Chapter 3: I'll Fight You
His hunch had been right. He could hear the three of them, pitter-pattering down from the dormitories. Even so, Neville kept still in the armchair, trying to work out just what he was going to do or say.
Ever since a troll had forced Harry, Ron and Hermione to reach a truce, the three had been nothing but mischievous. Well, the boys had the real knack for trouble; poor Hermione often got dragged into it when trying to stop them. But even now, she was bewitched into their exploits.
Neville didn't like it one bit.
"Bloody hell!" he heard Ron hiss. "Trevor! Get out of here; you shouldn't be down here!"
Neville swiveled the armchair around, on which Trevor was perched on the armrest. "Neither should you!"
Ron threw up his hands, frustrated at watching their perfectly little scheme go down the drain. Harry, being of a more diplomatic mind, tried to talk Neville down. "Neville, we're just going out. We'll be right back..."
"No! I won't let you! You'll get Gryffindor in trouble again!" His voice was raised enough to wake up the whole Common Room, but Neville didn't care. And even though he now realized he didn't have his wand - had left it beside his four-poster - he raised his fists. "I'll fight you!"
Hermione stepped forward, looking genuinely regretful. "Neville, I'm really, really sorry about this. Petrificus Totalus!"
Neville went as cold and as stiff as a board before keeling over backwards. Through his frozen eyes, he watched as Harry and Ron shuffled awkwardly around him.
And as Hermione Granger stepped over his prone form, Neville realized that she was the most beautiful witch he had ever seen.