The Gryffindor common room was packed around Neville like he was the main exhibit at the Magical Menagerie.
Ten minutes earlier he'd strolled in from the showers wearing nothing but trousers, and every single roommate (Harry and Ron included) had gaped at him like he'd grown a second head.
"Why are you all staring at me like that?" Neville asked, actually a little nervous. Their eyes were intense.
Harry flicked his wand, muttered something, and a full-length mirror zoomed over.
"…This is me?"
Neville stared at the reflection: same face, but he'd dropped at least fifteen pounds of baby fat, his skin was clear and practically glowing, and he looked… fit. Really fit.
"That's definitely you, mate!" Ron yelled. "How?!"
Ron was half a second away from marching straight to Alice and begging for sword lessons himself. Then he remembered the "no quitting = death" clause and thought better of it.
"How do you feel?" Dean Thomas asked. As a Muggle-born, he had zero prejudice against sword training and had actually cheered Neville on when he first mentioned it.
Neville bounced on his toes a couple times. "Amazing. Light. Like I could run laps around the castle and not break a sweat."
Word spread fast. Harry and Ron told Hermione, Hermione's dorm mates overheard, and suddenly Neville (still shirtless) was being mobbed by half the Gryffindor girls.
Hermione showed up looking apologetic. "Sorry, Neville. Harry and Ron blabbed in the common room and my roommates eavesdropped."
"Er… it's fine, but could you maybe do me a huge favor?"
"Anything!"
"Could you drag these girls a bit farther away?"
Because three of them had literally pulled out magnifying glasses and were studying his skin inch by inch.
Hermione grabbed two of them by the collar and hauled them back.
"Hermione, let go! I'm doing scientific research! Don't you want perfect skin too?"
"Yeah! And get this, his skin turns red when you poke it!"
No kidding, genius. You're practically draped over the poor guy.
Hermione rolled her eyes so hard they nearly did a full rotation.
One of the girls spun on her. "Hermione, did you already know Alice Norton's sword training gives you flawless skin and you just didn't tell us?"
Hermione sighed, turned to Neville, and said, "Nev, tell them the conditions Alice gave you for learning her sword style."
Neville nodded. Someone had to throw cold water on this hype train.
"Every single morning, rain or shine, I have to practice the forms she teaches me."
"Every week she inspects my progress. If I'm slacking, she 'spar' with me until I'm not slacking anymore."
"And I'm not allowed to quit. Ever. Not even if the sword stuff never helps my magic. The only way out is to beat Alice in a duel."
Someone piped up, "Okay, but what if I do wanna quit?"
"Then she hunts you down and makes sure you can never hold a sword again without crying. For the rest of your life."
Dead silence.
Every Gryffindor suddenly remembered Alice Norton does not make idle threats.
One brave soul whispered, "Longbottom, you're really okay with those terms?"
Neville shrugged into the robe Harry handed him. "So far I feel incredible, so… why not?"
…
"Why not, Theo? If you ever change your mind, I'd teach you too. Trust me, zero regrets."
Alice was grinning at Theodore Nott in the corridor outside the Slytherin common room.
Theo opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. "Hard pass. I respect the hustle, but I don't have that kind of death wish. Potions is fine by me."
Tracy Davis, standing nearby with Pansy, hid a laugh behind her hand. The Theodore she knew didn't back down from anything, yet here he was folding like a cheap tent.
"Speaking of projects, Alice asked, "Still no luck with the flying-sword embryo?"
Tracy's smile vanished. She wasn't scared of Alice; she just felt bad about how much dragon horn and mithril they'd already melted into scrap.
Alice noticed the look. "Stop worrying about wasting materials. We just want a working flying sword."
"But we should probably figure out why the embryos keep cracking," she added.
Tracy nodded grimly. She would crack the problem eventually.
On a whim, Alice decided to visit their secret lab, an abandoned classroom stuffed with snapped sword blanks and rapidly dwindling piles of dragon horn and mithril.
Theo caught Alice eyeing the depleted stocks. "New shipment arrives tomorrow," he said quickly.
"Do the professors mind us doing this?" Alice asked.
"Headmaster Dumbledore dropped by once," Tracy said. "He's totally on board, but he told us to keep it quiet until we have something that actually works."
Alice raised an eyebrow. "Why the secrecy?"
"Ministry of Magic," Theo answered. "Turns out wizarding Britain has a weird hang-up about flying objects that aren't brooms. Flying carpets are banned here, same with a bunch of other cultural artifacts from Africa and Asia. If word gets out we're trying to invent a flying sword, even as a student project, someone at the Ministry will throw a fit. Dumbledore just doesn't want the hassle."
Alice hummed. As the heir to a merchant family, she was raised to work inside the rules whenever possible. Her butler Taylor always said: the safest way to make money is to never need to bribe your way out of trouble in the first place.
She shrugged. "Fine. We'll keep it under wraps. Once we have a working prototype, somebody powerful will speak up for us anyway."