Chapter 1 -- Giant Problem
Neville toppled head-over-heels through space as he let out a yell of shock and fear. But as suddenly as it began, it ended, and Neville hit the ground. Hard.
After a moment to gather his bearings (and his breath) it was with the air of a cornered rabbit that Neville scrambled to his feet, wand at the ready.
Fog hung low to the ground. The grass was wet and squeaked under his shoes as he started forward. Something wasn't right about this place. Neville began to grow colder than before, something he was sure he couldn't attribute to the thick, humid air. He was starting to sweat, and it was becoming difficult to hold a grip on his wand. He also could not see more than 3 meters in front of him, so there was no way to tell where he was.
He suddenly realized he was still holding the trading card of Merlin. Quickly, he lifted it up and pressed his fingernail to the silvery substance.
Nothing.
He touched it with his fingertip flesh, but again, nothing. In frustration, he pulled more paint from the card to reveal more sliver, but nothing was going to get him back.
Neville was about to sigh when he heard rustling in the grass behind him. Someone was coming his
“Lumos!”
A great roar filled the thick air as the light from Neville's wand bounced off the thick wall of fog surrounding him. Looking up, Neville saw a massive-sized, very ugly face grimaced against the bright intruder. Cracking a yellow eye open, he spotted Neville quickly, and letting out another roar, he brought his club upwards to strike.
Panicking, Neville dived between the giant's legs as the club was brought down upon the place he stood moments before. Behind him, Neville heard his pursuer let out a roar of frustration as he canceled his lighting spell and disappeared into the fog.
At some point as he ran, he had sprinted through into a forest. Before he knew it, the trees were as thick as the fog, and it became more and more difficult to navigate the woods and still keep his pace.
But as he continued running, he began to notice the fog becoming brighter, and an orange tint became visible. He slowed, then came to a stop as he heard voices beyond the trees. He moved closer to the source, and by the time he reached the end of the trees, his eyes were as wide as his dropped jaw.
Before him stood a fire the size of the great hall surrounded by three giants taller than he could have ever imagined. Slowly, the giant closest to him reached out toward him. Neville flattened himself against a nearby tree as he watched a hand the size of the common room closed upon the tree next to him and snapped it like a twig. As the hand withdrew, Neville watched as the giant used the jagged end of the tree as a toothpick. But when Neville saw a bloody human arm become dislodged from between the giant's teeth, Neville couldn't hold his legs up, and retched as soon as he hit the ground.
Terrified, he stood, wiped his mouth, and tried to apparate. But as he turned on the spot, he felt nothing. He tried again, but did not feel the welcome discomfort of being squeezed through a close-fitting tube. He failed twice more before he heard something behind him.
The young giant that had chased him earlier was approaching, carrying a large amount of uprooted trees. Looking around, Neville quickly realized he had nowhere to run. He knew after seeing Hagrid from their astronomy OWL two years ago that he would never be able to fight even the smallest giant alone.
Neville looked back toward the adult giants, trying to think of what to do. His eyes fell toward their feet, and it was there he saw their firewood supply. Hundreds of trees intended to supply their fire for the night sat next to the closest giant's foot and went nearly to the other side of the path.
He threw caution to the wind and sprinted from his cover toward the pile of trees. Seeing a space in the shrubs, he dived, and landed hard on a bit of earth between the vast tree trunks. No sooner did Neville hear the young giant come through from the forest, yelling. Whatever he was saying, the three adults started to bicker amongst themselves. Then, after a few minutes of hostility, the closest giant took his collection of firewood and threw it on the pile before he and the other two followed the young giant away from the fire and past the trees.
Neville couldn't believe his luck. Soon, the crackling of the massive fire became the only sound to be heard in the thick, smoky air. Slowly and quietly, Neville made his way through the brush and timber and came out next to the fire. He had to force himself to stifle another heave as he saw bits of bones and charred clothes in the fire. Taking a deep breath, he ran along the edge of the fire and into the woods on the other side.
Neville ran as hard and as fast as he could. He ran through fog, through woods, leaves and branches cutting his skin. He ran until he breathed fire and his veins pumped a corrosive liquid through his body as it boiled over from his heart and into his throat.
He tripped over a root, and as his face hit the ground, the acid in his belly burned up to his mouth and spilled upon the ground. But the fear fueled him, and he stood and just ran even more.
But as he reached the end of the woods, he stopped. His breaths coming in frantic gasps, he looked over the hill, and saw the light of a pub in the distance. Neville looked around and saw a crossroad 30 meters away, and as he came closer, he was able to read the sign above.
Little Hangleton -- 1 kilometer.
“May I have a glass of water, please?”
The barkeep stared at him as if he's never seen someone with ripped robes, scratched cheeks, a fat lip and vomit on his shirt. Setting a strange black object upon the counter, the man behind the bar pulled a glass from underneath and placed it under what looked like a hook. As soon as he did, the glass pressed against an odd blue lever, making water came from the tip of the hook to fill the glass.
Neville looked around. This certainly was a strange place. Not a single man wore robes. Men in trousers and jumpers, one man nearby in a wool cap. A sound that reminded Neville of a Quidditch match filled the air, and half the pub stood and cheered. Looking toward the direction of their cheers, Neville was greeted with a very odd sight indeed.
Upon a box hanging in the corner of the room was the moving portrait of a young man running along grass and into a giant net. He watched as he took a small white ball from another man's hands, which were encased in large gloves. But it was when he saw the image change, instantly, that he realized what he was staring at. Something he'd never seen before and only had heard about from Dean Thomas and Hermione Granger. A television set.
And then it dawned on him. He was in a muggle bar.
“Excuse me,” he said to the barman, “I'm sorry, where's the bathroom?” The man lifted his eyes lazily toward him and gestured to the opposite corner of the pub. Neville downed half the glass of water and walked quickly toward the restroom.
Once inside, he rushed into the nearest stall and stripped his robes. No sooner had he removed his Gryffindor tie did he hear the bathroom door open again.
“I don't understand what you see in that sport,” a voice said, “if you can call it that.”
“Hey,” a second voice retorted, “you show me one Quidditch player that can curl a shot like that, with his foot, no less, then you can argue all you want.” Neville heard a faucet turn on. “I noticed the giants on the move.”
“No doubt they picked up Potter,” the first voice said menacingly. “The Portkey was activated not too long ago, and Potter wouldn't stand a chance against those giants.”
Neville realized he was holding his breath.
“So where is the wand?” the second voice asked.
“Where else?” said the first. “Ollivander's.”
“Didn't Crabbe and Goyle clean it out?” the second voice asked.
“They did,” the first voice answered, “but when do you expect those two to do anything right?”
“Good point.” The running water was silenced. “So when do we go search it?”
“Tonight,” said the first. “And we're going through Knockturn Alley, I don't want to have to sift through the mess you made with that blasting charm yesterday.”
Neville's head looked up quickly.
“Oh, leave it,” the second voice whined, but the first continued.
“Now I don't care how many Muggles you kill,” he said, “but you need to know how to perform delicate operations. You can't just go around blowing up streets, even if it is good fun.
“Alright!” the second sighed
“Alright,” the first agreed, then said, “Are you ready?”
“Well, let's finish the match first,” the second said, then after a pause said, “It's the 47th minute! We can wait a bit. I mean, who else will be digging through Ollivander's this time of night?”
“Fine,” the first voice sighed. “But you're buying me a pint.”
“My pleasure,” the second voice said as the door opened and closed.
Neville's mind raced. Those men had tried to kill Harry. And if he hadn't given Neville the chocolate frogs, they might have succeeded.
And they might have... His Gran... Neville's heart stopped momentarily before he caught his breath once more, willing himself to think. They were also after a wand. But which wand? How would Neville even know where in the store
With a deep breath he knew what he had to do. He would have to go back to Hogwarts and tell Harry and Professor McGonagall what happened. They would know what to do.
“Now what was that stupid system?” he thought aloud. “Three D's... Oh, to hell with it!” He focused as completely on Hogsmeade as he could, then stood and turned on the spot, a loud crack filling the bathroom.