed against the windows of Gryffindor Tower, the heavy downpour drumming steadily across the glass. The skies above the Scottish Highlands were dark and stormy, casting a grey gloom over the castle.
Neville sat at one of the tables near the fire, hunched over a thick potions book from the Longbottom family library. His notebook lay open beside it, filled with scribbled notes, half-formed ideas, and the occasional diagram that only made sense to him. He tapped his quill absently against the wood, eyes narrowed in concentration, though his thoughts kept drifting.
Opposite him sat Hermione, just as focused—though her nose was buried in a third-year Charms textbook. She'd borrowed it to get ahead, of course.
Nestled comfortably between them, perched in a little round nest on the table—complete with soft cushions and a warming charm—was Lumina. The blad chick was curled up in a ball. Every now and then, she gave a tiny twitch or chirp in her sleep, but otherwise didn't stir.
It had been a month. A whole month since the Room of Requirement had given him the egg and that strange dagger.
Nothing major had happened since—aside from Hermione grilling him the next day about where he'd vanished off to. She'd been relentless, of course, but eventually gave up when he played it off as falling asleep in a classroom again.
Since then, life at Hogwarts had gone back to… well, as normal as it could be in a castle full of magic.
Except for the part where Neville was still trying to figure out who the diary had possessed.
That part was proving bloody difficult.
He hadn't had much luck at all. No one was acting obviously strange, and there hadn't been a single sign of the Chamber opening again. No attacks. No messages on the wall. Just… silence.
And that was the worst part. Because it meant he had no idea what was going on. He didn't know if the diary was still in the castle. Didn't know if Voldemort was already in control of someone or if the plan had failed altogether.
Well—maybe not completely silent.
When they'd gone to visit Hagrid a couple of weeks back, mostly to ask if he had anything Lumina could eat, he'd mentioned something worrying.
"Summat's been killin' me chickens," Hagrid had said, frowning deeply. "Real nasty too. Leavin' feathers all over the place…"
That was all Neville had needed to hear.
From that moment on, Lumina never left his side. She came with him to class, tucked safely in his enchanted coat pocket, and he only took her out when he knew it was safe—like now, when Hermione was the only one around.
He didn't dare leave her unattended in the dorm. If the possessed student turned out to be a Gryffindor… well, he didn't want to risk waking up to an empty nest.
The only silver lining in the whole mess was that the attacks hadn't started yet. At least not officially.
Which brought them to today.
It was the end of October 31st—All Hallows' Eve. For some reason, everything mad that ever happened at Hogwarts always seemed to start on Halloween. Trolls, cursed broomsticks, giant snakes… all of it kicked off right about now.
Neville let out a weary sigh and set his quill down with a soft clack against the table. He stretched his arms high over his head and yawned long and loud.
"Alright," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes, "I think I'm done for the day. My head's starting to ache."
Hermione looked up from her book, following his gaze to the clock over the fireplace. "I suppose it's about time we stopped," she said with a small stretch of her own. "We've been at it for the better part of the day."
She closed her book with a quiet snap, carefully stacking it beside the others they'd borrowed from the library.
Before either of them could move, a loud chirp! rang out from the table.
Lumina had woken up.
Neville turned toward her just in time to see her blinking up at him with clear purpose.
He frowned, glancing at the clock. "You're hungry again?" he muttered. "I just fed you, like… fifteen minutes ago."
Lumina chirped again, louder this time, beak already open and waiting.
Neville sighed and shook his head. "Alright, alright. No need to shout about it." He reached down and rummaged through his bag. "You don't have to be so demanding, you know," he grumbled under his breath.
He pulled out the familiar small wooden box and a pair of blunt-ended tweezers.
Neville opened the little wooden box, revealing a wriggling pile of worms. He grabbed the blunt-ended tweezers, plucked one out, and held it in front of Lumina.
The little chick opened her beak wide, practically demanding it. Neville fed her, and she snapped it up without hesitation, letting out a happy little trill.
Hermione, after neatly stacking her books, looked up at him with a curious frown.
"You know, Neville," she said, watching Lumina with interest, "I've been wondering… are you really sure she's a chicken? I mean—shouldn't she have grown some feathers by now? Or at least started fluffing out a bit more?"
Lumina tilted her head at Hermione's voice and let out a soft, confused chirp.
Neville paused, another worm dangling from the tweezers. He looked at Hermione, then back at Lumina.
"Uh… I'm not sure, to be honest," he admitted. "Like I said—I found her as an egg. She hatched the moment I touched the egg."
He looked down at her again, brow furrowing.
'Truth is… I've been starting to doubt she's even a hen,' he thought. 'I figured at first the Room gave me a rooster, yeah? To fight the basilisk. That made sense.'
But that idea had gone right out the window the next morning when he realised Lumina was female. He'd gone straight to Hagrid that same day and asked if hens could crow.
Hagrid had just scratched his beard and said, "Aye, sometimes they do. Bit rare, but if there's no rooster about, a hen might start crowin'. Seen it meself."
Lumina squawked loudly, puffing out as she stomped once on the table.
Neville blinked. "Alright, alright—don't get sassy," he said, chuckling as he finally fed her the worm that had been dangling in front of her beak. She gobbled it down, still looking a bit miffed.
While grabbing another, he added, "I really don't know what she is. I even brought her to Hagrid, but he was stumped. Said she might be some sort of crow or raven—or maybe something else entirely."
He fed Lumina again and leaned back slightly. He'd even checked Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, but there's nothing in there that fits. Closest match he found was an Augurey. Would've been cool if she was one, though. But honestly, Neville doubts it. he didn't think the Room of Requirement would give me a death omen to fight a basilisk.
Lumina chirped again, content now that her belly was full.
Hermione watched the scene, a soft smile forming. "Honestly? I'm a bit jealous."
Neville looked up at her. "Huh?"
She gave a small shrug. "All my friends have pets. Harry's got Hedwig, Ron's got Scabbers… now even you have Lumina."
Neville nodded and said, "Well, you're forgetting Trevor. I had him before Lumina, remember?"
Hermione blinked, then clapped her hands. "Wait—that's right! Trevor the toad! He was always running away from you. What happened to him, anyway? I didn't see him even when I stayed over at Longbottom Manor. Did you… lose him?"
Neville shook his head as he picked up another worm and fed it to Lumina, who snapped it up with her usual greedy chirp.
"No, I didn't lose him. I let him go—set him free by the Black Lake earlier this year."
Hermione stared at him. "You left Trevor at the Black Lake?"
"He kept running away, Hermione," Neville said calmly. "I figured it'd be better for him to go back to his habitat. Somewhere natural. He wasn't really happy being carried around in a pocket all the time."
Before she could reply, the portrait hole creaked open—and in walked Harry, soaked from head to toe, dragging his broom behind him and leaving a small puddle on the floor. His robes were clinging to him, and his glasses were fogged.
He made his way over and collapsed onto the couch beside Hermione with a sigh. "Hey guys," he said wearily. "How's it going?"
Neville glanced up from Lumina's box and grinned. "Hey there, mate."
Hermione stared at Harry, horrified. "Harry, you're absolutely drenched! You need to go shower and change—honestly, you'll get sick if you sit around like that."
Harry scratched the back of his head, water dripping off his sleeves. "Yeah, you're right. I'll go in a sec—but first, I've got to tell you something—"
Just then, Ron came strolling in, still in his uniform, and flopped down next to Neville. He blinked at Harry. "Blimey, mate—you look like you swam back from practice. Just get back from Quidditch?"
"Yeah," Harry sighed, rubbing his face. "Wood finally let us leave. He's been proper mad ever since the Slytherins got those new Nimbus Two-Thousands-and-Ones. He even had Fred and George spying on them."
He ran a hand through his soaked hair, which did little to fix the mess.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Can't blame him, honestly. Those snakes have an unfair advantage now with those brooms. And Malfoy's been strutting around like he owns the sky. If they win the Cup, we'll never hear the end of it. I don't even get how it's allowed."
Neville, feeding another worm to Lumina, looked up and said casually, "Huh. I don't see why you're all moaning about it. How's it unfair just 'cause they've got newer brooms?"
Ron gave him an incredulous look. "Because it is! That's not talent—that's just gold buying the win!"
Neville shrugged, still calm. "Didn't seem to bother you last year when Harry got the fastest broom in the world. Didn't that give us an advantage?"
Ron flushed bright red and opened his mouth—then closed it again.
"Th-that—that was—" he spluttered, clearly flailing for an answer.
Hermione covered her mouth, giggling behind her hand.
Harry looked mildly embarrassed. "It was McGonagall's idea, you know," he muttered. Then he sighed and slumped back on the couch, admitting, "Alright, fair point though."
Lumina let out a soft, satisfied chirp and tucked her head under her wing.
Neville looked down at her. "Right, you're full then," he murmured, closing the box of worms and setting it aside.
Ron gave him a baffled look. "I still don't get how you understand that thing."
Neville smirked. "And I still don't know how you sleep with a rat. What's new, Ron?"
Ron scowled. "He's not just a rat—he's a right clever one."
Neville turned to Harry, brushing off his hands. "So, what was it you wanted to tell us?"
Harry perked up as if just remembering. "Right—nearly forgot. We got invited to Nearly Headless Nick's five-hundredth Deathday Party."
Neville blinked. "Wait—Deathday? You mean the day he died?" He looked genuinely puzzled. "Why would anyone celebrate that?"
Harry shrugged. "Don't ask me. I didn't plan it—I just got invited. Nick asked me in person, so… I said yes. Are you lot coming?"
Hermione looked intrigued. "Well, it's definitely something we haven't seen before," she admitted. "I'd be quite curious—though I would hate to miss the feast… Still, it might be rude to turn Nick down. He's always been nice to us."
Neville scratched his head. "If we go, we'll miss the Halloween feast…"
Ron slumped back in his seat. "That's just brilliant," he said flatly. "We're actually going to miss the feast."
Harry glanced at them both. "We can always leave early, you know. Join the feast before it ends. I already told Nick I'd come—he helped me escape Filch today. It's the least I can do."
Neville sighed. "Alright then." he thought, it's probably better to stay close to Harry anyway.
….
They stepped back into the corridor, the heavy dungeon door closing behind them with a dull thud.
No one spoke at first.
Neville walked slightly ahead of the group, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed ahead. The air still smelled faintly of mould and wet stone.
"Well," Ron muttered, face pale, "that was depressing."
"I feel like I've walked through a graveyard," Hermione said quietly.
"That was a graveyard," Neville murmured.
Ron shivered. "We can still catch the end of the feast if we hurry," he added, trying to lighten the mood. "I could really use a treacle tart after all that…"
Harry gave a slow nod. "Yeah, I'm starving."
"Or," Neville said casually, glancing over his shoulder, "we go to the kitchens instead. Could get something decent to eat."
Ron blinked. "The kitchens? What're you on about?"
Harry frowned. "We don't even know where the kitchens are."
Neville smirked. "Correction—you don't know where the kitchens are."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Hang on—you told me you didn't know either. When did you find them?" she asked, sceptical.
It had actually been one of Neville's personal goals this year—finding the kitchens. He was getting tired of bland boiled veg and mushy puddings. If he could find the kitchens, maybe he could convince the elves to cook something a bit less… English.
Neville grinned, a little smug. "Help is always given to those who seek it… at Hogwarts."
Harry and Ron looked at each other, confused.
Hermione crossed her arms. "You asked a house-elf, didn't you? Figured it out that way?"
Neville chuckled and nodded. "Maybe."
He was just opening his mouth to say more when—
"Shh!" Harry hissed suddenly, throwing out a hand to stop them.
They all froze.
Neville's instincts kicked in. He looked around sharply and slipped his wand from his sleeve.
Ron flinched. "What—?"
"It's that voice again," Harry whispered, eyes narrowed. "Shut up a minute—just listen…"
The corridor fell silent, the only sound the faint dripping of water somewhere down the hall.
Then Harry's eyes widened.
"I hear it again," he breathed. "It's saying… it's hungry… it wants to tear… to kill."
Without warning, Harry bolted down the passageway.
"Harry—what're you—?" Hermione started, but Harry cut her off with a sharp, "Shh!"
He paused for a second, eyes closed, listening. Then he snapped them open, face stricken.
"It's going to kill someone!" he shouted—and he was off again.
"Harry!" Hermione shouted, but he was already sprinting ahead, chasing something only he could hear.
Ron cursed and tore after him. Neville grabbed Hermione's elbow and pulled her along. They rounded a corner and caught sight of Harry up ahead, skidding across the corridor floor.
Neville was half a step behind Ron. "Harry, wait!" he shouted—but Harry didn't stop.
As they hit the first-floor corridor, Neville pushed himself harder, finally catching up enough to grab Harry's robe and yank him to a halt.
"Hold on!" Neville snapped. "We're not charging headfirst into some unknown monster that wants to kill, all right?"
Harry jerked free of his grip, eyes blazing. "Someone could be hurt!" he shot back, voice tight with urgency. "What if we can stop it?"
"And get yourself killed?" Neville barked. "We don't even know what we're dealing with yet!"
Ron caught up, puffing hard and wiping sweat off his forehead. "Harry, what was that all about? I couldn't hear anything—"
Before Harry could answer, a noise carried down from above.
A loud clamor—dozens of voices echoing through the stone halls, overlapping and full of confusion.
Hermione's eyes widened. "Do you hear that?"
They all went quiet.
The distant hum of students—talking, shouting, murmuring. Sounded like they were coming from the Great Hall. Probably just finished the feast.
Neville didn't wait. "Come on," he said, jerking his chin and taking the lead. The others followed quickly, rushing up the nearby staircase.
As they reached the top, they were met with the usual crowd—students trickling out of the Great Hall, laughing, chatting, half-full of pumpkin juice and sweets.
Then the mood shifted.
One by one, heads turned. The noise dimmed. Chatter faded into confused whispers. Students were looking toward the second-floor corridor, brows furrowed.
Neville gestured for the others to follow and pushed ahead, cutting through the murmuring crowd.
He turned the corner—and stopped.
A dense group of students had gathered ahead, all pressing toward something on the ground. Some stood frozen, others whispering behind their hands.
Neville moved faster, shouldering past a knot of second-years. Ron, Harry, and Hermione stayed close behind.
Then he saw her.
A girl—third-year, Ravenclaw robes. She was slumped against the cold stone floor, her limbs rigid, mouth frozen open in a silent scream. Her eyes were glassy and wide, completely still.
Hermione gasped and clapped both hands over her mouth.
'Wait… this… this isn't right.' Neville's thoughts raced.' It's not supposed to be a student—it's supposed to be Filch's cat…'He stared at the stiff, wide-eyed girl. 'Not a third-year Ravenclaw…Wait Is she dead?'
a voice shouted, "What's on the wall?"
Heads turned as someone pointed behind the petrified girl. Scrawled in jagged, wet red letters across the stone were the words:
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
Ron's face went pale. "Wh—what the…?"
Hermione, voice trembling, read the message aloud. "Chamber of Secrets…"
From across the corridor, Draco Malfoy stepped out of the crowd, wearing a smug, twisted grin. "Well, well," he drawled. "Looks like the Heir of Slytherin's doing Hogwarts a favour—ridding us of some mudblood rubbish. Let's hope it's thorough."
The corridor erupted. A wave of outrage surged through the bystanders—some hissing insults at Draco, others pulling back in discomfort. Hermione looked visibly confused at the word "mudblood," clearly hearing it for the first time. A few older Gryffindors narrowed their eyes at Draco, fists clenched and jaws tight.
Neville flicked his wand without a word, cast Silencio. Draco's mouth continued to move—but no sound came out. His eyes widened in alarm as he realised he'd been silenced.
Neville quickly moved closer to the girl and knelt beside her, eyes scanning for any signs of life. She wasn't breathing—but her chest was locked in a posture that suggested mid-panic. Her limbs were rigid, her hands slightly raised, fingers curled. Her eyes were wide and glassy, staring off at nothing.
Neville flicked his wand and cast a diagnostic charm, the spell glowing briefly as it passed over her.
"She's alive," he muttered, letting out a sigh of relief.
Neville thought. 'The timeline changed. First, Ginny didn't have the diary… and now this?' He looked at the girl again. 'It was supposed to be Filch's cat. Not a student. Only good thing is… she's not dead.''
At that exact moment, a rush of footsteps and swirling robes signaled the arrival of the teachers. Professor McGonagall was the first to reach them. She pushed her way through the lingering students and knelt beside the girl, her expression grave.
"What happened here?" she asked sharply.
Neville stood and stepped back to give her space. "We don't know, Professor," he said quickly. "We found her like this."
McGonagall said nothing as she checked the girl's condition, wand already moving with precision.
More footsteps followed. Professor Dumbledore entered the corridor, robes trailing behind him. His presence silenced the crowd immediately.
"Everyone clear out," he said calmly, "and return to your common rooms. Filius, I'll leave it to you."
Professor Flitwick nodded. "Yes, Professor." He turned to the students and called out, "You heard him! Back to your houses, all of you—come along!"
Reluctantly, the crowd began to move. The corridor gradually emptied, the hum of voices fading as students filed away.
Neville, Hermione, Ron, and Harry turned to leave as well—but Dumbledore's voice stopped them in their tracks.
"Except you four," he said. "Stay back, please."
The crowd slowly thinned. Within a minute, the corridor was empty save for a handful of professors—and Neville, Hermione, Harry, and Ron.
Dumbledore crouched beside the petrified girl, his wand moving slowly as he cast a series of quiet diagnostic spells. Soft lights pulsed across her body, fading into her robes.
Professor Lockhart hovered nearby, clearly eager to insert himself. "It was definitely a curse that did this," he said dramatically. "Probably the Transmogrifian Torture. I've seen it used dozens of times. So unlucky I wasn't here—I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her…"
Neville snorted before he could stop himself.
Hermione immediately stepped on his foot, hard, trying to silence him. But it was too late.
Snape's cold voice cut through the air. "You think this is a laughing matter, Longbottom?"
Neville shook his head, unfazed. "Not at all, sir. I just found it funny that Professor Lockhart's so sure of what spell killed her—when she isn't actually dead."
Lockhart flushed. "Of course she is de—" He was cut off as Dumbledore spoke, quiet but clear.
"Mr Longbottom is correct," the headmaster said gently. "She's not dead."
McGonagall let out a shaky sigh. "Thank goodness. But what happened to her?"
"She has been Petrified," Dumbledore replied, standing slowly. "But how, I cannot say…"
Lockhart jumped back in, beaming. "Petrified, yes, yes—I suspected as much. I know just the counter-curse that could've stopped it. Shame I wasn't there…"
Snape ignored him completely, his eyes still fixed on Neville. "I think we might have the culprit here, Headmaster."
"No second-year could have done this," Dumbledore said firmly, eyes still on the girl. "It would require Dark Magic of the most advanced sort."
McGonagall's glare snapped toward Snape. "Severus, that's uncalled for. The girl's been Petrified—not hexed or stunned by another student."
But Snape's voice turned slow and silky. " Maybe, " he said. "But might I point out how… remarkably well-versed Mr Longbottom has become of late? Dabbling in spells far beyond the standard second-year curriculum."
His lip curled as he stepped forward. "He recognised the condition instantly. Diagnosed it correctly. Curious, wouldn't you say? Unless he knew what he was looking for."
His eyes shifted briefly to the others. "Interesting that you four weren't at the feast with the rest of the school. Off wandering corridors just as a student is attacked?"
Then he focused in on Neville. "You, Longbottom. Advanced spellwork… forbidden curses… Petrifying a student, perhaps?"
Neville met Snape's gaze and raised an eyebrow, voice dry and sharp. "Professor, you really ought to try writing fiction. Honestly, the stuff you spew is right on par with Professor Lockhart's drivel. Maybe the two of you should collaborate—see who can outdo the other in sheer nonsense."
Harry and Ron immediately covered their mouths, shoulders shaking as they tried to stifle their laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, hissed under her breath and stepped sharply on Neville's foot.
Lockhart sputtered in indignation, his face flushing.
Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. He took a slow, threatening step forward, his face twisted in fury. "How dare you—"
Before the situation could escalate, Professor McGonagall stepped in, her voice sharp and crisp. "That's enough. All of you. Mr Longbottom, mind your tone. And Severus, let's not leap to baseless accusations. We've a Petrified student to worry about—not an inquisition to conduct."
Lockhart cleared his throat loudly, clearly eager to redirect attention. "Yes, yes, quite right—a professional approach. I've had experience with ghastly curses before—Tibet, you know—very dark place. We should—"
Snape silenced him with a single look.
Turning back to the four students, Snape folded his arms. "If you had nothing to do with this, then explain yourselves. Where were you, if not at the feast?"
Neville answered calmly, "To answer your question, we were at Sir Nicholas's Deathday Party. We left early and were on our way to the kitchens to get something to eat when we found her."
Snape raised a brow. "That still doesn't explain how you knew she'd been Petrified. Not dead."
Neville raised his wand without flinching and cast the same diagnostic charm he had used earlier. The gentle pulse of blue light passed over the girl's body. "That's how," he said flatly. "Anything else?"
Snape looked ready to snap again, but Dumbledore's quiet presence loomed behind him. His piercing blue eyes passed over each of them in turn, gentle yet intense. Harry and Hermione both looked down, as if avoiding the weight of it. Ron stood awkwardly still.
"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," Dumbledore said firmly.
Snape's jaw tightened. He looked moments away from exploding.
Dumbledore continued. "Professor Sprout has recently procured Mandrakes. Once they have matured, we'll brew the potion needed to revive Miss Smith."
"I'll do it," Lockhart blurted out quickly. "I've done it dozens of times—Mandrake Restorative Draught is child's play. I could make it in my sleep—"
"Excuse me," said Snape icily, "but I believe I am the Potions Master at this school."
Neville crossed his arms. "Might I suggest," he said carefully, "we consider buying matured Mandrakes from an Apothecary. It'd be pretty daft to let a student stay petrified for months just because we're waiting for a plant to grow."
There was a long, awkward pause. Dumbledore gave him a measured look, then nodded slightly. "Your concern is noted, Mr Longbottom. We will see what can be done."
He glanced at the four students. "You may go," he said gently.
Neville, Hermione, Ron, and Harry didn't need telling twice.
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