.
So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she formed the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now the youngsters are starting at Hogwarts, she has contacted the most trusted members of the old D.A. to form CREST: a new study/defence group. But a ruthless half-hag bodyguard has been assigned to protect Harry in his first year. Now read on...
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Chapter 36
Neville's Discovery
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Bird Bath
A few mornings after the first Crest Meeting in Classroom 4J, Hermione was brushing her teeth when she sensed a presence enter the bathroom. She stifled a cry of surprise but was dribbling toothpaste down over her chin as she tiptoed to check the cubicles were empty.
"There's nobody in any of them. We're alone. It's safe to talk."
"How'd you get in here, Aculus? I wasn't prepared."
"You knew it was me. I flew in when that girl–"
"Fay?"
"Yes, she just went out."
There was a raven, black as black, revealed himself starkly against the white tiles above the brass water tank on which it perched, splashing its wings and enjoying the sensation.
"No! You ought to have stayed concealed!" Hermione wiped her mouth. "We'd better hurry. Anyone could come in anytime. Had a good night? Anything to report?"
"Nothing unusual. Apart from visiting the toilet or fetching a glass of water, Steff Daggard is the most conscientious sentry I've ever known – not counting us ravens of course."
"It's not surprising, her life depends on it."
"A wonderful incentive."
"But don't start admiring her. In my previous life she murdered Lucretia Prewett during interrogation, then made up an unbelievable cock-and-bull story about Lucretia's concealed wand getting accidentally damaged beyond testing! And there are plenty of other deaths she's accountable for too. The hag is ruthless, so take care."
"Don't worry, she will never see or hear me." He puffed out his chest defiantly – then vanished instantly.
"Hermione, have you seen my hairbrush and– oh, who were you talking to?" Lavender Brown stood in the doorway wrapped in nothing but a towel. Her eyes rapidly scanned the bathroom left and right.
"Round here, dearie," said the wall mirror from her alcove.
Hermione improvised. "Uuh... we've got a Potions test today, remember? I was going over what was likely to be in it."
Only half-listening, Lavender ran to the shelf below the mirror, giggling. "Oh, Hermione, you're such a swot!" She began brushing away at her long locks. "We've not even had breakfast yet!"
As Lavender's hair was drawn back by her brushstrokes, Hermione smiled. The little girl's neck was white and clean of any werewolf bite. After her later flirtation with Ron, jealousy had prevented Hermione from fully appreciated all that the scatterbrain had done in Voldemort's war. Fancying Ron didn't make the girl evil and there had been no excuse to act unfriendly. "You've always had such lovely hair, Lavender..."
Lavender, who had celebrated her eleventh birthday only a few weeks earlier, raised an eyebrow and turned her head slightly. "Always?" She sighed, her mind full of the important task in which she was engaged. "But long hair is such a nuisance every morning."
"Here, let me." Hermione took the brush and began sweeping down handfuls of the longest fronds of Lavender's light-brown curly hair. "Tilt it away like this, see?" she said, "then these mixed bristles move through more smoothly."
Lavender's eyes brightened in the mirror. "Is that magic?"
With a laugh, Hermione said, "No, but I have learned a sheen spell you might like. Luster is wasted on my frizzy mess, but it would make your curls shine like spun gold in lantern light! I'll teach you if you like."
Hermione had to pull the brush away quickly as Lavender whirled around, eyes wide with delight. "Would you! Oh, Hermione, you're the best!" Her hand made an involuntary movement towards a non-existent pocket. "Rats... later then... my wand's in our dorm cupboard."
Hermione shook her head and began working on Lavender's hair again. "You ought to keep it with you all the time."
"Merlin, Hermione! Are you serious! Don't tell me you've–"
"Of course." In one swift movement, Hermione whipped her own wand out of a bathrobe pocket, swished it over Lavender's head – barely even pausing in her brushing – then, realising her own stupidity, deliberately fumbled clumsily and dropped it.
Lavender goggled at herself in the mirror. Even the mirror looked dazed. "Woooowww!" said Lavender. "My hair looks gorgeous!"
"All done," said Hermione, stooping to pick up her wand.
Lavender turned again. "You've totally got to teach me that spell! And is there one for dark reddish brown? Oh, and black with midnight blue highlights!"
Hermione looked thoughtful. "How about... look, some of us have got a self-support group together; it's not all study but help with spells and other things too. You can join in the next meeting if you like. I'll show you then."
"Oh would you!" Lavender seized Hermione's shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. "Wait till the girls see my hair!" She ran out squealing, "Fay! Parvati!"
"Remind me never to come into a girl's bathroom ever again," Aculus said dryly.
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Potions Test
The time for the Potions test arrived and the classroom door was already open when the students began to arrive. The writing already on the blackboard was so small and densely-packed that the board was almost completely white. Hermione wasted no time but attempted to absorb as much as possible before Snape came in the door. She nudged Harry and gestured. "Oh... right," he said, and began making notes too. Soon a few of the surrounding Gryffindors, including Neville and Ron, were unenthusiastically following their lead.
Three minutes passed rather silently apart from the sound of quills being furious scratched across parchment. Too quiet... thought Hermione, glancing sideways. Apart from Draco and Blaise whispering, the Slytherins were sitting very quietly. Occasionally one of them would steal a look at the Gryffindors, snigger, and get a nudge in the ribs from their partner.
But Hermione was too preoccupied to pay them much attention. The blackboard text was ambiguous, complicated, convoluted, and very difficult to comprehend. It appeared to relate to the test conditions and rules but didn't seem to fit very well with anything they had learned so far. Over six minutes had now passed. Where's Snape? Has he forgotten he's giving us a test today?
She glanced over her shoulder. Snape had already entered and was stood watching. "Who," he sneered, as he moved forward to the front of the class, "instructed you to copy my blackboard notes?"
Ron began, "We thought..."
"You thought... I see. You thought you would help yourself to get a head start" There were several sniggers heard from the Slytherin side of the room. "That's ten points from Gryffindor for every one of you I saw cheat." With a wave of his hand the blackboard was wiped.
There were groans mixed with sniggers in equal measures but Snape ignored them all. "Who can tell me the most common pre-moisturiser used in oil-based brews?"
A forest of Slytherin arms were quickly raised.
"Nott?"
"Pulped sebaceous glands, sir."
"From? ... Yes, Miss Bulstrode?"
Bulstrode's eyes glazed over as she slowly recited word by word, "Woolly ... ruminant ... cutaneous ... orifices, sir."
"Excellent. For what length of time do we..."
On and on he fired question after question. Hermione mouthed at Harry, "It's rigged! Bulstrode wouldn't know her orifice from her armpit."
Harry grinned and stuffed a fist in his mouth, but his laughter still came out as a buzzy squeak.
"Something funny, Potter? Seems this side of the room is curiously lacking in answers. Let's give the Gryffindors a fair chance then shall we? Tell me, what extra care do we take adding acidic-based compounds?"
Neville's hand went slowly up.
"Nobody? Come now, this is one of the basic principles every first-year should know by now."
Yes, if you'd explicitly taught it instead of letting children derive it indirectly from different lessons.
Perhaps her expression had flickered because Snape pounced on her. "Granger! Have you never an answer? Are we to suppose you to be a dunce?"
"Pleasth, thsir... isth it, to do with temperature adjusthment?"
Bulstrode and Greengrass giggled together. Neville's hand went down – very, very slowly so as to not attract attention.
"Granger, are you asking me or telling me?" Snape said.
"Yesth, thsir, I think it isth."
More giggles.
"You think? Then why wasn't your hand raised?" thundered Snape.
"Thsorry, I wasthn't thsure thsir."
Open laughter now was heard from the Slytherins. Greengrass was mocking Hermione's lisp with some hissy noises of her own. Snape made no attempt to silence any of them.
"You ... weren't ... sure." Snape intoned. "In future, Miss Granger, you will attempt an answer and I shall decide the correctness of it! Is that understood? What was that you muttered, Potter?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Then I insist on hearing your nothing. In fact, I think the whole class would like to hear it. Speak up properly this time."
"I only said it's because you're making her nervous, sir."
"Nervous? Fortunate then that the practical side of this test will be the brewing of a nerve tonic. Perhaps we might kill two birds with one stone. Tell me, Granger, why do we never mix ogre pus with rat spleen?"
"I don't know, thsir"
"No? Let's make it really, really sthimple then, shall we? What useful essence can be derived from the pickled tentacles of the Murtlap?"
"I don't know, thsir"
"You ... don't ... know... Anyone? Zabini?"
"Murtlap Essence of course, Professor," sniggered Zabini.
"Indeed. Murtlap Essence. Granger, do you see how we arrive at that answer? We make an essence of Murtlap and because it's an essence and is derived from Murtlap, we call it... Murtlap Essence. Think about it for a few moments if you need to. ... Now, let's try again, shall we? What is the main ingredient of Murtlap Essence? Anyone? Anyone in this part of the room not in front of nor behind nor on either side of Miss Granger?"
Hermione raised her hand, knowing there was no way to win this game.
"Ah! Yes, Miss Granger?"
"Murtlap tentaclesth, thsir."
"Correct! At least you won't score zero."
The Slytherins squealed with laughter as Snape swept back to the front of the class.
"Thscore, thsir? You mean...? Isth thisth the testth?"
The roar of laughter from the Slytherins was so loud that even Snape could not completely ignore it. He made a mild wave of his hand to soften their response as he smirked, "As I announced in my last lesson, this test will be in three parts: verbal questions and answers, written theory, and a practical to finish."
"But...!" Hermione closed her mouth. She'd kept her cool all this time but now she was fuming. If there'd been any announcement it definitely hadn't been in class! More likely in the Slytherin common room!
Once the Gryffindors knew the test had already begun, they were more forthcoming with answers, though Snape still favoured the Slytherins' raised hands. But the rest of the test – the theory and the practical – went far better. So well for Harry that he was accused of cheating and deducted ten points. And Neville, who normally slipped away the moment the class ended so as to avoid bumping into Daphne, was held back 'for thinking too much when he should have been paying serious attention.' His 'Exceptional' mark was ignored while Snape lectured him irritably.
"You'll never excel at Potions unless you wipe that dozy look off your face and pay attention, Longbottom!"
"But, sir..." It had been the last lesson of the week and Neville was anxious to join the stream of students who'd already left the classroom and were relaxing on their way to their common rooms.
"Be quiet! Perhaps you'd do better away from the influence of Potter and his cronies foolishly joking about. Yes... that might cause you to take my lessons more seriously..."
"But.."
"Get out, Longbottom. You've held me up far too long already. I still have much to do while you, no doubt, will waste your weekend hours jawing and japing with other... Gryffindors." He spat out the last word as if it were distasteful, but Neville had scuttled off the moment he'd heard the command "Get out!"
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Out of the Frying Pan...
After leaving the Potions dungeon, Neville hurried off as quickly as possible amidst the throngs and strands of hustling students, his mind in a whirl. Surely Professor Snape did not really intend to sit him nearer the front of the classroom? What if Daphne can see me? He stumbled on the steps he was ascending and a couple of fifth-year boys snorted past him. He never even noticed. In his head, all he could hear was her girlish shriek of laughter, see her finger pointing at his shame...
He stopped. He'd not been paying attention and the stairs were turning towards another landing. Looking back down behind him, he could see other kids sensibly waiting for the next turn. With a sigh he continued his ascent, resigned to walking the long way round the next passageway.
But as Neville reached the upper corridor, his pace slowed. Straggled around the far corner of the passage were three girls arguing irritably with each other. In their midst, a pale face stood out like a searchlight, though half-turned away from him. He pretended to pick up something from the floor, rotating to face the other way as he did so. Was that her in the group? Or was he just seeing his personal demon everywhere? He couldn't – he just couldn't risk finding out.
Unnerved, Neville began walking slowly back the way he'd come, forcing himself not to run and draw attention to himself. But far ahead of him was another, darker outline approaching up the turned stairs – Snape!
Looking wildly around for an escape, he spotted a cupboard door on the other side of the corridor and leapt to it. Locked! There was no time think. He whispered the charm that Hermione had been trying to teach all the Crest members:
"Alohomora! Alohomora! Alohomora!" In his imagination, Daphne was turning to look back towards him – about to shriek with recognition – about to point him out to the other girls and tell them – NO! Frantically, Neville squealed and blubbered the incantation, "Alohomora! Alohomora! Please Alohomora?"
The door swung silently inward with the terrified boy pushing in with it. Swerving rapidly he closed the door behind him and, finding himself in complete darkness, blindly attempted both locking charms he'd been struggling with but failed to master. Amazingly, the door lock clicked. Muttering under his breath, he thanked Hermione for her patience in teaching him. Perhaps she'd been right all along to keep urging and persuading people to her views – if only she wasn't so... bossy and cocksure about it.
He shrank down to the floor, waiting in the stillness that now enveloped him, eyes shut tight in hope. Footsteps slowed to a stop immediately outside. Had Snape seen him come in? What if it was Daphne and the other girls? His stomach clenched in fear. What if those girls unlocked the door to see him cowering there! What if he cried like the last time she'd embarrassed him so utterly? He would die – he'd have to – he wanted to.
A faint squeaking sound indicated that the doorknob was slowly turning...
When the doorknob sprang back with a click, Neville bit hard on one lip to stifle his cry of alarm; it had sounded like thunder in the claustrophobic darkness. Outside, an almost inaudible, muttered incantation followed but, although the door trembled, it held firm. Hermione's protective charm had worked! Nobody could get in now or...
How would he get out!
The sound of footsteps receded. Neville breathed again, then quietly tried the doorknob. He was locked in!
"Alohomora!" he said quietly, and without any confidence.
He was not surprised when nothing happened. He squeezed the doorknob around again but the door held firm. Hermione had said her locking spell was charm proof and she was right as usual – she was always far above him, superior in every way. How silly she must have thought him trying to be her best friend. Yet in other ways she was so nice...
You great pillock, Longbottom, he chastised himself mournfully. Know what? You can't stay here all night until a search party is sent out! He visualised breakfast tomorrow in the Great Hall. Dumbledore making an announcement, asking who had seen him last. Daphne would stand up. "Please sir, we saw him hide in a cupboard." She'd giggle and snigger along with all the other Slytherins as she sat down. The Headmaster would ask her to guide him...
NO! I'll wait ten minutes then shout and bang on the door as soon as someone passes. What a prat I'll look!
He took a pace backwards from the prospect and fell over something: it was a stone step, a whole flight of them leading upwards.
Neville frowned. This isn't a cupboard.
He felt along the step, found the side wall, and stood up. A chilly presence seemed to be trickling down his back like an icy finger. Had he heard a faint sound? As he strained to listen, he imagined he could hear the wind whooshing far off through open mullions – no, there was no strong wind today, but something then, faintly... moaning and howling far above him, up the winding stairs. Neville held his breath again as, in his head, he could still hear George's voice. The... Turret of Terror!
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The Late Longbottom
Harry, Ron, and Hermione found a side table in the common room and sank down into three of the four seats around it. Daggard took up a position standing further along the wall near the window – but she wasn't looking out. Her attention was, as always, for Harry only.
Harry groaned under his breath and was about to say something rude. He took out his everlasting diary and began writing to Luna but Ginny answered and said Luna was out of the room. They exchanged chit-chat. Harry told her about their Potions test.
"Wonder how long Snape will keep Nev," said Ron. He pawed at the History Tutomee at the top of his bag, wishing it was Potions to help with the study material they'd been assigned. "They should ban homework at weekends," he moaned.
"He shouldn't be long," said Harry. "It wasn't an actual detention. Snape will just give him a rollicking and try to intimidate him. He's such a git."
Ron opened his Tutomee at the front page illustration and asked it hopefully, "Hazel, I don't suppose you know what's are the three alternatives to peregrine droppings?"
The drawing shook her black and white head. "Sorry, Ron, but Potions isn't my thing; I'm a History teacher. Mmm... I know of an 18th century warlock who tried adding cow dung to a purgative but he died of the runs. Doesn't help does it?"
"Not really."
Ron's mind wandered for a while. His eyes rested on Daggard not far beyond Harry's shoulder, then to his brothers. He wondered if they'd yet thought up a way to get rid of the half-hag. Time dozed onwards...
"Here... Ginny wants a word," said Harry, pushing his diary over to Ron who took it, glad of the diversion.
Harry and Hermione began discussing their Charms homework, but Harry seemed distracted.
"Be nice in a few weeks when they light a fire in here," Hermione said to Harry. "More cosy. I love the summer but this sort of... neutral weather feels a bit flat."
Harry nodded. "He ought to be here by now."
"Who? Neville? Probably got lost again, you know what he's like. He'd forget his head if it wasn't screwed on tight." She glanced over Harry's shoulder then lowered her voice to a whisper. "Why not use your... you know?"
"Map!" cried Harry, then seeing Hermione roll her eyes to remind him of Daggard's proximity, he whispered, "Sorry. It's upstairs in my trunk anyway. I'll go up in a bit."
"Harry, can I lend this to Mum?" said Ron.
"Mmm...?"
"Your diary, yeah? Ginny wants to know. Mum's still owling her everyday."
"Yeah, sure."
"And can I borrow Hedwig to send it?"
"Or Farrimond," said Hermione. "Whichever of them is up there."
"Thanks." Ron strolled off towards the portrait door. Anything was better than Potions homework.
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Facing His Demon
"Oooooooooowwwwww..." came the faint, distant wail of the unseen. The wind sighing through a boneyard could not have been more mournful. "Oooooooooohhhhhhhh..."
Panic swept over Neville again and, for a few seconds, he hurled spells at the door which imprisoned him, while softly flat-palm-hammering the door and shouting in a strained, stage whisper for someone to release him without – he hoped – the creature upstairs hearing. Then his legs gave way and he sank down to sit upon the first step. What was he to do?
The sound above halted temporarily, then even more distantly he thought he heard a frail, near-inaudible voice, "Who cometh? Prithee refrain not, from an act of charity."
The beast was definitely mimicking human words – and he'd been overheard! The creature knew he was there, and tempting him to surrender.
"Woe is me... woe is me... shalt mine durance n'er be sundered?"
A staggering new thought seized him. Was that Daphne? It had sounded like a female voice. Was a trap set for him? Were those Slytherin girls above him, watching? sniggering?
Neville stared upwards into the blackness. A shudder passed over him. No, whatever it was, the voice was... what had George called it? Unworldly.
Vampire or ghoul, nothing would persuade him to ascend these stairs. A blasting charm! That would surely get him out of the door! But he'd never properly mastered the spell, and were the Slytherins upstairs or still outside? Was Snape about, standing out there listening? He raised his wand.
The sound of weeping stayed his hand. Had the beast hurt someone? Hermione's admonition came to mind, Each of you is special ... that's why I picked you ... not one of you is a coward ... I've seen you reject fear and do the right thing. He peered up the steps, lip-gnawing the back of his fist.
As Neville agonised over what to do, he began to hear a melodious, high voice singing softly:
Wilt my true love's heart lead hither?
Or perish I with sigh and quiver?
He wondered at those words. Was it just a ghost? Had her husband forsaken her? Or was she a demonic apparition trying to lure him? He'd heard about demons of course – not even Merlin could fight a creature summoned from hell.
Hermione's voice tormented him over and over in his head ...you'll still do the right thing, Neville, I know you will... I know you will... I know you will... Eventually, he'd have to face Hermione – and he wouldn't be able to lift his head if he failed now.
Forcing himself to ascend the steeply winding steps, he held his wand blindly in front of him with one hand while the other felt for the next step. The total blackness protected him but made his skin crawl, while strange odours caused his nose to wrinkle up. Old parchment? Leather? Ink? Finally, he could not find any more steps ahead of him so he crept cautiously forward on hands and knees, then stood up.
Utter darkness was upon his skin, penetrating his flesh. The voice was silent now; was the ghoul listening for his approach? Waiting for him to step into a trap?
"Hast mine saviour come hence to deliver me at last?"
Neville froze. The high-pitched voice sounded close by, and its faint ambience indicated he was in a small chamber. But not one window relieved the blackness, nor his fear.
Tentatively, he replied, "Who are you?"
"Why, I am Princess Etherea of Gallinaceum. Trapped am I in this lonesome tower by an evil necromancer and his fearsome dragon. Are you a knight, sir? Might you slay the beast with your sword and bring low the sorcerer? Helpless am I before his base intentions."
Neville frowned. She wasn't making much sense. "Why haven't you just walked downstairs and banged on the door?"
There was a sharp intake of breath. "Fettered am I by chains most cruel. They cut my tender flesh and mar my perfect beauty."
It was Neville's turn to gasp. "I have a wand. Perhaps I can free you with the unlocking charm."
He took a step forward and stumbled over what felt like a wooden chair. "If only I could see what I was doing... where are you?"
"So close, yet shalt I n'er be freed? Oh woe is me, woe is me... Ooooooooohhhh..."
Neville was racking his brains. If only there was a wall torch he could light with his– "Ah!" he cried, slapping his forehead and cursing his forgetfulness in dire need. He fumbled for his wand. "It's alright! I know how to cast a light spell!"
"PRITHEE, NO!" cried the voice. "For he who gazeth 'pon my exquisite countenance shalt be dazzled. Unless, that is... art thou a prince? A knight at least? A great mage warrior?"
"Sorry, I'm just Neville Longbottom."
Another gasp from the dark. "Noble and just! I have heard of thy brave deeds, Sir Neville! A glimmer then I offer thee, but no more, lest thy sight be burnt forever with my magnificence. Yet avert thine eyes directness or surely thou shalt perish."
Worriedly, Neville turned away before casting the feeblest gleam he could. Its glow barely reached the walls but he could see the room was round and cluttered with dust-sheet-covered furniture. Strange apparatus and equipment adorned the many shelves and open cupboards around the walls. Off to his left, from where he had first heard the voice, a slight movement of colour caught his eye. Slowly he twisted his head around to peep out of the corner of one eye...
Puzzlement gave way to astonishment. A very wide painting extended half around one curving sidewall; it was a countryside vista dominated by a tall citadel. From the window of its nearest turret stared a wide-eyed, elegantly-poised girl. She might once have been pretty but her eyes were dark with some hidden sorrow. Long ringlets of shining yellow-gold hung out theatrically over the sill, Rapunzel-like, yet her head was topped by a shabby witch's hat trimmed with a gilt ribbon round its brim. Seeing his critical scrutiny, the girl adjusted the hat's slant to a more regal attitude.
"My crown was handed down by noble kings and queens of old to my charge. I would fight a most bloody fight with any man that durst try for it!" She tilted her chin proudly then quickly grabbed at the hat which, too large for her, was slipping backwards.
Neville smiled and relaxed. She was simply a child playacting. "Erm... fain wouldst I e'er... uh... purloin my lady's property. Forgive me, Princess, but my eyes canst scarcely rest long upon thy wondrous visage."
Etherea beamed. "Then shalt my trusty knight slay the awful dragon Brawnscorcher? And duel the evil Rankodor the Bloodymost? Even though the black and dismembered corpses of thine hopeful predecessors – six in all – already rest yonder in their sepulchres? What say thee, brave Sir Neville?
Neville seized a long metal lever off the floor and brandished it over his head. "A dozen Brawnscorchers and a hundred Rankodors wouldst I meet in battle to win thine hand, fair Princess!"
There was a strange new light dawning in Neville's eyes. Never had he met such a surreal playmate as Etherea before; he was caught up in an excitement he had never experienced – not even playing pirates with Harry, because here there were no consequences whatsoever.
"Approach then, Brave Neville, that I might grant thee this boon of sacrifice."
Neville moved closer to the picture. As he did so, the magical coloured oils spread wider until the painted turret's window almost filled the picture frame. His eyes widened. "I've... I've never seen a painting as good as this before!"
"Painting?" Princess Etherea frowned in puzzlement.
"Uh... I mean... erm... window! I've never seen such a window. It doth frame thy glory like erm... a picture doth... er... doo...eth."
And the painting was, he now realised, designed to represent a window view. Thickly-painted with heavy daubs of oil, it was rich, colourful, bright as day, and this near, it entirely encompassed his vision; he felt drawn into and immersed in it.
He said, "How do you... what do you do... erm... all day?"
"Why, all that one might expect of a princess of my standing, of course! I sew. I read. I sing – would you like to hear me?"
"I'd love to."
Neville's responses to her strangeness came easily to his lips now. Enraptured, he sat upon a stool and listened to her lilting voice as it softly caressed his ears. And then they talked. For an hour or more he was lost to the world, utterly forgetful of homework and... "Dinner!"
He stood up so abruptly his stool fell over. "I just remembered. I have to go to dinner."
"But shalt my trusty knight e'er return? Should he endure until the seventh day of the seventh month to earn a kiss from these luscious red lips?"
"I will! I promise!" Neville called over his shoulder as he dashed back downstairs, his head full of daring ventures, and outrageous quests. Nothing seemed impossible to him now! Nothing, except...
He came to a stop before the turret door. He was still locked in! Yet there before him had been the way out all along! Upon a narrow ledge beside the door lay the key glinting in his wandlight. If only he'd remembered the Lumos spell earlier he might have... I might never have met Princess Etherea!
Seizing the key, he fumbled open the door, relocked it with Hermione's special charm, and raced away, key in his pocket like a trophy, and heart alive with elation as never before!
.
Happy Talk
Ron had taken his time up in the owlery. When he came back into the Gryffindor common room, Harry looked up. "Ron, did you see Nev anywhere?" Ron shook his head. "Erm... is this for you?" He held out a small, tightly wound scroll to Hermione.
Absently, she took the message and fiddled with the seal. "Now I'm starting to worry too," said Hermione. "He's never this late straight from classes. Surely Snape didn't give him instant detention? Think he went to the library? He never said he would. ... It'll soon be dinnertime."
"I'll go up... you know..." mouthed Harry, gesturing to the stairs.
Hermione nodded. She watched Daggard follow him and wondered whether she should go with them. She started to rise but Ron put a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back down. "Who's Rosemary?"
"What?" Hermione jolted upright in her seat and examined the name on the outside of the scroll she held: Rosemary Brown, Hogwarts School of Magic. "Where did–?"
"Farrimond. Another owl flew in while I was up there and gave it to Farrimond. They've got a language of their own I reckon. Anyway, Farrimond pestered me to take it so I asked him if it was for you and he, you know, made that sort of positive hooty tilt of his head."
Huffing a little, Hermione said, "He should have waited till breakfast to bring it to me in the Great Hall." But she paused as the wax seal finally yielded to her fingernail. "Well, it proves one thing, I suppose..."
"What's that?"
"Farrimond trusts you, Ron. That's rare – for owls to trust anyone but their owner."
Ron's eyebrows lifted. "So, who's Rosemary then?"
The Fat Lady portrait opened and Neville came in whistling softly out of tune. He spotted Ron and Hermione and made his way over, dropping his bag on the floor before taking a seat.
"Get lost again?" said Ron. Hermione took the opportunity to slip the message into a pocket of her robe.
Neville blinked. "What? Uuh, oh yeah. Went the long way round. Mmm... portraits held me up – always eager for a chat some of them."
Hermione began, "You're not obliged to–"
"–But it's only polite, isn't it?" said Neville. "I mean, some of them are royalty. Yes." He beamed at Hermione, then at Ron.
Hermione looked at him oddly, but just then Harry came jogging downstairs with Daggard not far behind. "Hi, Neville. Ready for dinner?"
"Yeah!" said Neville brightly. "I'm famished."
It was noticeable to Hermione that Harry didn't seem surprised to see Neville there; he'd barely had time to glance at his map. Perhaps he'd heard his voice up the stairs. She said, "You're quite cheerful, Neville. What did Snape say?"
"Snape? What do you mean?"
"He held you back after the Potions test?"
"He did? Oh, yeah... oh, he just waffled on about me thinking or smiling or breathing or something. Doesn't like it if anyone's happy – but who cares!" Neville's grin was as wide as his face. "All he's going to do is..." Neville's voice faded away as he remembered Snape's threat to make him sit elsewhere in class. "Nothing important," he finished gloomily. "He's going to do... nothing."
But then something wonderful happened...
"Who cares!" cried Neville with a broad grin. "Let's go to dinner!"
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—oOo—
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Author's Notes
In case you were wondering, Hogwarts bathroom mirrors may be cheeky but they are discreet when necessary. I mean, everyone would avoid them if they snitched on all the happenings and conversations. Also Aculus was not directly seen because the mirror is in an alcove round a corner. ;)
The story begins to get more complicated now. I've plenty of notes but it's a struggle to keep track of all the necessary events at the right time. Now I understand why JKR is using a spreadsheet – three of them as I recall!
Writing trivia I just discovered while editing this chapter: If you touch type the word girl but with your hands accidentally one key to the right of the home keys, you get hot; not many people know that. :D
Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)
– Hippothestrowl
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