Hogwarts: Too Evil
Hogwarts: King of Fiendfyre
Hogwarts: Eater Magical Beasts!
your Review make me motivate posting here
read full story in patreon : ilham20
Harry was certain Neville's face would never have looked that miserable if it had only been detention.
Being stuck with Malfoy was clearly the real punishment.
Harry's expression was pure awkward guilt. "Sorry, Neville. This is all our fault. You're only in detention because of us."
Neville shook his head. "No. I just got unlucky. Professor McGonagall caught me."
He clearly didn't want to talk about it. They'd already gone over the same few lines a dozen times. There was nothing left to say except accept that sometimes you were just the unlucky one.
Meanwhile, near the doors of the Great Hall, Charlie spotted someone else.
Quirrell.
His eyes were faintly red-rimmed, his steps unsteady. He kept his head down, radiating a low, defeated energy that clung to him like a damp cloak.
Quirrell seemed to feel the stare. He turned and looked at Charlie. "W-Wonka… good afternoon."
"Afternoon, Professor. You doing all right?" Charlie asked.
The mild concern clearly caught Quirrell off guard. He blinked for a long moment before nodding rapidly. "Oh—yes, child. I—I'm fine. Perfectly fine."
Charlie simply nodded and kept walking into the Hall without another word.
Back at the Ravenclaw table his friends were still laughing and talking nonsense. Charlie's attention settled on the mountain of excellent food instead. He started picking his next target.
---
The next night, a little after ten, Neville walked alone through the dark corridors and staircases until he reached the entrance to the Great Hall.
Filch was already waiting. Mrs. Norris yowled beside him.
"Wait here. We're still missing one," Filch said, voice thick with unpleasant anticipation.
"Where are we going?" Neville asked.
Filch gave a low chuckle, clearly delighted the question had been asked. "To do something meaningful—honest labor. So that next time you think about breaking the rules, you'll think twice."
He smacked his lips as if savoring the thought.
"Pity they abolished the old punishments. Back in the day, when you lot stepped out of line they'd hang you from the ceiling in chains for days."
"I've still got those chains and tools in my office. Oil them regularly. Always hoping they'll come in useful again someday."
The cold, gleeful way Filch talked about it made Neville's skin crawl.
Fortunately a few blue-trimmed figures appeared at the far end of the corridor and cut the caretaker off.
"Honestly, I skipped dinner on purpose for this."
"Anything made with our stuff is bound to be the highest quality."
Neville recognized the voice instantly—Anthony from Ravenclaw.
He looked up. In the darkness a small rabbit hopped out first. The moment Alice spotted Mrs. Norris she startled, jumped straight up, then bolted back the way she'd come.
Charlie, Anthony, and Hector followed a moment later.
"Hey, Charlie." Neville raised a hand in greeting. Seeing familiar faces chased away a little of the gloom.
"Neville. Evening."
Filch's eyes narrowed. "Oi. What are you little troublemakers plotting?"
"We're not plotting anything," Anthony said with an easy smile. "Curfew's still a bit off, isn't it, sir?"
"Then you know you ought to be getting yourselves back to your common rooms right now." Filch's voice turned oily and unpleasant. "If I catch you lot night-wandering when I come back, you'll regret it."
"And after tonight you'll be able to ask this young gentleman exactly what happens when you break the rules."
"Looking forward to it," Anthony said, completely unfazed.
Charlie scooped Alice up and stepped past Mrs. Norris without breaking stride. He clapped Neville lightly on the shoulder. "Evening, Neville. Good luck."
The three of them moved on, heading upstairs at a steady pace.
At eleven o'clock, two minutes before curfew, they slipped back into the Ravenclaw common room.
Their dorm was already lit up. Anthony had dragged his desk into the center of the room. Charlie's suitcase sat open on top of it—light brown leather, gleaming brass clasps. The elegant silk lining was gone. In its place was a dark, bottomless opening.
Technically it wasn't any special day.
But for someone like Anthony who loved any excuse to celebrate, tonight was worth remembering. It was the suitcase's birthday.
Or maybe "housewarming" was the better word.
In the corner by Charlie's window the strawberry plant no longer had any flowers. Every last bright red berry was gone as well. Not long ago Charlie had picked them all and taken them down to the kitchens, asking the house-elves to turn them into a strawberry pie.
Anthony and Hector paced the room, restless and hungry. They'd both skipped dinner on purpose just to leave room for this.
Time dragged. To the two of them it felt like a full year before a soft pop finally sounded and a steaming red strawberry pie appeared on Hector's desk.
Three sets of cutlery and a small tray of snacks and sweets arrived with it.
On Charlie's desk a pewter jug and three cups materialized at the same time.
They poured drinks and cut the pie.
Anthony raised his cup first. "Tonight we gather to celebrate a certain suitcase's successful expansion."
"Well… that's not wrong."
Hector was already forking a large bite into his mouth, face going slack with pure satisfaction.
Charlie carried his plate over to the window and looked down toward the Forbidden Forest. The world outside was nothing but black shapes. He stared for a long moment before turning away.
The instant he did, a tiny point of light flickered in the darkness below.
---
In the Forbidden Forest, Neville lay on the ground, still shaking. A few feet in front of him a unicorn collapsed and convulsed.
A centaur appeared, hooves striking the earth. He hurried over, bent down, and pulled Neville to his feet. "Are you hurt?"
Neville stared up into brilliant blue eyes. The centaur had a silver-maned body, elegant and striking. The boy was too frightened to speak. He only shook his head.
"It's all right. You're in shock." The centaur kept hold of Neville's hand, warm palm steady and strong. "You're one of the Potter children, aren't you?"
Neville shook his head harder. "N-no. I'm not."
The centaur looked surprised. He was certain of what his eyes had seen—the threads of fate moving around this boy.
"My name is… Neville. Neville Longbottom."
"Very well." The centaur inclined his head. "I am Firenze. You saved me just now, didn't you? From the hooded figure."
"Y-yes."
"Don't worry. Stay close. Don't stray."
Firenze moved to the unicorn. It was still young, body jerking on the ground. He dropped to one knee. Bloodshot eyes, blood flecking its mouth. A savage wound gaped at its throat, as if something had torn it open with teeth.
"This is cruelty," Firenze muttered. He pulled a small pouch from his belt, took out some dittany, and pressed it to the wound.
More hoofbeats approached. A red-haired, red-maned centaur with a matching tail—Ronan. Beside him a darker, heavier figure with black hair, black mane, and black tail—Bane, broader and rougher.
"Firenze!" Bane roared the moment he saw them. "What have you done? We are not meant to interfere!"
"I am saving an innocent life," Firenze shot back without turning. "Do you have more dittany? Give it here."
Ronan started forward, but Bane's voice cracked like a whip.
"We were given the gift of seeing fate. The price is that we must never meddle in it. Have you forgotten? Fate has already been disturbed!"
"Don't be a fool!" Firenze snarled. "Look at this creature. It is dying. Can you not see it is an innocent victim?"
Ronan's voice came quieter, edged with sorrow. "Bane… the threads of fate do not cling to this little one. It is innocent."
He stepped forward without further hesitation, dry leaves crunching under his hooves, and knelt beside the unicorn. He added his own dittany.
"This will only slow the end," he said softly.
There was nothing more they could do. They could only watch a pure, blameless life fade in front of them.
Firenze's hands trembled where they pressed against the wound. After a moment he spoke.
"Neville. Do you know what unicorn blood can do?"
Neville's face was white. Silver-blue blood soaked the ground. A deep, helpless weight pressed down on him.
"I… I don't know."
"Unicorn blood can keep you alive even when you are on the edge of death. But there is a price. To take that life for your own, you must kill one of the purest creatures in the world. The moment the blood touches your lips you carry a curse that never fades. What remains is only a half-life—a walking thing caught between life and death."
"But what's the point?" Neville whispered. "Living like that… what's the meaning?"
His voice broke. "If living means that kind of suffering, then why—"
He couldn't finish. Tears slipped down his cheeks.
"For hope," Firenze said, voice firm.
"For… hope…" Neville echoed.
Firenze stood, one broad hand settling on Neville's shoulder, and guided him away. Strength seemed to flow through that contact. After a while Neville's breathing evened out.
"But… why tell me all this?"
"Because you are worth it," Firenze answered.
The words were solid, but they didn't seem to reach Neville. He only murmured, "I can't do anything. Telling me is useless. I'm not Harry Potter."
"That is not true." Firenze crouched so they were eye to eye and set both hands on Neville's shoulders. "Fate is not a chain that locks what your life can become. Neville, fate is a guide. It sees the strength you carry and the heart you possess."
"I don't have any strength."
"Do not deny yourself." Firenze pressed a hand lightly over Neville's heart. "You hold a heart and a power others cannot match. Fate does not make mistakes. You simply have not found them yet. They are still there, buried deep. They have never left."
A dog's bark cut through the trees, followed by the sharp crack of breaking wood and the heavy shudder of the earth.
A moment later a towering figure crashed into view—Hagrid, nearly ten feet of him. "Where is he?!"
Then he spotted Neville. "Neville! You all right?"
Neville nodded quickly and pointed back the way he and Firenze had come. "Hagrid—the unicorn's over there."
Hagrid gave a short nod. Seeing Neville and Firenze safe, he hurried toward the fallen creature, muttering under his breath, "Merlin, no… please no…"
When he got close he froze.
Besides Ronan and Bane, another figure stood there: purple nightshirt, crooked nightcap, scarred wand in hand, face grim as he stared down at the unicorn.
"Professor Dumbledore!" Hagrid rushed forward. With the headmaster here the unicorn had to be all right.
But Dumbledore only shook his head.
"Too late. Too much life has already been lost."
Hagrid dropped beside the small body. The unicorn no longer thrashed. Its chest was still. The light in its eyes was fading. Many of the surface wounds had been closed—Dumbledore's work, no doubt—but the deeper loss could not be restored.
Dumbledore's eyes shifted. He looked past the dense canopy, through the thick, unyielding dark of the forest, toward the castle.
At that same moment, inside the castle, Charlie sat reading and quietly drinking juice. A flicker of red caught the corner of his vision.
Outside the window.
A single bright crimson feather drifted and circled on the night air.