Hot Fudge

Hot Fudge

by Mephistedes


***


It was at the height of pre-dinner commotion that Harry found his fourth suspect the next day. Sheer desperation and the constant image of Voldemort forcing him to do unmentionable acts with Nagini led him here, taking refuge behind a pillar near the main staircase to spy, his trusty cauldron at his feet. Many students threw him curious looks, but said nothing. His face said it all. This was going to end tonight.

Despite McGonagall’s warning, he’d only removed half of his stock in the kitchens. The best way to flush out a thief was with bait, after all. It cost him a few more Galleons, a rousing speech from Kreacher, and liberal mentions of the Code of Dobby’s Sock to get the elves on his side temporarily. Although Itzy threw a pretty fit about accepting wages that entertained him through a box of bon-bons and eleven Chocoballs.

That hadn’t been the best part: the enjoyably irritating Tipsy arrived on the scene to finish the night off with a tea cozy dance that left him feeling things he really had no business feeling.

But everything he’d done had been worth it for this moment, where a week of espionage and crippling nightmares had brought him. Here, with an Extendable Ear in one ear and a Liquorice Wand behind the other. This was the moment.

“You ... you what?” Neville nervously said, his cheeks as red as two polished apples when Romilda Vane whispered something in his ear again. Neville bubbled out a goofy chuckle. “You’re not wearing any panties? Me neither.”

Harry rolled his eyes and thumped his head on the stone column. Maybe paranoia had finally claimed Flume. He had given him the wrong names three times, so what was to say this time was any different? Besides, he would have known if it was Neville; they slept in the same dormitory for goodness’ sake, so he’d really have nowhere to hide stolen sweets.

Even so, Neville had risked his life last year by believing in him. Neville destroyed a Horcrux for him. So there was no plausible reason for him to be a suspect; if he’d purchased as many Chocolate Frogs as Flume alleged, there had to be a good reason, right? And Neville being Neville was probably selling the Frogs to donate the proceeds to some charity with noseless orphans. Besides, he hadn’t even seen the bag of Frogs for himself, so really: who’s to say it even existed?

A sudden spark of realization exploded in his brain: oh, God. What if Neville hadn’t bought the Frogs?

Slumping against the support, Harry threw down the Extendable Ear, disgusted with himself. He’d turned into a monster, and for what: a couple of sweets. He’d resorted to underhanded and unacceptable methods to get to the bottom of his missing chocolates, and tormented too many people in the process. He exhaled slowly, sliding his hands under his glasses and held his face. Without even trying, he’d become the very monster that he’d fought some eight months ago. He’d alienated friends and manipulated those around him to feed his addiction. He was a stain on wizard-kind, and in no way a hero.

Raising his head, he peered over at the dark-eyed Romilda flirting with hapless Neville Longbottom. Clumsy Neville: the hero who always managed to lose his toad, and yet, followed him into countless battles without a second thought. Neville: his brilliant friend. Shaking his head, he seized his cauldron and was about to call it a day when he witnessed the unthinkable.

Neville had just fished in robe pocket and pulled out a familiar blue box that, when unwrapped, let out a spry unnaturally shiny brown frog. It had leapt as high as his shoulder before his trusty friend Neville grabbed it and gobbled it up with an apologetic mumble.

Well, Neville was no Ron or Hermione. Bloody thief.

Thoroughly miffed, Harry sprang up from his not-so-private hiding spot and strode over to the overly-giggling dark-haired girl and the Chocolate Frog-hog.

“Oi, Longbottom!” he called, frowning harder when Neville beamed through a mouthful of half-eaten Frog. “A word, please?” He looked pointedly at the sparkly-eyed witch and specified, “In private. Take a hike, Vane.”

Her pretty face screwed up in annoyance. “If Neville wants me to leave—”

“More than you know.” He heartlessly replied. He jerked a thumb pointedly over his shoulder. She harrumphed, insulted, and glided across the hall to join the other piranhas with which she consorted, her dark hair swaying behind her. With Vane deposed and the lingering students thinning out, Harry turned to the round-faced boy and gently guided him toward the moving staircases. “Come on. We need somewhere more private than this.”

Neville nodded without protest, shoving the empty Chocolate Frog box in his robes. Harry pursed his lips tightly, resisting the urge to grab the box and do something he’d later regret. He didn’t fancy explaining to Madam Pomfrey how Neville managed to get the box shoved up a nostril. A simple ‘he tripped and fell on it’ just wouldn’t cover everything.

As they leapt over a trick step, Neville breathlessly prattled on. “Thank you, Harry! I just didn’t know what to do; I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but she was very forward, and I generally don’t do well with forward people and worse if those people aren’t wearing knickers....”

Harry rolled his eyes and continued to guide them deeper into the castle, farther away from voices of ravenous students. It wasn’t until they approached the poorly lit corridor with the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that Neville’s rambling abruptly died. “Ehm ... Harry?”

“Hm?”

“Where did you say we were going again?”

His chuckle had a furtive edge to it, causing a crease in Neville’s brow. “I never said where we were going.”

“Oh,” said Neville. “Well, what’d you need me for? Never caught that, either.”

“This a habit of yours, Neville?” he accused with a sting. “Not getting caught?”

He didn’t expect Neville to flush red so quickly. Slanting close to him, Neville nervously whispered, “Actually ... can you keep a secret?”

Had he known he was on to him? Guilt must have really been gnawing at him to confess so quickly, but Harry was pleased. He mustered as convincing a grin as possible and nodded eagerly. Neville was visibly uncertain, so he urged, “Go on. I’m all ears.” And fists, and wand....

Encouraged, Neville nodded more calmly. “Well ... this is going to sound quite strange...”

“Yes?” he pressed, staring at his timid housemate intently. He vaguely noticed that they’d stopped walking and were standing beneath a near-gutted candle. The shadows cast made Neville’s anxious expression more threatening.

Neville nibbled on his bottom lip which, Harry was prickled to notice, had a smudge of chocolate on it. “I’ve done some things that are ... secret. Secret and ... naughty.”

“Yes, I gathered as much.”

“Some things that I hope I don’t get caught for, but I know my number’s going to be up eventually, so—”

Harry didn’t let him finish his sentence. Instead, he swung his cauldron around and with dead-on aim, struck Neville on the side of his head. Neville’s face was the picture of disbelief before it slackened and he crashed to the floor, unconscious.

“Hah! Not very secretive, eh? That’ll teach you to pinch my sweets!”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin in fright. “Agh! Ah, damn it, Ron!” he seethed, three parts angry and one part relieved. He leaned his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “Don’t bloody do that!”

Ron shrugged, albeit unapologetically. “Hiya, Harry.” His blue eyes curiously slid to the heap of Neville on the floor and back to him. “Nev. So ... what’s this?”

“What’s it look like?” he panted with a wide grin, standing straight. “I’m kidnapping Neville, mate.”

He arched an eyebrow. “No shit, Babbity Rabbity. Now can you hop off your cackling stump and tell me why you’re kidnapping him? You catch him nosin’ round Mum’s mince pies again?”

He winced, his eyes involuntarily falling to the unconscious lump. “Not exactly.” Ron prompted him to explain further with a look. “It’s Neville. He’s the one that’s been stealing my sweets,” he divulged with a scowl.

“How d’you know this?”

“Flume.”

Ron tilted his head skeptically. “Ambrosius Flume told you Neville did it?”

Harry raised and dropped a shoulder. “Not in so many words, no,” he reluctantly admitted. “But three months ago, Neville bought over six pounds of Chocolate Frogs—six pounds.” He could see the pieces of the puzzle starting to fit in Ron’s expression.

“Six? But that would be quite apparent, wouldn’t it? I mean, I’d notice if Neville had six pounds of Frogs lying about.”

“Exactly!” he excitedly agreed. “I haven’t seen anything and neither have you. Where’d six pounds of chocolate mysteriously disappear to?”

“So you think Neville ... what?” Ron threw his hands up and slumped against the wall, mindfully eyeing their prone housemate. “You lost me.”

“Don’t you see?” Harry sighed and rubbed his hands roughly down his jaw. “Neville’s been eating from my stash and restocking to cover it all up! But somewhere along the line, he must’ve just given up trying to hide it from me. And he must have bribed the house-elves, too,” he mused mostly to himself. No wonder Itzy refused to accept his money; Neville had probably bought her off for more months before he did. She was in on it. Maybe even Tipsy, too, while shucking his clothing at the height of meal course swaps, running stubby fingers over his creased, gray body....

He groaned, crouching against the wall and dipping his head between his knees. Well. At least it was the proper reaction this time around. Good, because if he added another twenty pounds of chocolate on top of what he already put in, he’d be dead by St. Valentine’s Day.

“‘Ey.” He mustered the strength to look at Ron. “What you thinkin’?”

“Ugh. You really don’t want to know.”

“All right.” There was another brief pause before Ron awkwardly inquired, “So, uh ... what we gonna do about Neville?”

“What I usually do.”

A deep groove formed between Ron’s eyebrows. “And what is it that you usually do? ... Harry? Mate?

“You know, you’re scary when you smirk like that.”

With a narrowed glance at the snoozing Neville, he leered. “Charlie told me that. Twice.”

“Our Charlie?”

“Yep.”

Ron grimaced. “You know, I don’t think I want to hear this.”

“Trust me, Ron,” he said with a smirk. “You really don’t.”


***