Hogwarts: Neville's Insert Chapter 96
Neville chuckled, glancing over at Ron, who was sitting on the bed next to Harry's. It was Ron's turn. As Neville's gaze drifted across, he noticed the bedside table — the spot where Ron usually kept Scabbers' cage — was empty.
Ron reached into the box, but Neville spoke up before he could grab a bean.
"Hey… Ron?" Neville asked slowly. "Where's Scabbers?"
Ron froze mid-reach, blinking in confusion. "A… what?"
Seamus, still snickering, looked puzzled. "Scabbers, mate! Your rat!"
Harry frowned. "Percy gave him to you. You've had him since the first year."
Ron stared at them all, brow furrowed in thought. Then his expression cleared slightly. "Oh—wait. You mean that rat?" He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "That thing was my pet? I thought it just wandered in. I remember seeing it on my bed one night, so I chased it off. Horrible little thing."
Neville felt the blood drain from his face.
Dean nearly choked laughing. "You chased away your own pet?!"
Neville's stomach twisted. "You… chased him away," he said quietly.
Ron shrugged helplessly. "No one told me it was mine! Never saw it again after that. Besides, why would I keep a rat as a pet? That's mental."
Neville's mind raced. 'Ron chased him away… where the hell is that rat?'
…
Thursday, 2 September 1993 – Gryffindor Common Room, Early Morning
The Gryffindor common room was quiet at this hour, lit only by the soft flicker of dying embers in the fireplace. Neville sat slouched in one of the armchairs, a book open in his lap. To anyone walking in, he looked like he was reading—but his eyes hadn't moved across the page in nearly half an hour. His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in plans and doubts.
The clock on the mantel ticked softly. When the minute hand reached two, Neville closed the book, sighing quietly. "Right," he muttered under his breath. He stood, glancing around to make sure no one was awake, then headed up the stairs toward the boys' dormitories.
The third-year landing was quiet, the air cool against the stone walls. Neville slipped into the bathroom, wand already in hand. He tapped it against his head, whispering the spell under his breath. A faint shimmer rippled over him as the charm took effect. He waited just long enough for the door to close behind him before slipping back out, careful not to let the portraits catch him sneaking around.
The corridor was empty. His heart thudded in his chest as he padded up two more flights of stairs until he reached the fifth-year dormitory. The door gave a quiet creak as he eased it open.
Inside, the room was dark, save for the faint moonlight spilling through the open window. The steady sound of snoring filled the air. Neville stepped lightly, every move deliberate, as he crossed the room to the far wall—where two identical beds sat side by side.
"Brilliant," he thought grimly. "Didn't think this through, did I? Which one's Fred, and which one's George? And which one of them even has it?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, staring between the two sleeping twins. Both had the same mess of red hair, the same half-grin even in sleep. After a moment of hesitation, he chose the bed on the left and crouched beside it, careful not to make a sound.
A bag sat on the floor next to the bedside table. Neville crouched lower and began rummaging through it by feel, his fingers brushing over spare parchment, quills, and what felt like half a joke shop. He squinted in the darkness. 'Come on… paper, paper, where are you—'
His hand brushed against a small box.
The thing came to life instantly, letting out a burst of shrill, high-pitched giggling that echoed through the quiet dormitory.
Neville froze. 'Oh, bloody hell—shhh! Be quiet, you little—shhh!' he hissed, frantically patting the box to shut it up. 'Come on, stop, stop, stop!' The giggling only grew louder, cackling madly like a banshee.
Across the room, a groggy voice grumbled from another bed. "Oi… Fred… George… shut it, will you? Tryin' to sleep…"
Neville dropped it and moved back, away from the bag.
Neville held his breath as one of the twins stirred. Half-asleep, the boy mumbled something unintelligible, reached over the side of his bed, and gave the bag a lazy pat.
The box went silent.
Neville stayed frozen for a full five seconds before exhaling quietly, his pulse hammering in his ears.
A groggy voice mumbled from across the room, heavy with sleep.
"Oi… Fred… George… shut it, will you? Tryin' to sleep…"
Fred stirred, half-asleep, and reached over the side of his bed. His hand brushed the bag, giving it a lazy pat before flopping back onto his pillow. The giggling box went silent at once.
Neville stayed perfectly still, barely breathing. He stood there for what felt like ages, watching the slow rise and fall of the twins' blankets. When he was sure they were asleep again, he let out a quiet breath, shoulders sagging.
'Of course they'd have something like that,' he thought bitterly. 'It's too risky to go through their bags — who knows what else they've got in there. I'll set something else off at this rate.'
Then, a thought hit him. He blinked.
'Wait… I could've just summoned it…'
Neville facepalmed silently, then drew his wand, pointing it carefully between the twins' beds. He mouthed the spell rather than whispering it aloud, focusing his mind on the image of the Marauder's Map.
Accio Marauder's Map.
Everything happened at once.
George's bag gave a violent jerk and tumbled off the desk, dragging half its contents down with it. The sound of glass shattering filled the room.
Neville's heart dropped.
"Oh, no…"
A small bottle — one of the twins' Weather-in-a-Bottle prototypes — hit the floor and smashed open.
A deafening howl of wind exploded from the broken glass, rattling the windows. In an instant, sheets of rain poured from nowhere, drenching everything in sight. Thunder cracked above them, echoing around the dorm like cannon fire.
And then came the fireworks.
"BOOM—CRACK—WHIZZ—POP!"
Brilliant streaks of colour shot out of the fallen bag, whizzing madly in every direction. Fireballs bounced off the ceiling beams, sparks ricocheting off the walls.
One zipped past Neville's ear so close he felt the heat lick his cheek.
'Bloody hell!' he thought, ducking as another one screamed past his head. he bolted out of the room, heart pounding like mad. Behind him, chaos erupted as the shattered Weather-in-a-Bottle unleashed its storm, rain lashing the walls and thunder cracking like cannon fire.
By the time he reached the stairs, the dormitory had descended into complete bedlam. He could still hear the muffled shouting echoing behind him over the explosions of fireworks.
"WHAT—?!"
"BLOODY—!"
"TURN IT OFF!"
"FRED, WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
"GEORGE, WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING—YOU DID IT!"
"NO, YOU DID IT!"
Someone screamed. Someone else yelled back. The entire dormitory burst into chaos.
"WHAT—?!"
"TURN IT OFF!"
"GEORGE, DO SOMETHING!"
"I am doing something!"
The storm still raged in the background as he tore down the stairs, taking two steps at a time, heart hammering in his chest. he reached the third-year floor, Neville slipped into the boys' bathroom, ducked into one of the stalls, and quickly muttered, "Muffliato." A faint hum filled the air as the charm took hold, sealing him off from the world.
Only then did he drop the Disillusionment charm, his body fading back into view.
He leaned against the stall door, his hair drenched and matted to his face.
"Brilliant, Neville," he thought, running a hand down his face. "Absolutely brilliant.
Only then did he drop the Disillusionment Charm, his body fading back into view.
He leaned against the stall door, hair drenched and sticking to his forehead.
"Brilliant, Neville," he thought, dragging a hand down his face. "Absolutely bloody brilliant."
Water dripped from his hair onto the tiles below. He let out a long, low groan.
"Shit. Shit — fucking hell. Of course, they had something like that in their bags."
He kicked the booth door — just enough to make a dull thud.
"I almost got caught. Why did I think this was a good idea?"
For a moment, he just stood there, breathing hard. Then he wiped his face with his sleeve and muttered, "Alright. Act cool. Just… act normal."
With a flick of his wand, he dried his hair, straightened his robes, and took a steadying breath. Then he cancelled the Muffliato charm.
Instantly, the muffled chaos from upstairs crashed back into focus—
BANG—CRACK—BOOM—WHOOSH—POP!
Voices echoed through the stairwell.
Neville stepped out of the bathroom.
The entire boys' dormitory was awake now. Sleepy, confused students poured out of their rooms, voices overlapping in a blur of noise. Seamus, Dean, and Harry stumbled out of the third-year dorm, blinking up the staircase. Some lads were half-dressed, others wore mismatched socks or clutched dressing gowns half-buttoned.
Fireworks still boomed somewhere above, flashes of red and gold lighting the stairwell ceiling.
Seamus yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Sounds like a bloody war up there. What are they doing now?" He started up the stairs before anyone could stop him.
Harry squinted upward, his brow furrowing as muffled bangs echoed overhead. "What's going on?" he asked, turning to Neville.
Neville gave an unbothered shrug, keeping his tone casual. "Beats me. I just came out of the loo."
Moments later, shouting rang down from above. Footsteps thundered as students came tearing down the stairs.
Seamus came pelting back, eyes wide. "The fifth-year dorm's on fire!"
Harry, now fully awake, asked, "What, it's on fire?"
Ron stumbled out behind them, hair sticking out in every direction. "What's all that racket?"
Seamus threw his hands up as more upper-years rushed past him. "Your brothers set the entire fifth-year dorm on fire!"
BOOM!
Another explosion rocked the ceiling, dust shaking loose from the rafters.
BOOM!
A second one followed — louder this time.
And then came Percy Weasley's voice, echoing through the tower like a furious banshee.
"Fred! George! What did you do this time?!"
Ron winced. "Yep," he muttered dryly. "That sounds like them."
Percy's bellow rolled down again, even louder now.
"FRED, GEORGE — WHAT DID YOU DO THIS TIME?!"
Students from every year were being herded downstairs as prefects tried to shout over the chaos.
"Everyone to the common room!"
"Move! Quickly!"
"Professor McGonagall's going to have our heads—"
"Someone get a teacher!"
"Why does this ALWAYS happen when I'm asleep?!" someone groaned from the stairs.
Students from every floor were now flooding toward the common room — half-dressed, bleary-eyed, and muttering sleepily. Some were barefoot, others in slippers or pyjamas, all trying to make sense of the chaos above.
Neville came down the staircase alongside Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Ron, weaving through the crowd. He spotted a cluster of first-years huddled together near the fireplace, looking confused.
More students poured in from the girls' dormitory staircase.
Hermione appeared among them, a robe thrown hastily over her nightdress, her curly hair even bushier from sleep. The moment she spotted Harry and Neville, she hurried over.
"What happened?!" she whispered urgently. "I heard explosions!"
Harry pointed upward, rubbing his eyes. "Apparently, one of the twins' inventions went off or something."
Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. "Of course it did."
Another firework boomed somewhere overhead, lighting the ceiling red and gold.
Just then, the portrait hole swung open, and Professor McGonagall swept in, her tartan dressing gown billowing behind her like a storm cloud. Her expression was thunderous.
"What," she said sharply, voice like a whip, "is going on here? It is two o'clock in the morning!"
A terrified second-year squeaked, "It's Fred and George, Professor! Something went off in the fifth-year dorms!"
Neville winced. McGonagall looked furious.
'Oh, this is bad,' Neville thought grimly.
Percy Weasley, red-faced and dragging his twin brothers by the arms. Fred's hair was singed; George's sleeve was still smoking faintly.
McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling through her teeth. "I swear to Merlin, if this is another one of your pranks, I'll—"
Fred opened his mouth. "We don't—"
George spoke at the same time. "It wasn't us—"
McGonagall cut them both off, her tone sharp as a curse. "Well?! Are you going to tell me what happened, or do I need to guess?"
Neville winced again. 'Sorry, lads,' he thought gloomily. 'I really am. I'll make it up to you later. Maybe I'll fund your shop early… or stop Fred? Or was it George? Eh, doesn't matter. I'll keep them from dying. As Dumbledore would say… for the greater good.'
He glanced around. No one seemed hurt, just drenched or covered in soot. 'Good thing no one got injured,' he thought with a quiet sigh of relief.
Leaning back against the wall, Neville folded his arms and let his shoulders relax as the chaos slowly died down. Beside him, Harry and Hermione whispered quietly to each other, trying to piece together what had actually happened.
McGonagall swept past them, marching up the stairs toward the fifth-year dormitory without another word.
And a few moments later, the bangs and cracks from above stopped.
Neville guessed she'd stopped the chaos herself — probably roped in a few elves to repair the damage while she was at it.
When McGonagall finally returned, her tartan dressing gown was damp at the hem, and her expression could have curdled milk. She paused at the foot of the stairs, lips pressed into a thin, furious line/ "Everyone, back to your dormitories. Now."
Students didn't need telling twice. Yawning and muttering under their breath, they began shuffling toward the staircases, half-asleep and thoroughly cowed.
Fred and George, however, tried to slip quietly into the crowd. heads ducked, steps slow and careful.
"Mr Fred Weasley. Mr George Weasley," McGonagall said sharply, her voice slicing through the chatter, "you will report to my office first thing in the morning."
Fred opened his mouth to speak, caught her look, and shut it again immediately.
McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "Not. A. Word."
She turned on her heel and swept toward the portrait hole. The portrait swung shut behind them with a heavy thud.
Neville watched them go up the stairs. Then he sighed quietly, ran a hand through his hair, and followed the others up the stairs.
'Sorry, lads,' he thought, rubbing his temple. 'Really am.'
…
Sunlight filtered through the tall stained-glass windows of the Great Hall, scattering warm patches of gold across the floor.
Neville pushed the heavy oak doors open and stepped inside, stifling a yawn. The scent of toast, sausages, and pumpkin juice hung in the air, and the chatter of early risers echoed through the hall.
His eyes swept across the Gryffindor table — then up toward the staff dais. No sign of the twins. No sign of McGonagall either.
'They're probably getting chewed out right about now,' he thought, wincing inwardly. 'Poor sods.'
Spotting Harry and Hermione at the far end of the Gryffindor table with the first-years, Neville made his way over and dropped onto the bench beside them.
"Morning," he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.
Harry glanced up from his plate. "You look like you didn't sleep, mate."
Neville reached for his goblet and tapped it. "Coffee, please," he muttered. The cup filled instantly with steaming black coffee.
"Thank you," he muttered before taking a sip, letting the warmth chase away the edge of exhaustion.
Hermione leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Where were you?" she whispered. "Were you in the Room of Requirement again?"
Harry frowned. "Yeah — you left before we woke up, mate."
Neville nodded as he set the cup down. "Yeah, couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd do something useful and help Jibber feed the magical creatures," he shrugged.
Truth was, he hadn't managed to sleep at all after last night's disaster. He'd just lain there in bed, staring at the ceiling, planning his next move.
He still needed the Marauder's Map — but trying to steal it again was out of the question. One attempt had nearly blown up the entire dormitory. Literally.
'Yeah,' he thought with a grimace, 'definitely not doing that again.'
By the time the clock struck half-past five, he'd already showered, dressed, and slipped quietly out of the Gryffindor Tower.
He moved through the empty corridors, heading for the seventh floor of the Astronomy Tower. When he reached the right stretch of wall, he walked past it three times, focusing on where he needed to go.
Moments later, a heavy oak door shimmered into existence — Alrick's room.
Neville pushed it open and stepped inside.
The familiar scent of herbs, parchment, and feed filled the air. Jibber was there already, bustling about with a tray of feed bowls, humming softly to himself.
Neville spotted him and groaned aloud. 'Of course,' he thought, rubbing his temples. 'Why didn't I think of that sooner? I could've just asked a house-elf to get the map for me instead of trying to nick it myself like an idiot.'
He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Brilliant, Neville," he muttered under his breath. "Absolutely bloody brilliant."
Jibber had heard him. The little house-elf looked up from his tray of feed bowls and beamed. "Morning, Student Nevy, sir!" he said brightly, ears twitching with enthusiasm.
Neville managed a small smile. "Morning, Jibber. I see you're busy — prepping breakfast for the magical creatures?"
Jibber nodded eagerly, his large eyes shining. "Yes, Jibber is preparing breakfast for the creatures! They get hungry very early, sir!"
"I see…" Neville hesitated, scratching his neck awkwardly. "Er… Jibber?"
The elf turned toward him expectantly. "Yes, Nevy Student, sir?"
Neville cleared his throat. "Hypothetically — if someone asked you to, um… take something from another student's bag or trunk… would you do it?"
Jibber's ears shot straight up in alarm. "House-elves cannot steal, Nevy Student, sir! Very bad! Against the rules of Hogwarts! House-elves must not take students' property, even if asked!"
Neville nodded slowly. "Right. Good. Good to know."
He sighed inwardly. 'Well… there goes that idea.'
Another thought struck him. Maybe there was a workaround. "Jibber," he asked after a moment, "can house-elves tell the difference between an Animagus and a normal animal?"
Jibber perked up instantly. "Oh yes! Like Professor Kitty! Jibber always knows when Professor Kitty is not a real kitty! House-elves can tell, sir!"
Neville forced a polite smile. "Thanks, Jibber."
As the elf returned to his work, Neville rubbed his temple. 'Fantastic. If I ask them to find Scabbers, they'll know he's an Animagus — and they'll report straight to Dumbledore.'
He shook his head. 'Can't have that happening. I need Pettigrew if I'm going to free Sirius.'
The problem is that Neville doesn't even know if Pettigrew is still in the castle or if he's gone to search for Voldemort.
So he stayed in Alrick's room for the rest of the morning, poring over parchments and scraps of rune diagrams, researching how to make his own version of the Marauder's Map. It wasn't impossible, just incredibly complex — something like coding a magical map for a game. He'd need a detailed blueprint of Hogwarts' interior and a way to link it to the castle's wards for positional and location data.
The concept was there. He just had to make it work.
Back to the present.
Neville bit into his sandwich just as Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. She handed it across the table.
"Here's your class schedule, Neville," she said.
"Thanks, 'Mione," Neville replied, taking it and unfolding the sheet. His eyes skimmed the first line, and he groaned. "Oh, brilliant. We've got Potions first thing tomorrow. I can practically hear him already."
Neville mimics Snape's tone, "Well, well… if it isn't our newest celebrity. Tell me, Longbottom… did discovering one obvious thing make you think you're suddenly competent?"
Harry nearly choked on his pumpkin juice, snorting with laughter. "Yeah," he said between coughs, "I can definitely see that happening."
Hermione pressed her lips together, trying not to smile, and failed. "Honestly, Neville,"
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