The Weasley of Slytherin: The Philosopher's Stone

Chapter 18:

Dumbledore had convinced Harry and me not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the invisibility cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk.

I wished I could forget what I'd seen in the mirror as easily, but I just couldn't. I saw those faces every night in my dreams. Who were they? And why did they seem so familiar?

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said Ron, when Harry told us that he was having nightmares about his parents deaths.

Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry and me being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught you!"), and disappointment that we hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was.

We had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere, I thought it was just wishful thinking.

Once term had begun again however, we were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harry had even less time than the rest of us though, because Quidditch practice had started again.

Ron had started playing chess with Hermione since she had gotten back. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry Ron and I 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 would hear, Harry told us about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

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

"Say you're ill," said Ron.

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.

"Really break your leg," I suggested. "I can slam it in a door for you."

"I can't," said Harry.

"Sure you can." I told him. "Just bite down on a belt and on the count of three I'll slam the door."

"There isn't a reserve Seeker." Harry continued glaring at me. "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 we 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, who leapt up and performed the countercurse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling.

"What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with us.

"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 Neville. "Report him!"

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

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" said Ron. "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.

As bad as I felt for Neville, he wasn't completely wrong, I mean it wouldn't hurt him to stand up for himself for once.