Chapter 19: Neville Sheds His Skin

With a snap of his fingers, Riddle released Neville from whatever obsidian prison Ginny had conjured around him. Staggering to his feet, Neville got the distinct feeling that he was only being released so as to be turned loose, like prey to be hunted. Turning back to a large statue carved into the far wall of the Chamber, Riddle outstretched his hand and gave a command in Parsletongue, which Neville somehow was able to translate instantly in his head:

Come out to meet your opponent!

The statue's mouth opened, spilling out from its depths something that made the statue look like it had a lolling tongue. The "tongue" actually turned out to be the Basilisk, armored with a fresh snakeskin. Before the creature lifted its head, Neville cast his eyes down into the pool of water, but even here, he worked really hard to avoid looking directly at it. Gazing upon the thing head-on meant death, but even meeting its eyes in an indirect way meant Petrification, and he wouldn't exactly be useful to Ginny in either state.

A sudden shriek made him glance back, to witness a fiery shape swoop down into the Chamber. It flapped its way towards Neville, Riddle, Ginny and the Basilisk like some sort of bird, and Neville realized where he had seen it before: in the Headmaster's office.

"Fawkes," he breathed.

Dumbledore's phoenix swooped in fast and low over the group, dropping something from its talons as it did so, and Neville caught the gift: the…. Sorting Hat?

Riddle looked smug, even amused. "So this is what Dumbledore sends his great defender: a songbird, and an old hat. Well, Longbottom, if those are your weapons of choice, then carry them into battle!" Back still to all of them, Neville heard Riddle give his tool its next command, in snake-speak:

KILL HIM!

He broke into a run, not looking back once, which was crazy, it was mad, for how was he supposed to fight something he couldn't even look at?

"Parsletongue won't save you now, Longbottom – it only obeys me!" Voldemort cackled.

Well. He was truly bollocksed now. He could not see this evil, he could speak no evil to it in the form of Parsletongue that apparently could not bend the snake to a new master….

Neville's mind paused, even as his running feet did not, and he ducked into an alcove, behind some prominent busts lining both sides of the Chamber.

But he could hear this evil. Maybe that was something he could use.

An earth-shattering howl suddenly went up and Neville watched the shadow of the Basilisk dancing on the wall, writhing against a shadow of Fawkes. From its shape, Neville discerned: the phoenix had bravely joined the fray and blinded the Basilisk. He could likely now look at the Basilisk safely, as well as hear him.

And more importantly, the Basilisk would only be able to hear him. He decided to use that to his advantage.

Tricking the Basilisk to follow the sound of a thrown pebble to make it look like he was moving one way, Neville then ran in the opposite direction, back to Ginny and Riddle. He would carry the little girl off by force if he had to, but she remained rooted to the spot, now seeming to look right through him as he pleaded with her to snap out of it.

Abruptly, the large statue which had birthed the Basilisk now exploded, much of its face destroyed, as the creature re-emerged violently from where Neville had sent it on a wild chase into the Chamber's maze of corridors.

Heart in his mouth, Neville's gaze happened to snap down to the floor where he had dropped the Sorting Hat. And that was when he saw it…. a glittering jeweled handle poking out beyond the brim.

Riddle still had his wand. Neville needed a weapon, any weapon, other than his own wits, so he desperately pulled the handle from the hat, a blade quickly following and unsheathed. In a situation like this, he should have felt fear, he should be doing what Harry Potter would no doubt do in this situation and run for his life.

Instead, he felt a strange adrenaline rush, one altogether different from what he'd felt down below the trapdoor while battling Quirrell. There, Neville had been reactive, but here he was proactive, bravely charging the Basilisk with courage he – and few others – would have imagined from him.

He slashed. He parried. A few times he dodged, barely hanging on by the seat of his pants. But then finally, he closed in and managed to stab the Basilisk clear through its skull, clear through its brain. Neville watched as the thing thrashed about in death throes before keeling over.

Riddle had grown deathly still, livid with shock.

A winded and panting, almost disbelieving Neville clambered back to Ginny. She was still standing, though her eyes were glazed over and wide. Most distressingly, her skin was cold to the touch.

"You may have defeated the Basilisk, Longbottom, but my work is almost complete. In a few minutes, Ginny Weasley will be dead, and I will cease to be a memory. Lord Voldemort will return…. very…. much…. alive!"

Turning back to regard Riddle with burning anger and hatred, Neville cast about for something to lash out at.

His eyes fell onto the diary, almost forgotten. Riddle noticed.

"What are you doing?"

Neville lunged for the book, lifting the sword.

"STOP! NO!" Riddle waved his hand and Neville was thrown back a few feet, the sword spinning out of his hands. Recovering quickly, Neville's fist closed around the first thing within reach – it happened to be a Basilisk fang and he lurched forward, just beating Riddle to the diary, which he now stabbed clean through with the fang.

A golden light emanated from Riddle's chest and he let out a scream of stunned anger. His trajectory halted, and he even staggered back, leading Neville to surmise that whatever he was doing to the diary was affecting Riddle too. That seemed only logical, as Hermione might say, for Riddle was clearly from and of the diary. Neville pressed down harder, the light emanating from Riddle nearly blinding him. He flipped the diary closed and plunged the fang back in, this time through the cover.

Riddle roared, hands going to his face, and his not-quite-corporeal form began to break apart into little pixels of light until there was a flash and an explosion and then – nothing.

When the spots fell away from Neville's vision, he heard a pronounced intake of breath from somewhere behind him, and he whirled around to see a swooning Ginny Weasley, emerging as if from a dream. She started to pitch forward and he caught her against him. When her blue eyes met his, he could tell they were her own. The real Ginny was back.

"Neville…. it was me. But I swear, I didn't mean to – Riddle made me. And…. Neville…. you're hurt!" She looked stricken for him, and Neville glanced down to find a second basilisk fang embedded in his forearm. It must have pierced him when he stabbed the Basilisk at close range. Incredibly, he hadn't even noticed. Wincing, he yanked the fang out. Only then did he remember about the poison in basilisk fangs, from the library page taken off Hermione.

"I'll be all right," he lied. "Ginny…. You need to get yourself out. Follow the tunnel, and you'll find Ron."

There was a caw as Fawkes now landed on his shoulder. Neville studied the bird with admiration.

"You were brilliant, Fawkes…. I just wasn't quick enough."

As both Neville and Ginny watched, Fawkes bent over the open wound while tears leaked from his eyes. The hole from the Basilisk fang closed in on itself and Neville felt his bloodstream thrum under his skin.

"Of course…." Neville breathed, recalling something Dumbledore had said. "Phoenix tears have healing powers…. Thanks."

Anxious to get out of there, Neville gallantly carried Ginny from the Chamber, not noticing how she was blushingly delighted by such chivalry. They returned to the wall of rock to find a sizable gap had been made by Ron on the other side, enough for the pair to squeeze through. Fawkes followed behind and, forming a chain, Neville, the two youngest Weasleys and a discombobulated Lockhart were flown back up the tunnel and out of the Chamber, the amnesiac fraud of a professor yelling with glee:

"Amazing! Amazing! This is just like MAGIC!"

Ron and Neville were in the Headmaster's office, certain for the second time in less than a year that they were about to be expelled. And it certainly seemed that way, for how severely Dumbledore was speaking to the both of them, listing their infractions and adding them to an already growing disciplinary rap sheet.

So it came as a shock when, far from expelling them, Dumbledore instead deigned to grant both Ron and Neville special awards for Services to the School. A relieved and elated Ron was then dispatched with a letter to Azakaban, requesting immediate return of the Hogwarts gamekeeper, leaving Neville and Dumbledore alone.

Neville eyed the sword now lying flat across Dumbledore's desk. "Sir…. Why did that appear to me, in the Chamber? And in the Sorting Hat, of all things?"

Dumbledore's eyes just twinkled, a smile in them in addition to the one playing on his lips. "It's not always good form to answer a question with a question, but it must be asked: Neville, what happened start of last term, when the Sorting Hat was placed on your head?"

"The…. the Hat almost put me in Slytherin," Neville admitted, a memory that had plagued him all the more this year when he had briefly wondered whether he could actually be the Heir of Slytherin, descended from the dark Founder. But from the way Dumbledore's expression sparkled, he wouldn't have been surprised if the codger somehow already knew that.

"Yes, but it put you in Gryffindor. Why?"

"Because….. I asked it to."

"Exactly, Neville, exactly! But in case you feel your placement in your House was merely just an obliged request, have a look at the handle on this sword."

Neville picked it up and examined the hilt. Golden lettering could just be made out, lettering which spelled:

"Godric Gryffindor."

"Gryffindor's Sword only appears to the worthiest of Gryffindors. And it only would have taken a true Gryffindor to pull that out of the Hat."

Marveled by this, Neville lifted his head to his headmaster and smiled. For the first time, he felt worthy enough to live up to all that he had done. For the first time, he felt like he was a hero worthy of the title.

The Petrified victims were awakened and cured. Upon seeing their friends entering the Great Hall, Ron and Neville pelted down the length of the Gryffindor table to greet them.

Neville got to Hermione first, who threw her arms around his neck. Feeling Harry slam into his chest, Neville broke away from his best girl to return the manhandling hug, glancing up from the smaller boy's head to find Ron and Hermione start to go in for a hug, then hang back shyly. The two mates settled for a rather awkward handshake.

"Welcome back, Hermione," Ron managed to mumble.

"It's good to be back!" Hermione beamed. "I'm so happy you solved it!"

"Well, we wouldn't have without your help," Ron offered up. "You are our best girl."

Hermione's big brown eyes blinked at Ron doefully, before she smiled tenderly. "I'll always be your girl," she murmured. Neville didn't even mind how she seemed to direct the statement of affection solely at Ron.