Chapter Three
Neville's flashback:
"Headmaster, you wanted to see me?" Neville said as the door to Dumbledore's office opened magically in front of him at the top of the rotating stairs we all know and love.
"Always, but enough about that," said Dumbledore oldly. "I have a mission for you. You will have to go on a grave, perilous journey, full of perils and graves, some freshly dug. Come, talk to me in a grave."
Dumbledore stood up from his desk, walked over to Neville, and clapped his hand on Neville's back (a little too far down if you ask me). Their surroundings faded to black and in the next instant he found himself standing inside a six foot deep grave.
"Excuse me for the rather abrupt change in scenery" said Dumbledore decrepitly as he pulled himself out of the grave. "But you see, the last time I had a serious conversation with a student in my office, he ended up throwing everything everywhere, and I'd rather not have that happen again." Professor Dumbledore his offered a hand out to Neville. The short, pudgy, pathetic lad sadly needed the help. What a rotundus dorkus.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain chosen one, would it?" inquired Neville.
"Oh Neville, you're so wise when you're not being stupid," said Dumbledore creakily, clasping Neville's shoulder (a little too much shoulder if you ask me).
"Now forgive me Neville, I'm going to be uncharacteristically mean for a while." Dumbledore took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for the one meter dash as a transfigured tapeworm, the most popular sport in the wizard olympics. Then, he let out the following tirade: "That idiot! That loon! That pisswit!," Dumbledore gestured wildly, agitated hands flying through the air, motions usually reserved for trying to explain grown-up ideas to Hagrid. "Why couldn't he be smarter! I made Granger his friend, don't think that wasn't my doing, to try to make him actually think for once, but she just tells him the answers. Just because you're angry when you're telling someone the answers does NOT mean you aren't telling them the answers! I might have well have tatooed the answers to his taint, at least that way he would have improved his flexibility." Dumbledore paused for a split second to regain his breath before continuing. "AND He had the gall to make me tell him that I was wrong! Do you know how old I am? I don't GET to be wrong anymore! Do you know how far ahead I am looking at all times? My plans make wizard chess look like wizard tic-tac-toe!"
Dumbledore forced himself to stop, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, When he opened his eyes again, he seemed to have calmed down. "Please don't repeat what I said to anyone, especially Harry. He's always so sensitive, caring about who says what behind his back, and what's snogging who, and who's killing who-knows-what. It's just so tiresome to deal with all that nonsense. It's enough to make someone sigh exasperatedly," sighed Dumbledore exasperatedly. Dumbledore fell quiet, giving Neville a chance to ask the question that has no doubt been bothering all you stickler, Hermione Granger-ish readers out there.
"Professor, how did we even get here? I thought it was impossible to apparate within the Hogwart's grounds?"
"Neville, we live in a a world with an incredibly loose and inconsistent set of rules. One moment, apparition is impossible in the Hogwart's ground; the next moment, elves can do it because fuck you, they just can, and somehow no wizard, be it for reasons academic, ambitious, or otherwise, has ever bothered to ask them about it, despite the fact that they are basically our slaves and would be forced to tell us. And don't even get me started on how it's somehow completely impossible to extend the trace beyond a wizard's seventeenth birthday. Turning a teapot into a chicken is no big deal but extending a time limit is beyond every single last wizard's ability. It's almost as if the laws that govern our world were made up arbitrarily by one person who doesn't have a lot of foresight. And, let's just say, hypothetically, that these laws were arbitrarily made up by one person, and that, also hypothetically, perhaps she made me more or less functioning king of this world. In that case, it would make sense that I acquire any power necessary to move the plot forward."
"Well, yes, but that's just hypothe-"
"MOVING ON! Let me tell you why we're here. Your mission, should you choose accept it, is one of grave necessity. You will have to be trained in the deadly art of magic—"
"I know magic!" cut in Neville.
"MORE magic," continued Dumbledore anciently. "You will have to become a supreme master of occlumency, to be able to not only hide your thoughts, but to in fact conceal that they are human thoughts. And you'll need a disguise." Dumbledore paused, weighing his next words carefully in his mind before speaking them aloud. As he contemplated, he seemed to grow older. In fact he was growing older. And uglier. Oh God he's so ugly.
"Neville," said Dumbledore one foot in the grave-ly, "Do you like horses?" Having passed this obstacle in the conversation, like a horse clearing a fence that has been especially designated for horse jumping (you know the type), Dumbledore youngened, but he was still ugly.
"I love horses sir! It's been a dream of mine to settle down one day and join a clan of wild horses, to learn to gallop as they do across the fields, to eat and digest the tall grasses they subsist on. But what does this have to do with the mission?"
"I'll get to that later. Keep telling me about horses."
"Very well sir. I would like to civilize them, instruct them in the teachings of Jesus, and invite them over for tea and crumpets." As Neville said this, his eyes shown bright with the light of glorious British Imperialism. He continued out loud "They are such majestic animals, so beautiful, and yet so beastly." Neville paused for a moment, concentrated on his breath, and sang in solemn voice:
"Horsies, pretty horsies, and the ponies, how I love thee, pretty horsies."
"A noble endeavour, I could help you with such a task, if you would but help me." Dumbledore seemed ready now to get to the heart of the matter, to reveal exactly what he needed from Neville. "Your mission will be to infiltrate the Death Eater's summer ranch," said Dumbledore like an NES cartridge that just won't register correctly no matter how hard you blow (a little too much blowing if you ask me).
Neville was shocked. "A ranch?"
"Yes Neville. The ranch is located in Texas, Wyoming. The Death Eaters use this ranch as their elite summer get-away. Only the most trusted and villainous, and essentially evil Death Eaters are allowed to convene there to square dance with the Dark Lord. Yes, many an insidious do-si-do has occurred within that nefarious dance hall." Dumbledore paused once more, reminiscent of other pauses in this very story (a bit too much pausing if you ask me).
"I need you to go to the ranch and spy on them."
LIGTHENING STRIKES. KRAKOW! BOOM!
HOW FRIGHTENING AND DRAMATICALLY APPROPRIATE!
Well, me and Neville, we looked at each other, and we each said... "Okay." Preparations began immediately.
First, they would have to train in advanced magic. Which they did.
"Wow, I'm a master now!" said Neville.
Then, they had to train in occlumency. Which they did.
"Wow, I can accurately mask my thoughts over five hundred different animals, two hundred different plants, and a semi-accurte Chang in over six hundred different situations!" said Neville.
Last, they would have to work on Neville's disguise. But first they took a break for ice cream.
"Wow, who knew vanilla could be so delicious?" said Neville.
At last, it was time. "So Headmaster, how will we be pulling this off? Polyjuice potion? A charm to distort my features? How are we going to turn me into a Death Eater?"
"Oh, we won't be disguising you as a Death Eater," said Dumbledore, like mashed potatoes would say if the mashed potatoes were particularly old.
"But sir, how else could I possibly blend in?"
Neville's thoughts returned to the present abruptly as the raucous noise of fifty girls swooned in a synchronized fashion at the sight of his glorious mane.
"You know, I don't regret my choice, but I wish I'd thought about it a little bit more before agreeing to be changed, into...this," thought Neville, staring down at his hooves. Then again, if things had gone the way they were supposed to, he would have reverted to his normal form by now. But things had strayed far beyond the confines of the plan that fateful summer.
a/n So it's been a long time but Neville's Big Adventure is back! What an ecksiting chappy! OMG! REVELATIONS! Also, please vote please please!
And now ladies and gentleman, the Neville's Big Adventure singers!
Tribute to Tribute and also Harry Potter and fandom in general
[Spoken]
Dumble D here, with the greatest and best fanfic in the world... Tribute
Long time ago me and my boy Neville here,
we was hitchhikin' down a grave and perilous grave.
All of a sudden, there shined a shiny plot bunny... in the middle... of my brain.
And he said:
[Sung]
"Write the best fanfic in the world, or I'll revoke your deviantart account."
[Spoken]
Well me and Nev, we looked at each other,
and we each said... "Okay."
[Sung]
And we wrote the first thing that came to our heads,
Just so happened to be,
The Best Fic in the World, it was The Best Fic in the World.
Look at those hooves on that majectic steed
Neville as a horse makes fangirls squee,
It was destiny.
Once every hundred-thousand words or so,
We would consider spellcheck and then not correct
Too much plot to go...
Needless to say, the reviewers were stunned.
Whip-crack went the mouse cord,
And the voting was done.
They typed: "(snort) Be you loltards?"
And we said, "Nay. We are but fans."
ROCK!
"Ladies and gentleman, that was the Neville's Big Adventure singers. Listen as they play you out"
Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse Nevillehorse