REBEL REBEL

CHAPTER THREE: UNDER THE TABLE

I.

MATCHDAY. GAMEDAY. HEIST day. The Snitch had been replaced, Filch had been mad enough to justify putting Michael in detention during the Quidditch Match (it was Slytherin vs. Gryffindor anyway, so no great loss to society), and soon the plan was in place to raid Gryffindor Tower. I stood at the Clocktower overlooking the pitch field from above, having replaced the fake snitch with audacity, waiting to see if my plan would work, sporting binoculars that I'd also acquired from Fred and George, that displayed the score of the games should I so desire. Potentially handy if I wanted to know how long was left. My eyes trained on where the Snitch would go, I watched it skyrocket around and then ascend upwards after I set the timer on my watch. Go time. Michael's work done, I headed to Gryffindor Tower, and made it to the door a few minutes later.

"Shouldn't you be at the game, loyal Gryffindor? Today of all days. I almost feel like not letting you in because of that," said the Fat Lady.

I put on my best imitation of a coughing sound, making sure to feign illness and show my fake colours. Ravenclaw was probably rolling in her grave right now, but it didn't matter – as far as I was concerned, the only thing that did right now, consequences to this world be damned, was getting home and getting home quickly as possible, with a story to tell that nobody would believe. "Sorry. I really wanted to watch Gryffindor smash Slytherin, but I…"

I coughed again, and she understood. "I'll still need the password, however. You must understand."

"Gryffindor," I said, praying it would work. After a moments pause, The Fat Lady opened the door for me. "You may want to change your password to something more difficult to guess, by the way. Anybody could get in."

"Why thank you, young Gryffindor, for alerting me. I had never considered that," said The Fat Lady. "I will change it immediately."

I couldn't help but punch the air once I was in the common room and the door closed behind me. I checked my watch, and seven minutes had passed. Plenty of time. Making my way forward, I was relieved to see that the Gryffindor Common Room was virtually the same as the films, powerfully imposing and proud in all its glory. I stood at the statue of Godric Gryffindor and basked in his brilliance, it almost felt wrong to steal from such a proud figure. "Sorry," I said, by way of apology, on my way up. Typically, there was no response.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up on end as I marched up, I almost had the unnerving feeling that I was being watched, but by whom I could not tell. I sported my – Neville's – cloak proudly, with a false pretence of fitting in. True to form, the fifth year's Boy's Dormitory remained empty and was virtually deserted, allowing for me to easily decipher Harry's bed if by process of elimination – there was only one bed in the room not adorned by some kind of iconography, be it Chudley Cannons or West Ham United. I approached the chest next to his desk like I was one of Ocean's Eleven, and whispered, "Alohomora," at it. It shot up, all too easily. The chest belonged to Harry – there was a label, H.P., adorned on its surface, and I saw all the sorts of typical notebooks and class books stacked unorganised in its home. All… perfectly ordinary. I saw the Invisibility Cloak, carefully folded away (that careless, Harry?) and for a second was tempted to take it but that would only cause a mess of trouble that would almost certainly see Dumbledore alerted by Harry once he realised something was wrong. I didn't have big enough balls to risk that – breaking into Gryffindor Tower was where I drew the line.

I felt around the edges of the trunk and grew frustrated, kicking it – I'd expected to find something in it, but I should have known it shouldn't have been this easy. Apart from being very painful and stinging my foot, it did enough to disjoint the suitcase long enough for me to be successful and uncover something underneath the suitcase, sticking out from where the carpet should be a slightly loose wooden floorboard. There was no way the Hogwarts design team was this shabby, so I took it apart, and then, bingo! A book, lying there untitled on its side. No author, no initials – this had to be some kind of journal. I snapped at it and lifted it up, looking at it and flipping through its pages. But my moment of triumph turned to disappointment almost instantly, as two things changed my situation on its head within seconds.

The first thing to go wrong was the fact that there was nothing in the book, it was blank, full of empty pages with no context to them at all. Not even random scribbles, just empty pages, waiting to be filled. Had Harry gotten a diary with the intention of writing it yet? Was it a secret diary, ala Tom Riddle? I had no time to answer that question, because the second thing to go wrong at more or less the same time as the first was about ten times more immediate and pressing.

Because the second thing to go wrong was Neville Longbottom, who was beginning to make a habit of catching people unawares when they weren't supposed to be there. "It was you who stole my cloak. I should have known, thief."

"It isn't what it looks like-"

"You're a spy, is that it? You're an impostor, working for You-Know-Who! Come to steal Harry's things while he's at a game! I shouldn't have talked to you about him. You're a snake in a raven's clothing! Dumbledore will hear about this and then you'll be expelled."

"No he won't," I said, panicking. "You see, the thing is Neville, I'm not a spy for Voldemort, I hate the man. He's the Bogeyman's Bogeyman. I want him dead as much as you or Harry, or anyone for that matter. But I have a different reason, something that's more worrying than the first, and more important. I believe Harry Potter has been replaced by someone, he isn't who he says he is, and if he's not who he says he is then we could all be in serious trouble. I wanted to confirm that he hadn't been switched out so I could get back to my life, but…"

"How would you know that Harry's replaced?" Neville said. "Why, or how, would someone want to replace him?"

"Because of how he acts," I said. "I know how he acts, I mentioned to you before. I know how he acts because… because I'm a time traveller. I'm from the future. I know exactly what's going to happen next and I know exactly how the future's going to play out."

There was a pause, I realised that Neville was the first person who I'd come close to admitting it to, and he waited for a second, in disbelief, but silently, not reaching for his wand. It helped that I had lowered mine, and he said, after a second. "That's impossible."

"I can prove it," I said, checking my watch. I had to advance play by play for a few minutes. "I can prove it, please, Neville, listen to me. I can prove I'm from the future."

"Okay. But prove in a way that I know you're from the future."

There went my chance of convincing him that there would be a Han Solo origin story film in a few years. Instead, a crazy, madhap idea turned to mind. "You've got a radio don't you? Any chance it can pick up what Lee's saying on the match?"

"Yes. They did it for the Triwizard Tournament last year so the people at home could listen in, and made the microphones go through the radio. We did the same for the Quidditch Games," said Neville. "Okay, Mr. Hurst. If you are even Tommy Hurst, anymore, that is… let's say you're from the future. I don't understand why I'm even entertaining the idea, but if you are, I'm guessing you'll know how this match plays out. And if it's the same way as your future…"

"I can't predict how anything after the first thirty minutes happens," I said after a pause, wracking my brains hard. "But I can tell you the first five goals. Or tries. Or whatever."

"It's already twenty minutes in. How can I know that you've not already been listening?"

"Did you hear a radio when you came up here?"

"No."

"Then just give me this, okay?"

"Fine," Neville said, and looked at me. Not dropping his wand, his eyes darting for the exit, waiting for somebody else to show up, "Go. What are you waiting for, Hurst?"

"Well, for starters, the Slytherins are taking the piss out of Ron Weasley," I said, addressing the ground. "They know he's 'keeper, replacing Oliver Wood, and they want to abuse that weakness. They're chanting at him, Weasley is Our King. They think it's going to be easy, and I hate to break it you, it is going to be easy, at least at first. Ron gets better, but remember, it's like replacing Thierry Henry with Theo Walcott, he was never going to live up to the hype that people had on him, and Walcott actually had hype."

"Who?"

"You'll understand that reference in a few years," I said. "Sorry. Assuming that's not enough?"

"I'm not waiting a few years to find out whether you're telling the truth or not."

"Okay… so, Ron starts, and things go badly for Gryffindor almost from the get go. Slytherin are better, Gryffindor's training isn't enough, Slytherin tear them apart. They're ruthless and unforgiving. Gryffindor break apart during the abuse – Warrington scores first, there's no surprise there, have you seen him? He's a tank – it's followed up by Pucey, then another two Slytherin goals, I don't know the scorers but it's Slytherin who score them."

Neville hastily turned the radio on, worried but at the same time, also intrigued. He held his wand at me, refusing to let go. I held my breath, waiting as Lee Johnson narrated the scorers, "And the game hasn't started brightly for Gryffindor at all, it's horrible to see them being torn apart out there-"

Neville's eyebrows raised in my direction. "Okay, you got lucky there, but anyone could have called that. Ron isn't exactly a top keeper yet. I'll admit that-"

I shushed him. "You're missing the play-by-play, Neville. Come on. It's almost as if you want me to lose."

"I do want you to lose."

Lee Johnson's voice filtered through, both Neville and I watching on, as chants, Weasley is Our King, echoed through the radio in the background, clear as day. "-And it looks as if it's going to be a long afternoon for the Gryffindor fans, Weasley is leaking goals left right and centre. To recap for those listening at home, I wish I'd have stayed at home because this is turning into a massacre, although the Slytherins aren't helping, they're playing ugly, really, really ugly, it's like a warzone out there-"

"JORDAN!" McGonagall's voice, it must have been, loud enough to be heard in the background even presumably without some kind of voice enhancement.

"-Right, anyway, to recap," said Lee, clearing his throat, and my eyes shot up in jubilation as he read the next words, "It's 40 nothing to Slytherin. Warrington opened the goal, followed by Pucey, then Warrington again, then Montague, and oh wait, here we go, finally a break in play for Gryffindor, come on Katie, you can do this-"

"That's impossible," Neville said, alarmed, and then held his wand back up at me in disbelief. "I said five goals. That's only four. Who scores next?"

"Angelina Johnson," I said. "Listen. The roars of the crowd, those are Gryffindor roars. They're cheering Katie Bell…"

"But if Katie has the Quaffle-" said Neville, but was interrupted again, this time by Lee, before he could continue.

"-Look at that build-up play, Katie Bell with a brilliant break-away down the left flank, Montague can't catch her, she throws the ball, no mistake, wasting time, it's Johnson – Angelina Johnson, and that's a chance! Goal! Johnson scores, it's forty-ten."

"And there… we, go! Get the frak in, Neville. I could kiss you right here, right now. Get in, my man. Get the frak in. That's how it's done!" I was jubilant, yet at the same time, it felt odd using real world swear words in the Harry Potter world: this was a children's book, after all, so made-up ones – albeit, ones stolen from Battlestar Galactica, would have to do. Cheering loudly. Never before had I been pushed to recall the book details in such accuracy before, and you know – that age-old Twitter question where it was often asked what music lyrics would you have to recite in order to prevent a trigger from being pulled at your head? This was the book version; this was my version. This was my time. Relief washed over my face – I was happy, and even Neville was kind of happy that Gryffindor had scored. I had never considered the fact that Neville might actually not go through and let me out, go back on his word, not once, and he was too, I was so caught up in the moment, not until he actually did.

"I'm turning you in. You got lucky."

"There's nothing about it, Neville, listen to me, please, please, listen to me! It's only a matter of time, and Harry needs to be Harry again before the end of this year or else Voldemort wins, he gets what he wants and we're all in big trouble."

"If you know the future, why don't you stop You-Know-Who yourself?" reasoned Neville, and then a look of realization hit him, and he hesitated. "Unless… you're from a future where… You-Know-Who wins? You haven't been able to stop him?"

Hell, don't look at me. He'd come to that conclusion by himself – I'd just said I was from the future. Which was not only technically true, but also avoided the issue of explaining that he was a fictional character, which was far more complicated and I didn't want to risk a Harry Potter-style remake of The Truman Show. Whatever I was going to say, it turned out I didn't have to – because Michael Corner was there, out of breath, anxious and angry as hell. He'd done just about enough to knock Neville unconscious due to the element of surprise, and said, "Please tell me you found something."

"I found something, I don't know if we should take it or not," and held up an empty book.

Michael hit me. "You idiot, did you think it would be that easy? We're so, so unbelievably screwed now. Neville Longbottom knows about you, he knows that you had help, there's one other person who left detention early because he promised he'd do it another day for longer hours – and that's me – and what's more, is the match is over, Potter caught the snitch, and they're on their way back, so we're going to be caught red-handed."

"Shit," I swore, and Michael shot me a dark look, as if he knew more than he was letting on.

"We need to go," Michael said. "Come on, put the book back. We can't risk it being found, not now, our best bet is to convince Neville that we were just there because we wanted to see what the Gryffindor Common Room looks like."

I decided not to mention that when he came too, he'd be grappling with the fact that I was from the future. "Fine," I said in frustration, putting the suitcase back to where it was and following Michael out of the Boy's Dorm. As we made our way down, our worst fears were realised – the doors were opening, and in came a dejected Quidditch Team. Angelica Johnson was angry at something, at someone – at Harry, scolding him for lashing out at the Slytherins. Okay, so that part happened like canon at least. Michael grabbed me and in what felt like a split second, we ducked underneath the low-lying table in the centre of the room, keeping ourselves as quiet as possible – Michael could get away with being found – he and Ginny were a thing after all, but I couldn't, especially when tempers were as high as they were, and the last thing anyone wanted was to find Neville Longbottom unconscious in the Boy's Dorm followed by Two Ravenclaws hiding underneath the table.

Luckily for me they stayed around the fire a bit, talking, and it was the first time I'd had a literal, front row seat to Harry, his feet were almost underneath the table, worryingly close to where I was. "You did as well as you could have done, Ron," Hermione was saying. "Listen. I was thinking about Professor Umbridge, she's clamping down on all of our freedoms, not teaching us anything about lessons, it's time we did something about it."

"Oh?" Harry said.

"I was debating about waiting on this for a better time, but I think, now, we need to after that performance. We need a club. If we're not going to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts with… Voldemort… out there-"

Michael flinched underneath the table, and caused the table to shudder.

"The table's loose again," Ron said, taking off his shoe and placing it by the table, right next to my face – his shoe, that stank, really, really badly, especially considering someone had just been playing a high energy sport for the past hour or so. "They need to fix it, I'm tired of having to use my shoes each time. It'll be winter soon; my feet will get cold."

I slowly made a move with my hand to cover my nose, doing my best not to cough. Even the slightest movement could detect them, I was lucky the table was draped in red, I was lucky that there was no lessons that we had to go to today, I couldn't afford to skip anymore after that Snape no-show, but it also meant that Gryffindor had no lessons today and the common room was full, busier than normal. We had to wait until dinner to make a move.

"So, this club," said Harry. "What are you proposing? Are you sure it's needed?"

"It definitely is," Hermione said. "Me and Ron, we've been thinking about it, and we think you'd do great as a teacher. You're Harry Potter. Kids look up to you. They want to learn from you. You're the best in our year in Defence Against the Dark Arts. As much as it pains me to admit it. We need someone who's practical. We're barely learning theory, if you'd call it that. If this was a muggle school, we might as well be watching films every lesson."

"I see where you're going," said Harry, "But I don't see why we should risk it. The Ministry is clamping down on freedom, we just got banned from playing Quidditch again. What if Umbridge finds out? She's going to blame us, she's going to blame the teachers, if we're caught it's not just our heads but McGonagall's and Dumbledore's. Plus, I don't think I'm ready to teach. None of the Sixth Years or Seventh Years will listen to me."

"It's a way to open up house divide, you heard the hat at the beginning of the year. We bring Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs in, we get a group, we get a union. Please, Harry-"

"Neville, are you alright?" Dean Thomas' voice snapped to attention, he'd been there for a while but this was the first time anyone had seen him, I could just about have made out Neville's shoes on the steps of the Boy's Dormitory, he'd recovered and made his way down, and I guessed he had some sort of bloody nose from what had happened, either from Michael or when he'd hit the floor. "Should I get Madam Pomfrey? What happened?"

"I missed the game," he said. "Sorry, Harry."

"Don't be," Harry said. "It was nothing special."

Alarm bells. More alarm bells. I wondered who was looking at Harry right now, realising the same thing that I was. Quidditch wasn't just anything special to Harry, it was his lifeline. I was surprised he'd allowed himself to be suspended by Umbridge in the first place, but being suspended from Quidditch I guessed meant no distractions from whatever his plan was. At the moment, it looked like it was something along the lines of giving Umbridge more power, breaking the Resistance before it could begin, and doing as much as he could to keep them under control. "Who did that to you, Neville?" Hermione said.

"Oh, it was nothing," Neville said hastily, and I breathed a sigh of relief, but also demonstrated an expression of confusion – especially after being knocked out, why hadn't he spoken? "An accident."

"Neville," said Ron, concerningly. Maybe Neville was starting to believe me, and hadn't before. What had changed? Why not spill the beans?

"Forget it, guys," Neville said. "It was nothing."

"Are you sure, Neville? You need to tell me if something's wrong," said Harry, and I sensed his tone change, instead of sounding comforting, he sounded threatening. Quietly threatening, like the kind of mobster in a mafia movie who sits at the back of the room, and says a few words whilst the others are saying many yet makes ten times more of an impact with those few words. "I need to know. I really do. You're on my side, aren't you?"

My side. Not Gryffindor's side. Not their side. My side. Like he was developing some sort of cult. Some sort of public persona that was different to the Harry in the books. I remembered Harry not even going after Marietta once she snitched on the DA – that was Hermione. Which made me make a mental note in my head: Don't piss off Hermione Granger. Words we could all live by. "I am, Harry," Neville said, but the nervousness in his voice was going away. Maybe because he was still trying to figure out what was going on: a time traveller correctly predicting the results of a Quidditch game before it happened would throw anybody off their game if they hadn't encountered it before. "I really am. It was nothing. I have them all the time, especially around this time of year…"

"Alright…" said Harry after a pause, seemingly addressing Hermione. "I'll do it."

What changed his mind? Was it Neville? Could he suspect that he was hiding something from him?

"Do what, Harry?" Ron asked, concerned.

"The Defence Against the Dark Arts Club," said Harry. "Although we need a better name. But we can work on that. For now, I know where we should host it. Somewhere secret. Tell me, Hermione, Ron. What do you know of the Room of Requirement?"

Well, that was new. Harry wasn't supposed to be aware of the Room before Dobby told him. I gulped, trying to make it a quiet one, and in part because of the stench of the feet. Neville coughed loudly, and I wondered if it was intentional, covering it up, and walked towards the table, I could hear feet moving through the crowd. "Your Defence club? I like it. I'm in."

"Good. Anyone else?" Harry said, opening the floor to the Gryffindor table. The conversation had moved on. "We need to learn Defence Against the Dark Arts. It's the most important class of them all, and we're being short-changed. And why not open it up to the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs too?"

"I like that idea. It should be open to everyone," said Hermione.

"Not the Slytherins, though," said Ron. "They'll only tell on us."

"There won't be any rats in my club," said Harry, harshly, glancing across at Ron. "Especially not any Slytherins. We're going to need a full veto process before they join. Anyone who has connections to anyone who's mates with Umbridge. Out. Instantly."

"That seems like a good call, mate," Ron said, going along with it, and he continued bringing up the Room of Requirement again that Harry had been distracted about when Neville showed up. "You mentioned the Room of Requirement earlier. Do you know where it is? What is it?"

I wondered why Harry was so insistent on this when he had complied with what Umbridge had said so far, but I was relieved when he said the magic words "I'll show you," and made for the door. "Hermione, Ron. You two free now?"

"Always," said Ron. I noticed that the tone of the conversation had taken a darker turn than the events in the book and I'm pretty sure Harry had somehow sped up the turn of events. Was he trying to make things happen faster? And to what end? I wasn't sure yet. But this conversation was the final nail in the coffin, and I was surprised nobody else had realised it as they hustled out of the common room.

Michael looked at me once they heard the closing of the doors, and the sound of the rest of the Gryffindor Common Room either following them or making their way upstairs, and he was the first to break the silence, around thirty minutes later, breathing a sigh of relief. "You heard everything I just heard, right?"

"Yes," said a voice, lowering himself down underneath the table before I could speak. Panicking, I turned my head in the direction of where it was coming from, only for relief to wash over my face when I saw Neville. "They're all gone, you can come out now."

"Thanks," I said, helping Michael to his feet in a newly empty common room. And then, to Neville; "You knew we were here all along? Why didn't you turn us in?"

"I'm not sure if I believe your whole story yet," Neville said. "But I do believe you on one point. One crucial point that saves your skin, yet at the same time puts us all in very, very big trouble. I've never seen Harry like that before. So dismissive of his friends. So, controlling. Manipulative. He read the room. Almost scary. I don't know how you caught on so fast, but you're right. You're not the impostor. He is."

TO BE CONTINUED…

There'll be more conversations with Neville and Tommy next as Neville grapples with the realisation that Tommy's from the future, which is technically true, just not *his* future. I wanted to pay homage to a scene from Parasite here (Oscar winner 2020!) with the table scene whilst also keep the tension high and have Neville learn that Harry was not Harry before he could tell someone about Tommy not being Tommy, and as we're telling all of this from Tommy's perspective, keep Tommy in the same room at the same time.

Neville's come to his own conclusions about Tommy too, without his help. I also wanted to move up the events of the book and start Dumbledore's Army earlier than planned, I want to keep this fic at no more than ten chapters, as the shorter the better. Maybe stretch it out to thirteen max, depending on how things play out (I've learnt from working on The Fire Waltz if I try to tell multi-year stories I never finish them, whereas I finished the one year story Have You Ever Seen the Rain? which coincidentally is an alternate version of Goblet of Fire, but in no ways connected to Rebel Rebel), so expect to see the canon events sped up or condensed so we can get to the stuff that you haven't all seen before.