"F-fighting?" Neville stammered.
"You bet, fighting." Hodge fired off a spell with a flick of his wand. "Neville, I need you."
"R-really?" It was a lie, of course, but the words sparked a flicker of courage in Neville.
His mind flashed to the Whimsy Club's antics, picturing Harry and Ron with bruised faces and swollen noses. With a quick glance at Hodge, Neville mentally swapped their battered faces for Hodge's, and his courage surged.
A cacophony of bangs and crashes erupted. Peeves was in high spirits, cackling with glee. Clearly, he'd been plotting this chaos for ages—this was his turf. For someone as impatient as Peeves, that was saying something.
Hodge started strong, blasting two water balloons into mist and vanishing a barrage of peas hurled his way. When Peeves tried to swing a chair, Hodge's quick "Incarcerous!" glued it to the carpet.
Peeves tugged twice, failed to budge it, and was about to zip into the air when a Freezing Charm hit him—cast by Neville.
"Did you see that? Did you see it?" Neville shouted, practically bouncing with excitement.
"Nice one!" Hodge grinned.
"You blasted little brats!" Peeves broke free, ice flakes scattering as he vanished from sight. The room turned into a haunted funhouse—furniture rattled and shook. Hodge hurriedly cast more Sticking Charms to lock the furnishings in place.
The battle was fierce. Hodge narrowly dodged a Freezing Charm from Neville—not a laughing matter, since Neville didn't know the counter-spell. Peeves almost got sealed into a vase by their combined efforts. During the chaos, Hodge could've sworn he glimpsed a pearlescent, translucent pair of glasses flash by.
Finally, as Peeves tried to roll Neville and Hodge up in the carpet like a burrito, time ran out. Hodge shouted, "Stop!"
Peeves froze midair, sulking. "You had an extra person—that's cheating!" His beady eyes glinted with malice. "For that, you'll pay!"
"Oh, come off it," Hodge panted. "You're the one who locked us in here together. We're done for now, but you'll get another shot." He rubbed his shoulder, wincing where a tennis ball, courtesy of Peeves, had struck him.
Hodge figured by the time he graduated, he'd be a dueling master.
Peeves was too slippery—going invisible, zipping through walls, popping up like a poltergeist jack-in-the-box.
Still grumbling, Peeves looped through the air twice, snatched his tennis racket and a few balls, and zoomed off, clearly planning to reuse the props.
"You okay?" Hodge asked Neville, who was sprawled on the floor, gasping but buzzing with adrenaline.
"No wonder your spells are so good," Neville said, sweat dripping down his neck, his robes crumpled from dodging and tumbling. "I've seen Harry and Ron mess around with dueling games, but nothing as wild as fighting Peeves…"
"Couldn't agree more," a voice chimed in, sounding close enough to be whispering in their ears.
Neville whipped around, startled. Hodge turned slowly, already guessing who it was—maybe more than one. They'd had an audience watching the whole time.
Two ghosts floated out from the wall behind Neville. One was plump, dressed like a monk; the other had a crooked neck, sporting a ruffled courtier's collar.
"Hey, Nick!" Neville scrambled up, still riding his high, greeting one of the ghosts with enthusiasm.
It was the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor house ghosts—the Fat Friar and Nearly Headless Nick.
"Hello there," the Fat Friar said warmly. Nearly Headless Nick, frowning slightly, added, "We heard Peeves was setting traps in this abandoned classroom—"
"He came well-prepared," the Fat Friar added cheerfully.
"Yeah, he let slip he'd made a deal with someone," Nick continued. "Didn't expect it to be two first-years, though. Bit reckless, even for Gryffindors."
"It was my deal with Peeves," Hodge clarified. "Neville just got dragged into it."
"Oh, no judgment here," Nick said, shaking his head—his neck wobbling precariously, as if his head might topple off. Neville, clearly used to this, edged closer to the Fat Friar.
"…Peeves is dangerous, always has been," Nick went on. "Loves pranks, chaos, giving people daft nicknames, pulling rotten jokes, disrupting classes, wrecking castle property… Few can handle him. Among the living, even fewer make him think twice. Going head-to-head with him isn't exactly wise."
He rambled on, then shifted gears.
"But, since you're in this mess—" Nick floated closer to Hodge, lowering his voice to share a secret. "I know a few spells, ones Hogwarts students have used over the years. Some are quite handy. I've kept them in mind…"
The Fat Friar, looking conflicted, glanced away awkwardly.
"Got a fever?" he asked Neville, fishing for something to say.
"Just hot," Neville replied, his round face even redder.
"Oh, blood rushing about?" the Fat Friar asked with genuine curiosity. "When I was alive, I dabbled in medicine at the church. Treated poxes, you know… though magic did most of the work in the end."
"Did you save a lot of people?" Neville asked softly.
"More or less."
"You must've been really respected," Neville said.
The Fat Friar spun in place, uneasy. "Truth be told, I'm not sure. Some clergy thought I was just poking peasants with a stick. And then there was that ill-timed magic trick…"
Hodge and Nick, deep in their spell-talk, glanced over.
"…I conjured a rabbit out of a chalice," the Fat Friar mumbled. "Not my brightest moment. I was trying to lift spirits during a plague. Then, well, they executed me."
Laughter echoed from the corner. Hodge followed the sound and spotted a silvery figure.
"Myrtle," the Fat Friar said.
"What, is this a ghost convention today?" Hodge asked.
He wasn't entirely off—Peeves had mentioned crashing a gathering earlier.
"There is, actually," Nick said fondly. "The annual ghost meeting, going strong for centuries. We share stories of our most meaningful moments. Peeves, naturally, isn't invited, so he throws a fit—happens every time. This time, he stormed off halfway through. The Friar and I came to check he wasn't causing too much trouble. Speaking of, we should go."
Hodge seized the chance to ask about a boggart's whereabouts and anything on Sebastian Sallow, but the ghosts had little to offer.
"Ghosts and boggarts don't cross paths much," Nick said.
"As for that other name, maybe a Slytherin student? I'll ask Barrow for you," the Fat Friar promised.
After the ghosts left, Hodge used magic to tidy the room. He figured it could work as a backup spot for Whimsy Club activities, though Peeves knowing about it meant they'd need protective spells.
Neville gave the room a wistful look, clearly attached to the memory.
As they left, a shy voice called out, "Come visit me sometime, you brave Peeves-slayers. I'm in the abandoned girls' bathroom next door."
Hodge shut the door, pretending not to hear.
————
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