And the Trap Snaps Shut


James Potter didn't know what to make of Peter. Harry's last letter (the first since he, Lily and Sirius had all sent him howlers—James only felt a little sorry for him) said Peter had stolen a plant from the greenhouses—suspicious behavior in itself—but now Peter was flatly denying it.

James sighed. "Harry said he saw you on the map."

"It must've been wrong," Peter said easily. "I wasn't anywhere near Hogwarts."

"The map is never wrong," James argued, feeling a lot like an interrogator as he leaned over his friend. Peter stared back at him steadily for a long moment. Then his eyes flickered away uncomfortably.

"It's old," Peter said quietly. "The charm could be wearing off."

"But Harry said he saw you in the greenhouse; that he was under the cloak," James continued, nearing exasperation. He was sure that Peter wasn't being honest with him. And this didn't particularly bother him in itself. James just wanted to know why.

"Are you taking his word over mine?" Peter asked. They had met eyes again and there was a hint of irritation in his voice.

"Why would Harry lie?" James returned, matching his friend's tone.

"I don't know!" Peter cried, throwing his hands up defensively. "He's never really liked me; you know that."

James groaned. "That's rubbish, Wormtail. Harry wouldn't make up something like that just because he 'doesn't like you.' I just want to know why you would steal a—"

"I don't have time for this," Peter said, standing up. The chair was pushed back across the floor with a loud screech. "If you want to believe an eleven year old over me, then that's fine."

He stormed out of the house, leaving James speechless. The angry crack of him Disapparating was audible. Lily peeked out from the living room.

"What'd you say to him?" she said in an accusatory tone, her hands on her hips.

"Nothing! I just asked him about what Harry said in that letter," James explained, running a hand through his hair. It felt even thinner than yesterday. He could not get used to this 'aging' thing.

"Well, maybe he really didn't do it," Lily suggested, offering a reassuring smile.

"But that doesn't make any sense," he sighed, sinking into a chair. Lily appeared behind him, massaging his shoulders. James let his eyelids slide shut and leaned his head back against her body.

"Don't worry about it," she murmured. "It's not a big deal."

He nodded slowly. "You're right. It's just a little suspicious, you know?"

Lily agreed with him, and then giggled softly. "I'm assuming Peter won't be joining us for dinner."

James smiled. "No, I don't think so."

"Makes things easier for me," she said, going into the kitchen. "What about Padfoot?"

He wished she would come back and keep rubbing his shoulders. Maybe he should get stressed about something more often. "Nah, he's got plans."

Lily gasped in mock surprise. "We get to have dinner to ourselves? Why, this is the first time since—"

"Since Tuesday," James provided, smirking.

She narrowed her eyes. "If you were the one cooking it would seem a lot less often."

James laughed and went to join his wife in the kitchen.


Ron Weasley must have missed something. For the entire school year, he had been under the impression that Harry and Hermione hated each other. Then, literally overnight, that seemed to change. They still argued (a lot), and they didn't spend loads of time together, but something was different. Every night, without fail, they met in a corner of the common room and studied the Marauder's Map for some indiscernible reason.

Harry wouldn't tell Ron anything as to why they were watching the map so closely. Whenever Ron asked him, Harry would come up with some wild excuse to explain why he suddenly had to run away. Very suspicious behavior.

Neville didn't seem pleased to lose Hermione's company for an almost an hour, every night. He had taken up the habit of spending a lot of time in the dormitory. Ron was tempted to do the same thing, and the whole experience made him realize that he needed more friends. If he didn't know what to do with himself when Harry wasn't available that was pretty pathetic. He needed to branch out; make new friends.

Seamus and Dean were likely candidates, but those two were joined at the hip. Whenever Ron hung out with them, he felt like a third wheel. Fred and George always found a way to shake him when he tried glomming onto them. And, again, there was the third-wheel issue. So, Ron ended up in the dormitory with Neville when Harry and Hermione held their daily meetings.

At the beginning of the year, Ron would've died to be Neville's friend. But by now the celebrity had worn off and Neville was just an ordinary and painfully shy kid. So, the two of them didn't get up to much talking when they were alone in the dormitory. Occasionally, one would ask the other a question about the homework, but there was little more interaction.

"What do you think they're doing?" Neville asked during one of these times.

"Huh?" Ron said, looking up from his Transfiguration homework. He honestly had no clue what Neville was talking about.

"Hermione and Harry. What are they doing?" Neville clarified.

Ron wondered if he should divulge the secret of the Marauder's Map to Neville. Then he felt a surge of anger toward Harry and figured; what the hell?

"It's a map," Ron said. "A map of Hogwarts."

"Well, why are they staring at it every night?"

"It's not an ordinary map," Ron explained. "It shows everybody who's in Hogwarts and exactly where they are."

"Oh," Neville said, his eyes widening in wonder. "Oh."

"Yeah." Ron turned back to his homework, and neither pursued the topic.

"What are you writing about Switching Spells?" Neville asked a moment later.


"Many months have passed, Pettigrew," Voldemort said impatiently.

Peter Pettigrew gulped and stared at the floor between his feet. He hoped he was valuable enough to be kept alive. But Voldemort had very little patience for anyone who was a step out of line, no matter their worth.

"I have a plan, and—" he began.

"You tell me that every time, and I'm beginning to doubt you."

"No, no," Pettigrew said quickly. "I have to wait until the timing is right…"

Voldemort seemed to consider this as he stroked his wand broodingly. "You have one more month."

Pettigrew nodded vigorously, relief rushing over him. He didn't ask what would happen if the month was up and he hadn't succeeded. He had the feeling he didn't want to know… Pettigrew was grateful to get out of the old house. It was like he could breathe again. He hated living in this constant fear and paranoia. This could be his chance to deliver himself to safety. And he only had to secure the meek, little Neville Longbottom. Not a tall order.

Except he still didn't have an actual plan. He had been bumbling around for the past several months, making small moves here and there, but only half-heartedly. Now it was crunch-time. He had to act, and act fast. His own life was on the line. And that had always been a powerful motivator for Pettigrew.


Hermione Granger still mostly hated Harry. He remained an arrogant prat—nothing had changed there. But if she had to spend time with him, she would deal with it. This was entirely about Neville and she tried to ignore that Harry was being somewhat pleasant to her, and even leaving Neville alone. That was beside the point. And the point was… the point was that she was in the middle of a Transfiguration lesson and she had to be paying attention. Not reconsidering her previous condemnation of a certain repulsive bully.

But Hermione didn't really have to focus in Transfiguration. She had long since succeeded in turning the match into a needle and had resorted to zoning out for the rest of the class period. Neville was beside her, his face scrunched up and his match still very much a match. Hermione sighed. She should be helping him.

"You have to focus really hard, Neville," she encouraged.

He exhaled and nodded, taking a small break before going back to work.

"He's not going to be able to do it," said a quiet voice from behind her.

Hermione started and turned around. Had Harry been behind her the entire time? She suddenly felt embarrassed, but then remembered he couldn't read her thoughts.

"Why would you say that?" she snapped in an undertone. "He'll get it."

Harry twiddled his needle in his fingers, and looked doubtful.

"You don't always have to be so mean to him," Hermione said firmly.

Harry looked genuinely surprised. "I'm not being mean to him! It's only the truth—he won't be able to do it. He's just not good with magic."

"That's not a nice thing to say," she grumbled.

"It's true, and you know it," he said confidently. "But have you noticed I'm not making fun of him anymore?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "What, do you want an award?"

"No, I just want to remind you," he said, unfazed. "I realized it's not his fault that he's crap at magic, or a Parselmouth or whatever else that's wrong with him. So I'm not going to give him a hard time about it anymore."

Hermione snorted. "How noble of you."

"C'mon, give me some credit," he implored, leaning forward, a trace of a smile on his face.

She imagined she saw something insincere in his bright green eyes that kept her loathing him. But she didn't have to respond, because Neville elbowed her at that moment. Harry smirked and leaned back in his chair smugly. Hermione felt the urge to give him a bloody nose again. He wasn't so cocky when his nose was gushing blood… and the lenses of those stupid glasses all cracked and fractured… She'd have to look for another excuse to punch him sometime.

"Look, Hermione," Neville said energetically, luckily having missed her and Harry's entire exchange due to his deep concentration.

She examined his match. It was still fundamentally a match, although… the tip was noticeably sharper. Hermione beamed at him.

"Good job, Neville," she praised. He blushed a little and began to pack up his books. Class was nearly over. As they left the classroom, Hermione deliberately brushed past Harry.

"Told you so," she taunted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grin and shake his head.


Neville Longbottom went up into his dormitory after dinner to get his Charms homework. Hermione had agreed to help him with it, and he wasn't about to lose the opportunity. When he reached his bed, he paused. He didn't remember having that on his bedside table.

It was a rather strange plant, resembling a cactus but lumpier and with boils instead of thorns. It looked vaguely familiar from his Herbology textbook. There was a note next to it. He picked it up and read it curiously.

Neville—
This plant is a Mimbulus Mimbletonia. I thought you might enjoy it.
As soon as you receive this note, please come down to greenhouse three for an advanced Herbology lesson with some of my older students.
Professor Sprout

Neville read the note again. He had really been looking forward to Hermione's help on his assignment, but he couldn't ignore the instructions from a professor. He put the note in his pocket and went back down into the common room, and past Hermione.

"Neville?" she said sharply. "Where's your Charms essay?"

"I have to go meet Professor Sprout," he said quickly.

Hermione looked extremely confused and Neville took the chance to get out of the common room. He started down toward the greenhouses at a brisk pace. Everyone seemed to be going the opposite direction as him. Who else was attending this lesson? Unless…

The note had said to come as soon as he got the letter.

What if everyone had got the letter hours ago? What if the lesson was already over? Neville broke into a sprint and began clamoring down the hallway. This was his chance to finally be better at something than his peers, and he couldn't face the prospect of having missed it.

"No running in the hall!" Filch bellowed.

Neville immediately slowed to a trot until he was around the corner. He began running again, and was quite out of breath by the time he neared the greenhouses. He slowed down and caught his breath. There didn't appear to be anyone there. He stepped into greenhouse three. It was empty. Neville sighed. He missed his chance. He turned around to trudge back to the school, when he heard something behind him.

It happened so suddenly, he wasn't able to turn around. He had been struck on the back of the head with something hard. The last thing he saw was the ground rushing up to meet him, but the world went black before his head hit the floor.


A/N: Eh. This was the last chapter I wrote (I write out of order, 'cause I'm cool like that), so that's why it's below par, in my opinion. I promise it gets better! I actually love the last 3 chapters, if I do say so myself ;) (Yes, you heard correctly: three chapters left! We're getting down there.) Review please!