Hogwarts: Neville's Insert Chapter 100
Hermione nodded. "It shows where everyone is, in real time."
Harry blinked, a little awed. "That's brilliant, mate." He leaned in for a closer look. "But why's it only showing part of the tower?"
Neville said, "It's still a prototype. I still haven't mapped out the entire castle yet—it needs to be done manually. I've asked Crookshanks to help me map out the castle."
He added, "And I'm still not done with the map yet. I still want to add a few more features—like searching by name, and maybe showing the shortest route to your destination."
Hermione took the book, her face alight with excitement. "How did you make this? Is it rune-based? How does it update people's locations? Is it similar to the Human-presence-revealing Spell? How does the map update itself—do you just have to walk around and it maps the path itself, or…?"
Harry chuckled and clapped Neville on the shoulder. "Have fun explaining how it works to Hermione, mate. I'm off." He gave them a lopsided grin before heading off to join Oliver Wood.
Hermione didn't even notice him go—she was already firing off her next question, quill poised, eyes alight with curiosity. Neville just laughed, resigned,
…
Monday, 11 October 1993 – Late Afternoon, charms classrooms
It was a rare sunny afternoon in the Scottish Highlands, sunlight streaming in through the tall windows of the Charms classroom. Neville sat in his usual seat by the window, his head resting lazily on his palm, the other hand idly spinning a pen between his fingers. Next to him, Harry was actually paying attention, eyes on Professor Flitwick at the front. In the row ahead, Hermione sat with Parvati and Lavender, scribbling notes almost as quickly as Flitwick spoke.
At the front, Flitwick was in his element, waving his wand as he explained, "—so, the key to a successful weather-resistant charm is layering your protections, not just stacking them all at once."
The bell cut him off mid-sentence.
Flitwick paused, then straightened with a smile. "Ah, time's up already. Well, for your homework, please write me an essay on weather-resistant charms—the theory, the uses, and their practical benefits. We'll begin practising the spell in Wednesday's lesson. Off you go."
The low hum of chatter quickly filled the room as students began packing up. Books thumped shut, bags were slung over shoulders, and bits of parchment disappeared into desks, some neatly, others stuffed haphazardly.
Neville yawned, closed his textbook, and dropped it into his bag. He stretched, shaking off the last bit of drowsiness, then slung his bag over his shoulder with a quiet sigh. Harry was still gathering his things, double-checking that he hadn't left anything behind.
Neville stepped around the desks and made his way to Hermione, who was still packing up, sliding her quill back into its case. She looked up at him, about to say something, but before she could—
Lavender leaned over from her seat beside Hermione. "Neville, we're putting together a little study group. me, Parvati, Fay, some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. We were hoping you could join us and help, since you're so good at all of them."
Neville blinked, a bit surprised. "Me? Why not ask a professor?"
Parvati pulled a face. "I'd rather not ask Professor Snape for help. Anyway, Hermione said she'd help too."
Hermione nodded. "Yes, I did. It'll be good revision for everyone."
Neville considered it, then shrugged. "when's are you guys meeting up?"
Fay, a few seats over, looked up from her bag. "We planned to start this Fridays, before dinner."
Neville nodded. "Yeah, I can spare an hour or two to help, just let me know the day before."
Harry wandered over, curiosity written across his face. "Let you know what?"
Hermione answered for him, closing her bag. "Lavender's organising a spell practice group—just some of our year, really. They've asked Neville and me if we'd help out on Fridays, and Neville's agreed."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "So, a group study, then? Who else is coming?"
Lavender piped up before Hermione could answer. "Well, me, Parvati, Fay—I haven't asked the boys yet. A few from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are interested too. You can join us as well if you want, Harry."
Harry shrugged, grinning. "Long as Malfoy's not there, I don't mind. Not sure Wood'll let me, though, if we've got Quidditch practice."
Lavender grinned back, ""Brilliant! we are starting this Friday,". with that she and Parvati slipped away, chattering to each other.
Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder, then turned to Neville. "Can you give us a hand with some of these?" She nodded at the stack of books teetering in her arms.
Neville stifled another yawn but took the books from her easily, falling in behind the others as they left the classroom.
Harry matched his pace, glancing at the titles. "Blimey, Hermione, why are you carrying all these? You've even got the Muggle Studies book. Thought you'd only had it on Tuesdays and Fridays."
Hermione gave a little huff, shifting the weight of her bag. "I need to add a few more references for my essay. Professor Burbage is a stickler for details. Anyway, I thought I'd go straight to the library after classes today. Didn't see the point going back to the dorm."
Neville smothered a yawn. "Well, I know what I'm getting you for Christmas."
Hermione looked at him warily. "Huh?"
Neville smirked. "What it's a surprise."
Hermione rolled her eyes. The three of them started down the stairs, winding their way down towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom for their next lesson.
Soon enough, they arrived outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Neville, Harry, and Hermione walked in together, only to find the whole class standing around, the usual seats abandoned. Students were clustered near the front, all murmuring and craning their necks, eyes fixed on a large, battered wardrobe by the blackboard. It rattled every so often, the doors juddering as though something inside was trying to get out.
Neville blinked. "Huh."
Hermione frowned, glancing around. "What's going on?"
Harry eyed the wardrobe. "D'you reckon someone's got stuck in there?" They moved closer, curiosity winning out.
Neville slipped his bag off his shoulder and dropped it onto the desk, already thinking, 'So it's the boggart lesson today. Same as Lupin did in the films. Makes sense—third year syllabus, after all.' He leaned back, watching the others with mild interest.
Someone—Dean, probably—nudged Seamus forward. "Go on, Finnigan, have a look. See what's in there."
Seamus hesitated, eyeing the wardrobe warily. He'd just reached it, hand out, when the adjoining door to the classroom swung open and Professor Jones strode in, a smile on her face.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr Finnigan—not unless you're ready for a fright," she called, her tone light.
Seamus stopped short, lowering his hand. "So what's inside, Professor?"
Professor Jones paused, glancing at the class with a twinkle in her eye. "Well, that's exactly what we're about to find out. Come on, everyone, gather round the front. You'll want to see this."
The students shuffled closer, crowding around the wardrobe.
"I'm sure you're all wondering about the contents of this cupboard. Anyone care to hazard a guess?" she prompted, looking out over the class.
A few uncertain voices went up. Dean spoke louder than the rest, "Is it a boggart, Professor?"
There was a little gasp from the back of the room.
Professor Jones smiled approvingly. "Five points to Gryffindor. Yes, it is—a boggart. Mr Filch found it in the castle on Saturday. He helped me bring it here for today's lesson. Now, can anyone tell me what a boggart is?"
Hermione's hand was up almost before she finished the question. "A boggart is a shape-shifter, Professor. No one knows what they really look like, because they always take the form of whatever a person fears most. That's what makes them so frightening."
Hestia nodded, "Excellent, Miss Granger—five points. Yes, as Miss Granger just explained, boggarts are shape-shifters—they take on the form of what you fear most."
She went on, pacing in front of the class, "Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, under beds, cupboards beneath sinks—anywhere dark and neglected. When a boggart's hidden in the darkness, it hasn't yet assumed a form. It doesn't know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when it's alone, but the moment I let it out, it'll immediately become whatever each of us fears most."
She gave the rattling wardrobe a fond look. "That's why it's always best to have company when you're dealing with a boggart. With more people, it becomes confused—it doesn't know which form to take."
She turned back to the class. "Now, the spell to counter a boggart is Riddikulus. The trick is to force it to assume a shape that's funny, not frightening. I want you all to practise saying it clearly—'Riddikulus!' Go on."
The class repeated the spell in varying degrees of confidence.
While everyone practised, Neville slipped an arm round Harry's shoulder and tugged Hermione's hand, drawing both of them in close. They turned to him, eyebrows raised.
Hermione whispered, "What's wrong?"
Neville kept his voice low. "You need to drop your Occlumency shields."
Harry frowned, confused. "What for?"
Neville leaned in, keeping it quick. "Boggarts use something a bit like Legilimency to sniff out your fears. If your mind's blocked off, it can't read you."
Hermione caught on immediately. "Which means the boggart won't know what we're scared of."
Harry still looked puzzled. "Isn't that a good thing, though?"
Neville shot him a look. "You daft? If we block it, someone'll notice. We don't want Dumbledore finding out we know Occlumency."
Hermione nodded, glancing around. "Best not to stand out."
Neville added, "And whatever you do, don't think about Brian." He gave Harry a pointed look. "If you picture him, the boggart'll take that shape. Just think of something else."
Hermione and Harry both nodded, dropping their shields as subtly as they could manage.
At the front, Hestia clapped her hands, getting everyone's attention. "Alright, everyone—form a line, please. We'll go one at a time."
The class quickly shuffled into a line as Professor Jones asked, Harry falling in behind Seamus, Neville behind Harry and Hermione behind him. right in the middle of the group.
Harry glanced back over his shoulder. "What do you think your boggarts going to be?"
Neville shrugged, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Honestly? I don't know. maybe a giant insect. Probably end up as an Acromantula or something."
Hermione corrected him without missing a beat, "Spiders aren't insects, Neville—they're arachnids."
Neville waved her off. "Doesn't matter, does it? They just freak me out, all the same."
Harry grinned, shooting a look at Hermione. "Bet yours'll be a troll on transfigurations."
Neville snorted at that, shaking his head.
Hermione just leaned forward and gave Harry a swat on the arm. "Prat," she muttered, but she was smiling.
Up at the front, Dean was the first to face the boggart.
Hestia called, "Ready, Mr Thomas?"
Dean gave a shaky nod. Hestia flicked her wand, unlocking the cupboard, and stepped aside to stand with the rest of the class. The wardrobe creaked open, and a severed human hand scuttled out across the floor straight for Dean.
Dean stumbled back, letting out a startled, "Ahh—!"
Hestia encouraged, "Remember the spell, Dean!"
Dean gulped, flicked his wand, and called out, "Riddikulus!" Instantly, the hand got caught in a giant mouse trap, snapping shut and leaving the class giggling.
"Good, good, Mr Thomas," Hestia praised, and beckoned for the next students.
Parvati was up next—her boggart twisted into a massive snake, which she quickly turned into a ridiculous jack-in-the-box with a springy tail.
Hannah Abbott faced a snarling wild dog, but with a steady, "Riddikulus!" turned it into a bouncing, fluffy puppy with a big pink bow.
Hestia clapped her hands once, smiling. "Well done, Miss Abbott."
Hannah gave a small, relieved smile and stepped back into line.
"Alright," Hestia continued, glancing along the students. "Mr Weasley, you're up next."
Neville watched him step forward, curiosly. Ron had once told them he was terrified of spiders—something to do with Fred and George playing a prank on him when they were kids. But that was before Ron lost all his memories.
ron steped up gulping as he did
the boggart shifted into snape
Snape's face twisted into a familiar scowl. "You idiotic boy," he snapped. "Do you even possess the most basic level of competence, or is incompetence your natural state?"
A few students winced.
Ron flinched, then straightened, gripping his wand. "Ridiculous!"
Snape stiffened.
Then his voice cracked.
"What—what are you—doing, Weasley?" Snape shrieked, his voice suddenly high and squeaky.
He clapped a hand to his throat, eyes widening in confusion as another squeak escaped him.
The class burst out laughing.
Snape glared furiously, trying to speak, but every attempt came out in an increasingly ridiculous squeal.
Hestia let out a quiet chuckle before clapping again. "Well done, Mr Weasley," she said. "Very good control. Let's just hope this stays between us and doesn't somehow reach Professor Snape."
Ron grinned, visibly relieved, and hurried back to his place.
Neville chuckled quietly to himself. Yeah, he thought, that tracks. Snape's been brutal to Ron ever since he lost his memories.
"Next," Hestia said, scanning the line. "Mr Zabini."
Blaise stepped forward, jaw set. The boggart twisted itself into a rotting zombie, dragging one leg as it lurched toward him. Blaise just flicked his wand and called, "Riddikulus!" The zombie promptly donned a top hat and cane and broke into a tapdance, making the class snicker.
Terry Boot was next. His boggart ballooned into a human-sized bat, wings spread wide. "Riddikulus!" he called, and the bat shrank into a flock of squeaky rubber bats bouncing across the floor.
A few more students went, each dispatching their boggart with nervous laughter and relief.
Then it was Seamus Finnigan's turn. The boggart shifted into a banshee—long black hair trailing, a gaunt green face, shrieking so loud it made a few people cover their ears. Seamus squared his shoulders and jabbed his wand. "Riddikulus!" The banshee opened its mouth, but only a faint, raspy whisper escaped.
The room burst into laughter. Hestia clapped, grinning. "Well done, Mr Finnigan. Alright, Mr Potter—you're up."
Before Harry stepped forward, Neville leaned in, keeping his voice low. "Remember what I said."
Harry nodded, drew a deep breath, and approached, wand at the ready.
The voiceless banshee twisted and blurred, robes shifting, body lengthening. Suddenly, standing before Harry was a Slytherin student, tall and slim, dressed in the old Hogwarts uniform—dark hair, arms loose at his sides, head tilted with a faint, knowing smile.
Tom Riddle.
A murmur rippled through the class.
"Who's that supposed to be?"
"Have you ever seen him before?"
"He looks a bit… well, dashing, doesn't he?"
Even Hestia looked thrown, watching the boggart curiously.
Hermione leaned closer to Neville, keeping her voice low. "Is that—?"
Neville nodded, arms folded, watching carefully. "Yeah, that's Tom."
Harry hesitated, eyes flicking over Riddle's face. Tom just chuckled, looking faintly amused by the attention.
Harry drew a breath, steadied his wand, and called, "Riddikulus!"
Instantly, Riddle froze, his form twisting and shrinking until he was nothing but an old diary—damaged, punctured with holes, battered as it had been after Neville had retrieved it from the basilisk.
The class stared, baffled.
"Is that… a diary?"
"I don't get it."
"Why'd he turn into a diary?"
Hestia clapped—slightly awkward, but supportive. "Well done, Mr Potter. Let's keep going—Mr Longbottom, you're up next."
Neville stepped forward. He was genuinely curious what his boggart would be. He knew it wouldn't be Dumbledore—he wasn't afraid of him, not really. If anything, Dumbledore just irritated him. Still, there were plenty of things he didn't like: killer clowns, insects—especially the big ones—but he had no idea what actually sat at the core of his fear.
'Might as well find out,' he thought.
He let out a slow breath and deliberately lowered his Occlumency shields, opening his mind completely and letting the boggart look inside.
The battered diary on the floor began to ripple.
It twisted, shrinking, pages folding inward, until it became a boy.
A younger Neville—plump, round-faced, sitting on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest, crying.
Neville's eyes widened. "What—"
Draco snorted. "He's scared of being fat, Longbottom?" A few students laughed.
Hermione and Harry didn't. They were staring at the boy on the floor, something about it clearly wrong.
The younger Neville slowly looked up. There was a cut on his head, a thin line of blood trickling down his temple.
"You stole it," the boy sobbed.
Neville went pale and took an involuntary step back.
The laughter in the room died.
"You stole my life," the younger Neville cried as he forced himself to his feet, shaking. "You took everything."
Neville raised his wand, heart pounding. "Riddikulus."
Nothing happened.
"Give me back my body," the boy sobbed.
Neville's hand trembled. "I—" He swallowed hard. "Riddikulus!"
The boy flickered—
—and became Augusta Longbottom.
She stood tall and rigid, eyes blazing with fury.
"That body doesn't belong You," she shouted. "Get out!"
She shifted.
Alice Longbottom replaced her, eyes wide and empty, her voice sharp and broken.
"You're not my Neville," she screamed. "Give him back!"
She shifted.
Frank Longbottom appeared next, face twisted with rage.
"You killed him," he roared. "You stole everything he had!"
"No, I didn't—" Neville's breathing hitched, panic rising fast. "Riddikulus!" he said again, more urgently.
Nothing.
The figures kept changing.
"Shut up," he muttered, flicking his wand again.
Gran.
Alice.
Frank.
The younger Neville.
Each one closer than the last.
Each voice louder.
"Riddikulus!"
"You're an impostor!"
"Get out!"
"That body isn't yours!"
"Riddikulus!" Neville backed up another step, heart hammering. "Shut up," he whispered, trying again. "Riddikulus!"
They began to chant as they moved toward him.
"Get out!"
"You don't belong here!"
"You stole his life!"
The entire class started to back away, unsure what they were even watching anymore.
Hestia was frozen in confusion for a second, then saw Neville stumbling back and moved forward to end the lesson.
But Neville snapped.
"I said shut up!" he screamed, thrusting his wand forward.
Blue, incandescent magic erupted from the tip, slamming into the boggart and the wardrobe, tearing straight through and crashing into the wall behind it.
The explosion was deafening.
Half the classroom was blown apart. Stone and wood shattered, the wall ripped open to the outside, cold air and sunlight pouring in as debris scattered across the floor.
Neville stood there, panting, eyes wide, face drained of colour. His hands were shaking.
Dust drifted through the ruined room.
Hestia lowered her arm, where she'd shielded her face, and stared in horror at the destruction.
Then a piercing cry rang out.
Blue flames erupted in the centre of the room as Lumina appeared, trilling a soothing, worried sound. She landed on Neville's shoulder, nuzzling against him, her warmth steady and calming.
Only then did Neville seem to really see what he'd done.
He looked at the destroyed wall. At the wrecked classroom. At the stunned, terrified faces of the students.
Hermione was staring at him in shock. Harry too.
Neville lifted his wand and silently cast Reparo.
Stone groaned. Wood creaked. The shattered wall and broken classroom began knitting themselves back together, cracks sealing as the damage slowly reversed.
He leaned close to Lumina and murmured something too soft for anyone else to hear.
Lumina trilled once more, then burst into blue flame.
They vanished, leaving the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom behind in stunned, broken silence.
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