Chapter 10: Guarding Something
Autumn enveloped Hogwarts Castle in its chill. But between his not one, but now two close friends, Neville hardly felt the cold.
Of course, that didn't mean that he wasn't visited on occasion by an icy blast, though this usually came about in a metaphorical sense, via the chicanery of one Draco Malfoy.
By now, sometime in mid-November, Neville deeply regretted that he had, even absently, shaken Malfoy's hand that first night in the castle upon his offer to point out the perceived "wrong sort" to him. From the way Malfoy had laughed at him and mocked him for even so much as tripping, Neville seriously doubted the oily Slytherin boy perceived him as much of a threat.
Still, this didn't explain why Malfoy seemed to focus such negative attention upon the Boy Who Lived as if he was. A threat, at least. The best Neville could figure it was that his reputation of defeating Lord Voldemort was at best, leaving Malfoy still uncertain whether he, Neville, was a rival, or really much of anything.
With each new torment by Malfoy and his lackeys, two brutish half-apes called Crabbe and Goyle, the Slytherin seemed to be more or less testing boundaries. Naturally a non-confrontational person, Neville did himself no favors in refusing to fight back or even give Malfoy a reaction. He hadn't really done much fighting to begin with in the one brawl he had found himself in, with the troll, and the only reason he had won that bout was because Ron had won it for them both. Plus, his record during that scrimmage had been…. well, rather atrocious, even for a fresh first-year.
He was at least heartened that his best mate seemed to be supremely bothered by Malfoy's antics, enough to finally call the whiny little bitch on it one morning during class changes, just before Thanksgiving.
"Pick on someone your own size, Malfoy!"
"I am," Malfoy smirked. At this, Ron only scoffed.
"Please. Nev and I have bollocksed up gorillas larger than you!"
This seemed to catch Malfoy's interest, as he got in Ron's personal space in a clear attempt to intimidate. "Yeah? You and what army? If Longbottom won't even rouse his fat arse to fight me…."
"…. It's because you aren't worth his time to even Depulso through a door, you half-retarded muppet!" Ron's foul mouth ran away from him, and Neville could only be glad that Hermione wasn't here to see this. "You think the Boy Who Lived, who defeated You-Know-Who, who slapped around an entire mountain troll like he was a hacky-sack would even deign to brush up on his ol' one-two with the plodding likes of you?"
Malfoy's jaw rolled. "Be careful, Weasley. Someone might tell you to put your Galleons where your mouth is. Or better still, your wand. I can give you and Longbottom a crack at it tonight, if you'd like. Wizard's duel. Or can tubby not have it out like a proper wizard?"
"Of course he can!" Ron spluttered with bravado. "I'm his bloody second, after all! Who's yours – or do you need time to fetch a finer specimen from the zoo?"
Crabbe and Goyle both stiffened their necks, cracked their knuckles. Appearing less interested when it was his mates getting trashed, Malfoy turned back to them absently, weighing them against one another.
"Crabbe," he decided. "There's an empty classroom on the third floor. Midnight. Wands drawn, and wands only. No contact."
"You're on," Ron quipped. Malfoy actually reached out his hand to shake; Ron barely touched his palm to the other boy's before slapping it away. "Get your lotion-scented pureblood hands away from me, tosser!"
Neville watched this entire exchange play out like a bad car wreck. When the Slytherins were gone, he rounded on his best mate who just had to get them embroiled in a brawl with rules that he didn't know, and, if he was being honest (perhaps even cynical), Ron didn't know either. Or if he did, just barely.
"Ron, are you crazy?"
"Calm down, mate. If the chicken-shite even dares to show up at all, seconds go first. Sort of like a last chance to negotiate. If I bloody Crabbe up enough, it'll likely give Malfoy some excuse to cuck out."
"Sure, but can you? Beat Crabbe," Neville was growing pale. "And even if you can't, what makes you think Malfoy will pussyfoot off?"
"Bill and Charlie used to duel each other all the time once they were old enough to use magic outside school. All in good roughhousing, of course. Sometimes, they'd even set up mock duels with the rest of us and coach us. I learned to play wizard's chess at their knee much the same way." Ron clapped Neville on the shoulder. "We have it made, mate! You and me!"
Neville wasn't so sure. And knowing full well how students were not allowed to wander the school at night, he wondered if Malfoy was setting them up into some sort of trap.
Getting out of Gryffindor Tower didn't seem like the hardest part at first. Having a brother for a Prefect meant that Ron knew at what time Percy either retired from his duties for the night, or, if he was on night rounds, when he left and how long he'd be gone.
Unfortunately, it wasn't Percy who caught Neville and Ron as they were leaving. It was Hermione. She was more or less roped into coming along even as she made every effort to try to stop them, hissing at the boys like an angry mother goose.
Neville wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or terrified when, upon the Trio arriving at the abandoned third floor classroom, Malfoy and his goons were nowhere to be seen. Ron may have predicted a feint, but may have yet predicated it on cowardice, rather than shrewdness.
"We're being set up…" Neville murmured, disquieted. "Let's go back." Hermione seemed exasperated and delighted all at once that, finally, someone was listening to her.
They emerged into the corridor, round the next corner…. and nearly ran right into Peeves, the Poltergeist, who immediately sounded the alarm, screeching for Filch the caretaker.
"STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED! DOWN THE THIRD FLOOR CORRIDOR!"
"Run! Find a place to hide!" Neville hollered. The trio tried every door until they came to a dead end at the head of the hall. For the first time, Ron appeared deeply regretful getting him and his mates into his mess.
"We're doomed!"
"Oh, move over!" Hermione groused, nudging him aside. She pointed her wand at the locked doorknob. "Alohamora!"
The door magically gave for them and they dove inside. A shaken Ron actually seemed grateful, if not quite impressed, with Hermione's quick wandwork.
"But the door was locked…"
"It was locked…."
"And for good reason," Neville finished, now paralyzed with an entirely new terror. A giant, three-headed dog loomed up before them, growling and snapping its jaws.
The trio didn't even bother to keep down their screams as they fled from the room and struggled to hold the door shut, pulling it tight before the mutated dog could snap any of them in half.
Ron channeled more of his terror into outrage. "Is the castle just letting all manner of beasts in now? The bloody hell is Dumbledore playing at – keeping a thing like that in the school?"
"As usual, Ronald, you weren't paying attention, were you? Didn't you see what it was standing on?" Hermione chided.
"Why look at a mutt's feet when you should find it's three heads more interesting?! I was a bit more preoccupied with its fangs, not the claws!" Ron gawped. "Or maybe you didn't notice!"
"Oh, I noticed one thing all right, and it's that, unlike our troll, that dog isn't here by accident. It's guarding something!"
Hermione's declarative theory made both Neville and Ron pull up short. "Guarding something?"
"That's right. Now, if you two don't mind, I'm going to bed, before either of you come up with another clever idea to get us killed, or worse, expelled!"
Ron watched their friend flounce off, his own expression annoyed, even as there seemed to be a secretly admiring quality in his orbs. "She really needs to sort out her priorities…."
Hermione's hypothesis stuck in Neville's craw long enough that, despite having just as healthy, if not healthier, a sense of fear than Ron, he decided to do some light digging on a hunch.
Serving as the Hogwarts gamekeeper as he did, Hagrid would be familiar with all forms of magical creatures. Knowing this all too well, Neville rounded up his friends and led them to pay a visit to Hagrid one crisp fall day. They needed information and the best way to pry out even a little tidbit was to have out with it.
Which is why Neville confronted Hagrid directly. "Why would the Headmaster or anyone of staff station a three-headed dog in the school?"
As he had hoped, Neville got what he wanted: a reaction. Intriguingly, Hagrid – a rather hefty giant – actually went a little white. "Now you listen to me – all three of you! You're meddling in things that ought not to be meddled in! Only people who should know about that dog are Albus Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel!"
The gamekeeper realized just a moment too late that he had been tricked into giving away a lead, though as Neville watched their imposing friend walk away, that hardly mattered. They had a name. A thread to pull on.
The only questions were: where would the thread lead? And who was Nicholas Flamel?