Hogwarts: Neville's Insert Chapter 55
Neville went on, "Maybe he thought Muggle-borns still had strong ties to the non-magical world. And if word of a magical school got out—if Muggles thought wizards were forming a secret society—it could look like we were building an army. That kind of panic… it could've led to them attacking the school."
He glanced around the room. "Maybe he didn't want to purge anyone. Maybe he built the Chamber to defend the castle, in case something like that ever happened."
Then he added, almost offhandedly, "I think idiots like Voldemort just twisted it to suit their own agenda. That pure-blood stuff? Most of it only started after he came onto the scene."
The room fell completely silent. Every student turned toward Neville, wide-eyed. A few flinched at the name.
That was truly what he thought about the whole pure-blood nonsense. It had never made sense to him—this idea that blood status somehow made one wizard better than another. Magic was magic, regardless of where you came from.
To Neville, it had always been clear: Voldemort didn't care about blood. He was a half-blood himself. He just used the ideology—twisted old fears and stories—to gain power, to build a following. To make people angry, divided, and easy to manipulate.
It was never about purity.
It was about control.
Even McGonagall visibly flinched, her lips tightening. But after a pause, she gave a thoughtful nod.
"You may be right, Mr Longbottom," she said slowly. "Stories change, especially over a thousand years. It is entirely possible the original purpose of the Chamber—and the creature within—has been lost or misrepresented."
She took a breath, straightened her robes, and glanced down at the parchment on her desk as if reminding herself where she'd left off.
"Well then… where were we?" She cleared her throat. "Ah yes. Right. Very well—we'll continue. Who would like to go next?" she asked, sweeping her gaze over the class once more.
…
Tuesday, November 4th, 1992 – Transfiguration Courtyard
They stepped out of the Transfiguration classroom into the crisp autumn air, crossing into the courtyard.
"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron said as they walked, hands stuffed in his pockets. "But I never realised he was the one who kicked off all this pure-blood nonsense. I wouldn't be in his House if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried putting me in Slytherin, I'd've hopped straight back on the train home."
Hermione shook her head. "I don't think he did, Ron. I agree with Neville. The whole idea that Salazar Slytherin hated Muggle-borns might just be a misunderstanding. Stories get misinterpreted over time."
Ron frowned. "Come off it, Hermione. You heard McGonagall. He had a huge row with Gryffindor and stormed out. And if what Neville said was true, then why'd the monster attack that third-year Ravenclaw girl?"
Neville spoke up calmly. "Because it's just a weapon. The person using it is what matters."
Hermione nodded. "Right. Remember what McGonagall said—the monster can only be controlled by the Heir. That means someone's commanding it. It's not doing it of its own free will."
Just then, a loud, sharp chirp broke through the conversation.
They all stopped and looked down. The sound had come from Neville's front shirt pocket.
Neville looked down and sighed. "You're hungry again, aren't you?"
Lumina chirped again—louder this time, clearly demanding food.
"Alright, alright," Neville muttered. "Just give me a second."
"There's a bench over there," Hermione said, pointing. "You can feed her there." She led the way across the courtyard.
Neville sat down and pulled out the small wooden box of worms, placing it beside him on the bench. Hermione sat next to him and gently took his bag, resting it on her lap.
Harry and Ron stood nearby, watching curiously as Neville reached into his shirt and carefully scooped Lumina out from her pocket cage. She blinked sleepily, then puffed up as the box opened.
Holding her gently in his left palm, Neville used the tweezers to pluck out a worm and offered it to her.
Lumina snapped it up in an instant, greedily gulping it down.
"That's one needy bird, mate," Ron said, watching as Lumina gobbled down another worm.
As if understanding the insult, Lumina paused mid-chew and turned to Ron, letting out an angry, indignant chirp.
Hermione frowned at Ron. "She's just a baby, Ron. She has to eat to grow."
Ron shrugged. "Yeah, but that's the thing—she hasn't grown. Look at her—she's the same size as the day Neville first showed her to us. Aren't birds supposed to grow fast?"
That earned him another sharp chirp from Lumina, clearly not impressed.
Neville sighed and shook his head. "Calm down, Lumina. He's just an idiot." He fed her another worm, which seemed to soothe her for now.
There was a brief lull before Ron leaned back against the bench, returning to the earlier topic. "D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" he asked Hermione.
"I don't know," she replied, brows furrowed. "Whatever attacked that girl… it might not be human."
Neville, still feeding Lumina, glanced at Harry, who had been unusually quiet. "You alright, mate? You've been awfully quiet."
Ron and Hermione turned to look at him as well.
Harry shrugged. "Just thinking."
"You wondering who the Heir of Slytherin is?" Ron guessed.
Harry nodded. "Yeah."
"Who do you think it is?" Hermione asked quietly, glancing between the boys.
Ron put on an exaggerated thoughtful look. "Who'd want all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts? Let me think…" He turned to Hermione. "Who do we know that thinks Muggle-borns are scum?"
Hermione frowned. "If you're talking about Malfoy—"
"Of course I am!" Ron said. "You heard him: 'the Heir of Slytherin's doing Hogwarts a Favour ridding us of mudblood.!' Come on, you've only got to look at his rat face to know it's him."
"Malfoy? The Heir of Slytherin?" Hermione asked, sceptical.
"I think Ron might be onto something," Harry said, looking between Hermione and Neville. "Look at his family. Every one of them's been in Slytherin. He's always bragging about it. They could easily be descendants of Slytherin. His dad's definitely evil enough."
Ron nodded vigorously. "Yeah, exactly! They could've had the key to the Chamber for centuries—just passing it down, father to son."
Neville let out a quiet sigh. "Yeah, I'm going to stop you right there, mate. I don't think the Malfoys are the Heirs of Slytherin."
Harry frowned. "But Neville, you said it yourself—Malfoy's father was a Death Eater. One of Voldemort's top followers. It's got to be him."
"Well," Hermione added, though she sounded unsure, "I suppose it's possible..."
Neville shook his head as he fed another worm to Lumina, who chirped contentedly in his palm. "Guys, think for a second. If Malfoy really was the Heir of Slytherin, who do you reckon he would've targeted first?"
Ron looked at Neville like he'd missed something obvious. "The Muggle-borns. Duh. Like what's been happening."
Neville sighed again. "No, Ron. He would've gone after me first."
He turned to Harry. "You remember what happened on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?"
Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah… I suppose he would've. After that, there's no way he'd have let it go."
Hermione looked puzzled, but then her expression shifted as the memory clicked into place. "Oh, that's right! Harry mentioned something happened at the station—I completely forgot about it."
Ron blinked. "Okay, wait—what are you all talking about? Someone fill me in here. What did Neville do to Malfoy and his dad?"
Harry smirked faintly. "We ran into them at the platform—Draco and Lucius. Well Lucius made some nasty comment about Neville's parents, and Neville… well, he asked him if the rumors about him being personally close to Voldemort. As in, very close. was true"
Ron blinked. "What, like…?"
Harry sighed. "More or less asked if Lucius served Voldemort or served Voldemort. Draco lost it, tried to pull his wand—and Neville just hit him with a wandless Petrificus Totalus. Dropped him on the spot. Lucius and draco mom didn't even react," Harry added. "They were just… stunned. And then Gran dragged us off before it turned into a scene."
Ron's jaw dropped. "Blimey! That actually happened? I thought that was just one of those mad rumours!"
Neville nodded. "Yep. And you all know Draco. He's not exactly the patient, slow-to-anger type. If he was the Heir, do you really think he'd let something like that slide? First thing he'd have done was come straight for me."
The group fell quiet for a moment as the weight of that sank in. Even Ron looked thoughtful now, glancing down at his shoes.
Neville gave Lumina another worm, and she peeped happily in his palm.
"Draco's got too much pride to let something like that go quietly," Neville said. "And he's not exactly the scheming type. He lashes out. He doesn't plot."
Ron nodded slowly. "Yeah, if I were the Heir and you said that to me, I'd come right after you too."
Hermione gave a thoughtful nod. "I suppose not…"
Harry shook his head, still thinking. "But what if he was after you… he might have just ran into that third-year Ravenclaw instead? What was her name again?"
"Noreen," Hermione said at once. "Noreen Kirkby."
"Yeah, her," Harry said. "What if she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?"
Hermione's expression tightened with concern. "Harry might be right. Neville, what if—"
But Neville cut her off gently. "There's another reason I don't think Malfoy's the Heir. You honestly think someone descended from Salazar Slytherin would keep quiet about it? They'd be shouting it from the rooftops. Especially the Malfoys. Lucius would've had it printed on his business cards."
He leaned back slightly. "And why would the Heir of Slytherin kneel to Voldemort? Think about it. They'd be the Dark Lord—not serve one."
Ron flinched visibly at the name.
Harry's eyes widened. "You think…?"
Neville nodded. "Yeah. I think Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin. That's probably how he built his following in the first place. It makes sense."
Ron let out a nervous laugh. "But he's… he's a wraith now, isn't he? Not exactly walking around."
Harry turned to Neville, serious now. "Do you think he's possessing someone again? Like he did with Quirrell last year?"
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her arms crossing tightly.
Neville shrugged. "I don't know, Harry. I can only speculate. Maybe he is. Or maybe he's got some secret son out there, just as twisted as he was. Who knows?"
That quieted the group.
Lumina gave a soft, satisfied chirp, clearly content after her feeding.
"Right, you're full," Neville said with a small smile. He gently tucked her back into the padded pocket of his robes, where she snuggled in and went quiet.
Neville stood and stretched, his back giving a quiet pop. He took his sling bag from Hermione, slinging it over his shoulder. Glancing up at the large clock mounted on the wall of the Transfiguration Courtyard, he asked, "We've got a few hours before dinner. What do you lot want to do?"
Hermione was quick to answer. "We could go to the library," she said, leading them toward the courtyard exit and into the central hall.
Ron groaned. "Why do you always suggest the library? Can't we do something fun for once, Hermione?"
Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. "I do know how to have fun. But I want to check if there's anything in the library about the Chamber of Secrets."
Harry frowned slightly. "Didn't McGonagall already tell us everything about it? What else are we going to find?"
Ron nodded in agreement. "I doubt there's anything new in the library. She did say it's never been proven to exist."
Hermione let out an annoyed sigh. "Yes, but she also said it's a legend. That doesn't mean we can't look into what sort of monster might be inside. Honestly, after what Neville said earlier… if this really is You-Know-Who again, then we're dealing with something way worse than Malfoy sneaking around."
Neville stayed quiet. He agreed with her—but he wasn't about to say out loud what he already knew. Not while Ron was around. If Ron found out Neville knew what the monster was, he'd probably blab without meaning to. And until Neville figured out who had the diary, he didn't want Voldemort catching wind that someone knew the truth. Not yet.
Harry nodded in agreement. "I'm with Hermione. Whatever that monster is, it's dangerous. I'm pretty sure this is what Dobby was trying to warn me about."
Ron groaned. "I really don't want to spend the rest of the day buried in books. We've been at this for two days straight. Can't we just take a break?"
Neville looked at him and said plainly, "You don't have to come if you don't want to, Ron. We'll meet you back in the common room in an hour or so."
Harry nodded. "Yeah, it's probably better if you don't. No offence, but you'd be complaining the whole time."
Ron frowned at both of them. He looked from Harry to Neville and back again before muttering, "Fine. If you want to run off to the library, go ahead. I'll see you back in the common room later." With a huff, he turned and stomped off down the corridor.
Hermione watched him go, her brows pinching together. "I feel bad leaving him out…"
Harry sighed. "I know. But I'm right, Hermione—he'd just complain the whole time."
With that, he pushed open the library doors and stepped inside.
Harry followed. "Let's just find what we came here for, then go meet him. To be honest…" he trailed off for a moment. Harry had been having a hard time reconnecting with Ron ever since the summer. After everything he'd learned—about himself, about the wizarding world—he wasn't even sure if he wanted to be close friends with Ron anymore. Lately, he'd been trying to put some quiet distance between them.
Hermione, trying to refocus the group, said, "Let's each find a book, sit down, and start reading."
She turned to head toward the shelves, but Neville reached out and gently caught her by the wrist.
"Yeah… about that," he said quietly. "We need to talk."
Both Hermione and Harry stopped, confused.
Neville gestured for them to follow. He led them to the far end of the second floor, to their usual quiet spot tucked behind the corner desk.
Once they were seated, Neville pulled out his wand and gave it a quick flick, casting a silent Muffliato around their little corner. The usual sounds of the library—the turning of pages, distant whispers, and footsteps—faded into a soft, muffled background hum.
Hermione leaned forward immediately. "Neville? What is it? Is something wrong?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, mate. You've gone all serious."
Neville exhaled slowly. "I think I know what Slytherin's monster is."
Both Hermione and Harry stared at him, stunned.
Hermione practically jumped out of her seat. "What?! How? What is it? How did you figure it out? When did you figure it out?!"
"Calm down, Hermione," Neville said, holding up a hand. "I'll explain."
He reached into his sling bag and pulled out his slightly worn copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, flipping through the pages.
"I realised what it was during Transfiguration, when McGonagall told us the monster could only be controlled by the Heir," he said. "It clicked then. Remember when I was looking through this book to figure out what Lumina might be?"
Harry and Hermione nodded.
"Well, while I was searching for bird-type magical creatures, I came across this." He turned the book around and placed it on the table, tapping the top of the page with his finger.
Hermione leaned in, reading the title.
Hermione gasped. "A basilisk?" She looked at Neville in disbelief. "But—"
Neville nodded. "It fits, Hermione. Slytherin's house symbol is a snake, right? And the biggest, most dangerous magical snake is the basilisk. And remember what McGonagall said—the monster can only be controlled by the Heir of Slytherin. Well, Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth. That's how he could control it."
Harry frowned. "Parselmouth? What's that?"
Neville turned to him. "A Parselmouth is someone who can speak to snakes, Harry. It's a rare ability—usually inherited."
Harry's eyes widened.
Neville gave him a knowing nod. "And I think that's also the reason you can hear it. You're a Parselmouth yourself. Have you ever spoken to a snake before?"
Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah… last year at the zoo. I talked to a boa constrictor. You think… that voice I've been hearing—it's the basilisk?"
Neville nodded. "I do."
Hermione looked at Harry, biting her lip, then turned back to Neville. "But Neville… the book says a basilisk's stare kills. The girl was only petrified."
Neville nodded again. "I thought about that. Remember the water on the floor that day? I think she saw the basilisk's reflection, not its direct gaze. That would've weakened the effect—enough to petrify her instead of… well, worse."
Hermione sat back slightly, her mind piecing everything together. "Is that why you didn't want Ron to come with us?"
"Yeah," Neville said. "Ron's got a habit of blurting things out. He might've gone straight to Dumbledore. And while I think Dumbledore probably already knows what the monster is, if word got out that we know… the Heir might target us next. For now, we need to stay quiet and focus on figuring out who the Heir is—and where the Chamber entrance might be."
Hermione nodded. "Okay… but how are we going to do that?"
Neville leaned forward slightly, his voice low and serious. "Old newspapers. The Chamber must've been opened before—I'm sure of it. How else would people know so much about it? We need to look through old papers, see if there were any deaths or petrifications at Hogwarts in the past. That's our best chance of finding out who opened it last time… and maybe even where the entrance is."
He needed to find an old newspaper article about Myrtle Warren's death. If he could show them that she died the last time the Chamber was opened, it would give him a believable reason for how he figured out where the entrance might be.
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