Party Police.

Chapter Seventeen.

Hermione Granger was back a day before the start of term. Upon hearing what the boys were up to, she was torn between horror at the idea of being out past curfew and disappointment that both of them had neglected their research on Nicolas Flamel. They were still losing hope, and relatively quickly too. Having yet to run into (Y/n) once the term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harry had less time due to his Quidditch practice, but he was trying his hardest to be of some help.

Harry headed straight to the Gryffindor common room, where he found Ron and Hermione playing chess. (Y/n) was with them (having been snuck in), distracted from her Latin as she watched them play. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry and Ron thought was very good for her.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Ron when Harry sat down next to him. "I need to concen—" He caught sight of Harry's face. "What's the matter with you? You look terrible."
Speaking quietly so that no one else could hear, Harry told the other three about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

"Don't play," Hermione said at once.

"Say you're ill," chimed (Y/n).

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.

"Really break your leg," Ron added.

"I can't," said Harry. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."

At that moment, Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor Tower.
Everyone fell over laughing except Hermione and (Y/n), one of whom leapt up and performed the countercurse (Neville's legs sprang apart) and the other saved him the humiliation, helping him to his feet.

"What happened?" Hermione asked him as they lead him over to sit with Harry and Ron.

"Malfoy," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged. "Report him!"

"I don't want more trouble," Neville mumbled, shaking his head.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron exclaimed. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked out.

"Aw, Nev," (Y/n) cooed, placing her hand on his back.
Harry felt in the pocket of his robe and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

Neville's lips twitched into a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.
"Thanks, Harry... I think I'll go to bed... D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?"
As Neville walked away, Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card.

"Dumbledore again," he said, "He was the first one I ever—" (Y/n)'s gasp cut them off.

"That reminds me!" (Y/n) exclaimed. "I found what Dumbledore and Flamel have in common," she told Hermione. "It's their work in alchemy."

"That's right!" Harry gasped. "I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here— listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'!"