The snow only fell heavier as Christmas approached, leaving the castle grounds under a pure white carpet, perfect and unblemished. Neville could not think of anything less appropriate as he stalked through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts under cover of the invisibility cloak. He was on a mission to search out Pansy Parkinson and Carina Rayne. Sadly, his objective was not to destroy them, but rather to collect some of their hairs.
Just the previous afternoon, Hermione had alerted him that the Polyjuice Potion was almost ready, and Neville had taken it upon himself to retrieve samples of their target Slytherins. Ginny, on the other hand, was collecting information on their normal behaviour patterns from her friends in the house, Tracey and Daphne. Hermione was busy looking after the potion itself in its final hours of preparation, which left one job to Ron. To their collective amazement, he had not shied away from more library duty. Perhaps that was because he was looking up ways to incapacitate some of his least favourite people for a few hours, but Neville couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised by his continuing dedication.
The two Slytherin girls left the Great Hall barely a minute after he arrived, having just finished their lunch. Neville himself had taken an early, light meal. He could not afford to lose this opportunity. Focusing closely on Pansy's hair, watching the individual strands, he raised his wand.
"Diffindo," Neville muttered. Several stands floated silently to the floor. Approaching with stealth over speed, Neville collected the hairs in a vial, and focused now on Carina. She was further away now, and it was harder to visualise exactly what he wanted the charm to do, but he did not want to risk chasing them closer to the dungeons... "Diffindo."
It was a more significant amount of hair this time, but still not enough that Carina would notice the loss. His mission accomplished, Neville allowed himself a sigh of relief. This would bring them one step closer to finding out who was responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets. And perhaps they might find the person who had put Harry in the hospital wing while they were at it. Neville felt his hands twitch as he imagined placing them around Draco Malfoy's pale neck.
Heading up to the library, Neville felt a strange kind of apprehension, as though maybe he was making a mistake. He could not find the source of the feeling though, and it soon passed, leaving Neville confused but undeterred. There was nothing more important now than the mission.
"Hey Neville," said Ron. "I've got a few promising spells but none of them guarantee us a window. We might need to brew some potions."
"I'll ask Ginny," said Neville, shrugging. Ginny had hardly been sociable over the previous few weeks, but Hermione was up to her eyeballs with the Polyjuice preparation. Perhaps she would be amenable.
"You got the hairs?" said Ron, returning to his book.
"Of course," Neville said, shaking the vial with Carina's donation. "Here, maybe you're looking in the wrong place."
"Huh?" Ron frowned, looking down at his index of curses.
"Curses aren't generally meant for this sort of thing," Neville explained. "They're meant to injure someone, or remove them from a fight. Maybe…"
Returning the vial to his pocket, Neville headed off towards Enchantments. He quickly found a general index, but wandered the aisle looking for something more specific.
"Not protective, not… maybe…" Neville frowned, looking at the section on Healing Enchantments. They did say sleep was important for healing. Perhaps he would find something within to ensure it. An enchantment would be a lot easier to force on an unconscious victim than a potion, after all.
Taking the two books back to Ron, he started flipping through the healing index.
"Healing Enchantments?" Ron frowned.
"Wait a second," said Neville. "Saliva… Sexual transmission…"
Ron snorted in surprise.
"Sleep!" Neville grinned. "Got it! There's four spells here. This is to wake you up, no… Ah! The Quietum Mentis Charm. Induces a full night's worth of sleep, or until the counter-charm is used."
"Err," said Ron, making a face at the incantation. "You can learn that one, buddy."
Somnolerii Noctis Tardius Quietum Mentis Giradi Redigerilius Conscientis
The incantation must be accompanied by a steady, rhythmic waving of the wand from left. The movement slows laterally, being fastest at the centre. Further, the movement should naturally dip centrally to encourage a deeper sleep.
"It's… quite long," Neville frowned.
"Hey," said Ron. "Maybe we'll get lucky and Ginny can just wave her hand at them."
Neville smiled slightly. "Maybe we'll get lucky and Ginny will say more than three words to us."
"Point," said Ron. "But she is talking to the Slytherins."
"She is…" Neville frowned. "Well, feel free to ask, but I'm going to try and get this spell memorised by dinner."
"Who are you going to practise on?" Ron grinned.
Neville shrugged. "I'll improvise."
Putting away all but the healing textbook, Neville and Ron headed back to Gryffindor tower to prepare. It would have been an arduous three hours that followed, had Neville only the memorisation and practise of the Quietum Mentis charm to keep him occupied. However, Ron insisted that they needed to practise getting into character. So every half an hour or so Ron would stop trying to cast Stunning Spells at Harry's bed, and have Neville pretend to be Gregory Goyle. It was more fun than Neville would have expected to shuffle up and down the dormitory, mocking the dim-witted lackey.
Two hours in, Ron was casting the curse at will, and had caused quite grievous insult to Harry's bedstead. Neville on the other hand had only just got the incantation down, though the wand movement was easy enough.
"Why don't you practise it on me?" said Ron, idly twirling his wand. "You can say it till you're blue in the face but you might still screw it up."
"And what do I do when you go down for a nine hour snooze?" Neville chuckled. "Nah, I need to find an animal or something to practise on."
"Hold up," said Ron, getting up suddenly and heading downstairs. His voice echoed back up through the closing door. "You keep playing with your wand, mate, it's fine."
Neville gritted his teeth, trying not to smile. "Dickhead."
Imagining Ron in front of him, he focused on wanting him tired, just shutting his eyes and settling in for a good night's rest. "Somnolerii Noctis Tardis… Wait no, that's not right. Somnolerii Noctis Tardius Quietum Mentis Giradi Redigerilius Conscientis."
A whisper of power hummed through his wand, manifesting as a faint glow washing over the tip, lighting it in hues of magenta.
"Wow," Neville grinned. Getting a cast right on the first try (or near enough) was a completely new experience for him. Hurrying down the stairs to share the news, he stopped short at the common room. There stood the twins, lightly kicking a snoring Ron. "Merlin's balls!"
"Too bloody right," said Fred.
"Here we were…" said George.
"Minding our own business," said Fred.
"Considering ways to bring Christmas cheer to Hogwarts," said George.
"And this lump turns up," Fred snorted, giving Ron another kick.
"Turns round to me," said George.
"And says," Fred said.
"Fre-e-ouuurrghh…" George yawned, rubbing his shoulder.
"Bam."
"Flat out."
"Smackeroonie."
"Off to la-la land."
"In sweet Mae-"
"I think I get it, guys," said Neville.
"Are you sure?" said Fred.
"We can break it down further for you," George added.
Neville stared down at his wand. "What is the range on this thing?"
"Toss it here, we'll open a window and find out," Fred grinned.
Neville almost moved to hand it over before catching himself. "I… may have cast a charm on him from our dorm."
"Niiiiice work," said George approvingly. "Takes a lot of focus to do it without looking."
"Yeah…" said Neville. "Well, now I know it works, how do I wake him up? I don't know the counter-charm."
"Oh, this should do the trick," said Fred. "Aguamenti."
The little jet of cold water blasted straight into his younger brother's face, waking him with a start. "What the bleeeugh!"
"Could you say that again, Ronniekins?" said George. "Can't quite hear you."
"Stupefy," said Ron, grinning as Fred was thrown back over the armchair he'd been leaning on, out for the count. "I love this spell."
"Are you two going for honours or something?" George gaped, reviving his brother. "Have you been studying?"
"Never hurts," said Ron casually.
George collapsed against his newly conscious twin, putting a hand dramatically to his forehead. "We've lost him, George. Our poor little brother. He was so young!"
Ron ignored them. "Neville, was that you?"
Neville nodded, still a little stunned by his accomplishment.
"Well, do you still even want to practise it?" said Ron, grinning. "If you can cast it through walls."
"Yeah, I'm not done playing with my wand," said Neville, eliciting a snort of laughter.
"Well, as long as you don't wake me up like these bloody gnomes," Ron griped. "Let's go then."
Neville crouched silently with Ron in a doorway off the deserted Entrance Hall. Their wands were held ready in their hands, and their ears were focused keenly to hear any signal from Ginny to abort the mission. They somehow doubted that Carina and Pansy would stay as long as Crabbe and Goyle, but there was no way of knowing for sure. Just as Ron started to scratch his ear in agitation, the girls appeared through the vast double doors to their left. Neville stared at Pansy, his wand swishing side to side, murmuring the charm. Just as he pictured her closing her eyes, he released the spell, and Pansy staggered.
Both girls already having been Confunded by Ron, Carina simply carried on idly walking across the hall, until she too staggered. Apparently for good measure, Ron aimed his wand at both of them again in turn. "Confundo. Confundo."
"Ooh, daisies," Carina said, as she snuggled into the floor.
Neville sniggered. "Alright, Stun them and let's get them into the cupboard."
"Is it a little bit weird that we can just do this in school?" Ron whispered.
"More than a little," Neville agreed. "But if we don't find out who's behind all this it'll be a little bit weird that everyone died in school."
"Hey, hey, I wasn't saying that," said Ron. "Stupefy. Stupefy."
The red jets of light slammed into their respective targets, who were knocked back about a foot, completely wasted.
Neville rather wanted to tease Ron about the spell they were about to cast. However, he remembered the looks on his friends' faces after they came back from facing the troll they had saved Hermione from, and he thought better of it.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
Half an hour later, Ron, Ginny and Neville stood in the supply closet, wands lit, looking down upon their unfortunate victims.
"Well, then," said Ron. "Time's ticking."
"I'm not particularly looking forward to this," said Neville.
"It's not my idea of a Christmas present either," said Ron. "They'd just better be wearing bloody underwear or I'm going to need therapy."
Knowing that none of them were the same size as the people they were transforming into, they had come to the alarming realisation that they would need to take the Slytherins' clothes. Neville only hoped that his pants would stand up to the strain of Goyle's greater bulk. Ginny, of course, was waiting to deal with the girls once Neville and Ron had left.
Neville grunted with effort as he tried to remove Goyle's robe. "Ugh, this is pointless. Wingardium Leviosa."
"If I get an eyeful I'm taking it out on you," said Ron warningly.
"Relax," said Neville, watching Ron copy his tactics. "It's all under control…"
Minutes later, they were waltzing into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, their victims' clothes concealed in their bags. Immediately, Neville began to cough. Thick black smoke was pouring out from the stall in which Hermione was stirring the cauldron. Pulling their robes up over their faces, they knocked softly on the door.
"Hermione?" said Neville.
They heard the scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged, shiny-faced and looking anxious. Behind her they heard the gloop gloop of the bubbling, glutinous potion. Four glass tumblers stood ready on the toilet seat.
"Did you get them?" Hermione asked breathlessly.
They all raised their bags, stuffed with robes, ties, socks and shoes.
"Good," said Hermione. "The potion seems to be ready…"
The three of them stared into the cauldron. Close up, the potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.
"I'm sure I've done everything right," said Hermione, nervously re-reading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions. "It looks like the book says it should… once we've drunk it, we'll have exactly
an hour before we change back into ourselves."
"Now what?" Ron whispered.
Hermione let out a heavy sigh. "We separate it into four glasses and add the hairs."
Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she removed a single blonde hair from the Carina Rayne vial and dropped it into the first glass.
The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned a dull green colour.
"Well, that looks delicious," said Ron, eyeing it with loathing. "Wonder what Parkinson's will look like."
"I'm trying not to wonder what it's going to taste like," Hermione muttered, dropping Crabbe and Goyle's hairs into Ron and Neville's potions and handing them over. Both glasses hissed and frothed: Goyle's turned the khaki colour of a bogey, while Crabbe's was a dark, murky brown.
Ron, Neville and Ginny all stood outside the cubicle, waiting to see Pansy's potion. Hermione looked up at them, and dropped the hair in.
This one bubbled in a rage, actually steaming before settling into an even darker, murkier green than Carina's.
"Wonderful," Hermione grimaced.
"Now that one is going to be foul," said Neville.
"This one's hardly going to be pumpkin juice," said Ron, holding up his 'essence of Crabbe'.
"Let's all find our own cubicles and change," said Neville, passing Pansy's clothes to Hermione.
There was a loud rustling of fabric as everybody changed into their target's clothes.
"Ready?" Ron called.
"Ready," said Neville, Hermione and Ginny.
"One. Two. Three!"
Wincing at the smell of overcooked cabbage, Neville drank the potion down in two large gulps. It tasted like overcooked cabbage. Immediately, his insides started writhing as though he'd just swallowed live snakes – doubled up, he wondered whether he was going to be sick – then a burning sensation spread rapidly from his stomach to the very ends of his fingers and toes – next, bringing him gasping to all fours, came a horrible melting feeling, as the skin all over his body bubbled like hot wax – and before his eyes, his hands began to grow, the fingers thickened, the nails broadened, the knuckles were bulging like bolts – his shoulders stretched painfully and a prickling on his forehead told him that hair was creeping down toward his eyebrows – his robes filled out as his chest expanded like a barrel bursting its hoops – there was a shrieking sound from somewhere but he couldn't focus through the pain…
As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Neville lay face down on the stone-cold floor, listening to Myrtle gurgling morosely in the end toilet. So this was what it felt like, being Goyle. His large hand trembling, he raised it in front of his eyes to examine its unfamiliar shape. Reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes, Neville met only the short growth of wiry bristles, low on his forehead.
"Are you three okay?" Goyle's low rasp of a voice issued from his mouth.
"Yeah," came the deep grunt of Crabbe from his right.
Neville unlocked his door and stepped in front of the cracked mirror. Goyle stared back at him out of dull, deep-set eyes. Neville scratched his ear. So did Goyle. Ron's door opened. They stared at each other. Except that he looked pale and shocked, Ron was indistinguishable from Crabbe, from the pudding-bowl haircut to the long, gorilla arms.
"This is unbelievable," said Ron, approaching the mirror and prodding Crabbe's flat nose. "Unbelievable."
"We had best be going," said Neville, scratching absently at the bristly hair on Goyle's head. "Ginny, you know how to find the Slytherin common room, right?"
Carina Rayne emerged from the cubicle along from Ron's, a slight smirk on her face. It was rather unfair, Neville thought, for such an ugly person to be so pretty. "Of course."
"Hermione?" said Ron. "We haven't got a lot of time."
Pansy Parkinson scowled at herself in the mirror.
"Oh wow, you've even got the expressions right," said Neville, unable to hold back a grin.
"I've never particularly wanted to curse myself before," said Hermione. "It's a funny feeling."
'Not as funny as desperately trying not to think about what's between your legs,' Neville thought.
"Ginny, let's go!" said Ron urgently.
They stormed through secret passage after secret passage until they came out on the ground floor, heading around towards the Entrance Hall.
"Don't swing your arms like that," Neville muttered to Ron.
"Eh?"
"Crabbe holds them more stiffly…"
"How's this?"
"Yeah, that's better."
As they headed down the stairs towards the dungeons, the girls settled into idle nattering about this or that in Witch Weekly. It was as though they had practised for the role, with Hermione shrieking with laughter about someone or another's choice of dress robes.
Ron and Neville shared utterly clueless looks, before bursting into laughter at the sight of each other being more in character than when they had been trying. Hearing Crabbe and Goyle laughing proper, wholesome belly laughs was up there with the strangest parts of the experience.
"What's funny?" said Pansy.
Hermione sounded rather vulnerable, and Neville realised she thought they were laughing at her. Before he could break character, Ginny stepped in.
"Who cares with those two?" Carina sneered. "Maybe they saw a mirror."
Pansy squealed with laughter, while Neville and Ron looked at each other uncertainly.
"Oh, look, it's Weasley," said Carina. "What are you doing, Weasley? Don't you know it's not safe to play with snakes?"
"What I am doing is none of your business," said Percy. "Perhaps you feel the need to prove yourself in front of your friends? With your family history it is hardly surprising, but do choose more realistic targets."
"Hmm," said Carina thoughtfully. "Perhaps I ought to aim higher."
"Do be careful," said Percy. "If you look any higher you'll see what your grandmother did to get you that wonderful manor house."
It took every bit of Neville's resolve to bite down on his grin and look menacing.
"At least she has a house, Weasley," Pansy spat, dragging Carina off.
"Go on, Crabbe, Goyle," said Percy. "Back to your common room, that's it."
"I don't know what he's been eating this year," Ron muttered. "But he better keep eating it."
Ginny snorted slightly ahead of them, but made no comment.
"Oh, hello girls," Malfoy drawled, disinterested. "Did something happen?"
"Nothing, Draco," said Pansy. "Just a... personal thing."
"Well, as long as she's not crying over Saint Potter," said Malfoy.
Neville felt the entire group tense momentarily, but Ginny snickered. "Poor Potter, beaten near dead in the hospital wing. What a tragedy."
"Yes," Malfoy laughed, looking rather pleased. "Exactly. Here, what was the new password to the… oh, no — pure-blood!"
Ron and Neville shared a look. It was beyond Neville how the girls were able to hold character, but Ginny was more than simply uncanny. He had half expected her to wreathe herself in flame and go full berserker mode on the ponce of Slytherin. She truly had changed.
A stone door concealed in the wall slid open, and Malfoy marched through it. Neville found himself in a long, downward sloping corridor made entirely of obsidian. Green magical lighting overhead penetrated the translucent glass to give it a haunting internal glow that made Neville shiver. Malfoy, however, seemed perfectly at ease, and they followed him down to the common room proper, where all the lighting was from green flames. It seemed the least hospitable setting for a children's common room Neville could imagine. Within, several Slytherins were silhouetted against the green hearth fire, seated in high backed armchairs.
"Draco," said Daphne Greengrass courteously, if not warmly.
Neville stared. Daphne and Tracey appeared to be just leaving. Was it part of the plan?
"What are you moping about now, Tracey?" said Carina. "You're not crying over Potter, are you?"
Tracey, who had been looking rather down, turned an irritated eye on Carina. "I suppose you've gotten over your dream of one upping your grandmother and fucking your way into a house with standing."
Malfoy looked rather more interested now, raising a curious eyebrow.
"You little Squib spawn!" Pansy shrieked.
Neville couldn't help but be impressed. It must have taken actual physical effort for Hermione to use foul language. Perhaps Ginny had been meeting with Hermione to practise, and that was why they had seen so little of the girls recently.
"At least I would stand a chance, you little tub of lard," Carina sneered.
"Tell me, Carina darling," said Daphne with an almost genuine tone of caring concern. "Have they started doing brassieres in flat?"
The two pairs stared each other down while a few of their housemates looked on with mild interest. Neville's brain was in full meltdown. Surely this encounter had been planned while Ginny had met with Daphne and Tracey the previous day, but the sheer vitriol between people who were supposed to be almost family... Such behaviour between Gryffindors would only be the result of the worst kind of relationship breakdown. And yet from the reactions of the other Slytherins, this was standard fare.
Malfoy seemed completely disinclined towards intervening, smirking as he bore witness to the confrontation.
"Come on, Trace," said Daphne. "The broomstick has clearly gone too long without a rider."
"Don't listen to them Carrie," said Pansy. "You're gorgeous."
"I know," Carina sighed. "Sometimes I just want to slap that filthy hybrid right in the face."
"Her grandfather, was it?" said Malfoy.
Pansy nodded, sneering. "Some foreign Muggle."
Malfoy turned to Ginny. "Your grandmother showed much better taste in husbands."
"Yes, well, we do have certain standards in my family," Carina smirked.
"Unlike the Potters, apparently…" said Malfoy. "An Ancient and Most Noble House indeed… Well, at least the Heir seems to know Potter's true allegiances."
Neville felt his face tauten. Were they about to hear the Heir's identity?
"I am curious though," said Pansy. "How in Merlin's name have these attacks stayed out of the Prophet?"
"I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up," said Malfoy thoughtfully, smirking slightly. "He'll be sacked if it doesn't stop soon. Father's always said old Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never've let slime like that Creevey in."
Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate impression of Colin: " 'Potter, can I have your picture, Potter? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?' "
Pansy and Carina giggled appreciatively.
Malfoy dropped his hands and looked at Neville and Ron. "What's the matter with you two?"
Far too late, they forced themselves to laugh, but Malfoy seemed satisfied; perhaps Crabbe and Goyle were always slow on the uptake.
"Saint Potter, the Mudbloods' friend," said Malfoy slowly. "If he had any decency he wouldn't go around with that jumped-up Granger Mudblood. And people think he's Slytherin's heir!"
Carina snorted derisively.
"I wish I knew who it is," said Malfoy petulantly. "I could help them."
"You and me both," said Pansy, distracting Malfoy from Ron's utterly shell-shocked expression.
"But you must have some idea who the Heir could be…" said Neville.
"You know I haven't, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?" snapped Malfoy. "And Father won't tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it'll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing – last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it's a matter of time before one of them's killed this time…
"I hope it's Granger," Malfoy said with relish.
Ron was clenching Crabbe's gigantic fists. Feeling that it would be a bit of a giveaway if Ron punched Malfoy, Neville shot him a warning look. Pansy and Carina were simpering and giggling away. Neville wondered how Ginny and Hermione could stomach behaving like the two Slytherins.
"Couldn't we do anything to help, Draco?" said Pansy.
Malfoy shifted restlessly in his chair. "Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he's got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor last week?"
Neville tried to force Goyle's dull face into a look of concern.
"Yeah…" said Malfoy. "Luckily, they didn't find much. Father's got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own secret chamber under the drawing-room floor –"
Neville stared at Ron. Luckily for them, Malfoy's attention was divided between memories and Carina, for Ron had opened his mouth to say something triumphant… and nothing had come out. Neville stamped on Ron's foot to stop him gaping like a landed fish. Evidently, Ginny was even more on top of things than he had thought.
Pansy and Carina, meanwhile, had started talking to each other more than Draco, and the boy was evidently growing upset. On two occasions Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, and Carina just giggled over him.
"Speaking of Dark Arts," said Pansy. "Did you see who the new Beater is for the Tornadoes?"
Carina hummed distractedly. "I'll never pronounce that name, but he can practise his Dark Arts on me anytime he likes."
Malfoy was beginning to turn red, but that was nothing compared to Ron. Neville wouldn't be surprised if the poor boy exploded, he was so flushed. The girls took that as their cue to start heading off. Pansy gave Neville and Ron a warning look as they passed, mouthing 'eight minutes'. They heard the girls giggling all the way up the corridor.
Malfoy stared after the girls as they left, before kicking his heel against his armchair. "Bet she'd never ignore Saint Potter…" he muttered darkly. "Dark Arts… ugh."
"Oh, I left my bag in the hall," Crabbe grunted.
"Me too," said Neville, staring at Ron and wishing that either of them could have come up with something better, seeing as neither of their victims had even been carrying bags.
Luckily for them, Malfoy was rather distracted by his own thoughts. "Sure, fine…"
They were already shuffling away out of the common room. Every itch or tingle on his skin felt to Neville like the beginning of his transformation, and he could not wait to be safely in Myrtle's bathroom.
As soon as they were clear of the dungeons, Neville and Ron broke into full sprints, desperate to get to a secret passageway in case their transformations started. There could only be a couple of minutes left…
Ron dived through an unassuming bit of wall into a passage that, today being a Thursday, led straight up to the first floor corridor on which Myrtle's bathroom was located. They were halfway through when Ron stopped suddenly, leaning heavily on the wall. He was about to ask if Ron was okay when Neville himself doubled over, feeling as though someone had taken a sword to his stomach.
"Gah!" Ron cried out, collapsing to the floor. "Bloody hell!"
"Why didn't she find a Pain Relief Potion or something as well?" Neville grunted through gritted teeth as he returned to his own true form.
"Oh…" Ron sighed, putting his head in his hands, which just then stopped their strange gelatinous bubbling.
With one final spasm, the potion released Neville as well, and he collapsed on his back. "Well, let's just hope the girls made it back to the bathroom in time."
"Yeah," said Ron. "Merlin's saggy ballsack, I am never doing that again."
They simply lay there for a while, calming down, before Neville signalled to Ron and they both stood. It was not an easy task to walk in clothes several sizes too large, let alone such large shoes, but through a prodigious grip on the inside of their trouser pockets, and a steady shuffling gait, they managed to keep themselves in order as they headed for the bathroom.
"Not a complete waste of time, though, was it?" said Ron. "I mean we might not know who's opening the Chamber, but I'm going to write to Dad and get him to check under Lucius Malfoy's drawing room."
"For one thing, we know who it isn't," said Neville, slightly vexed in spite of himself. "And we could probably get Malfoy fired if we could find the letter where he tells Malfoy to let the Heir do his thing, but he's probably burned the damn thing."
He watched Ron's expression rise and fall with his words. It would certainly make Mr. Weasley's life easier to have Lucius Malfoy's influence compromised. Not to mention the impact it might have on the running of the school — Malfoy being a prominent member of the Board of Governors.
"Bloody Death Eater," Ron cursed.
They entered the bathroom to find Ginny and Hermione waiting for them, already changed. Hermione was scowling.
"What's wrong?" said Neville. "I mean, beyond not finding out who it is."
"If I'd had to be Pansy Bloody Parkinson for one more second I was going to start hexing people," said Hermione. "How does she live with herself?"
"If it helps," said Ron, "you were both brilliant."
"Why would it help that I'm good at pretending to be her?" said Hermione acidly.
Neville sighed. "I take it you rehearsed that little performance with Tracey and Daphne."
"We rehearsed everything," said Hermione. "Ugh, I just want to forget that I ever did this."
"You're not alone there," said Ron.
Hermione took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Right, well… You two get changed and we'll go get to work on our Sleeping Beauties."
"Hey, you look a lot better this way, trust me," said Neville, grinning.
Hermione blushed and said something unintelligible before rushing off with Ginny without so much as a glance in their direction.
Twenty minutes later, they were all standing in the supply closet, looking down at their unconscious Slytherin helpers. Each one had been redressed as well as they were able, but still snoozing under the effects of Neville's enchantment and a freshly applied layer of Stupefy.
"Shall we start Confunding them?" said Hermione.
"We'll have to lay it on thick for them to not realise they've been attacked," said Neville.
"I've got a really good feeling about this," said Ron.
Hermione and Neville both shot him mildly irritated looks.
"It'll be fine," said Neville. "Worst comes to worst they can't prove anything, so…"
"Let's just do this and forget about it," said Hermione pointedly. "Immobulus!"
With the Slytherins' bodies tensed, they levitated them out into the Entrance Hall, posing them hurriedly against the wall in Crabbe and Goyle's case, and by the stairs for the girls. A round of Confundos from Ron and Hermione sealed the deal, and as they all moved well out of sight, Ron pointed his wand through the banisters, and after an extra set of Confundus Charms he smirked.
"Rennervate!"
"Was that really necessary?" Hermione whispered.
"Better safe than sorry," said Ron, sniggering as Crabbe and Goyle started hugging each other tightly like brothers reunited after a lifetime apart. Pansy was staring at her own hand as though she had never seen it before.
"Let's get out of here," Neville hissed.
Nobody was pleased to have worked so hard for so little. Christmas at Hogwarts had all the picturesque beauty that Neville had imagined, but none of the warmth or happiness. Even Ron woke up looking barely affected. For no matter what anybody had sent them for Christmas, the one gift they desired above all else was beyond their reach.
Vengeance.
With their ultimate failure to find the person behind the Petrifications, the four Gryffindors had thrown themselves headfirst into training and research. Since Malfoy was no longer a candidate, they were back to square one on finding their culprit, a mission which they could no longer do anything to accomplish.
Neville stared around at the Great Hall, with a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe decorating the ceiling, which itself was reflecting the flurries of snow falling outside. To most Purebloods, Christmas was but a quaint Muggle adaptation of the old Winter Solstice celebrations, which lasted twelve days and predated even the Celtic traditions that mirrored them, but otherwise were quite similar in nature. However, many magical families had taken it on as the centuries passed for its greater convenience of being shorter and thus less of a strain on resources. Magical society being utterly secular, and for the most part atheistic, such traditions were kept up more for sentimental value and morale than anything else. And Professor Dumbledore, among others, was quite keen on Britain making that change.
As such, Professor Dumbledore led the teachers and students in some of his favourite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumed. But none of this touched Neville. He powered through his Christmas lunch, barely noticing the twins charming Percy's badge to read 'pervert' and sniggering. All that mattered to Neville was getting back to the secret passages where he had been practising his footwork and spell-chaining.
He watched almost apathetically as Pansy frowned in confusion while speaking with Malfoy. Perhaps she was trying to remember where she had been for two hours on Christmas Eve after lunchtime. Perhaps Malfoy had referred to some point of their conversation yesterday that Pansy mysteriously could not remember.
Now having torn through nearly two plates' worth of turkey, stuffing, pigs in blankets and sprouts, Neville decided it was time to get to work. Though, to his chagrin, he realised that as stuffed as he was with delicious Christmas lunch, he had no chance at all of being agile.
Pulling out his copy of Offensive Charms and their Applications, which he had ordered soon after seeing Ron reading it in the library, Neville began perusing Visceral Curses.
"Oh," said Hermione, looking slightly repulsed. "What wonderful reading material for Christmas lunch."
Neville had the book open to the Gastric Laceration Curse. Quite simply, it would cause the wall of the stomach to violently rupture, unleashing the powerful acids and enzymes within upon unsuspecting and vulnerable organs. Without rapidly receiving medical attention, the victim would die a painful death as they digested themselves from the inside out.
"I somehow doubt that this one is legal," said Neville. "But neither is trying to kill children. I'll do what I must."
Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. "There's always a better way, Neville. You don't have to become what you're fighting."
"Yeah, maybe…" said Neville, turning over the page.
The Lobotomy Curse looked promising for instant incapacitation, but the incantation was so long and the casting so complex as to make it useless in a fight. The Aortic Incision Curse was, like the Gastric Laceration, a death sentence.
Neville groaned in frustration. He was looking up such curses specifically because many dangerous magical creatures were incredibly resistant to magic, and so direct attacks such as Stupefy tended to simply bounce off their hides. Something more insidious would be required if he found himself face-to-face with the beast. Frowning, he turned back to the Aortic Incision. Incisium Viscerus Arteria Maxima. It looked like a decisive way to take down lesser magical creatures, but from the description anything worthy of being Slytherin's Monster would likely shrug off the spell like a gnat. That was ignoring the fact that he would need to know the anatomy of the beast.
Groaning, Neville let his head drop into his hand.
"Don't give up," said Hermione. "Maybe try a less direct approach."
"This is my less…" said Neville.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I see nothing between your wand and your opponent."
Neville's jaw dropped. "You mean like Ron… with the troll?"
Hermione winced, remembering Hallowe'en the previous year. "Yes. Exactly like Ron and the troll."
Holding his fork between thumb and forefinger, Neville raised his wand. "Virgani Acusio!"
The silver fork glinted as it morphed into a deadly sharp needle about eight inches long.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he followed, releasing it to hang, slowly turning, in mid-air.
"Well," said Hermione, only slightly shaken. "I suppose you'll be okay if you're always carrying cutlery."
Neville pocketed his spoon. "Sorted."
He could only hope that a moral victory wouldn't carry too high of a cost.
"Doors side be ready with jinxes," said Professor Flitwick. "Staff side be ready to dodge. Remember, casters, this is for their practise not yours. I want to see no fancy aiming. On three — one, two, three!"
Neville slid smoothly to the side, watching the Knockback Jinx sail past in his peripheral vision. Those who weren't as effective went sliding backwards, fell on their bums, or in some cases actually took flight for a brief moment. Neville barely paid them any heed, waiting for the older Hufflepuff to cast again. Once more, Neville dodged just a little bit more than necessary, ready and waiting to move again. His partner cast sooner this time, and again, and again, but Neville was still up to the task of dodging almost every second. Only once the boy really started working at casting quickly did Neville falter, taking a glancing blow to the elbow and then finished with a shot to the chest.
"Good work," said Diggory. "That was about as fast as I could go."
"I'll get better," Neville said firmly.
Diggory looked a little taken aback, but then nodded solemnly. "Yeah, I think you will."
Neville looked around for a moment, trying to find fault with his own technique in others' successes and failures, but little was obvious to him.
"Let's swap," said Cedric. "Let you catch your breath."
Neville shook his head. "Next round."
It was the last club meeting under Flitwick, as Professor Lockhart was to retake leadership of the club when he returned at the start of term. As such, Professor Flitwick had them practising what he had taught them rather than learning anything new.
Neville had been spending two hours a day practising anyway, on top of learning new spells, and it was showing. Students who were failing their second dodge from being off-balance stared at Neville in raw envy. For Neville did not have time to be frustrated with failure. His best friend's life was on the line.
Hermione and Ron had taken similar attitudes, but where Neville had focused on his martial art, Hermione had spent much of her time in the library looking up useful spells, and Ron had been practising his casting. Still, neither lost their balance on the dodging drill until they were pushed. Neville had made sure of that much.
But Neville knew that simple dodging could never be enough. Not against something with the power to Petrify. Which made the next exercise all the more vital.
"Expelliarmus!" Diggory murmured.
"Protego!" said Neville. A transparent blue shield appeared in front of him, reflecting the spell back at the Hufflepuff, who dodged it with little effort.
"Rictusempra!" said Diggory.
The red light fizzled erratically as it came, jumping and sparking. Neville muttered the Shield Charm again, this time focusing on his hand. Blue light shimmered. With a careless gesture, Neville slapped the offending jinx away.
Stepping forward as he cast, Diggory drew a tiny circle with the tip of his wand. "Incarcerous."
"Facifirmius," Neville said, smirking slightly as Diggory's spell literally washed off him in a little cascade.
The fifth year raised an eyebrow. "That's not a second year spell."
Smiling grimly, Neville gestured for him to continue.
"Aegis Divulsio!" Diggory said, almost too quietly for Neville to hear. Regardless, he recognised the way the spell travelled, spiralling in a tight loop of magenta aether, making a sound like quiet, rolling thunder. Shield Breaker.
If Neville were to try and stop a Shield Breaker Curse with standard fare defensive spells, the spell's effectiveness would be nullified without dispelling the magical energy. It would be dead weight, in other words, and recasting the same spell would do nothing but tire him. But Neville had an ace in the hole.
Throwing his hands forwards, Neville truly felt the magical energy flow as a vast, golden shield shimmered into being. The curse splashed uselessly against it, with a sound like a gong so loud that half the hall stopped to stare at it.
"Impressive work, Longbottom!" Professor Flitwick squeaked. "I daresay little will be getting through that!"
Neville couldn't help but smile, but it was short-lived. For though it was powerful, the spell had made little sense to research for use against a monster. In fact, the only rationale he could think of for its usefulness was the perfect mirror finish...
Neville frowned, not noticing Diggory trying to get his attention. Why on earth would he care about mirrors for fighting Slytherin's monster?
Big yellow eyes…
Neville shuddered. It was as though a cold wind had blown right through him.
Shaking his head, he trudged onwards towards the Hospital Wing. He couldn't afford to start breaking down now. Not with everything going to hell around him. And yet whenever he was alone, he could swear he could hear hissing.
"Ah, Mr. Longbottom," said Madam Pomfrey. "Please come in."
She locked the door behind him and led him over to the same place she'd been bringing him twice a week for his whole life.
Neville smiled grimly as he looked down at the bed. Harry's physical condition had improved rapidly over the holiday, and now on the final day, the boy Neville had once known was almost back. Only a few marks remained to mar his handsome face, and his hair had largely returned. Most importantly, however, the terror and pain were gone from his eyes. His stare was blank, and as Neville watched, Harry slowly blinked.
"We're not giving up, Harry," said Neville.
As ever, there was not a twitch of recognition. But Neville was not new to communing with those who had lost all capacity to understand him. Seeing the skin had not yet returned to his hands, Neville reached out to touch Harry's cheek.
"The Duelling Club has gone really quite well without Professor Ponce," Neville smiled. "Ron's Flipendo could probably put a hole through a wall."
Looking back at Madam Pomfrey, Neville sighed. She was doing everything in her power to heal him physically, that much was clear to be seen. It was so much harder to consider that Harry might simply not want to come back to them.
"We need you here with us…"
Harry watched with a kind of serenity as entire galaxies flew past, drawn into streaks of white light by the sheer speed of his passing. The call was stronger than ever now. Behind him, Earth stood vivid and bright in the universe's eternal midnight. Ahead of him, a pinprick of white was slowly expanding. Somehow, Harry knew that this was where he was headed.
As he closed down the parsecs, Harry watched that dot swell into a great disc of brilliant radiance. The galaxy took up almost half of Harry's visual field before finally resolving into a distinct shape. At its centre, the stars were of such great density that the light seemed to swell outwards, a physical ball of blinding white. But from this dense galactic core were many great arms flung out in a vast spiral.
Harry could not pause again to appreciate its beauty. Soon the galaxy was all that he could see, and yet on looking back he could see Earth close enough to pull him into freefall. Though he was now so near as to see stars even in the apparently dark areas between the spiral arms, Harry pushed harder still. The image of Hermione's unmoving body… Ron and Neville being tortured… Ginny…
Wracked with grief for a future not yet come to pass, Harry gasped in the airless vacuum. He had stopped. The silence lent the scene a stark beauty it did not deserve. Robotic and manned spacecraft were dogfighting each other in the shadow of a large mothership. It was firing plasma rounds nearly as large as the ships themselves, and as Harry watched, one of these gargantuan bolts blasted through one of the yellow-and-silver fighters. The orange-red fire tore through the starboard engine, vaporising the wing entirely. Harry saw the pilot's face, saw her fear as she braced herself for what she knew would come next. The craft erupted in a brilliant explosion of white and yellow fire.
The planet below was picturesque — almost Earth-like in its vast tracts of green and blue. It should have been disconcerting as Harry descended, that there was no heat, no fiery re-entry. Harry had almost expected it. It was with a kind of serenity that he drifted through clouds towards what looked like a vast town of only low-rise buildings. The place was utterly dominated by a great structure built into the side of a short cliff — a palace of some sort. It was this building that Harry approached, fading through its walls like they were nought but mist. Deserted bedrooms, dining halls, corridors lit with the laser fire of the battle evidently ongoing, all whipped past him as he continued. He was close now, so very close…
Harry stopped with little ceremony in an expansive chamber of catwalks, joined vertically by great pillars of purple light. Two men were fighting on one of those walkways, both carrying swords with blades made entirely of light.
Harry stared at them. It couldn't be…
Just as they approached a series of laser gates at the end of the walkway, Harry noticed a third man leap from a lower catwalk to their level. The jump must have been at least thirty metres, but the young man cleared it in a single bound. Harry's suspicions were tickled further. But surely it just wasn't possible.
The other two men were still striking at each other furiously. One, a human with long brown hair, had a face set in quiet determination. The other was utterly alien, red and black of skin with a horned head and dressed in black robes. He fought with a barely contained rage and a double-bladed lightsaber that was swung with immaculate precision and such speed as to be barely more than a blur.
Jedi.
The younger human ignited a blue sword, charging after the other two with inhuman rapidity. But though his feet barely touched the floor, he was not fast enough to reach them before a series of laser gates shut to bar his way. The young Jedi skidded to a halt just at the threshold. The fighters, in turn, had been separated — the alien was trapped, pacing, in a final chamber, where the Jedi Knight knelt in a state of apparent meditation.
Harry moved in closer. This fight was key, somehow. Something that happened here was utterly vital.
The laser emitters rotated, opening the gates, and the older man immediately leapt at his opponent, green lightsaber outstretched in a lunge. The move was faster than thought, and was mirrored by his younger counterpart, who threw himself forward in the hopes of reaching the others. The alien responded to the lunge by knocking the blade aside with a neat spin of his red-bladed weapon, moving to spin it the opposite way and decapitate the man.
The human was too fast, dodging out of harm's way. But before he could press his attack, the younger Jedi arrived, blue sword first, ready to skewer the alien. The blue blade went entirely ignored. Sidestepping slightly, the dark-robed figure delivered a contemptuous kick, knocking all the wind from the Jedi's chest and sending him flying backwards just as the laser gates shut. It seemed the young man had all the luck in the world, for only a small part of his robe failed to make it through the laser gate. The fabric floated to the ground with an otherworldly grace, battle raging around it, its long edge glowing where the laser field had burned it away.
The other two had not waited to see that he survived. Their lightsabers were a blur of motion, bursts of white light searing Harry's eyes every time their weapons clashed. The old man was tiring. It was not difficult to see, and it clearly had his companion worried; the boy was staring anxiously through the red of the lasers, his knuckles white where they gripped his weapon. Still, the Jedi held his own, giving ground as the alien utilised his weapon's duality to attack from every conceivable angle with no time to breathe.
Just as the dark-robed fighter changed his grip, the man seized his tiny window of opportunity, striking for head then hip then heart. The alien did not struggle to keep up, and the Jedi seemed to accept his fate as a heavy strike was parried with utter disdain, the horned one turning and driving a red blade through his opponent's chest. They stood like that for a moment, the sword driven so deep as to emerge, glowing, from the man's back. And then it was withdrawn, and the old man fell, heavily, to his knees.
"NOOOOOO!"