"I'm just saying that if Fawkes brought Harry the Sorting Hat so he could pull out the sword of Godric Gyffindor in his time of need, that sets a precedent," Ginny said as she charmed the blackboard clean. There was no real point since the Room of Requirement would provide a fresh board the next time they used it, but Ginny grew up with brothers who kept 'forgetting' to put the toilet seat back down unless she and Mum shamed them into it and knew the power of setting good habits. Besides, cleanup gave her more time to talk with the other DA leaders.
"If there's a chance the Hat might drop a fancy magic sword on some other Gryffindor's head someday," she continued, "I think we ought to learn how to do something other than swing it around like a Beater's bat or an overgrown carving knife."
"You have a point," Neville said. "Conjuring a sword might also be a useful distraction technique during a duel. Someone expecting a spell probably won't be prepared for a huge chunk of steel swinging at their face."
Ginny grinned. "They probably won't be prepared for a punch or a hard kick in the unmentionables, either, but a sword has more style. Besides, ancient magic objects don't usually appear once and vanish forever. I'll bet you two Sickles somebody will end up using Gryffindor's sword at least one more time before Voldemort dies for keeps."
Neville looked reluctant, then thoughtful. "It doesn't count if it's Harry again."
"That's fair," Ginny agreed as she rolled the now-clean blackboard up against the wall. "So, what do you say?"
"Make it three Sickles, and you're on," Neville said.
Two years later, after all was said and done, Ginny cornered Neville in the ruins of Hogwarts and held out her hand, dry-eyed and implacable as flame.
He sighed. Then he sheathed the ruby-hilted sword and handed over her winnings, only slightly bloody.
Whoso Pulleth out This Sword
"If there's a chance the Hat might drop a fancy magic sword on some other Gryffindor's head someday," she continued, "I think we ought to learn how to do something other than swing it around like a Beater's bat or an overgrown carving knife."
"You have a point," Neville said. "Conjuring a sword might also be a useful distraction technique during a duel. Someone expecting a spell probably won't be prepared for a huge chunk of steel swinging at their face."
Ginny grinned. "They probably won't be prepared for a punch or a hard kick in the unmentionables, either, but a sword has more style. Besides, ancient magic objects don't usually appear once and vanish forever. I'll bet you two Sickles somebody will end up using Gryffindor's sword at least one more time before Voldemort dies for keeps."
Neville looked reluctant, then thoughtful. "It doesn't count if it's Harry again."
"That's fair," Ginny agreed as she rolled the now-clean blackboard up against the wall. "So, what do you say?"
"Make it three Sickles, and you're on," Neville said.
Two years later, after all was said and done, Ginny cornered Neville in the ruins of Hogwarts and held out her hand, dry-eyed and implacable as flame.
He sighed. Then he sheathed the ruby-hilted sword and handed over her winnings, only slightly bloody.