Hogwarts: Neville's Insert Chapter 101
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.
…
Monday, 11 October 1993 – Late Afternoon, charms classrooms
For a few seconds, no one spoke.
Dust still hung in the air, sunlight cutting through it in pale shafts where the wall had been. The desks nearest the blast were half overturned, parchments scattered across the floor.
The wall was still slowly knitting itself back together.
The whole class stood silent.
Hestia Jones slowly lowered her arms, her mind only just catching up to what had happened, eyes wide and fixed on the spot where Neville had vanished.
Seamus was the first to break the silence.
"Bloody hell," he said quietly. "What just happened?"
No one laughed. No one even looked at him.
The class devolved into a low murmur, students glancing around at the wreckage, at each other.
Hestia straightened, wand still raised. She took a slow look around the room, her gaze moving over every student, counting heads.
"Is everyone ok?" she asked, voice steady but tight. "Was anyone hurt?"
A few people checked themselves over, almost as if expecting to find something wrong, and shook their heads.
"I'm alright," Dean said, almost to himself, patting down his own arms as if to double-check.
"So am I," Parvati added, though she sounded anything but sure.
Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, neither quite sure what to say.
Hestia exhaled, and gave a small nod. "Good. No one's hurt. That's… good," she murmured, almost to herself,
Just then, the door at the back of the classroom opened.
Albus Dumbledore stepped inside, moving with uncharacteristically hurried steps.
He paused in the doorway, taking in the room in one sweep—his gaze lingered on the half-repaired wall before drifting over the stunned third-years, all of them standing stock still.
Hestia saw him and straightened up a little more. "Professor?" she said, startled by his sudden appearance.
"Professor Jones," Dumbledore said mildly, nodding as he walked into the damaged classroom. His eyes didn't leave the wall as he came to stand next to Hestia. He turned to her and asked, "Would you care to explain what happened?"
Hestia nodded. "You see, Headmaster," she began, "we were conducting a standard boggart exercise. Everything was going well—until it was Mister Longbottom's turn." She paused, glancing at the class.
Dumbledore's gaze flicked over the students. "This was caused by Mister Longbottom?" he asked, sounding more curious than surprised.
Hestia nodded again, choosing her words carefully. "His boggart was something… quite personal. He panicked and cast a spell—it wasn't intentional, but the result was…" she gestured vaguely at the repaired wall.
Dumbledore nodded slowly, absorbing this. "I see. May I know where Mr Longbottom is?" he asked, turning back to Hestia.
Hestia opened her mouth to reply, but just then, hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor. Professor McGonagall swept into the room, her tartan robes snapping as she moved. Flitwick followed right behind, eyes wide as he took in the damage.
"Albus," McGonagall said sharply, then turned on Hestia. "What on earth—?"
"Everyone is unharmed," Hestia said quickly, cutting her off before panic could start. "No one's hurt."
Dumbledore glanced at McGonagall and Flitwick, then nodded, looking back at the wall. "Yes, everyone seems to be unharmed." His gaze lingered on the slowly mending stones. "It appears Mister Longbottom… had a rather bad reaction to his boggart."
McGonagall digested this, her lips pressed thin. "Longbottom…" she repeated, the worry just visible beneath her sternness.
Flitwick adjusted his glasses, eyes wide. "My word… That was done by a third-year?" His voice squeaked, a note of astonished excitement slipping in.
Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed."
McGonagall's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Where is Longbottom?" she asked, scanning the classroom.
Hestia sighed, then said, "Well, about that, Professor—he left right after with his phoenix."
At that moment, Severus Snape appeared in the doorway, cloak billowing. He stopped short at the sight of the room.
His black eyes swept over the half-repaired wall, the overturned desks, and the dust still hanging in the air. His lip curled.
"Well," Snape drawled, his voice cool and sharp, "this explains why half the dungeon corridor shook."
Several students stiffened at his tone.
McGonagall turned, before her expression hardened. "Severus. We've had an incident."
Snape stepped fully into the room, robes whispering as he moved. His gaze lingered on the damaged wall, then shifted deliberately to the students—pausing just a touch longer on Harry and Hermione before flicking away.
"I can see that," he said dryly. "One hardly expects third-years to attempt structural renovations during class."
Flitwick bristled, voice sharp. "This was no prank, Severus. That amount of magic—"
"Yes, yes," Snape interrupted, waving a hand in irritation. "I'm sure it is all very impressive." His eyes narrowed. "Which student lost control?"
There was a brief silence.
McGonagall spoke. "It was Mr Longbottom."
Snape's eyebrows rose—just a fraction. "Longbottom," he repeated, savouring the name. His mouth twisted in something not quite a smile. "How utterly predictable."
His gaze swept the room once more. "And where, precisely, is our resident catastrophe?"
Hestia answered, measured. "He left with his phoenix, Professor. He was… shaken."
Snape let out a short, humourless huff. "How convenient."
Hestia cleared her throat. "Headmaster… I believe it's best if we dismiss the class."
"Yes, that would be wise." Dumbledore nodded. then turning to the students "Please return to your common rooms."
No one argued.
Students grabbed their bags at once, the room filling with the scrape of chairs and hurried footsteps. Conversations were hushed and tense.
Harry and Hermione lingered, exchanging worried looks before moving to fetch their things.
Dumbledore called out, "Miss Granger, Mister Potter."
Hermione stopped. So did Harry. They turned back, waiting.
Dumbledore said, "When you see Mr Longbottom, please tell him to come to my office. As soon as possible."
Hermione nodded quickly. "Y-yes, Professor."
They hurried to their seats, gathering their bags. Hermione spotted Neville's left behind on the floor and picked it up.
Dumbledore turned toward the wall, lifted his wand, and flicked it at the newly repaired stones. "There—that should reinforce it," he murmured.
He turned to Hestia. "Professor Jones, if you would join me. I would like to see for myself what occurred."
Hestia nodded. "Of course."
They left together, McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick following close behind.
Harry and Hermione trailed behind the rest of the Gryffindors, letting the crowd thin as they stepped out into the corridor.
Neither spoke at first.
Hermione flicked her wand, murmuring, "Muffliato," and cast a privacy barrier around them.
It was Harry who broke the silence.
"I don't get it," he said eventually. "Neville told us boggarts only pick up what's on the surface—what you're thinking about at the time. He told us to focus on anything but Dumbledore, and it worked. So… why did he lose control like that?"
Hermione bit her lip, gaze fixed on the floor as they walked. "Because I don't think he was expecting it."
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"
She spoke quietly. "I think he dropped his Occlumency completely. Maybe he wanted to see what he was really afraid of."
Harry stopped walking. "But why would he do that?"
Hermione looked over. "Because you know what he's like. If there's something he doesn't understand, he pokes at it until it makes sense."
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Still doesn't explain… that." He hesitated. "Why it kept saying he stole someone's life."
Hermione didn't answer straight away.
"I think…" she began, slowly, "it's because he's not the same as before. Do you remember how he was before he lost his memories?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, I remember. He used to be… different."
Hermione nodded back. "And everyone keeps saying he's changed since then. I think that might have got to him."
"I think he's afraid," Hermione continued, voice low, "that one day people will decide he's not really Neville anymore. You saw it—the boggart turned into his gran. His parents. I think he's scared they might reject him. That they won't see him as the same person."
Harry frowned, looking down. "That's stupid," he said, more forceful than he meant. " Why would he even think that? Gran loves him. I'm sure his parents would too—especially with everything he's doing to try and help them. Family don't just stop loving you because you're different." His voice was quiet at the end, but there was a certainty to it.
"I know," Hermione said quietly, biting her lip. "But… it is Neville we're talking about. You know what he's like. He doesn't talk about things—he just carries them around by himself."
Harry nodded, thoughtful. "Yeah, he does that a lot."
There was a pause, then Hermione asked, almost in a whisper, "Do you… do you think they'll expel him?"
Harry shook his head immediately. "No, I don't think they will. Neville didn't do it on purpose. He panicked, that's all. no one got hurt, And besides, Gran's on the Board of Governors. She'd never let that happen."
Hermione nodded, but she didn't look convinced. "Should we try to find him? Make sure he's alright?"
Harry ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "How, Hermione? Who knows where Lumina took him? He could be anywhere by now."
Hermione nodded, but then her eyes widened. "Wait."
Harry turned to her. "What?"
"Neville's bag," she said. "He left it behind."
Harry looked confused. "So?"
Hermione reached into Neville's bag, pulling out the thin, leather-bound notebook. "The map. If Neville's still in the castle, we can find him." She then opened it and tapped the page with her wand.
The map bloomed into view, lines and names shifting across the parchment.
Harry leaned over her shoulder. "How are we supposed to find him? The map's not even finished yet."
"No," Hermione murmured, eyes scanning the page. "But we can still see if he's in the castle—the map's tied to the wards, so his name will show up if he's inside the castle."
She paused, then pointed at the map. "There," she said quietly.
Harry followed her finger.
Neville Longbottom.
The name hovered on the seventh floor, inside a wall, half-overlapping empty space.
"That's the Room of Requirement," Hermione said at once.
Harry straightened. "Right. Let's go."
They didn't waste another second.
…
The Room of Requirement had turned itself into a duelling room, lined with battered training dummies.
Neville stood alone, firing spells at five dummies spread out in a row. He drew his wand back, aimed, and thrust it forward—lightning arced from the tip, striking all five dummies and sending them crashing backwards to the floor in a heap.
Neville lowered his wand, breathing hard, then dropped to sit on the floor.
The dummies creaked and whined as they righted themselves, wheeling silently back into position.
Neville stared at them for a second, then let himself fall flat on his back, resting his forearm across his eyes and letting his breathing slow.
'What would Gran think,' he wondered, staring up at the enchanted ceiling through his fingers, 'if she knew the truth?'
That he wasn't really her Neville. That he'd just… woken up one day in this body. And his parents—who looked so much like his parents from another life—what would they think, if they knew the truth?
"What would they think?" he muttered, closing his eyes.
He let the thought sit with him for a moment, then pushed it aside with a quiet sigh. There was no point spiralling. It never helped.
A flutter of wings broke the silence as Lumina landed beside him, tilting her head. She trilled softly, sounding almost relieved.
Neville dropped his arm and glanced over at her. He reached out, scratching gently beneath her beak. "Thanks, girl."
Lumina trilled again, leaning into his hand.
"Yeah, I know," Neville murmured, rubbing at his face. "Not exactly my brightest idea."
Lumina tilted her head, eyes searching, as if asking what had happened.
Neville sighed. "Ugh. I panicked. I didn't mean to cast that spell, you know. I just—" He broke off, shaking his head. "I just wanted it to shut up."
Neville let go of Lumina and stared up at the ceiling. "I really shouldn't have done that. Shouldn't have let the boggart see my true fear," he muttered, glancing sideways at Lumina. "Should've just… thought of a spider or something. Like a normal person."
He sighed again. Not his brightest idea, he admitted to himself. If he'd really wanted to know what his boggart would be, he could've just waited, tried it later in here, away from everyone else.
Lumina trilled quietly, trying to soothe him.
Neville's head turned when he heard the door form in the wall. He sat up as it appeared, just as Harry and Hermione stepped in and closed it softly behind them.
Hermione's eyes went straight to Neville, concern plain on her face. Harry took in the room, then Lumina, then Neville.
Neville blinked, confused, and started to open his mouth, but Hermione crossed the space between them in a few quick strides and wrapped her arms tightly around him.
Neville stiffened for a heartbeat, then relaxed, letting out a quiet breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He lifted an arm awkwardly at first, then hugged her back properly.
"You scared us," Hermione said quietly into his shoulder. "You can't just disappear like that."
Neville sighed. "Right. I'm sorry about that. Didn't mean to."
Hermione pulled back, hands still gripping the front of Neville's robes. "Neville, about…" She bit her lip, hesitated, then went on. "About what happened in class—what the boggart said. You know that's not true. You do know that, right?"
Neville looked away. "Yeah, I know, it was dumb."
Harry stepped closer, folding his arms. "It's not just dumb, mate—it's downright stupid."
Hermione shot him a look. "Harry—"
"No, Hermione, he's got to hear this," Harry said, voice steady but not harsh. "Whatever that was in class, that was daft. Thinking you stole someone's life? That's rubbish. Just because you lost your memories doesn't mean you nicked your own body, Neville. That's completely barmy. And all that about Gran and your parents not accepting you—honestly, that's just not true. Your gran loves you, mate. You know she does."
"And your parents would too," Harry went on, voice firmer now. "Especially with everything you're doing to help them. You think they'd want you tearing yourself up over something like that?"
Neville didn't answer right away. He let out a long sigh, thinking, 'If only you knew, guys.'
But after a moment, he nodded, looking up at them with a small smile. "…Thanks," he said, quieter but genuine. "Both of you. Guess I needed to hear that."
He glanced between them. "How did you two even find me, anyway? Did you just guess I'd be here?"
Hermione pulled out the map and handed over Neville's bag. "We used this to find you," she said. "You left your bag behind in the classroom."
"Ah, you used the map, huh?" Neville nodded, taking the bag and notebook from her. "Thanks, both of you."
He looked back up. "So, what happened after I left?"
Hermione wiped her eyes and straightened. "After you disappeared, Dumbledore showed up."
Neville nodded. "Yeah, I expected as much. What did he say?"
Harry shrugged, crossing his arms. "Nothing much. Just asked Professor Jones what happened, and where you'd gone."
Hermione added, "He told us, if we saw you, to let you know he wants to see you in his office."
"Right." Neville nodded, getting to his feet. "I suppose I shouldn't keep him waiting."
Hermione searched his face. "Are you alright?"
Neville smiled at her, a real smile this time, and patted her on the head. "Yeah. I am now. Thanks, both of you."
Lumina landed neatly on his shoulder, trilling softly.
"We can come with you," Hermione offered.
Neville shook his head, chuckling. "Nah, it's fine. I'll meet you back here after I'm done."
And with that, he started for the door, reaching for the handle.
…
The silvery surface of the Pensieve stilled as Dumbledore emerged from its depths, straightening slowly.
Behind him, raised voices echoed across the office.
"I don't see why we're even debating this," Snape was saying coldly. "The boy lost control and unleashed a spell that nearly tore the classroom apart. That alone is grounds for expulsion."
"He is thirteen," McGonagall snapped back, tone clipped. "And he was in obvious distress."
"Distress does not excuse recklessness," Snape replied. "If that spell had struck a student—"
Flitwick cut in, bristling. "Severus, the spell didn't strike a student. And let's not pretend you didn't notice the circumstances. The boggart provoked an extreme psychological response."
Snape scoffed, his mouth curling. "You're making excuses."
Dumbledore turned to face them at last. "Enough."
The room quieted, though Snape's glare lingered.
Before anyone else could speak, green flames roared to life in the fireplace.
A moment later, Augusta Longbottom stepped out, her hat slightly askew, eyes fierce as she dusted ash from her sleeves. She took in everyone present with a sharp glance. "Professors," she nodded curtly, before letting out a sigh. "Don't tell me this is about my grandson again. What's he done now? Please tell me he hasn't landed himself in the Hospital Wing again."
McGonagall shook her head. "Nothing of the sort, Augusta."
Snape didn't miss a beat. "No, no. We were just discussing whether Mr Longbottom should be expelled," he said, voice smooth as glass.
Augusta's head snapped round. "What?"
"Severus," McGonagall said sharply, turning on him.
Dumbledore stepped in before Augusta could advance. "Augusta, please. Allow me."
He gave a summarized version of what had happen.
Augusta listened in silence, her jaw tightening as he spoke.
When he finished, she turned her glare on Snape. "You think expulsion is an appropriate response to a child losing control in a moment of panic?"
Snape folded his arms. "I think allowing him to remain is a risk."
Dumbledore's voice was calm, but steel lay beneath. "We do not expel students for losing control in a moment of panic, Severus. Everyone learns from their mistakes." His eyes narrowed, just for a moment. "You, above all, should know that. We teach them not to lose themselves."
Dumbledore spoke calmly. "We do not expel students for losing control in a moment of panic, Severus. Everyone learns from their mistakes." He smiled, a touch chidingly, at Snape. "You, above all, should know that. We teach them not to lose themselves."
Snape sneered but said nothing.
Augusta said nothing either, but she didn't look away.
A sharp knock sounded at the door.
"Yes? Come in," Dumbledore called.
A prefect stepped in, pausing as he saw the assembled professors and Augusta. Dumbledore gave him a nod. "Yes, Mr Weasley—were you able to find Mr Longbottom?"
Percy shifted nervously. "Ah—no, Professor. We looked nearly everywhere."
McGonagall said crisply, "With a phoenix, he could be anywhere."
Augusta frowned, her eyes narrowing. "Have you spoken to Harry Potter or Hermione Granger? If anyone knows where Neville would go, it's them."
Percy shook his head. "We haven't seen Potter or Granger, Professor. We think they're probably searching for Longbottom too."
McGonagall pursed her lips. "That means they're all likely still somewhere on castle grounds."
"I see. Thank you, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore said. "That will be all."
Before Percy could turn to go, a voice called from one of the portraits near the door.
"Neville Longbottom is here," announced Phineas Nigellus Black, sounding faintly bored. "Requesting entry."
The room fell silent.
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Let him in."
The door swung open.
Neville stepped inside, Lumina perched quietly on his shoulder.
He took in the room at a glance—Augusta, the heads of house, Dumbledore—and looked straight at his grandmother. "Gran," he said, nodding.
Her expression softened, just a touch.
Neville turned to face the staff. "I'm sorry for what happened, Professors," he said plainly. "I lost my calm. I shouldn't have let it get that far."
Dumbledore regarded him for a long moment, expression unreadable.
"Thank you for saying that my boy," he said at last. "It tells me you understand the gravity of what occurred."
He didn't smile.
"Losing control is not a crime," Dumbledore continued, voice even. "But power, once released, does not ask why it was summoned. It only acts." He let the words hang there. "Understanding that distinction is important."
Neville nodded, quiet.
Dumbledore studied him for a moment. "Even though no one was injured, and I understand you acted out of panic, the spell you cast was dangerous nonetheless. Students could have been seriously hurt."
Neville nodded.
"Therefore, you will serve a month of detention," Dumbledore said evenly.
Snape smirked, arms crossed. "If I may, Headmaster, I'd like to volunteer to supervise Longbottom's detentions."
Neville's mouth tightened.
McGonagall spoke at once. "Absolutely not. He is a Gryffindor, and I am his Head of House. I will handle it."
Hestia Jones added quietly, "If I may, Headmaster—I bear some responsibility as well. I should have intervened sooner. I'm willing to take part in supervising his detention."
Dumbledore considered it for a moment. "Very well."
He turned back to Neville. "You will serve extended detention for one month, under Professor McGonagall's supervision, with assistance from Professor Jones as needed."
Neville inclined his head. "Understood, Professor."
"In addition," Dumbledore continued, "you will lose fifty points from Gryffindor."
Neville didn't react.
"And," Dumbledore added, "you will not be permitted to attend the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend."
Neville nodded. "I understand, Professor."
Dumbledore turned his gaze toward Augusta. "Perhaps it would be beneficial if the two of you spent some time together. Talking things through can do a great deal to ease… lingering fears."
Augusta studied Neville for a long moment, then gave a short nod. "Yes. That sounds sensible."
Dumbledore gave a small, satisfied smile. "Very good."
He stepped back. "You may go, Mr Longbottom."
Neville nodded to the professors, then to his gran. "Gran."
She placed a firm hand on his shoulder as they turned to leave.
Behind them, the office was quiet.
Dumbledore watched them go, his expression thoughtful, hands folded behind his back.
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