Alice spent the entire morning stewing.
She'd caught the weirdest little smirk on Ron Weasley's face earlier, pure, unfiltered glee, and it only showed up right after she'd asked him about Neville Longbottom.
So yeah. The problem was definitely Neville-related.
Too bad Slytherin didn't share classes with Gryffindor that morning. No chance to corner the guy and demand answers.
Meanwhile, over in the Gryffindor common room at lunch…
Hermione was staring at Ron like he'd grown a second head. "You're absolutely sure? Neville's really going to do it?"
Ron nodded so hard his ears flapped. "Ask Harry if you don't believe me. Every word is gospel."
"But how can he be sure it'll even help?" Hermione pressed.
Harry shrugged. "He's not banking on it fixing everything. He just wants to change something, anything, about himself."
Right then the portrait hole burst open and in stumbled Neville Longbottom himself. His legs were locked together like someone had hit him with a Leg-Locker Curse, and his face was scarlet.
Hermione whipped out her wand, muttered the counter-curse, and only then noticed his tongue had been glued to the roof of his mouth too. No wonder he hadn't said a word.
"Neville, what happened?" Harry demanded, helping him to a couch, already fuming.
Whoever did this had crossed a line. Prank or not, this wasn't funny.
Neville hung his head. He didn't even care about himself; he just felt like he was letting the whole House down, letting Professor McGonagall down.
"It was Draco Malfoy," he mumbled. "He's always picking on me. I… I can't beat him."
Harry's scar practically steamed. He started toward the door, ready to go hex Malfoy into next week, but Neville grabbed his arm.
That only made Harry angrier. "You're just going to keep letting him walk all over you?"
Neville shook his head harder. "It's not about being weak. I want to beat him with my own strength."
Ron snorted from the sidelines. "Mate, he's got you three-to-one now, and that's with Crabbe and Goyle doing the heavy lifting for him."
Hermione kicked Ron in the shin. "Shut up, Ronald." Then, softer, to Neville: "Ignore him. You did deck Malfoy once with your fists, remember? You're not hopeless."
Neville looked her dead in the eye. "Yeah, but I'm a wizard, Hermione. Not a boxer."
Hermione opened her mouth… and closed it again. Even she didn't have a comeback for that.
The four of them sat in awkward silence for a minute. Then Neville suddenly shot to his feet.
"That's it. I'm doing it. I'm putting the plan on the schedule right now."
He thanked them, still flushed with determination, and bolted out of the common room like he'd been pumped full of Felix Felicis.
Hermione gaped after him. "He's not seriously going to ask Alice to teach him sword-dancing, is he?"
Ron just threw his hands up. Told you so.
"But that sword-dance was literally custom-made for Alice! None of us could even get the hang of it!"
…
"Wait… so I really can't learn it?"
Neville stood in front of Alice five minutes later, looking like someone had let all the air out of him.
Alice had been brutally honest: "The version I do only works for me. For anyone else, it's just pretty footwork. Zero magic boost. Sorry."
Neville believed her. Which made the letdown about ten times worse.
Alice studied the drooping Gryffindor and felt a tiny spark of interest. In all her time at Hogwarts, exactly one student had ever marched up and asked, straight-faced, to learn swordsmanship from her.
A pure-blood, no less. Willing to touch Muggle fighting styles. That was… unexpected.
She tilted her head. "Tell me again why you want to learn it."
Neville squirmed. He'd originally heard the sword-dance could help control magic, make spells stronger, fix his whole "perpetual klutz" problem. But admitting that out loud felt like saying he only wanted her art as a cheat-code for wizardry, not because he actually respected it.
Those green eyes were waiting. No way he could lie to them.
He took a deep breath. "I want to get stronger. Hermione said your sword-dance helps with magic… but mostly I just want to be able to stand up to Draco Malfoy. He keeps targeting me, and I keep losing."
Alice blinked. She'd assumed Malfoy's vendetta list began and ended with Harry Potter. Apparently Neville had been on it for years.
She folded her arms. "I could teach you. But it'd be pure Muggle swordsmanship, no magic shortcuts, no guarantees it'll make your spells any better. And if you start, you don't quit. My training is brutal. That's non-negotiable; it's about respecting the blade."
She gave him a sharp look. "Think about it. When you've got an answer, come find me. Clock's ticking, Longbottom. Yes or no?"