[A/N: Got stuck on our finals... and I somehow survived it. I'm back!]
Jerry and Ron walked in and immediately noticed Neville—his face was flushed, sweat dripping from his brow.
"Neville, are you okay? Is it that hot in here?" Jerry asked, concerned.
Neville wiped his forehead, only just realizing how drenched he was.
"Ah! Uh... I just finished a workout. Nothing serious," Neville replied, trying to sound casual.
He wasn't lying completely. Ever since teaming up with Ted for morning training, Neville had taken it upon himself to do more—push-ups, sit-ups, even a bit of sword practice using wooden replicas.
It made his excuse believable enough.
Ron, seemingly in high spirits, pulled out a large bag stuffed with food. "Neville, you should really visit the kitchens sometime. It's like a hidden battlefield down there—pots clashing, fire roaring—pure chaos, but brilliant!"
Neville forced a smile and joined them in eating, though he barely tasted anything. His mind was elsewhere.
That night, Neville couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned, haunted by what he'd seen in Tom's memory and Hagrid's strange behavior. Eventually, sleep took him—but not peace.
He dreamt of a heavy, ancient door creaking open, releasing a terrifying, shadowy monster.
Hagrid was there, dragging the creature into the light. Then the nightmare turned darker—the beast leapt into a crowd of Hogwarts students.
Neville woke up in a cold sweat before dawn. Without hesitation, he reached for Senior Tom's diary and began writing questions about the Chamber of Secrets, hoping for some kind of clarity.
Jerry woke up soon after and noticed Neville hunched at the desk.
"Oi—don't tell me you're trying to power up like Ron now. Are you two planning to leave me in the dust?!" he whispered dramatically.
From the other bed, Ron stirred. "Huh? Someone talking about me?"
...
February arrived.
---
Ding~ Talent [Knowledge of Other Worlds (Gold)] activated.
New discovery: [Magical Nourishment Method of the Moonkin Druid (Blue)]."
---
Ted blinked. "Magical nourishment? What in the name of Azeroth is that?"
As a seasoned World of Warcraft veteran, Ted prided himself on knowing these things.
He scratched his head. The term didn't ring a bell.
The knowledge appeared to be notes from a druid who was obsessed with the Moonkin form—a magical, owl-like creature known for its connection to nature magic.
"Ah well, it's blue-tier knowledge. Worth the 550 experience points," Ted muttered and made the exchange.
A sudden surge of information hit him—memories, rituals, mana flow techniques. It all clicked into place within seconds.
While not vast, the knowledge was specific and useful.
Unlike general druid transformation spells, this was focused on a combat buff: temporarily boosting magical power.
Ted's eyes lit up.
"Wait... I can level up before a battle? This is huge. Even if it's temporary—it's worth every bit."
...
Neville's ability to handle pressure was stronger than most gave him credit for. Still, after a few days of internal struggle and sleepless nights, he couldn't hold it in any longer. He finally went to find Ted.
"Ted, I need to talk to you about something..." Neville said quietly.
The two slipped away to a quiet corner of the castle courtyard, where the sound of chatter and footsteps faded into the distance. There, Neville confessed everything—the diary he found, the strange memory of a student named Tom, and how it showed Hagrid as the Heir of Slytherin.
Neville's face twisted in emotional pain. His cheeks were flushed, and tears welled in his eyes, though none fell. He had learned long ago that crying didn't solve anything.
"I'm sorry, Ted. I should've come to you sooner... but I didn't know what to do," Neville whispered, his voice trembling. He lifted his head, determined not to let the tears fall.
Ted listened patiently, then gave Neville a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"Don't beat yourself up. But I've got to say, I don't believe for a second that Hagrid is the Heir of Slytherin."
Neville blinked, stunned. "What? But... I saw it. In the memory!"
Ted sat down on a nearby stone bench, plucked a sprig of mint from the flower bed beside him, and chewed thoughtfully.
"I understand what you're going through, Neville. It's not easy to carry something like this alone. But ask yourself—if Hagrid really opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago and caused someone's death, would Dumbledore, who was already a teacher back then, allow him to stay at Hogwarts? Would he have made him the gamekeeper?"
Neville's breathing quickened as realization began to dawn. "Right... Dumbledore has always trusted Hagrid. He's not the kind of person who'd support a murderer."
Ted nodded. "Exactly. And while I hate talking behind our friends' backs, there's something important you need to understand—Hagrid is different."
Neville tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
Ted sighed, a bit exasperated. "You really haven't noticed? Hermione figured it out ages ago. Hagrid's a half-giant, Neville."
Neville's eyes widened. "Half-giant?!"
"Shh!" Ted quickly hushed him, glancing around. "Do you want the whole school to hear? Yes, Hagrid's half-giant—and a Gryffindor. That alone makes it nearly impossible for him to be Slytherin's heir. If anything, the Heir would want him gone."
He continued, more seriously now. "Think about it—if the point of the Chamber is to purge the school of Muggle-borns and those unfit in the eyes of Salazar Slytherin, why would someone like Hagrid be chosen? He's practically the opposite of what Slytherin valued."
Neville slowly nodded, the weight on his chest finally beginning to lift. "Ha! Haha! Ted, you're amazing! I feel like I can breathe again."
But Ted didn't smile. His expression had grown grave.
"Don't relax just yet. Where's that diary now?"
"In my dorm. Why?"
"Take me there. Quickly."
Neville hesitated. "Is something wrong?"
"Neville, I need you to understand something. Magical items with their own consciousness are incredibly dangerous. Some are cursed, others are ancient, and most of them are well beyond the average wizard's control. Jerry and I ran into a few over the summer—deadly ones."
He stared at Neville intensely. "And I've never heard of a spell or charm that can store a fully interactive memory like that. Not even in the Department of Mysteries. It's far too advanced."
"You mean, like the Pensieve?"
"Sort of. But a Pensieve shows your own memories. That diary—it's something else entirely. I need to see it. Now."
As they hurried through the halls, Ted's mind was racing.
This had to be the diary—the first Horcrux. Voldemort's fifth-year self, filled with secrets and power he should never have had. Ted had been researching Horcruxes for over a year, ever since he found traces of forbidden magic in the Restricted Section's copy of Secrets of Advanced Dark Arts.
He still couldn't wrap his head around how a teenager—even someone as twisted as Tom Riddle—had managed to create one so early.
"Should I take it to Dumbledore right away? Or study it first? There could be valuable knowledge in there—but the risk..."
Before they could say the password to the Fat Lady guarding Gryffindor Tower, a wave of noise reached them.
Voices. Shouting.
They exchanged a look and rushed inside.
The common room was in chaos. Students were gathered in a cluster near the dorm stairs, talking over one another.
Neville pushed his way through the crowd and dashed into his dormitory. His chest tightened as he scanned the room. The drawers were pulled open, sheets tossed about, belongings thrown everywhere.
He dove for the drawer where he had hidden the diary.
It was gone.