Hogwarts: Neville’s Insert Chapter 68

Hogwarts: Neville's Insert Chapter 68

"No, sir!" Hermione pushed forward. "Harry and Neville have gone into the Chamber of Secrets. They might be facing a Basilisk right now!"

Ron nodded, breathless. "We know where the entrance is, professor—second-floor girls' loo. But we need a teacher—"

Lockhart's smile froze. "You… know where it is?"

"Yes!" Hermione said. "Please, they're buying time. We have to help—"

Lockhart dabbed his brow with a lavender handkerchief. "Well, that's, uh, marvellous news, but I—er—have a pressing engagement. Publishers, you understand. Terribly strict deadlines—"

Ron scowled. "Deadlines? Harry could be dead in an hour!"

Lockhart's eyes darted to his desk, and he said. "Look," he whispered, "it's all been a dreadful misunderstanding. Dangerous beasts? Cursed chambers? Not really my field." He edged for the bag.

Hermione stepped between him and the desk. "Professor, the school is in danger. You wrote about banishing Banshees and tussling with Trolls. Surely one Basilisk—"

Lockhart's voice quavered. "Yes, well… my book did say that…"

He exhaled shakily, then straightened his turquoise robes with a theatrical flair. "Alright, children. If you insist."

He offered a strained smile as he walked past them toward his desk, reaching into an inner pocket. "Just let me get my wand."

Hermione let out a breath of relief. "Thank you, Professor."

But before she could say another word, Lockhart spun on the spot, wand already raised.

"Obliviate!" he shouted.

…

Monday, 15th February 1993 – Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom, Hogwarts

"Obliviate!" Lockhart shouted, his wand aimed at them.

A blinding flash of light burst from the tip.

Hermione's eyes widened the moment she saw Lockhart's wand pointed their way. Months of dodging spells with Neville and Harry kicked in—her body moved on instinct.

She barely managed to hurl herself to the side, the spell shooting past her by inches.

Ron wasn't so lucky.

The spell struck him square in the chest. He stumbled backwards, blinking rapidly with a dazed look on his face, then sat down hard on the floor, staring blankly at the wall.

Hermione hit the floor with a thud, but scrambled back to her feet in an instant. Her wand slipped smoothly into her hand, eyes blazing.

"Are you mad?!" she snapped, aiming her wand straight at Lockhart. "You just tried to Obliviate two students!"

Lockhart's expression didn't change. "Didn't think I'd miss," he said breezily. "If you'd only left when I asked, none of this would've been necessary."

"Necessary?" Hermione shouted, furious. "That's your excuse? You're the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher! You're supposed to protect us, not curse us!"

Lockhart gave a theatrical sigh, wand still levelled at her. "Yes, well—nothing in the job description said anything about fighting actual monsters. I'm not risking my life to save a bunch of children."

Hermione stared at him, eyes wide in shock. "But your books—you wrote about facing Banshees, Hags, and all sorts of dark creatures. Were those stories all just for show?"

Lockhart's face twisted into something smug and cruel. "My dear girl, do use your common sense. My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't think I'd done those things."

Her voice rose with disbelief and anger. "You've been taking credit for other people's work. You must've gone around stealing their stories—and wiping their memories. Neville was right about you. You're nothing but a fraud."

Lockhart shrugged, his smile never quite reaching his eyes. "Small price for fame.Sadly…"

His expression shifted. The smugness drained away, replaced by something cold and calculating.

"Now, Miss Granger," he said softly, "I can't have you two ruining my reputation, now can I? Imagine the scandal—two students running around telling everyone I'm a fraud."

His voice dropped, almost casual. "Can't leave loose ends. I'll tell everyone I arrived too late—found you both raving mad after witnessing your friends… inconveniently dead." He gave a sigh, as if commenting on the weather. "Such a pity, really."

Hermione's grip on her wand tightened. Her eyes narrowed. "Neville and Harry aren't dead."

"They soon could be. Nothing personal," Lockhart replied, giving a casual flick of his wand. "Now, be sensible and stand still."

He raised his wand. "Obliviate!"

A flash of light burst from the tip—but Hermione was faster.

"Protego!" she shouted.

A shimmering blue shield erupted from her wand just as the Memory Charm hit. The spell rebounded instantly, slamming straight into Lockhart. He was flung backwards with a loud crash, smashing into a filing cabinet before sliding to the floor—unconscious, robes crumpled, wand clattering to the ground.

Hermione stood frozen for a second, breathing hard, the shield still glowing at the end of her wand. Then, seeing Lockhart wasn't moving, she let out a shaky breath and lowered the spell.

"Wow…"

Hermione's head snapped toward the voice. She turned and rushed to Ron, who was sitting up on the floor, dazed.

"Ron—Ron, are you alright?" she asked, kneeling beside him.

Ron blinked at her, confused. "Ron? Who's Ron? And… who are you?" He looked around the room, frowning. "Where are we? And who's that?" he added, pointing at Lockhart.

Hermione bit her lip. He doesn't remember anything… Her eyes flicked from Lockhart's limp form back to Ron. The spell must've wiped all his memories...

"You're Ron," she said gently. "And I'm Hermione. But we don't have time to explain right now. We have to find Professor McGonagall."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. "Come on. we have to go." Dragging him out of Lockhart's office, Hermione's thoughts raced. ' Fast. Harry, Neville—please be all right.'

They tore through the corridor, Hermione leading the way, her hand gripping Ron's tightly as they sprinted towards the Headmaster's office.

…

Harry kept his wand trained on the boy in front of him, eyes narrowed. "That still doesn't explain who you are. Only reason for you to be in the Chamber would mean you're the Heir of Slytherin… but I haven't seen you at Hogwarts before." His voice stayed level—playing dumb, buying time.

Tom Riddle clapped his hands slowly, a smirk spreading across his face as he began to pace around Harry and the two unconscious girls on the floor.

"My, you're a sharp one, aren't you?" he said smoothly. "The rumours about you must be wrong—I didn't think you'd put it together so quickly. And as for why you haven't seen me… well, that's because it's been fifty years since I walked these halls."

"Fifty years?" Harry repeated, brows furrowing. "What are you on about? And what've you done to them?"

Tom stopped in front of Daphne and Astoria, glancing down at their still forms. "Nothing that concerns you," he said calmly. "But I can say this—they're not dead. At least… not yet."

He turned away, walking again. "You know, I've waited a long time for this, Harry Potter," Riddle said, his voice low and almost reverent. "The chance to see you. Speak to you."

Harry gritted his teeth. "And why's that?"

Riddle's eyes gleamed. "Well, you see… dear little Astoria told me all about you. Your whole fascinating history." His gaze drifted to the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead, and something cold flickered in his eyes. "I knew I had to meet you. I have many questions, Harry Potter."

"Like what?" Harry spat, fists tightening.

Tom tilted his head, smiling with eerie calm. "Like… how is it that a baby, one with no remarkable magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you survive with nothing but a scar… while Lord Voldemort was reduced to nothing?"

Harry opened his mouth to snap back—but at that moment, a sharp chirp echoed from the far end of the chamber.

Both Harry and Riddle froze.

Their heads snapped toward the sound.

Tom's eyes narrowed.

Harry's head snapped back to Tom, and without hesitation, he lunged forward—hands outstretched, aiming straight for Riddle's face.

The sudden move caught Tom off guard—but as Harry's hands reached him, they passed straight through, as if through mist. As if Tom wasn't really there at all.

Harry stumbled, his whole body slipping through Riddle like he was a ghost. He caught himself and spun back around.

Tom raised his eyebrows, amused. "Really, Potter? Were you planning to strangle me with your bare hands? Very… Muggle of you."

Harry straightened, jaw tight. 'All right. That didn't work.'

"To business, Harry," Riddle said, still smiling broadly. "Twice—in your past, in my future—we've met. And twice I failed to kill you. How did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk…" his voice dropped, "the longer you stay alive."

Harry clenched his fists. 'I need to keep him busy till Neville gives the signal.'

"I know who you are, Tom," Harry said firmly. "I know you and Voldemort are the same person—at least, you were, before you turned into him."

For the first time, Riddle's smile faltered. His eyes narrowed slightly. "How do you know that?" he asked, voice sharper now.

Before Harry could answer, a loud chirp echoed down the chamber.

Tom paused—then sneered. "It doesn't matter," he said with a smirk. "Seems your friend is eager."

Harry's stomach sank. His eyes flicked toward the sound. 'He knows Neville's here…'

Then, slowly turning to face the massive stone statue at the end of the chamber, Tom raised his voice. "Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."

Meanwhile…

Tucked tightly in Neville's front shirt pocket, Lumina squirmed.

'Now's not the time, Lumina. Keep quiet,' Neville hissed in his thoughts.

But she shook her tiny featherless head and looked up at him with urgency. Then she chirped—louder this time.

Neville frowned, confused. But through their bond, he felt it. Her emotions weren't playful or bratty. They were sharp. Desperate.

He blinked. "Wait… you want me to throw you? Right now?" he whispered incredulously.

Lumina chirped again—louder, more frantic.

Neville's mind raced. Why now? She's not doing this for attention… she's scared. She's trying to protect me.

Before he could decide what to do, a low hiss echoed throughout the chamber.

Neville froze.

His eyes widened as he realised what that meant. "Not now, girl," he muttered, gripping his wand. He raised it and pointed upward. A bright red light shot into the air, exploded with a loud pop, signalling Harry.

The moment the flare lit the ceiling, Neville heard it a wet footsteps pounding toward their location, growing louder with every second and stone grinding.

And Lumina chirped again—louder, shriller—over and over, more frantic. refusing to stop.

Then came a splash—loud and deep—as if something massive had dropped into a pool of water.

Another hiss echoed through the chamber, followed by Tom's voice, low and full of triumph.

"Parseltongue won't save you now, Potter. It only obeys me."

As the final word left his mouth, a deafening roar shook the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of something huge slithering its way.

Neville swallowed hard. 'Stick to the plan. If we stick to the plan, we'll be fine.'

Just then, Harry ducked behind the snake-head statue Neville was using for cover.

Without a word, Neville quickly handed him the broom.

Harry grabbed it and mounted it in one swift motion.

Neville hissed, "Follow my lead," and shot forward into the tunnel. Harry flew after him without hesitation.

Neville kept his broom just fast enough to stay ahead, but slow enough to keep the Basilisk chasing them.

Behind them, a low growl rumbled through the darkness, followed by the heavy scrape of scales against stone. It was coming.

Just as they passed the trap, Neville heard it—the Basilisk was right behind them.

It lunged.

Neville flicked his wand.

With a sharp snap, the enchanted cloth launched from the wall like a rubber band, wrapping tightly around the Basilisk's head. It clamped down hard, sealing over its eyes completely.

A violent shriek tore through the tunnel. The creature thrashed wildly, smashing into the stone walls. The entire passage trembled with its fury.

Neville leaned low on his broom and accelerated. Harry did the same.

They shot out of the tunnel and into the main chamber, finally pulling to a stop near the tunnel entrance.

Neville reached into his sling bag and pulled out a pebble.

"You think it worked?" Harry asked, glancing back at the shaking tunnel.

Neville shrugged. "Think so."

The Basilisk was still flailing inside, the sound of destruction echoing behind them.

Neville threw the pebble toward the tunnel's mouth. As it reached the entrance, he pointed his wand. "Engorgio!"

The pebble expanded mid-air, slamming into place and wedging itself perfectly in the tunnel mouth, completely blocking the exit.

"Do the other side," Neville said quickly, tossing another pebble to Harry.

Harry caught it and nodded, turning toward the second entrance.

All the while, Lumina wouldn't stop chirping—loud, insistent, and frantic.

Neville looked down and scooped her up into his right hand. "Hey, hey—this isn't the time, Lumina. I'll deal with it later," he said gently.

But through their bond, he felt her panic. She wasn't being noisy for no reason—she was scared, and she wanted to help.

Neville frowned. 'What could throwing her possibly do?' he thought, completely confused.

"Avada Kedavra!" Tom's voice rang out across the chamber.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Neville caught a flash of green. The Killing Curse was flying straight at him.

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