Reckoning
The best breakfasts were those which were served fresh and steaming hot. A sentiment Ron didn't share since Jago had the group awake at sharp morning. But the one thing they could all agree on was that the best breakfasts were those after a successful heist and justice enacted.
Jago was halfway through his toast when the sight of Professor McGonagall's stern face approaching them froze him mid-bite.
"Boys," she said briskly, hands clasped tightly in front of her. "Come with me. Now."
The four of them stood without a word, plates abandoned.
"What's this about, Professor?" Seamus asked hesitantly.
"You'll find out soon enough," McGonagall replied curtly, her sharp tone shutting down any further questions.
As they walked, Jago leaned slightly toward the others and mouthed, Deny everything.
Ron gave a subtle nod, while Seamus snorted softly, but the tension between them all was rising.
They were led to McGonagall's office, and when the door creaked open, they found themselves facing Professor Snape, who stood in the corner like a brooding shadow.
Draco Malfoy was there, too, red-faced with anger and pointing a trembling finger at them. "Those are the thieves!" Draco yelled.
"Oi!" Ron yelled. "Who the bloody well is you calling thieves?"
"Enough," McGonagall said firmly, glaring at Draco before turning to the group. "Where were you four on Thursday night, at approximately nine o'clock?"
"We were doing homework," Jago said evenly, his face as neutral as he could make it.
"That's right," Ron agreed quickly, nodding.
"Y-yeah, just in the common room," Dean added, doing his level best not to nervously glance at the others.
Draco's sneer deepened, and he jabbed a finger in Jago's direction. "They're lying! They jumped me and stole my money when I was leaving the kitchens! And the used dark magic!"
"We didn't!" Jago shot back immediately.
"Got any proof mate?" Dean asked quickly. "Or are you just gonna stand here and sing tall tales?"
"Enough," Snape interrupted, his black eyes glittering dangerously. "That's five points from Gryffindor for slander, Mr. Finnegan."
"That's not fair!" Ron protested; his fists clenched. "Isn't accusing us of theft also slander?"
"Another five points for speaking out of turn, Weasley," Snape drawled. He turned to McGonagall. "We should search their belongings at once."
Dean's eyes widened, and he took a step forward. "You can't just search our stuff!" he said, his voice rising. "That's— I mean, that's private!"
Like a serpent, Snape's hand struck out and grabbed Dean's forearm.
"And where, may I ask, did you all acquire those?" he said softly, mock curiosity lacing his tone. "Surely it couldn't be generous Weasley family trust fund?"
Ron's face flushed a deep red, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
"That's enough, Severus," McGonagall said sharply, her nostrils flaring. "I propose a compromise. Their belongings remain untouched, but their wands will undergo Prior Incantato to determine what spells have been cast recently."
Jago stiffened, and Ron's gaze darted toward him nervously.
"Agreed," Snape said, an ugly smirk playing on his lips. "Let us see what they've been up to."
One by one, the boys' wands were placed on McGonagall's desk, and she performed the spell. Spectral echoes of jinxes and hexes filled the air—jelly-legs, stinging hexes, tripping spells—all minor, but enough to make Jago's stomach churn.
Draco looked positively gleeful. "See!" he exclaimed, pointing again. "They attacked me!"
McGonagall's expression darkened as her gaze swept over them. "Care to explain this?" she asked tightly.
"We were practicing," Jago said quickly. "It's not a crime to practice spells, is it?"
"And tell me, Mr. Sevatarion," he sneered, "did Professor Quirrell teach you these spells? Were they part of your assigned coursework?"
Jago opened his mouth, but no words came out. Seamus and Dean avoided McGonagall's gaze entirely, while Ron shifted uncomfortably.
"No answer? How shocking," Snape said, his smirk widening. "You'll all be expelled for this—magic outside the curriculum, theft, assault. It's all—"
"Enough!" McGonagall snapped, cutting him off. Her sharp tone made even Snape pause. She turned to Draco, her voice tight with anger. "Mr. Malfoy has yet to prove that these boys were the ones who attacked him. Without evidence, there will be no expulsions. At best, there will be punishment for practicing in an unsafe environment."
Draco's triumphant grin slipped slightly, but Snape bristled. "Then I demand detentions. If you refuse to address the theft, Minerva, I insist on overseeing their punishment myself."
"Very well, deputy headmistress." Snape said and mockingly bowed. The two took their bid to leave. However, Draco wouldn't be denied one last parting jab before departing.
"Do keep the money, boys. For me, its loose change." Draco said and went away.
3 against 1
As if the common room itself was in a conspiratorial mood with them, the shadows loomed, casting by the roaring fire. A "Night Lords" meeting was now in session.
"We need to strike back," Jago demanded. "That weasel Malfoy won't stop unless we put him in his place—hard."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Dean countered. "You want to get us expelled? Because that's what'll happen if we go after him again."
"It's not stupid," Jago snapped. "You heard Snape. They already think we're guilty. What's stopping them from making something up and pinning it on us later? If they're going to keep coming at us anyway, we might as well make it worth it!"
"That's rich, coming from someone who tells us to deny everything," Dean shot back. "You can't have it both ways!"
Seamus leaned back in his chair, a wide grin spreading across his face as he watched the two argue. "Ooh, brilliant comeback, Dean!" he said with a laugh. "Your turn, Jago. Don't let him get away with that!"
Ron glanced nervously between them, wringing his hands. "Come on, lads," he said hesitantly. "This isn't helping. We're already on thin ice. Let's just—"
"Shove off, Ron," Jago muttered, glaring at Dean. "You'd rather sit back and let Malfoy walk all over us? He's out there laughing at us right now!"
"And what?" Dean retorted, his voice rising. "You think hitting him again will make it better? Or do you just want to see him hurt? Because that's not bravery, Jago—it's stupid hero complex."
"It's not hero complex to want him to fear us." Jago shot. "Fear is the only thing that keeps scum like Malfoy in line."
Seamus chimed in again. "Personally, I'm all for a little revenge," he said, smirking. "Jago's got a point. Malfoy is a right git, and someone's got to teach him a lesson. Maybe this time, you go for the kneecaps, eh?"
"Not helping, Seamus!" Ron said sharply
Dean pointed a finger at Seamus. "You're just here for the drama! You'd love to see us all waste time in detention. As it currently stands, I prefer sleeping on time and maintaining my grades."
"pfft. Nonsense." Seamus snorted.
Jago stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "If you're too scared to do anything, that's on you. But don't come crying to me when Malfoy makes you his next target."
"Enough," Ron said, standing up and holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "This isn't getting us anywhere. Look, let's just vote on it, all right? No more arguing, no more yelling. We decide, and that's it."
Jago and Dean exchanged heated glares, but neither argued.
"All in favor of hitting back at Malfoy?" Ron asked, glancing around.
Jago raised his hand immediately, and Seamus hesitated for a moment before refusing to raise his much to his annoyance
"And… against?" Ron asked.
Dean's hand shot up; his jaw set firmly. After a long pause, Ron sighed and raised his hand too. Seamus was the last to raise his in affirmation.
"That's three against 1," Ron said softly, looking at Jago with an apologetic shrug. "No retaliation."
"I can't believe you people." Jago scowled and left.
Hogwarts Library
"You have to swish it just like this, Ron," Hermione said, demonstrating again. "And then enunciate properly—'Leviosa,' not 'Levio-sah.'"
"Honestly, Hermione," Ron muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "I appreciate this but I think I gotta return back to it somehow."
"Oh, you're not going to get it regardless, Weasley," came a sneering voice from behind them.
The pair turned to see Draco Malfoy lounging against the table, flanked by Daphne and Blaise.
"Swish, flick, Leviosa! Honestly, Ronald," Draco mocked.
"Shut it, Malfoy," Ron snapped.
"Or what, Weasley? You'll wave that tatty wand of yours and make sparks fly? You're as useless as she is," Draco said, his voice cold as he turned to Hermione. "Though, I suppose it's to be expected. Muggle-borns will never truly understand magic."
He smirked as Hermione visibly flinched. Then his voice dropped to a malicious whisper. "Mudblood."
Ron's face turned scarlet, and before anyone could stop him, he grabbed his wand and roared, sparks of magic flew across.
Draco stumbled backward and his posse unleashed a barrage towards Ron.
The commotion attracted the attention of Professor Snape, who swept over, seemingly ignoring the Slytherins.
"Weasley. My office after dinner. Do not make me repeat myself."
"But he—" Ron began.
"I don't care," Snape cut him off icily. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Now sit before you cost your house more."
Malfoy sneered at Ron as he retrieved his wand, leaning in to hiss, "Enjoy detention, Weasley."
Money Is the Root of All Evil
Hermione carefully trimmed the delicate leaves of a Fanged Geranium, murmuring a charm under her breath to soothe the plant. She barely noticed Daphne Greengrass lingering near her table.
Without warning, Hermione's prized potion vial toppled over, its contents spilling into the soil. The Geranium hissed and wilted instantly.
Hermione gasped. "What—?"
Daphne shrugged, a smirk playing at her lips. "Oops," she said flatly, stepping away with feigned innocence.
Professor Sprout's sharp voice sliced through the greenhouse. "Greengrass!"
Daphne froze, but her expression quickly turned to a mask of feigned innocence. "Professor, I didn't mean—"
"Don't play coy with me, young lady," Sprout snapped. She pointed at the ruined plant. "That's deliberate sabotage! Detention, and if I see anything like this again, I'll make sure it's on your permanent record."
Daphne flushed but said nothing, biting her lip as her peers looked on. Sprout turned to Hermione, her voice softening. "I'll see to it you get a fresh Geranium for your project, Miss Granger. My apologies for this… inconvenience."
Jago rushed forward in anger only to have a firm grip on his shoulder hold him back. He looked back to see Dean shaking his head in negative.
Later that week, word spread that Hogwarts had received a generous donation specifically earmarked for greenhouse refurbishments. Sprout, for her part, looked extraordinarily smug, tending to her plants with a satisfied smile. All records pertaining to the sabotage or detention had conveniently vanished.
Favoritism
Cho smiled wickedly at the ickle boy below her.
"You really think I don't notice when someone avoids their Prefect dues?" she said, addressing a pair of terrified first-years. "House points don't award themselves, you know. If you want to stay in my good graces…"
She held out her hand expectantly. The smaller boy hastily pulled out a shiny Sickel and placed it in her palm, his hand trembling.
"Good," Cho said smoothly, slipping the coin into her robes. "Remember, being on my good side is much safer than being on my bad one."
The other first-year quavered, but before he could speak, Cho cut him off.
"And don't think of tattling to Flitwick," she added, smiling sweetly. "Professors and I are very… close, you see."
The two boys scurried away, and Cho smirked to herself. Around the corner, a gaggle of students whispered nervously, but none dared to speak out. Professors rarely intervened in Cho's power plays, either due to her charm or her flawless marks, and she knew it.
All but the Grey Lady that is.
"Professor Flitwick," the Grey Lady began. "I must speak with you about Miss Chang's behavior."
Filius looked up, adjusting his spectacles. "Ah, Lady Helena. What seems to be the problem?" he asked, his tone polite yet weary.
"She has been… bullying the younger students. Extorting money from them under the guise of her prefect status. It's unbecoming of a Ravenclaw—and certainly unworthy of our house's reputation." She said.
Filius frowned momentarily but then sighed, setting down his quill. "I see. Well, Lady Helena, let's not be too hasty in our judgment. Cho Chang is an exemplary student. Top of her class in Charms, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. And let's not forget, she's our star Seeker. Do you have any idea how many professional Quidditch scouts are already courting her?"
The Grey Lady narrowed her eyes. "Be that as it may, she uses her influence irresponsibly. These are not mere high spirits, Professor. She's instilling fear in her peers."
Filius took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. "Miss Chang is under a great deal of pressure. She's balancing her academics, Quidditch, and her role as a prefect. It's not easy for her. Besides, what you describe… sounds like a bit of harmless ribbing. It builds resilience in the younger students."
"Harmless ribbing?" The Grey Lady's voice rose. "She's extorting them, Professor. There is nothing harmless about that."
Filius waved his hand dismissively. "Perhaps you're exaggerating. I'll keep an eye on her, of course, but disciplining her too harshly would send the wrong message. Miss Chang is a shining example of Ravenclaw excellence. Why risk tarnishing her image when she could secure a future so bright that it would reflect well on all of us? Just think of the contributions she might one day make, not just to Ravenclaw but to Hogwarts as a whole."
The ghost's face betrayed her frustration. "So that's it? You'll allow her to continue unchecked because of her grades and her talent with a broomstick?"
Filius sighed and stood, "Please, Lady Helena, understand that I must think of the house's broader reputation. Cho's success is our success. And I can assure you, she isn't as malicious as you make her out to be. If things escalate, I'll address it—but for now, let's not blow this out of proportion."
The Grey Lady said nothing more than choosing to float away in disgust at the wretched cesspool her mother's legacy had become.
The Secret
Jago wandered aimlessly, The image he'd once painted in his mind of the wizarding world—a utopia, free of the bitterness of the muggle one—felt as if it was cracking bit by bit.
He passed darkened corridors, ducking behind suits of armor to avoid prefect patrols and slipping away from the muffled whispers and giggles of romantic couples tucked into hidden corners.
Every noise grated on him, his frustration bubbling to a boil.
Jago sighed, dragging his hand through his hair. Just as he began considering heading back before the others noticed he was gone, a muffled sound made his ears perk up.
A scuffle.
His head whipped toward the source of the noise. From around a corner, faint words carried through the cold air. "Expelliarmus!" someone shouted, the spell echoing into the night.
Jago dropped low, pressing his back against the stone wall as footsteps scraped against the flagstone nearby. Slowly, he peered around the edge of the corner: Snape's unmistakable silhouette towered over a trembling, hunchbacked figure. Quirrell.
Jago froze.
"You're a fool, Quirrell," Snape hissed. "Do you think I haven't noticed you sneaking around? Whispering and watching, asking all the right questions to all the wrong people?"
Quirrell whimpered, attempting to shrink back, but Snape's grip only tightened.
"I—I—I d-don't know w-w-what you're t-t-talking about," Quirrell stammered.
"You're lying," Snape snapped. "I know you've been snooping about the Stone. You thought you could slip past Dumbledore's protections, didn't you?"
Quirrell shook his head desperately. "P-please, Severus, you've got it all w-wrong! I wasn't—!"
Snape slammed him back against the wall hard enough for Jago to flinch at the sound. "Enough lies! Why were you near the third floor corridor? Who are you working for?"
"No one! I s-s-swear!" Quirrell insisted, his hands trembling as he clawed at Snape's grip.
"If I catch you anywhere near that corridor again, Quirrell, you'll wish you'd never set foot in this castle. Do I make myself clear?" Snape said.
Quirrell nodded furiously.
Snape released him with a shove, watching him stumble and nearly fall. "Get out of my sight," Snape snarled.
Jago held his breath as Quirrell scurried away like a frightened rat, disappearing into the shadows. Snape stood still for a moment, adjusting his robes and glancing around suspiciously before striding off in the opposite direction.
Jago stayed frozen for several long moments, his mind reeling. The Stone? The third floor? What could they possibly be talking about?
Quidditch Pitch
Once again, he stood with a bitter scowl bolted on his face. This was becoming some sort of a habbit with him. Ron had warned him earlier that if he kept it up, it would be permanently etched on his face.
"You don't wanna end up like Snape, do you?" Ron said and Seamus cackled.
Yet the forced helplessness this bloody institute forced on them deeply wrinkled his core.
Once again, Malfoy was making himself the center of attention, running roughshod over everyone else in the group.
Jago's eyes flicked to Dean, who stood a few feet away, also holding his broom. Dean met his gaze with a firm shake of his head. "Don't," Dean mouthed silently, his expression a clear warning.
Jago sighed and looked away, gripping his broom tighter. "This is ridiculous," he muttered under his breath.
Nearby, Hermione Granger was bent over her bag, struggling to fasten the clasp. Malfoy, strutting like he owned the pitch, spotted her and zeroed in like a mamba on its prey.
"Let me help you with that, Granger," Malfoy sneered, sweeping past her and grabbing the bag before she could stop him.
"Hey!" Hermione protested, straightening up, her cheeks flushed with indignation.
"Books, books, and more books," Malfoy drawled, opening the bag and peering inside. "Figures. Honestly, you're such a bore, Granger. Don't you have anything interesting in here? Oh, wait—of course you don't."
He then promptly dumped the contents all over the field as he soared away, giggling like a demented toddler.
"That's enough," a voice said firmly. Everyone turned to see Neville Longbottom stepping forward. Draco paused as he looked at him and sneered.
"Ah, the boy-who-lived finally finds his voice." Draco said. "Took you long enough."
"I said give it back," Neville repeated.
"Oh, look, Longbottom thinks he's brave. What are you going to do, cry until mummy and daddy comes to save you?" Draco said then placed a hand over his mouth in faux shock. "Oh wait, they don't have the marbles to even walk anymore!"
The gathered students guffawed at the display. After all, it wasn't them. Who cares otherwise?
"I'll be sure to write Aunty about it!" Malfoy said and Slytherins laughed even more vulgarly at that than before.
"Catch me if you can, Longbottom!" he shouted as Neville furiously took off from the ground.
The old broom trembled slightly under his hands, but he held it steady, adjusting with smooth, instinctive movements. With a determined set to his jaw, he shot forward, the broom picking up surprising speed.
Jago gaped. "Blimey," he muttered, watching as Neville streaked after Malfoy.
Draco noticed Neville gaining on him and glanced back, his smirk faltering. He dipped his broom sharply, diving to the left in an attempt to shake Neville, but Neville matched him maneuver for maneuver.
"Come on, Draco!" Seamus instigated from below. "Don't let him show you up!"
Neville surged forward, his focus unwavering. With a burst of speed, he caught up to Malfoy and cut directly in front of him, forcing Draco to swerve hard to avoid a collision.
"Oi! Watch it, Longbottom!" Draco yelled, wobbling dangerously on his broom.
"Make me," Neville shot back as he rammed a shoulder into Malfoy and with his right hand, snatched away the backpack. Draco, unable to control, proceeded to fall and landed with a painful thud.
The Gryffindor side roared with triumph and rushed Neville and lifted him up on their shoulder. Jago stayed behind for reasons beyond his understanding. Something prickled at him, like the reality playing out before him was false. He shook his head to shake the thoughts away.
"The lad's something else entirely, eh?" Ron asked from beside him, cheeks turning red as he saw Hermione embrace him and plant a kiss on his cheek. Neville finally broke a rare smile at that.
"I'm going." Ron scowled and stomped away.
Unfortunately, the celebrations and mourning seized as the deputy headmistress descended on the scene.
"What is going on here?" she demanded.
When You Do It, They Call You A Hero
"Merlin's beard," Seamus muttered, leaning forward, his eyes glued to the end of the table where Neville was surrounded by admirers. "Youngest Seeker in a century and the lucky sod gets a Firebolt out of it. It's not fair."
"Not just a Firebolt," Ron said, barely containing his drool at the sight of the broom. "The newest model. Costs more than the entire Burrow."
Ron's voice dropped lower. "That broom's so fast it probably flies itself."
Seamus nodded fervently. "And for free! Just 'cause his gran suddenly thinks he's a hero. What'd she call him? A 'knight in shining armor,' or something?"
Jago said nothing in response, idly poking away at his pasta with a glum face.
"He's just sitting there, lapping it all up," Jago muttered quietly to Dean, his tone neutral enough to pass for casual rather than laced with venomous jealousy. "When we act like 'knights in shining armor,' we end up scrubbing cauldrons in the dungeons until our fingers are raw."
Dean sighed heavily. "Drop it, Jago. It's done. Doesn't matter."
Jago snorted, "It bloody well matters. I too could've used being the youngest seeker in the century."
"Dean's right, Jago. We're not Longbottom. We're not nobility." Ron spat. "Gran of his wouldn't think twice about stringing up some poor soul, but because he's 'her boy,' he gets a free pass. And a Firebolt."
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "You lot can't go a day without stewing in bitterness, can you?"
"Making connections isn't bitterness." Jago replied.
"Wood and Katie are giving us strange looks." Dean said patting Jago on the shoulder, forcing him up. "Probably wondering why we're still here sulking like a bunch of bitter plonkers instead of going to congratulate Neville."
Jago snorted. "Let them wonder. Not like it matters."
"It does matter," Dean firmly said. "Oliver's the captain. Katie's one of the Chasers. If they think we're sour grapes, they'll shut us out of anything Quidditch-related. Not to mention the rest of Gryffindor. We'll be outcasts."
Ron groaned and slumped forward, his forehead nearly hitting the table. "Fine, but I'm not saying more than 'good luck.'"
Dean pointedly looked at Jago. "And you? You're not gonna stand here sulking all day, are you?"
"Fine." He snapped before getting up.
The group made their way over to crowded Neville. The group did their bits before shuffling away and it was Jago's turn.
He stepped forward slowly, forcing a neutral expression. "Congrats, Neville," he said, holding out a hand.
Neville hesitated before taking it briefly. The shake was quick, cold, and impersonal
"So, how does it feel being Gryffindor's big hero, eh? All this attention got to be exhausting." Jago tried, hoping to be friendly.
Without looking at Jago, he replied curtly, "I'm managing."
"Do you have a problem with me, Neville?" Jago demanded and Neville whirled and locked eyes with him.
"A real Gryffindor doesn't attack people like a coward from the shadows," he said quietly.
The words hit like a curse. Before Jago could respond, Neville turned on his heel, his back rigid as he rejoined the crowd fawning over him.
Library
The unfished Charm's essay sat at half full, angrily demanding his attention. Attention that Jago didn't have enough to spare since he had devoted it to something else entirely.
They were speaking in low, urgent whispers, their heads close together. Occasionally, Hermione would gesture to her notes, and Neville would nod with a determined expression.
Jago strained his ears, catching snippets of their conversation. "...the Stone," Hermione said quietly. "And Dumbledore must know what Snape's up to."
Neville's reply was sharper. "Snape's always lurking. It's suspicious! Gran says trust your instincts. We just need to find proof—"
Jago couldn't hold back any longer. With the skill of someone used to going unnoticed, he casually drifted closer, pretending to browse the nearby shelf. Once he was within earshot, he dropped his voice. "You're both barking up the wrong tree," he said abruptly, making them jump.
Neville scowled, while Hermione blinked in surprise. "Jago?" she whispered.
"It's not Snape," Jago said. "It's Quirrell. I overheard him and Snape going at it in the hallway last week. Snape was accusing him of poking around where he shouldn't and asking too many questions about the Stone."
"You're serious?" Hermione asked.
"Dead serious. Quirrell's your guy. He's playing nervous and harmless, but I heard Snape nearly hex him for sniffing around the third floor." Jago said.
"If you knew that, why didn't you tell Dumbledore?" Neville demanded.
Jago blinked. "I wasn't sure what to make of it at the time,"
"You held on to this just so you could drop it at the right moment and act like the hero. That's not what a real Gryffindor does." Neville said. "Or you're working for Snape, covering for him!"
Jago bristled. "I'm trying to help, Neville!"
"We don't need your help," Neville shot back. "And we don't need your underhanded methods either. Piss off, Jago."
Neville stood, grabbing his books and notes. Without waiting, he turned and marched toward the library exit. Hermione stood at a crossroads, torn between two friends.
She looked pleadingly at Jago, hoping to find some semblance of understanding.
"We're the ones who stood up for you, Hermione," Jago quietly said. "Back when no one else would. Don't we deserve a little credit for that?"
Hermione bit her lip, looking down at the table. But before she could say anything, Neville's voice called softly from the doorway, tinged with impatience. "Hermione? Are you coming?"
Her hesitation was brief but palpable. "I'm sorry, Jago," she whispered, her voice barely audible, before scooping up her things and hurrying after Neville.
Pound of Flesh
His breath shallow and silent as he watched the scene unfold in horrified paralysis.
Voldemort—no longer hidden behind Quirrell's quaking facade—loomed over Neville.
"You dare to defy me, boy? Do you think your bravery means anything to me?" Voldemort hissed, forcing Neville to his knees before the Mirror of Erised.
"Give me the stone." Voldemort hissed and Neville cried, saying he didn't have it.
"CRUCIO!" Voldemort yelled and goosebumps erupted all over Jago's body at the pain filled shrieks emanating from the boy.
"Try again." Voldemort sneered only to get the same response. Snarling in frustration, he lurched towards Hermione.
"No!" Neville gasped, struggling to his feet. "Leave her alone! You don't need her!"
Ah, but you care, don't you? That's your weakness. Love make fools of you all. Find me the Stone, or she pays the price for your failure." Voldemort said.
Neville cast a desperate glance at the mirror, his pale face shining with sweat. His lips moved, as though pleading silently with the reflection, but no answer came.
"I—I don't know how!" Neville stammered, his voice cracking under the pressure.
"Then you're lying," Voldemort snapped. His wand flicked violently. Hermione screamed as red light erupted from its tip, throwing her against the wall.
"Stop!" Neville yelled, but the Dark Lord didn't relent.
Jago watched, frozen, every muscle in his body locked in place. Inside his mind, his alter ego snarled.
"Run," the voice hissed. "Run, now. If you couldn't stand against Daphne and her little gang in an honest scrap, what makes you think you can face this?"
Tears burned in Jago's eyes as he bit his trembling lip, his fingers digging into the rough wall. He wanted to move, wanted to act, but the shadowy weight of his own fear rooted him in place.
"You'll die if you try. Stay put. Survive. That's all that matters." The voice laughed bitterly. "You're no hero, Sevatar. Never were."
Hermione whimpered in pain as Voldemort finally relented and lifted his curse. He then began to pace infront of the mirror, angrily muttering about the best laid plans.
"The stone boy, this is your final chance." Voldemort demanded but Neville had long since slipped the land of the conscious. Voldemort roared in frustration as he was unable to revive him and Hermione openly sobbed. Voldemort rubbed a hand to his forehead to calm himself, before he turned towards Hermione. It was apparent her whimpering grated on his nerve.
With a frustated flick of his wand, a green curse lashed out from Voldemort's and Hermione fell silent.
Jago shut his eyes, his heart pounding in his ears, until the oppressive aura of Voldemort began to recede. Opening them, he saw the Dark Lord's incorporeal form swirling upward, leaving the shell of Quirrell's lifeless body.
Jago felt the crushing weight around him lift, and he gasped for air, stumbling forward as his legs gave way. He crawled on all fours to where Neville and Hermione lay motionless. However, unlike Hermione, Neville still breathed.
"No," Jago whispered, his voice shaking as he stared at Hermione's pale face "No, no, no—"
His eyes darted to the mirror, desperate for some answer, some glimmer of hope. He scrambled forward, placing his hands on the cold, reflective surface.
"Show me something," he begged the mirror, his voice cracking. "Show me how to fix this! How to save them!"
The reflection swirled and shifted, teasing him with shapes that refused to solidify. His own image stared back, clutching something tightly in its hand.
Jago froze. Slowly, his hand drifted toward his pocket, where something small and warm rested. His fingers brushed the smooth surface, and his heart raced as realization dawned. He yanked it out, holding the glowing crimson Philosopher's Stone before his wide eyes.
"It can fix this," Jago murmured, his voice trembling with hope. "It has to. It can bring her back."
For several minutes, Jago willed with all his might for the stone to work but nothing happened. The stone glowed when near Neville, healing his lethal wounds but remained dull towards Hermione. For whatever its worth, Neville looked much better than before.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond, breaking through his daze.
"Take it," his shadowy voice urged. "It's the least they owe you for what you've been through. With this, you can fix everything. No more poverty. No more fear. Take the stone, and you'll get what you deserve."
Jago refused, preparing toss the rock against the stone pillars.
"Don't let their sacrifice be in vain, fool!" The voice snarled and that made Jago stop.
The footsteps grew louder.
Without thinking, Jago bolted toward the chamber's far end, scanning for any chance of escape. His hand gripped the Stone tightly as the echo of approaching footsteps grew louder. Spying a cracked window, he made a desperate leap toward it, pushing through the jagged opening.
Like a thieving rat, he seamlessly blended into the darkness of Hogwarts, with none to catch him.
Fin
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