Stealing a Sword: Chapter One

Sweating slightly, Neville stood in the middle of a deserted classroom, watching the door swing shut behind the two girls. After allowing himself a moment to collect his wits, he slowly hefted his bookbag from a nearby desk. Gazing in distaste at the new insignia which had been added to every student's belongings at the start of term, a wand emitting a coiling serpent surmounted by the words "Iunctus in Sanctimonia", he swung the strap over his shoulder. He dragged his feet towards the door, attempting to calm himself.

He had known since the beginning of the year that he had, more or less, had the mantle of leadership thrust upon him. Once it had become apparent that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not coming back to school (although everyone, for months, had nourished small kernels of hope that Harry would triumphantly appear at the head of some Wizarding army to overthrow the new regime, everyone's common sense told them that this was lunacy; Harry was on the run, or worse), Neville had somehow assumed the role of leader of the resistance. Slowly but surely, he, Ginny, and Luna had taken the place that Harry and his friends had filled during Umbridge's infamous stint as Headmistress. Instigators, organizers; in effect, the brains and power behind the student's quiet but persistent rebellion.

Neville had known and accepted this fact for months. However, in quiet, unguarded moments, the thought that he had effectively taken Harry Potter's place still made him squirm and blush. He was not famous from almost the moment of his birth. No one did a double-take when they heard his name. You-Know-Who hadn't thought Neville so important that he had been trying to kill him from infancy. And then, Harry looked so much more the champion than he did; with his thin, expressive face and vibrant eyes and lightning scar; Neville glanced deprecatingly at his own plump, unassuming body. Neville was the last person anyone would expect to fill such a role.

And now, this thing Ginny and Luna wanted to do. He glanced nervously around the deserted corridor, as if the Carrows would hear his thoughts and jump out at him, drag him off for some horrific punishment. It was all very well, spattering permanent graffiti on the Carrow's doors, refusing to torture fellow students even if it meant a few blows, setting off self-timing dumgbombs beneath Snape's chair at the staff table, enchanting portraits and suits of armor to yell phrases like "Support Harry Potter!" and "The Ministry Stinks!", carrying on Dumbledore's Army in some form or another all year. But this!

To steal the sword of Godric Gryffindor!