Hogwarts: Neville's Insert Chapter 108
"Well…" Neville hesitated for a second, then said, "Is there any way to visit someone in Azkaban?"
That got a reaction.
Augusta's eyebrow rose at once.
Harry and Hermione both stayed very still.
After a short pause, Augusta said, "Yes. Family members are permitted to visit in certain cases. Though why do you ask? Unless you are planning to get yourself thrown in there, I don't see the relevance."
Neville sighed and looked at her. "I want to meet her."
Augusta's gaze sharpened. "Who?"
Neville said, "Bellatrix Lestrange."
The room went quiet.
Harry looked at Neville.
Hermione turned toward him too, though she didn't interrupt.
Augusta did. "No."
Neville frowned slightly. "Gran—"
"No," Augusta repeated, her voice firmer this time. "Absolutely not."
Neville didn't look away. "Hear me out first."
"There is nothing to hear," Augusta said. "That woman tortured your parents into their current state. I will not help you put yourself in front of her."
Neville stayed calm. "That's exactly why I need to see her."
Augusta stared at him.
Neville went on, his tone steady. "If I want to fix the damage, then I need to understand the person who caused it. How she thinks. Why she did it. What state of mind she was in."
…
Monday, 20th December 1993 – Outskirts of Hogsmeade
The Hogwarts Express moved at a steady pace as it left Hogsmeade Station.
The steady rhythm of the train filled the compartment, wheels clattering softly against the tracks as the snow-dusted countryside blurred past the window.
Neville sat alone by the window, his head resting against the frame, one arm propped beside him. His fingers tapped lightly against the wood without any real rhythm.
He watched the landscape pass by—long stretches of untouched snow spread across the fields, broken only by the occasional line of trees or distant hills.
His reflection stared faintly back at him in the glass.
It had been a day since Hogsmeade.
A day since his meeting with his gran in the Three Broomsticks.
And the conversation still hadn't left his mind.
Neville's fingers slowed against the wood.
After he'd explained why he wanted to meet Bellatrix, Augusta had gone quiet. Not the usual measured silence he was used to—but something sharper. Colder.
She had just stared at him.
For a long moment, she said nothing at all.
He shifted slightly in his seat, gaze drifting lower along the window.
One moment they'd been sitting at the table… and the next she'd stood.
Just like that.
"If that is what you wished to discuss," she'd said, her voice clipped and controlled, "then I see no reason to remain."
He'd stood as well, instinct kicking in. "Gran—wait."
She hadn't raised her voice. That almost made it worse.
"I need some space," she'd said, just as clipped. "You will return to the castle safely." A brief pause. "That is not a request." And then she'd left. Just… walked out.
Before the food had even arrived.
Neville let out a quiet breath, eyes unfocused as he stared through the glass.
He'd never seen her like that before. Not once
Strict, yes. Exasperated, plenty of times. Even annoyed. But that. That had been something else.
His hand stilled completely against the frame.
"…Yeah," he muttered under his breath. "I pushed that too far." He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly.
At the time, it had made sense in his head. Logical. Necessary. But he hadn't thought it through. Not properly.
Bellatrix wasn't just a name. Not to Augusta.
His gaze flicked briefly to his own reflection again.
That name was tied to everything. To what happened to his parents. To what Augusta had been left with after. To the life she'd had to rebuild around something that would never be fixed.
Neville frowned faintly, leaning his head back against the seat. "…Should've known better," he murmured. Because he did know better. He just hadn't stopped to think about it before saying it out loud.
The compartment door slid open with a soft click.
Harry and Hermione stepped in, closing it quietly behind them.
Neville glanced at them briefly, then turned his gaze back to the window.
Harry and Hermione exchanged a quick look. Neither of them spoke at first. Neville had been like this ever since the incident at the Three Broomsticks—quiet, distant, stuck in his own head.
Hermione slipped off her coat, folding it neatly before placing it on her lap as she sat down opposite him.
Harry reached into his pocket and held out a small vial case. "Here, mate. I've already delivered the tears." He dropped into the seat beside Hermione.
Hermione added, "Astoria and Daphne said to tell you thank you."
Neville gave a small nod. "Mm." He took the vial case from Harry and tucked it into his sling bag, his attention already drifting back to the window.
Silence settled over the compartment again.
Hermione's eyes shifted—and landed on the Nab-Sack resting beside Neville.
She pulled out her wand and murmured, "Muffliato."
A faint hum filled the air as the spell took effect.
Hermione leaned forward slightly. "Neville…"
Neville didn't look at her. "Yeah."
He already knew where this was going.
Hermione hesitated for a second, then nodded toward the Nab-Sack. "We can't keep him in there forever."
Neville let out a quiet breath through his nose. "I know."
Harry leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "So what are we doing then?"
Neville didn't answer straight away.
After a few seconds, he finally looked at them. "I don't know."
The train rattled softly along the tracks.
Harry frowned. "What d'you mean you don't know?"
Neville gave a small shrug, his tone still calm. "Exactly that. I don't know."
Harry leaned back, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "There has to be something we can do to free Sirius. We can't just leave him there to rot in prison."
Hermione nodded quickly, gesturing toward the Nab-Sack. "And we can't keep him in there forever."
Neville was quiet for a moment. Then he said, flat and simple, "You want to try breaking into Azkaban?"
Hermione stared at him. "That's not funny."
"I didn't say it was," Neville replied. He sighed, finally looking at both of them. "Right now, we don't have that many options. And every option we have is a bad one."
He lifted a hand, counting them off one by one.
"My first plan was to visit Azkaban and somehow let Sirius know about Peter… but that didn't go well."
A second finger.
"We can go to Dumbledore. But we've already established he probably knows what's going on with Sirius. Best case, he helps and tries to gain favour with you and Sirius." He paused slightly. "Worst case, he Obliviates us and gets rid of Peter."
Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line.
A third finger.
"We go to the Ministry directly. But then we risk them killing Peter and sweeping the whole thing under the rug to save face."
Harry's expression darkened slightly.
A fourth finger.
"We go to Amelia Bones, like Hermione suggested. But we still risk the same thing happening. Even with her leading it, there's still a chance Sirius gets killed before anything comes of it."
Hermione didn't argue.
Neville lowered his hand. "So yeah," he said calmly. "Every option we have either risks Sirius dying… or this whole thing disappearing before it even starts."
Harry let out a frustrated breath. "So what, we just do nothing?"
Neville shrugged slightly. "Honestly, the best option we have is what Hermione suggested—get Amelia Bones involved and hope Sirius survives." He glanced between them. "Frankly, it might be the only option we have."
Harry's jaw tightened. "We're not doing that." He exhaled sharply. "We're not handing him over," he said again, quieter this time. "I'm not risking Sirius like that."
"I'm not saying we hand him over blindly," Neville said. "I'm saying we give her everything and hope she handles it properly."
"And if she doesn't?" Harry shot back.
Neville met his gaze evenly. "Then we were out of options anyway."
Silence settled between them.
Harry looked frustrated. "Surely there's something we can do so the Ministry can't bury it… and still give Sirius a fair trial."
Hermione's expression tightened as she thought it through. Then, slowly—
"What if we make it impossible for them to ignore it?" she said.
Neville glanced at her. "How?"
"By making it public," she said.
That got both their attention.
Neville nodded slowly. "That… might actually work."
Harry frowned slightly, looking at her. "Make what public?"
Neville answered instead. "She means everything. Peter being alive. His confession. All of it."
Harry frowned. "How does that help?"
"It forces their hand," Neville said. "If the whole thing is out in the open, the Ministry can't just bury it quietly. If Sirius dies after that…" He gave a small shrug. "…it's not just incompetence anymore. It's deliberate."
Hermione nodded. "They'd have to keep him alive."
Harry still looked unsure. "But how do we actually do that?"
Hermione hesitated, then said, "The Daily Prophet?"
Neville let out a quiet breath. "Owned and influenced by the Ministry. Best case, they don't publish it. Worst case, Fudge gets informed before anything goes out."
Harry frowned. "So we're stuck."
Hermione crossed her arms. "No. Then we don't rely on one source. We send it everywhere. Prophet, Wireless, independent publications—everything."
Neville considered that for a moment. "That could work…" Then he frowned slightly. "There's a problem with us doing it, though."
They both looked at him.
Neville glanced between them. "If we do this, we expose ourselves to Dumbledore."
Hermione stilled.
Neville continued calmly. "If we found Peter inside Hogwarts and didn't report it to him… that already says something." He paused briefly. "And if we go around him completely and make this public—he'll know we don't trust him."
Harry frowned. "And?"
"He starts asking why," Neville said simply. "And once he does… he starts connecting things."
Silence settled for a moment.
Harry leaned forward slightly. "Then how do we do it without that happening?"
Neville shrugged lightly. "I don't know. That's why I wanted Sirius to escape first. If he's the one doing all this to clear his name, then it doesn't trace back to us."
Harry exhaled slowly. "…So we're back to square one."
"Yeah." Neville leaned back slightly. "And on top of that, if we go public now…" He glanced at the Nab-Sack. "…we're admitting to keeping a man sedated for over a month, brewing a restricted potion, and interrogating him."
Hermione winced faintly.
Neville gave a small shrug. "So realistically…"
He looked at both of them. "Our best option right now is still Amelia Bones. We bring her in, give her everything, make it public through her… and ask her to keep us out of it."
Hermione frowned slightly. "You think she would?"
Neville shrugged. "Logically, she should. We're kids. She'd protect the source." He paused. "But I don't know her personally. And I don't know how far that kind of protection actually goes in practice."
Harry didn't look convinced.
The compartment door slid open again.
"Hello," Luna said brightly as she stepped inside, her radish earrings swaying slightly. Her gaze moved between the three of them, her head tilting just a little. "Did I interrupt something important?" she asked. Then, after a small pause, just as calmly, "I can come back later if you'd rather. You all look like you're trying to solve something unpleasant."
Neville glanced over at her. "Hey, Luna."
Hermione blinked. "Luna—hi. No, it's fine. Come sit."
Harry gave a small nod. "Hey."
Luna stepped in fully and closed the door behind her, then looked between them again as she moved to sit beside Neville. "So what is it?" she asked. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial tone. "Are you looking for a place to stash the body?"
Hermione and Harry froze, both of their eyes flicking—very briefly—toward the Nab-Sack.
Neville rolled his eyes. 'Very subtle.'
He let out a quiet chuckle and nodded once. "…Yeah," he said. "Something like that."
Hermione shot him a look.
Harry rubbed his face briefly.
Luna smiled faintly, completely unbothered. "Well," she said, folding her hands neatly in her lap, "if it's something unpleasant, you're probably overthinking it."
Hermione frowned slightly. "Overthinking?"
Luna looked at her, expression thoughtful. "Most people do, when they're worried," she said. "They keep going in circles until everything feels worse than it actually is."
Neville's fingers tapped once against the seat. 'She's not wrong.'
…
The train began to slow.
The steady rhythm of the wheels shifted, the clatter softening as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station. Voices picked up outside, students already gathering their things, the usual end-of-term rush settling in.
Neville pushed himself up from the seat, grabbing his sling bag and the Nab-Sack beside him.
Harry and Hermione stood as well, collecting their things before following him out into the corridor.
By the time they stepped down onto the platform, the train had already come to a stop. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was busy—parents, families, owls, trunks—voices overlapping as people called out and students wove through the crowd. The usual chaos.
Hermione turned to them first, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "I'll see you both after the holidays," she said. "And… try not to do anything reckless while I'm not there."
Harry snorted lightly. "That's more his thing."
Neville glanced at him. "You're not exactly innocent."
Hermione gave a small smile at that, then stepped forward and hugged Neville quickly before doing the same with Harry.
"Write if anything comes up," she said quietly. "Just… be careful."
Neville nodded once. "We will."
Harry added, "You too."
"I will," she said, giving them one last look before turning and disappearing into the crowd.
Neville watched her go for a moment, then shifted his grip on his bag.
"C'mon," he said.
They didn't have to look long. Augusta Longbottom stood a short distance away, exactly where she always did—composed, upright, already watching them.
Neville stepped forward, a small smile forming. "Hey, Gran."
Harry gave a respectful nod. "Gran."
Augusta's eyes moved over Neville briefly, then to Harry. "Boys." A short nod. Nothing more. Her expression didn't change. "Well then," she said. "Come along. We're leaving."
No small talk.
No questions.
Just that.
Neville's smile faded slightly. "…right." He adjusted his grip on his bag and fell into step beside her. Harry followed quietly on his other side.
They moved through the crowd at a steady pace, Augusta leading without slowing. People parted around them. No one spoke as they made their way toward the Apparition point just outside the station.
Augusta stopped. "Hold on." She held out a hand to each of them.
Neville and Harry each took one of her hands.
A moment later—
Crack.
…
They reappeared just outside Longbottom Manor. The cold hit first—sharper than in London—the grounds dusted with snow that crunched faintly underfoot.
Augusta released their hands and stepped forward without pause. "Come along," she said.
Neville and Harry followed her up the path and into the manor.
Warmth greeted them the moment they stepped through the door.
Tinky appeared briefly in the hallway, taking their coats before disappearing again without a word.
Augusta didn't stop walking. "Go wash up," she said as she moved further inside. "Dinner will be ready shortly."
Her tone hadn't changed.
Even. Controlled. Distant.
She didn't wait for a response.
She simply kept walking.
Neville stood there for a second, watching her go. Then he let out a quiet breath. "…Yeah."
Harry stepped up beside him and gave his shoulder a light pat.
Neville didn't reply, just gave a small nod.
They both turned and headed up the stairs without another word.
…
Dinner was… quiet.
No one spoke.
Just the soft clink of cutlery against plates, the occasional brief comment about the food—nothing that lasted more than a sentence or two.
Harry answered politely when spoken to.
Neville tried.
"Food's good," he said, glancing up.
Augusta gave a short nod. "Mm."
That was it.
He tried again a few minutes later. "Train ride was fine. Nothing—"
"Yes." Augusta didn't look up from her plate. "I expected as much."
The conversation died before it could start.
Neville exhaled quietly and stopped trying.
…
Later that night—Neville lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.
The room was still.
He let out a slow breath. 'Yeah… I really messed up.'
He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed.
He could leave it.
Wait a few days.
Let things settle on their own.
Neville pushed himself up anyway.
He stepped out of his room and into the hallway.
The manor was quiet at this hour, most of the lights dimmed. He walked down the corridor at an easy pace, already knowing where she'd be.
He didn't have to look long.
He found her seated near the fire, a cup of tea in her hand. The soft crackle of the flames filled the room.
Neville stepped closer. "…Gran."
She looked up. "Neville."
There was a brief silence.
Then—
"I'm sorry."
Augusta's expression didn't change immediately.
Neville rubbed the back of his neck, glancing slightly to the side. "I shouldn't have brought that up like that," he said. "I didn't mean to—" He paused, exhaling lightly. "I wasn't trying to… hurt you."
Augusta let out a quiet breath and set her teacup down.
Neville watched her.
Then she gestured toward the chair across from her. "Come. Sit with me, Neville."
He did.
Augusta reached for the teapot, pouring another cup before sliding it across the table toward him without a word.
Neville took it. "…Thanks, Gran."
They sat there quietly for a few seconds, the fire crackling softly between them.
Then Augusta spoke. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Neville blinked slightly.
She continued, calm but measured. "But I would like to know what brought this on."
Neville frowned faintly. "What do you mean?"
Augusta studied him, her expression thoughtful now rather than sharp. "…Is this about the Boggart?"
Neville's eyes widened slightly.
It was partly that. He did want to help Sirius—that part was real. and Necessary. But there was something else underneath it. A part of him that wanted to see Bellatrix. To stand in front of her and find out what he'd feel.
Anger.
Hatred.
Or nothing at all.
Because the truth was… it wasn't simple. Alice and Frank weren't his parents. Not really. But they looked exactly like the parents he'd had before. At first, he'd kept that distance. Told himself it didn't matter. That it wasn't the same. Then the Boggart had dragged it out into the open and forced him to look at it properly. And the truth was… He'd started to care. For them. For his parents. For gran. And that made everything worse. Because he Really Neville, He wasnt supposed to be here. This wasn't his life. And yet he was living it anyway. That thought settled in his chest, heavy and uncomfortable.
Neville let out a quiet breath. "…Maybe," he said.
Augusta watched him carefully.
"You've been… acting different," she said. "Since then."
Neville let out a quiet breath through his nose. "…Well…" He looked down at the tea in his hands. "I just—" He paused, searching for the words, then shook his head slightly. "…I'm not the same Neville, Gran."
Augusta didn't interrupt.
Neville continued, quieter now. "Sometimes it feels like I've… taken the old Neville's life." He frowned faintly. "…And sometimes I feel like I don't really belong here."
He glanced up briefly. "If that makes sense."
He didn't say the rest.
That he wasn't really her grandson.
That he was just… someone else in the same place.
Augusta was silent for a moment. Then she said, "You're not the same boy you were three years ago."
Neville let out a small breath. "That's one way of putting it."
She studied him for a second longer. "People change, Neville," she said. "Especially at your age."
Neville didn't reply.
Her gaze softened, just slightly. "That doesn't make you any less my grandson."
Neville's grip on the cup tightened for a fraction of a second… then relaxed.
Another pause settled between them.
The fire crackled quietly in the background.
Then Augusta spoke again, her tone more measured now. "About Bellatrix."
Neville looked up.
"If this is about understanding her," she said slowly, "then I can see the logic in it."
Neville didn't interrupt.
"But logic doesn't make it any less dangerous," she continued. "Or any less… personal."
Neville nodded.
Augusta held his gaze for a moment longer. Then she sighed. A longer pause followed. "…If this is something you truly intend to do," she said at last, "then I will let you."
Neville blinked once.
"But—" Augusta's expression settled back into something firm. Controlled. "I will be there."
Neville studied her for a second, then nodded.
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