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kissofchrysantheum · 3 years ago

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Frank and Alice Longbottom Headcannons

Alice Longbottom

Alice is a nickname for Adalheidis

Born on June 21st 1960

Between 5 and 5’2

Has heterochromia (one blue one violet eye)

Has fiery curly red hair with white strands throughout (it kind of like how Rhaenys Targaryen was suppose to look and is depicted in Panagiota Mylona’s fan art)

Lots of freckles

Is either a metamorphamgaus or a parseltounge (her dad is a metamorpmagus and her Mum is a parselmouth I do not know whose genetics would win.)

Her parents were best friends and she is the result of a one night stand

Has a large family including half and step siblings

Her mother, a Prewett married Florian Fortescue while her father a Griffiths married a Bulstrode. Both raised Alice as if she was there own.

Likes Floriograohy

Played Quiditch

Great at herbology

Was a hat stall between Gryffindor (where her brothers were) and Slytherin eventually Gryfindor won out because she wanted to be with Frank and she threaten the sorting hat saying that she would have her one of brothers set it on fire

Is childhood friends with Frank

In Lily and the Marauaders year (I know this is unlikely but I like it all we know was she was a respected Auror by the time she was tortured which was likely between 1984 and 1986 not in 1981 giving Alice plenty of time to be a respected Auror by the time she was tortured. It was a war which would give her more opportunities to prove herself and who knows with the ongoing war the Auror training that takes three years may have been cut back to get more Aurors out there.)

Augusta really dislikes her and only puts up with Alice because Frank threatened to go no contact

Had two abortions one on 1975 and the other iin early 1978, she also had a pregnancy scare in 1976 and a miscarriage in early 1979 before she got pregnant with Neville (her and Frank were kind of careless and according to statistics Nearly 1 in 5 births to teens, ages 15–19, are repeat births. Most (86%) are 2nd births Some teens are giving birth to a 3rd (13% of repeat births) or 4th up to 6th child (2% of repeat births) and About 1 in 5 sexually active teen mothers use the most effective types of birth control after they have given birth.)

Started dating Frank in 1974

Married Frank as soon as she could after graduation

Neville was an entirely planned baby. Frank and Alice wanted something permanent,a part of each other in case one of them did not survive the war.

Was mentored by Alastair Moody who was also her Uncle through marriage

Her father and many of her brothers were also Aurors.

Alice was generally liked but girls were jealous of her relationship with Frank which resulted in her being bullied

Was plump or Plus sized

Had insecurities about how she looked and would require lots of reassurance from Frank which he did not mind giving (he was an extremely understanding and caring boyfriend

Her insecurities were partly the result of her mother fat shaming her and favouring her stepsister

Her patronus was a Phoenix

Frank would call her Ace, Aces, Gem, Pearl, Flower, Al or Ali

Wore heels a lot due to her height difference from Frank

Stole his Quiditch jumpers all the time

Rarely wore her own clothes

Would steal food off Frank plate constantly

Besties with Pandora, Xenopholius, Edgar and Caradoc

Was also friends with Marlene, Lily, Emmeline, Dorcas, Sirius, James, Remus, Sybil, Ethan MacDogoual, Peter and others

Was friendly enough with Regulus although she mainly put up with him for Pandora’s sake

She and Marlene were co-godmothers to Harry ( I like either Marlene or Alice being his godmother and as I can not choose they are co godmothers. Harry has three godparents deal with it)

Despite being younger she was like the big sister Lily wished she had

Swears like a sailor to the point that Neville’s first word was b*tch

Was a bastard (she was legitimised after her seventh birthday)

Frank Longbottom

Frank’s full name is Francis Castor Joseph Kristopher Elroy Algernon Longbottom

His parents are Augusta and Elroy Longbottom

Mixed race (Augusta is black, Elroy is white)

Born January 17th 1957

Between 6’5 and 6’9 (I imagine the Longbottoms as really tall)

Heir to house Longbottom

Had an older brother who died at seventeen leading to Frank becoming heir at fourteen

Had four older sisters, one older brother, three younger brother, two younger sisters (one was stillborn)

Siblings names are in order Berniece, Cerenna, Deirdre, Emphyria, Aldous,(Frank) Genesis, Genavene, Hendrix, Isaias, and Jaqueline

Was in Gryfinndor

Adored Alice

He and Alice were in a secret relationship for almost two years because it made Alice more comfortable but all here wanted to do was tell people she was his girlfriend

Played Quiditch

Was Headboy and Quiditch captain

Asked Alice out dozens of times before she said yes despite her liking him as well. He later learnt that she though Frank had been joking all those times as she could never believe that a guy like him would want to be more than friends with a girl like her

Proposed 3 times before Alice said yes

Had two wedding ceremonies one with just him and Alice (and witnesses) and a big wedding with all there friends and family. The small ceremony was there favourite.

Followed in his father’s footsteps and became an Auror

Is not as gifted at herbology as Alice but likes it nonetheless

Quite popular

His weakness is Alice

He is cool and collected while Alice is hothead and temperamental

The only time he lost his cool was when someone dared to insult or make Alice uncomfortable (protective BFF/husband)

Pretended to act like he was annoyed by Alice stealing his clothes and food but he actually loved it

Alice calls him Frankie and she is the only one allowed to

Is quite confident unless he is with Alice then he gets nervous

Brought Alice breakfast in bed whenever he could when she was pregnant

Went no contact with his parents (his mother in particular) after Alice had been insulted one too many times. He told his mother and sisters if they could not be civil with Alice then to not talk to him until they could. Alice always came first.

Was there for both of Alice’s abortions and never blame her nor left her side. He wanted the children but he respected her decision he loves her and never resents her for not being ready to be a mum.

Frank did more housework then Alice

Every night he went home to Alice he would always keep her close in bed reassuring himself she was there and she was fine.

Older brother figure to the Marauders

Would often have to stop Alice from ending up in a fight

Other Headcannons

They were never tortured to insanity (who am I kidding that is canon. I take no arguments on this)

They both wanted a large family.

They had a large family. At least six kids excluding Neville. The only reason they slowed down was Alice’s health

Both rose through the ranks in the Auror Office

Alice became Head Auror

Frank became the Deputy head of the DMLE

Were members of the second order

Their family survived both wars

Took family picnics often

Gardened as a family

Cooked as a family

Had two wedding ceremonies one just for them (they eloped) the second was for family. No one beside the officiant and witnesses are aware of the elopement

Both of them saw through Dumbledore

Both Longbottoms had tattoos and piercings

Were partners at work and at home. They were known as the gamblers in the Auror office because they always took risks.

Frank and Alice rarely fought

Frank would often tease about how short she was and she would often call Frank an insufferable giant

Alice and Frank are magical soulmates (I take no criticism on this) and it is one of the reason Augusta eventually put up with Alice as she and Elroy were soulmates as well

Frank and Alice are very much in love, like extremely, they are head over heels for each other but they are also kick arse Aurors( there is absolutely NO CHEATING. I have read far to many fics for my liking that have one of Fralice cheating on the other. Give them any other storyline if you really want them to break up for a while in your fic before getting back together use one of Fralice’s parents hating their partner or they grow apart or they are a very different person around others or they break up after an abortion or if you really want to have a cheating storyline involving Fralice maybe that is how Fralice gets together by one or both of them cheating on their partner and the fall out of that. I absolutely hate the Fralice trope come up with something original cheating is not the only way to make them interesting.

Frank and Alice will sometimes use muggle fighting techniques on Death Eaters when they are bored

Did it like rabbits

Always touching each other (not always sexually it could be hugging, holding hands, a hand around the waist, head on shoulder)

Had a surprise baby at 40 (Alice) and 44 (Frank)

Most of their babies were unplanned but welcomed surprises (Frank is a little forgetful on the potion and charm side of things and Alice is so busy she doesn’t notice either.) eventually Frank had a vasectomy (or the wizard if counterpart) it worked for several years but then it reversed itself and we’ll surprise baby

Alice was pissed when she found out she was pregnant at forty and Frank slept on the couch for at least a week

Had most of their babies young so while the children were off at Hogwarts they could travel (it worked for the first few years before the surprise baby out there plans on hold)

Augusta did not like the fact that the women suceeding her as Lady Longbottom was a legitimatimized bastard but what she hated more was the fact her son dated Alice while she was a bastard. Augusta tolerated his friendship with the bastard (Alice) only because she came along with her family and they would not leave her home

Frank gave Alice hair combs and eventually began to make them so Alice has a large collection

The hair comb Headcannons was inspired by the fic And Then My Heart (With Pleasure Fills) by dehydrated_thot on Ao3 it is a Fem Neville Longbottom X Harry Potter (they are godsiblings) and Harry gives Niamh (fem neville) hair comb

I love Fralice so here are a few of my favourite fics with them in it

Just the two of us by dancerchic16 on Wattpad & Ao3 (incomplete but I love it) they are the main focus

Waterloo by auroraleigh1856 (ongoing but Fralice is a nice side pairing and I love it) Waterloo is a muggle Au and the main pairing is Jily it is currently in Frank.net

Armada by auroraleigh1856 (essentially a forbidden love take on Fralice with no Voldemort. It is a long shot) It is on both Ao3 and ff.net

Marauders: Growing up by Loadsofrandomness (Fralice is a side pairing) covers year 1-5 of Hogwarts

Marauders: Fighting back by Loadsofrandomness (sequel to Marauders: growing up) covers sixth year till October 1980 (it is completed and is the second in Loadofrandomness’ Marauders series the author is currently writing the 3rd instalment and has several more planned 7 in total last time I checked their page on ff.net) the stories are on both ff.net and Ao3

Amateurs at war by Natalie.Ana on both ff.net and a03 (the fic is currently incomplete and I do not know if the author is going to continue it but it is a great fic

The bonds we trust by rocks-my-socks on ff.net (Au where the Longbottoms are not tortured, take in Harry, Frank proves Sirius innocence and there are hints of wolf star in the last few chapters)

Only the Good Die Young by intothewilder& pinkpeppermintpatties on a03 (Fralice is a sidepairing

The Marauders by SilverThestral on ao3 (Fralice is a side pairing)

Of Arrogant Toerags and Rabid Redheads by messengeroflove on ao3 (Fralice is a side pairing)

#alice and frank longbottom #alice longbottom #frank longbottom #Longbottom family

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ala-baguette · 3 years ago

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Jasmine and Chewing Gum

POV Neville Longbottom

OotP: Neville visits his parents in St. Mungo's and learns how much he never understood about Gran.

9k words; Originally posted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40351851

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“Are you sure you want to go to St. Mungo’s today? Every year is just the same. I don’t know what you expect to come of it.” Gran walked over to the table carrying the frying pan and tipping a quantity of scrambled eggs onto Neville’s plate. They looked rubbery and over-cooked. Gran was many things—a good cook was not particularly one of them. “I’m sure.” Every year was just the same. Right down to Gran asking this question. “Aunt Enid and Uncle Algernon have invited us for Christmas tea again. It seems silly that we have to decline every year…” “It seems silly that Aunt Enid and Uncle Algie choose to hold Christmas tea every year at a time when they know we go to St. Mungo’s,” Neville couldn’t help but grumble under his breath as he poked unenthusiastically at his breakfast. But he didn’t actually mind not going to Christmas tea with the family. Family events were usually just an opportunity to stand him up in front of everybody so they could all take turns scrutinising him and debating whether he had yet managed to live up to Dad’s reputation. Spoiler alert: He hadn’t. Gran eyed him for a moment. Neville felt a flush touch his cheeks. He was not in the habit of talking back to Gran. But, she must have been in a forgiving mood because she turned back to carry the frying pan to the sink and apparently decided to pretend she had not heard him.

When Neville had been younger—back before Hogwarts— Gran had taken Neville to St. Mungo’s once a month. Since starting school, they had been forced to reduce their visits to Christmas, Easter, and his birthday. So why on earth Gran would think that Neville would give up one of his rare visits was quite beyond Neville’s comprehension. But Neville never dared point this out. “Well, I’ve booked the Knight Bus at half-past ten. Be ready. You know how much things get slowed down on Christmas Day. I never understand why you feel the need to go on Christmas proper. You know we could go in mid-June and simply tell them it’s Christmas, and they wouldn’t know the difference.” The comment made for a stabbing feeling in Neville’s gut, and he lowered his eyes to his eggs. Sometimes Gran’s pragmatism could be brutal. Something must have shown on his face because Gran paused as she took her seat across from him and seemed to visibly soften. “Still I’m sure they’ll be glad to see you,” she said gently. Or at least as gently as Gran ever managed. She then focused her attention on shaking out her napkin and laying it in her lap. “Mind you,” Gran continued after a brief silence. “I won’t lie that I’ll be glad when you’re old enough to Apparate. It will make these trips so much easier. Assuming you pass your Apparition test, that is. It does take a great deal of self-discipline and focus. You’ll have a lot of preparation to do.” “There’s still a year and a half before I come of age and can take the test,” Neville observed. “Don’t you think it’s a bit early to be worrying about that?” Gran took a bite of egg and eyed him shrewdly as she chewed. She did not respond until she’d swallowed. “You need to look ahead, Neville. You know things do not come as easily for you as they do for some. You need to focus on your studies. I’m concerned your marks are slipping.” “My marks haven’t been so bad. Professor Sprout told me I’m averaging between an Exceeds Expectations and an Outstanding. And I’m doing alright in Charms—I even got an ‘E’ on my last essay.” “Charms and Herbology are soft options. What good did a pretty plant ever do anyone?” Neville flushed with indignation. He wanted to snap at her that ‘pretty plants’ sometimes had amazing healing properties that could change the world. But he bit his tongue. “No, it’s Transfiguration, Potions, and Defence Against the Dark Arts I want you working on,” Gran continued. “Your marks at the end of last term were discouraging. Perhaps we should find you a tutor.” “Hermione still helps me sometimes in Potions and Transfiguration She’s always really nice about it. And Harry’s been teaching me loads in DADA. He started a… a sort of study group…” Neville faltered a moment. He really shouldn’t be mentioning Dumbledore’s Army, but it had become such a big part of his life. His achievements there, both magical and social, were some of the few things he was truly proud of. And he wanted Gran to be proud of him too. He should choose his words carefully, but Gran wouldn’t tell on them. She knew something of Umbridge from years ago and seemed to despise her as much as he did. Still. Best not push his luck. “Anyway, I’ve been practicing with him. And I’m getting loads better! I even got down the Impediment Jinx last week.” “Harry Potter?” Neville nodded, a little uncertainly. The abuse against Harry in the Daily Prophet had not let up, and he wondered if Gran still believed him, what with months going by and still no sign of You-Know-Who. But Gran merely gave a curt nod of approval. “Glad to hear it,” she said, simply. “You need all the help you can get.” Neville felt the flush in his cheeks again and turned his attention back to his breakfast. He plucked a piece of slightly burnt toast off the plate in the centre of the table and busied himself with buttering it. Gran kept up her usual stern lecture on the importance of his studies as they finished breakfast. Neville had anticipated it being worse this term, what with O.W.L.s fast approaching, and Gran did not disappoint. He wasn’t really listening. It was a common ritual when he came home, and one of the main reasons he never really looked forward to school holidays as much as his classmates did. He might have just stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas if it wasn’t for the tradition of going to see Mum and Dad. He was still feeling guilty that he had skipped last year in favour of the Yule Ball. No, Neville was not particularly thrilled to be home. He had been feeling quite gloomy on the ride aboard the Hogwarts Express a few days ago. Of course, nothing was particularly new there. Neville always rather dreaded the train ride, no matter which direction the Hogwarts Express was headed. Nowhere else were the students of Hogwarts more cliquey than when they separated themselves into train compartments that only sat six. Every train ride, Neville would find himself wandering the train corridor to see who would allow him to sit with them. He had been hoping to sit with Harry again. But of course then he’d… fallen ill… or whatever had happened. It must have been bad, because neither he nor Ron returned to the dormitory and their things had been removed by the time Neville woke the following morning. Instead, Neville had taken one of the Thestral-pulled carriage to Hogsmeade Station with Hermione, but she had to go sit in the Prefect’s compartment on the train. And so Neville had been left on his own again. On his own. His natural state. To be fair, Hannah Abbot had kindly invited Neville to join her compartment along with several Hufflepuff members of the DA this time. But Neville had been so startled by the invitation, he’d reflexively spluttered out that he was going to sit with Dean and Seamus. He was still kicking himself over this, but in any case, Neville was quite sure she’d only asked out of politeness, not because she’d actually wanted him there. When he’d found Dean and Seamus, however, they were sitting with a group of Ravenclaw boys, and their compartment was already full. But this was just as well. They usually just ignored Neville anyway. Sitting alone was lonely. Sitting surrounded by people who didn’t include you was even lonelier. And so, in the end, he’d found himself joining Luna again, something he generally tried to avoid. It wasn’t that Neville didn’t like Luna. It was just that he had no idea how to hold a conversation with her. She said such odd things, and he could never think up a response to any of them. Their interactions invariably left him quite uncomfortable, and he would spend the following days trying to think up what would have been the correct response to her comments about wrackspurts and nargles and goblin torture and vampire conspiracies… Really. What was he supposed to say to any of it? Luna never seemed to mind when the conversation turned to awkward silence, but Neville most definitely did. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t fair to blame Luna for their halting exchanges. It was not just Luna with whom Neville struggled at conversation. Why was he so bad talking to people? Why could he never think of something clever or interesting to say to anyone in the moment? Why couldn’t he be like Ron who would tell stories— complete with funny impersonations—that had people roaring with laughter? Or like Seamus who always played Devil’s advocate in a debate, just to get his opponent passionately invested? Or like Hermione who always had some pertinent fact to recite? Or like Harry who people just found fascinating, even if all he said was “good morning.” But Neville wasn’t funny or passionate or clever or interesting. Neville was just Neville. He sometimes wondered if he could just manage to have one decent conversation without getting tongue-tied, maybe he’d actually have friends. Maybe he wouldn’t always find himself left behind in the dust. After breakfast, Neville did the washing up, as usual. Gran could have done this in an instant with her wand, of course, but she always said that Muggle chores built character. Whatever that meant. Neville wondered if she had come up with that excuse when he’d been young just in case he turned out to be a Squib. At least then he’d be accustomed to a life of doing things the hard way. Dishes cleaned and table wiped down, Neville filled a glass with water and returned to his room to get ready for St. Mungo’s. He shut the door and leaned back with a sigh, releasing the tension in his shoulders. He felt immediately relaxed. Neville didn’t much care for coming home for the holidays, but he was fond of his bedroom. The large south-facing windows caught the best light in the whole house and overlooked the back gardens. Even now, with the plants little more than scraggly sticks poking out through muddy earth blanked in a thin layer of frost, Neville loved this view. He didn’t see the drab muddy patches or the piles of fallen dead leaves or the barren branches of the trees. He saw potential. He saw how it would look come spring when the bright green of new growth blossomed over the trees. He saw the twisted path lined with splashes of colour from the foxglove and the hydrangeas and the delphiniums in full bloom. And he just knew that if only he opened the window, he would smell the sweet scents of the lilacs and the lavender on the breeze. Over the years, Neville had tended this garden himself. He’d start over Easter hols, but always had to be careful not to plant anything that was too fragile to make it until he was back for the summer. Gran didn’t have much interest in caring for his plants; she didn’t really understand his love for the earth. And so, he’d learned to carefully choose hardy bulbs and perennials that would require minimal upkeep when he was away. Uncle Algie helped sometimes. If he was visiting Gran, he might pause to do a little pruning or watering if Neville was away at school. He knew it mattered to Neville, and perhaps it was one of the few interests they shared. But mostly, this garden was Neville’s. It kept him busy on Easter and summer holidays, but Christmas hols were always a little more lonely without it. There was never much work he could do when the ground was frozen solid. That was, of course, unless he had a plant friend or two to care for indoors. “I brought you something,” Neville whispered softly as he crossed to the window sill. “Here you go. Have a drink.” He carefully tipped a small amount of water from his glass into the waiting flowerpot. The stubby cactus in the pot next to this one crooned softly. “Don’t you get greedy,” he told his Mimbulus mimbletonia. “I watered you two days ago. You’ll get sick if I give you too much. But here.” Neville picked up the Mimbulus mimbletonia and moved it to the other side of the windowsill. “You’ll get better light through the afternoon here. I know winters up this far north don’t offer as much sun as you were used to in Assyria. Gotta keep you warm.” Then he turned back to the first pot. Neville bent to inspect the delicate plant. It was not particularly showy, this plant. Not like his Mimbulus. But Neville thought it was beautiful. The foliage was small and delicate and a lovely bright green. And small clusters of snow-white pinwheel flowers were just barely blooming. It had taken every ounce of skill and hard work Neville had to convince it to bloom in the winter, but he’d managed it. But appearance was not where this plant was meant to shine anyway. He inhaled deeply and sighed contentedly in response to the sweet aroma. Neville had been working on this project all term. He’d even asked Professor Sprout for a small corner of Greenhouse One to house it, and he’d gone down nearly every day to check on it. He’d even managed a tricky Soltempus Spell which helped him artificially create sunlight in the right patterns to trick the plant into believing it was spring and time to bloom. And today was the day. It was time for all his hard work to come to fruition. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll do great,” he told the plant, smiling gently down at it. It wasn’t much, this little plant. Someday, he would find a way to do more. There were so many plants with amazing healing properties in this world, surely someday he would find one that could cure them. No, this little plant wouldn’t do much, but it was what he could do for now. “ARE YOU ALMOST READY?” Gran’s voice called up from downstairs. “I WANT TO GET THERE EARLY. YOU KNOW HOW PACKED THE PLACE GETS ON CHRISTMAS!” “I’ll be down in a minute!” Neville called back. Neville crossed to the wardrobe and pulled out his winter cloak, wrapping it around his shoulders snuggly. Then he crossed back to the window sill just as a deafening BANG sounded out in the front garden. His head jerked up reflexively to look toward the door. “HURRY UP, NEVILLE! THE BUS WON’T WAIT!” “I’M COMING!” Neville dashed to the dresser where he snatched up a bag of sweets he’d gotten in Honeydukes on his last Hogsmeade weekend, stuffing them absently in the pocket of his cloak. Then he rushed back to the window sill. Very gently, he scooped up the plant, holding it carefully in both hands as he ran for the door. He was so focused on holding the plant steady, he almost tripped coming down the stairs, but he managed to keep his footing. “What are you doing with that plant?” Gran said sharply as he met her just outside the front door. She was eyeing the pot in his hands as though it were something disgusting and dirty as she slung her fox-fur around her neck and straightened her vulture-topped hat. “It’s a gift for Mum and Dad. Professor Sprout let me grow it from a cutting in the greenhouses. Jasmine is great for aromatherapy. It’s supposed to improve the mood and reduce stress and speed healing. And I thought it would brighten up the ward.” Gran sighed, shaking her head. “It’ll be dead within a week, I expect, but if you must. Hurry along now.” And without another word, she marched down the path and boarded the Knight Bus with barely a glance to Stan who had automatically started his usual welcome speech. Neville hastened to follow. The Knight Bus let them out just in front of St. Mungo’s. Gran marched off and straight over to the dusty window display in Purge and Dowse Ltd without even pausing to say thank you to the driver or the conductor. Neville shyly wished both Ernie and Stan a happy Christmas and offered them both a sweet from his bag of Honeydukes before following. Gran was tapping her foot impatiently by the time he caught up with her. Then they stepped through the glass together. The same blonde Welcome Witch as usual was seated behind the inquiries desk, but Gran did not bother to stop. Instead, she led the way briskly down the corridor in the direction of the stairs. Gran ignored the portraits of the Healers who were calling out with remedies for arthritis. Neville couldn’t see why they were targeting her; he thought Gran was really quite remarkably agile going up the steps. More so than he was—Neville was quickly out of breath, something which led the portrait of a medieval Healer to suggest he had Consumption and that he should smoke a pipe filled with sage, cloves, and boomslang skin at midnight during a waning gibbous moon. “Oh, Mrs Longbottom! Here you are. And Neville, darling, look how tall you’re getting.” “Hello, Healer Strout,” said Neville politely. He shot a quick glance to Gran. Neville had once called Healer Strout “Miriam” at her behest, only to be scolded mercilessly by Gran on the matter. One used proper titles when they were earned. One did not refer to a Healer by simply her first name, nor a Professor by merely his last. The rules of decorum were very important to Gran. She would follow them to the letter—no more, no less. “Happy Christmas.” Neville liked Healer Strout—she always remembered his name and asked after his garden. Today, she had a wreath of tinsel in her short curly brown hair and was beaming at him warmly. “And to you, dear. And to you. I did tell your parents you’d be coming. They’re ever so excited to celebrate Christmas with you.” “I rather doubt it,” commented Gran, looking down the ward toward Mum and Dad’s beds. Neville looked too, but there were privacy curtains up, blocking them from view. “I put the curtains up as you requested, Mrs Longbottom.” “So I see. Thank you,” replied Gran a little curtly. Gran did not share Neville’s fondness for Healer Strout— Gran found her rather soft and lax. With the pleasantries expected by society done—and not one extra— Gran set off across the ward. After an apologetic smile to Healer Strout, Neville made to follow her. But before he’d gotten more than a couple paces, a voice halted him. “Do I know you?” “Oh, er… yes. Hello, Professor Lockhart,” said Neville. He was not particularly keen to get trapped in a conversation with Professor Lockhart today. He glanced around to see if Healer Strout might be able to distract him, but she had just opened the door of the ward and appeared to be out in the corridor accepting a large number of presents from a delivery house-elf. “I’m Neville, remember?” Professor Lockhart looked vaguely confused for a moment. “Professor? Am I professor?” Then he cheered and smile his broad toothy smile. “Oh of course I am! And I must be spectacular at it. That must be how I’m famous, isn’t it. I still receive fan-mail, you know. I just had a letter from Gladys Gudgeon. Would you like to read it, Nevin? Or perhaps I can offer you an autograph! I imagine all your friends will be quite thrilled to hear you met me.” “Oh, er… Not today, thanks. Maybe next time. Must go. But here. Take a sweet.” Professor Lockhart extracted a Liquorice Wand from the bag of sweets and stared at in in awe. “Why! It looks just like a magic wand! Isn’t that clever!” he cried. “Oh, er… yes. Very clever. Well, happy Christmas, Professor.” And as Professor Lockhart was waving around the liquorice mumbling nonsense words and pretending to pull a rabbit out of a hat, Neville slipped away. He rounded the privacy curtain at last a few minutes after Gran. She was bustling around, plucking up a pitcher from the bedside table to refill a water glass for Dad. “Don’t want it! It’s poison! They’re trying to kill me. They’re trying to kill all of us.” “Oh, honestly, Frank,” Gran sighed. “You need to drink, and it’s not poison. See?” Gran automatically took a sip from the glass before handing it to Dad who was seated in a chair between the two beds. Gran was used to this dance. Dad took the glass, but still didn’t immediately drink. Just held it as he eyed her suspiciously, rocking slightly in his chair. “Alice, dear. That’s for drinking, not for playing with,” Gran said as she seated herself in a straight-backed chair. Mum was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed, dipping her fingers into the water glass and finger-painting streaks of water across the back of the privacy screen. She took no notice of Grans words, nor did she seem to mind that her artistic creations dried and disappeared within seconds. “Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad,” said Neville softly. “I brought you a Christmas gift.” He raised the potted jasmine plant to show them, but neither Mum nor Dad took much notice of this. “It’s jasmine,” he told them, not really expecting a response but feeling it was good to talk to them anyway. “I grew it myself.” Dad kept up his rocking and glowering at Gran. Mum kept up her finger painting. Ah well. Maybe they’ll appreciate it later when they smell it. Neville stepped around Dad to place the flower pot on the bedside table between the two beds. He shed his cloak and hung it on a peg on the wall. There was an awkward silence for a moment. Gran took up the conversation. She began giving Dad an update on the family. Dad gave no particular sign whether he knew who she was talking about, but Gran did this every visit. Neville left them to it and went back over to Mum. “Hi Mum,” he whispered to her again. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Mum blinked several times as she turned away from her transient masterpiece to look at him. But, just like usual, even when she looked at him, she never really did quite seem like she was seeing at him somehow. She smiled in a distant sort of way, patted him on the cheek, then turned back to her water art. Neville watched her for a bit. He tried to make sense of what she was painting, but before it ever managed to come together into a picture, the streaks were dried and lost. So instead he turned to study his mum. For as long back as Neville could remember, people were always telling him he looked like his mother. When he looked at photographs, he could see why. But here… now… There wasn’t so very much of a resemblance any more. Her face had once been round like his, but years of her becoming too distracted to remember to eat, despite constant encouragement, had led to her becoming dreadfully thin. Her cheekbones now stood out sharply and her eyes were sunken. Her hair had once been the same dirty blond as Neville’s, but it had already been turning white as far back as Neville could remember. Now, as he took her in, he saw that her hair was something of a rat’s nest. The Healers of the ward were really over-worked. How could they be expected to care for so many patients? Neville cast about until he found a hairbrush on the bedside table. “Can I brush your hair, Mum?” he asked, though he knew she would not respond. He seated himself on the edge of the bed and began the task of detangling her hair as gently as he could manage. Mum didn’t seem to notice. “And Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid wish you both a happy Christmas,” Gran was telling Dad. “They’re planning a holiday in Thailand this spring, did you know? Always travelling. Last year they went to Assyria, of all places. You remember me telling you?” Hair detangled, Neville stroked through it a few more times in long strokes with the brush. Mum threw her head back to smile at the ceiling as he did this. He set aside the hairbrush and clumsily tried to braid her hair down her back. He’d learned this skill just for her, and while he wasn’t great at it, he found himself quite proud of the effect as he tied off the end of the braid. Mum, however, must not have cared for it much. Just as he let the braid fall, she turned her head, reaching around her back to find the tie at the end, and she pulled it off. Dropping the tie on the floor, she stretched out both arms and shook her head back and forth until the braid came undone. Then she giggled. “Alright,” said Neville, a small rueful smile crossing his lips. “Fair enough.” She giggled again as he reached down to pick up the hair tie and placed it with the hairbrush back on the table. “Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you your favourite!” said Neville. He rose and extracted the bag of sweets from his cloak on the wall. He fished around in the bag until he found a piece of Droobles Best Blowing Gum. When he held it out to Mum, he thought he saw a small flicker of emotion behind her eyes. But then she was just smiling mildly again. She unwrapped the chewing gum and stared at the blue wad in her hand for a moment as though it were mildly fascinating. Then she popped it in her mouth and began to chew with a smile on her face. It was then that Neville noticed Dad watching them suspiciously. “Would you like some sweets, Dad?” He leaned over, holding open the bag so Dad could pick whichever he liked. Dad eyed Neville’s face for a moment, a crease between his brows. Then he leaned over conspiratorially to Neville and whispered, “Poison?” “No, Dad. No poison. I already checked them. I promise.” Dad eyed him for a moment longer, then nodded and reached into the bag without taking his eyes from Neville’s face. He extracted a peppermint toad, tore open the wrapper, and popped it into his mouth. A giggle behind him drew Neville’s attention back to Mum. She was blowing a large bubble with her chewing gum. It floated away from her lips to join another that was already floating over her head. She giggled again and began to blow another. “Don’t get carried away, Alice. You know how those bubbles take forever to pop,” said Gran as she watched her with minimal interest. “They end up being in everyone’s way for days.” Mum laid back on the bed stretching out. Neville was sure she’d just managed to put a good few more tangles in her hair again. She reached up a hand and prodded at one of the bubbles with a finger. It drifted further up toward the ceiling. Another giggle. Neville smiled as he watched her. He liked seeing her happy like this. Whatever Gran had to say about it being impractical. “POISON!” Neville jumped and spun around. Dad had leapt to his feet. “POISON! GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT!” He was clawing at his own stomach as though he thought he could dig through his own skin to get to something inside. “Dad, what—” but then Neville’s eyes fell on the sweet wrapper on the bedside table. “Oh, Dad. I’m so sorry. It’s the peppermint toad! They hop in your stomach. It’s not poison! It’ll stop in a minute. It’s just a spell.” But Dad was shaking his head vigorously. “POISON!” He lunged for Neville and snatched the bag of sweets from his hand, chucking it as hard as he could down the ward. Sweets scattered in every direction. Then he lunged for Mum, apparently planning to wrench the chewing gum from her mouth. But Neville was still standing between them, and Dad nearly bowled him right onto Mum. Mum began to wail and cry. “It’s not poison, Dad! I promise! I’m so sorry. I never should have included those in the bag! I should have thought of it.” He put his arms up, trying to block Dad from grabbing at Mum and frightening her further. Dad threw his arms aside and, in doing so, caught the potted jasmine plant on the bedside table. It went flying and shattered on the floor, spoil spraying everywhere. For a brief moment, Neville thought he’d still be able to save it, before Dad’s foot came down on top of the plant, and with a splintering sound, the main stem snapped. Dad was just about to dive for Mum again, but Gran intervened. She waved her wand and an invisible barrier went up between him and the other bed. Neville looked back to the plant on the floor, crushed beyond all recognition. “Frank, dear. Please, sit down.” Gran was guiding Dad back to his chair. “The hopping’s stopped now hasn’t it? See? No one’s poisoned you. It was just a silly gimmicky sweet. Childish, but not dangerous. Sit down now. Alice, calm yourself. Everything is fine. Look at the pretty bubbles.” “They’re trying to kill us. They’re trying to kill all of us. I know they are.” Dad had allowed himself to be steered back into his chair, but now he was rocking back and forth and muttering to himself. “No one is trying to kill you, Frank. Everything is fine. That’s right. You just sit yourself there for a bit and calm yourself.” Gran looked at Neville and he thought he saw disappointment in her gaze. “Goodness me, what a mess,” she sighed. She waved her wand and the shards of pot and the soil and the crumpled remains of the plant for which Neville had spent months caring, vanished without a trace. Mum had stopped wailing. But she wasn’t smiling and giggling any more. She was staring up at the bubbles on the ceiling. She let out a sound somewhere behind a groan and a whine and dug her fingers in her hair, mussing it still further. “Is everything alright?” Healer Strout had poked her head around the privacy screen at the commotion. “Yes, yes. We have it all in hand,” replied Gran before Neville could even open his mouth. Neither Neville nor Healer Strout missed the unspoken ‘no thanks to you,’ at the end of that comment. “Right… Well… Call me if you need me. Oh, Alice, love, what beautiful bubbles you’ve made. What fun!” And Healer Strout retreated as fast as she could manage with one last nervous glance toward Gran. There was an awkward silence save for Dad’s continued mutterings. Neville sank back to sit on the edge of Mum’s bed again and stared at the spot where the jasmine plant had disappeared. So much for improving mood and reducing stress and speeding healing. With the silence among the family, the rest of the ward sounded suddenly loud. From the other side of the curtain, Neville could hear the mumbling of another patient, and he heard Healer Strout calling “Gilderoy? Gilderoy, you naughty boy, where have you wandered off to?” “We should go,” Gran said abruptly into the silence. Neville jerked his head up. “But… we just got here,” Neville protested feebly. “Your father hardly seems in the mood for visitors. And if we leave now, we can still have pudding at Uncle Algie’s. Neville spluttered a moment, trying to come up with a defence to stay a bit longer. He looked to Mum and Dad, but neither rushed to encourage them to stay. They were both lost in their own little worlds again. “Come along, Neville.” Neville abruptly realised Gran hadn’t even taken off her hat or fox-fur. She’d never intended to stay long. Neville sighed. For some reason, he thought of Harry and the way he fearlessly talked back to Professor Umbridge. Harry wouldn’t let himself be bossed around by Gran. He would dig his heels in and tell Gran ‘no’. That it wasn’t right. That he wanted to stay. That it was Christmas and Mum and Dad deserved to get to celebrate it the same as everyone else. But Neville wasn’t like Harry. Neville was just Neville. “Bye, Mum,” he whispered, leaning over to kiss her cheek again. “See you on Easter.” He turned. “Bye, Dad.” He hugged Dad, but Dad just continued to rock in his arms and didn’t return the hug. Then, eyes on the floor, he miserably followed Gran out from behind the privacy screen. “Oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?” Neville did not look up to acknowledge Healer Strout’s words. They weren’t directed at him anyway. No one particularly cared what Neville had to say, after all. But then, “Neville!” Neville jumped and looked around wildly. And then he saw four people standing near Professor Lockhart’s bed. And they were four of the people who were the closest thing Neville knew to friends. And, in that moment, they were four of the people who Neville wished to see least. “It’s us, Neville!” said Ron, waving him over brightly. “Have you seen? Lockhart’s here! Who’ve you been visiting?” Ron was looking cheerful and oblivious. Hermione and Ginny curious. Harry, for some reason, looked as uncomfortable as Neville felt and appeared to be trying to step on Ron’s foot. “Friends of yours, Neville, dear?” Neville felt the blood rush to his face, and he looked down at his feet. He tried to think how he should introduce them to Gran. Should he call them his friends? They weren’t friends, were they? Neville doubted they gave him any more thought than any of his other classmates did. And if they had ever seen him as a friend, they wouldn’t any more once they found out what Neville had been hiding from them all these years. But Gran didn’t seem to require an answer. “Ah, yes,” she said, holding out a hand to shake Harry’s. “Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you.” This seemed to surprise Harry. No. He clearly didn’t see Neville as a friend. “Er—thanks,” Harry replied. Neville could feel himself flushing even deeper as he stared at his own feet. Gran continued to shake hands with each of them in turn. “And you two are clearly Weasleys. Yes, I know your parents—not well, of course—but fine people, fine people… and you must be Hermione Granger? Yes, Neville’s told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven’t you? He’s a good boy.” Neville could practically feel Gran’s appraising look, but he still did not raise his head to meet her gaze. “But he hasn’t got his father’s talent, I’m afraid to say. Gran must have gestured Dad’s way because Ron said “What? Is that your dad down the end, Neville?” Neville winced. “What’s this?” said Gran sharply. “Haven’t you told your friends about your parents, Neville?” It was clear from the pause that they were all waiting for a response to this question. He managed to raise his head, but still couldn’t look at any of them, so he instead fixed his gaze on the ceiling. He shook his head. Why did Gran have to call them his ‘friends’ right to their faces like this? They didn’t see him that way. And they never would after this. “Well, it’s nothing to be ashamed of! You should be proud, Neville, proud! They didn’t give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!” The hypocrisy of Gran telling him to be proud of Mum and Dad when she never even wanted to visit them, burned in his chest. If he’d been braver, he’d have told her off for this. But Neville wasn’t brave. Neville was just Neville. And so when he opened his mouth to retort, all that came out was a very faint voice he didn’t even recognise as his own. “I’m not ashamed.” “Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it!” Gran turned back to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. “My son and his wife were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who’s followers.” Several gasps were heard, but Neville didn’t look up to see how they were taking this news. He didn’t want to see the looks of accusation that he had never told them before. “They were Aurors, you know,” said Gran with a pride she never showed to Neville. “And very well respected within the Wizarding community. Highly gifted the pair of them. I—yes, Alice dear, what is it?” Neville’s head jerked around. Sure enough, Mum was edging down the ward in their direction. She gestured timidly for Neville, holding something out to him. “Again?” said Gran. “Very well, Alice dear, very well—Neville, take it whatever it is…” But Neville had already reached her and was reaching out his hand for her offering. “Thanks, Mum,” he said softly, accepting the empty Droobles Blowing Gum wrapper. Mum smiled mildly at him in parting, and tottered back toward her bed, humming to herself. He closed his fist around the gum wrapper and let himself find courage in it. Then he turned and finally looked directly at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. He stared at each of them defiantly, daring them to say anything. Daring them to laugh at his mum. But none of them did. Instead, they just looked at him with something that Neville could only describe as pity. Neville lowered his eyes again. “Well, we’d better get back,” sighed Gran. “Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now…” But when Gran had turned her back and headed for the door, Neville slipped the wrapper in his pocket. It didn’t matter that he had a whole box of them at home; he cherished every single one of them. He paused for a moment at the door, considering looking back to the others. But he found he couldn’t face them. And so he followed after Gran without another word.

____________________________________________________________

The final week of the holidays passed in a blur of gloom. As much as Neville generally did not look forward to coming home, now he found himself dreading returning to school even more. And dreading seeing Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny again. Would they confront him? Demand to know why Gran thought they were friends when they so clearly weren’t? Demand to know why he’d talked about them in the past with Gran? Demand to know why he never shared such a big part of his life with them? Neville couldn’t say exactly why he’d never told the others about his parents. Whatever Gran had to say about it, it wasn’t shame. He supposed initially, he’d thought someone would have asked why he lived with his grandmother instead of his parents. But then no one ever did—he supposed no one ever really thought to ask Neville anything about himself. And the more time passed, the more awkward it felt to bring it up. Until eventually, it was this secret that Neville kept without even knowing why he kept it. It was the evening before returning to Hogwarts and Gran had sent Neville up to his room to pack. He wasn’t getting much done, however. He was instead lying sullenly on his bed, gazing at his Mimbulus mimbletonia across the room and absently feeding Trevor a special treat of Fudge Flies. He jumped to his feet and began tossing things into his trunk, however, when he heard Gran coming up the stairs. Gran let herself into the room. She was carrying a basket full of neatly folded laundry. She was in a giving mood to have folded it for him. “Now don’t forget to study hard,” she said as though continuing a previous conversation. Which Neville supposed they kind of were. They were always having this conversation, after all. “Your O.W.L.s are approaching fast. And you’ll have your career advice meeting with Minerva soon, I imagine. She’ll help you decide which N.E.W.T. courses to take. You’ll need to put in some good work in Potions and Transfiguration if you want to be an Auror like your parents.” She bustled over to his trunk with the basket in arms. “I don’t want to be an Auror. I want to find a job where I can work from home. So I can take Mum and Dad to live with me.” It had been something he had long since been considering. But something he had never once dared to say aloud. Why he had chosen this moment to finally say it, Neville couldn’t say. There was silence. Gran had her back to him. He could not see her face, but there was a stiffness in her posture. Slowly, she set down the laundry basket and turned to look at him. Neville could not read the expression in her eyes, but he recognised danger. But he barrelled on recklessly.

“I want to take them home. I want to get them out of that place.”

“Oh, Neville. There is no reason to plan your future around them. They’re perfectly happy where they are. Healer Strout and the others are all good people who are well equipped to handle them.”

“They don’t need to be handled!” snapped Neville. Never before had he dared taken this tone with his grandmother. Where was this sudden bravery coming from? “They need to be somewhere they’re loved. Somewhere they’re cared for.”

“Honestly Neville, you have no idea what you’re suggesting…” said Gran, dismissively shaking her head and turning to leave the room. But Neville was tired of being treated like a child. Tired of being told he couldn’t understand. Tired of Gran never giving two knuts about his opinion. He felt the anger boiling in his chest. And suddenly the floodgates that had been holding back all of Neville’s emotions for years past opened wide.

“Just because you feel guilty, we can’t even talk about it! Just because you chose to leave them behind and move on with your life, I have to do the same?” Gran was standing in the doorway, her back to him, her shoulders rigid. “I don’t have to live with your mistakes forever. I’m going to do what you could never be bothered to do. I’m going to look after them. Just because you never wanted to try—”

“I did try!” The words were simple, but the harshness in the tone cut Neville’s rant short in its tracks. He stared at her back. There was emotion in her voice, but Neville could not quite determine which emotion was in charge. Anger? Frustration? Exasperation? Slowly Gran turned to look at him. But her expression did not help him distinguish this any better. He waited for her to explain.

“I did try,” she said, much more softly this time. Neville frowned in confusion. Gran turned her eyes to look out the window, but Neville doubted she was appreciating the view of the gardens. “They lived with us. For a time,” she said at last.

“I… I don’t remember that,” said Neville, completely confused. All anger deflated from his chest.

“You wouldn’t. You were too young. Scarcely two years old.”

There was silence in the room as Neville tried to take this in. As long back as he could remember, his parents had been in that ward in St. Mungo’s. He had thought they had been there ever since…

When his gran made no attempt to explain, he spoke up again. “I don’t… understand…”

Gran took a moment before answering. “They stayed the first few weeks in St. Mungo’s after the… attack. But when it became clear they were never going to… recover…” She broke off. Neville had never seen his gran this way. Had never heard her so halting, hesitant. Gran was a force of nature. Firm and unyielding and opinionated and stern. This hardly seemed like his gran at all. “The Healers recommended they be transferred to the Permanent Spell Damage Ward, but I couldn’t… I didn’t want…” She licked her lips. Still she looked out the window and avoided Neville’s eye. “It felt like giving up. So I took them home. To live with us here. I thought maybe I could…”

She went quiet again. Neville just sat there, shaking his head in confusion. “So what happened? Why didn’t they stay? Why did you send them back?”

“Because I couldn’t manage it.” Finally, she turned to look at Neville over her shoulder briefly, and he at last recognised the emotion he could not read earlier. It was shame. “I tried. But I couldn’t manage it. I couldn’t cope.”

“I don’t under—” But Gran had begun to talk. And suddenly it was as though the words couldn’t come fast enough. As though she too had been holding back these feelings for so long and now that they were out in the open, she could no longer contain them. Again she turned her back to him. Why was it easier for her to talk to him without looking at him? Was he such a disappointment to her that she didn’t even want to look at him?

“You parents, between the pair of them, needed potions every six hours. And Alice was constantly trying to wander off into the gardens. She’d get lost and I would have to go hunting for her. I’d find her covered in dirt with scraped up knees and thorns in her fingers. She was like a small child, and I couldn’t do enough to keep track of her or keep her clean or keep her from injuring herself.

“And Frank… He always thought it was his job to protect everyone. But he didn’t understand what was a risk and what wasn’t. A post owl would come, and he’d try to tackle it. Or he’d scream at the neighbour out the window. He was always trying to steal my wand, but he couldn’t be trusted with it.

“And you were a toddler. You were just learning to run, and I was constantly trying to keep you out of trouble. I’d fold the laundry and put clothes away, and you’d be digging in the drawers pulling everything out again. I’d be trying to cook or clean, and you’d be demanding my attention. Everyone needed my attention all day every day. And I couldn’t manage it.”

She paused, drawing a deep shaky breath in through the nose. Neville hung his head. He had never really considered all this. In his imagination, when he thought of taking care of his parents, he thought them sitting peacefully in the sunshine out in the gardens while he pruned and watered. Gran was quiet long enough that Neville thought she was done. But after a moment, she continued. Slower this time. Softer.

“One night, you had a night terror… You were a terrible sleeper back then… would wake up crying at all hours. And every time you started crying, Alice would wail and wail. And then Frank would think someone was trying to hurt her, and he’d be up screaming and.... And one night… I was such a fool. It was such a stupid mistake. But I was so tired, you see? So one night I left my wand in the kitchen after I did the washing up. And I must not have noticed Frank pocketing it. And then I put you all to bed. And I turned in for myself. Because I was so so tired…

“And then you woke up crying in the night. And Alice was screaming. And Frank… I think he must have thought you had hurt her. And he had the wand…”

There was another long pause. And Neville merely stared at her in horror. His heart was pounding as he waited for the conclusion of this story.

“He managed to get off one Knockback Jinx before I got there. But luckily his hand was shaky—a side effect from the potions. It would have been a lot worse if his aim was better. But it broke the bed, and you tumbled out and broke your collar bone. And if I’d been even a moment later…”

She raised a hand to her lips and looked out the window. But Neville knew she was not really seeing anything out there. Neville sat quietly, absorbing this story.

“I had to make a choice. Between my son and my grandson. And I made the choice my son would have wanted me to make. Were he in a mind to know what he wanted. So… The four of us headed into St. Mungo’s to repair your broken bones. And then two of us returned home.”

Silence. A silence as thick as Mimbulus mimbletonia Stinksap. And Neville merely stared at Gran’s back as Gran continued to stare out the window.

“Why have you never told me any of this before?” His voice was quiet and choked and hardly seemed like his at all.

Gran turned and looked at him at last. And for the first time in his memory, he saw tears in her eyes. But as they did not dare face the wrath of Augusta Longbottom by falling down her cheeks, the tears merely clung there to her eyelashes, refracting the winter light from the window. “I never wanted that to be the memory you carried of your father,” she said earnestly. And Neville, who had expected a pragmatic reason, was stunned by this simple, emotional explanation.

Then, very abruptly, Gran sniffed and a hand impatiently dashed away the tears from one eye and then the other. “Now. As I was saying. You know Minerva McGonagall draws quite a hard line on who she will allow into her NEWT level course. When I last spoke to her, she informed me you were barely managing an Acceptable. So see to it that you put in some hard work before exams—” But she broke off. Because Neville had just crossed the room in two strides and pulled her into a hug.

They were not much in the habit of hugging, him and Gran. She’d never really been someone keen on physical contact. Generally, their hugs were limited to a quick embrace before Neville boarded the Hogwarts Express at the start of term. And Neville was suddenly aware of how frail she felt in his arms. He had never thought of his grandmother as old. But now he was noticing that her arms were thin and her back was hunched. And he was taller than her now… he couldn’t remember when that had happened. Had he been taller than her when he’d left at the start of term?

Tentatively, Gran returned the hug, and he felt her shoulders rise and fall in a deep calming breath. He allowed her a moment to get her emotions in check before breaking away. He knew she would not like him to see her emotional.

When at last she pulled away, she brushed her hands down her green dress as though to straighten it, though he did not see that it was so very mussed. “Now you finish packing,” she told him, her voice a little choked, but she powered through. “And do try not to forget anything. Magdalena is getting rather old. She really shouldn’t be carrying anything too heavy any more. Especially for such a long flight as up to Hogwarts. But I’ll send along a parcel in a few days as usual.”

And then she turned and left the room.

Neville stood perfectly still just where Gran had left him. The evening sun was casting a golden glow around the room. It was generally his favourite time of day to sit out in the garden. But today, he did not even look out the window.

After a long moment with thoughts that he could not fully form flying through his mind, he reminded himself that he needed to pack. He went about the motions automatically, barely noticing what he was doing.

Neville crossed to the wardrobe and began pulling out his clothes. He folded each piece carefully, neatly. It felt comforting to give his hands something to do. To let his brain focus on sharp and clean folds. For his mind was still reeling from all that had just been said. And he began to wonder if all his notions about Gran were wrong. Was her stern pragmatism just an act? A defensive instinct she used to protect herself from a heartbreak too deep to face.

He pulled out a pair of trousers and tucked the waistband under his chin as he folded them in half lengthwise and smoothed out the wrinkles. Something crinkled in a pocket as he did so. He reached in curiously.

It was a Droobles Best Blowing Gum wrapper. Neville stared at it. It lay so simply and innocently in the palm of his hand. He felt tears welling in his eyes as he gazed down into his open palm. But he did not let the tears fall.

After a long moment, he crossed to the desk, and dropped the wrapper in the bin. Gran was right. Mum had given him rather a lot of them over the years.

#harry potter fanfiction #hp fanic #neville longbottom #canon compliant #harry potter #caregiver fatigue

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decennia · 4 years ago

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Ooo wonderful. I’ve seen in fics where Algie is a brother of Harfang or a brother of Augusta. I also read fic where Algernon “Algie” is a second son of Harfang and Callidora.

My fics don't centre around the Longbottoms much, aside from Althea's sister, Hannah, marrying Neville ✨

Augusta is a McLaggen in my canon. Algie is stated to be a Longbottom, of the family, not married into it. His wife, Enid, however, did marry into the family 😌

I try and follow canon as much as possible, and create OCs that can slide (relatively) seamlessly into the world as if they'd always been there. I'm reworking the Longbottom family tree now though for your request, so I'm all over the place with my decisions and such, but once I've made it and it's finalized, I hope it'll be concise af 🥰

#the only family i know 100% about are the patils tbh #also ALGIE AND ENOCH HAVE TO BE BROTHERS THAT'S CANON I HAVE TO CHANGE SOME THINGS NOW 😭#why do i do this to myself tbh

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thosebizzareserpents · 5 years ago

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This is so off from fanon. Im not knocking it off. Alice was in Ravenclaw, I thought she was related to the ice cream guy. and the Prewetts aren't twins? What else is different?

I dont know if you mean this in a good or bad way anon?

I like doing my own thing

¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

But yeah.

Headcanons

Alice Longbottom

Alice was in Ravenclaw.

She's two years older than Frank

She's five years older than the Marauders and Lily.

Alice was in the same year as Narcissa Black at Hogwarts. They knew each other when they were younger outside of school as well.

Alice maiden name is Winograd

The Winograd Family are renowned herbologists. The most known is Sir Winograd.

Sir Winogrand wrote the book Winogrand's Wondrous Water Plants

Her family was shocked when entered Aurora training.

Her favorite flower is the sun flower.

Fabian and Gideon Prewett

Fabian is the oldest brother. Two years older than Gideon. He became a dragonologist influenced and mentored by Great-Aunt Tessie who is a dragonologist.

Fabian was in the same year as Andromeda Black at Hogwarts.

Gideon is the youngest brother and sibling. Became an Healer influenced and mentored by Lancelot who was also a Healer. Gideon is a bit taller than Fabian.

Everyone thinks they're twins, never remember who is older.

The twins in the Prewett family are actually Muriel and Tessie. (I'd always imagine them to be like Li and Lo from Avatar).

Liked to pull pranks Tessie's older sister Muriel but you can't out prank the queen. She created the hair-scalping hex and left Fabian looking like Professor Binns for a month.

Frank Longbottom

Frank was in Gryffindor

Frank was named in honor of his mother's Auror partner, Francesca Diggory.

Frank's father was in Hufflepuff house dur

He was close with his uncles and aunts. Algernon "Algie"(father's brother), Enid (Algie's wife) Odell (Augusta's brother) Omolade (Neville I's wife) and Tomoe (Odell's wife).

His cousin were Aurors as well. He was the youngest even though his mother was the eldest sibling.

He was trained in martial magic at a young age with cousins Folasade (Neville I's daughters) and Wakana (Odell's daughter).

#anon asks #alice longbottom #fabian prewett #gideon prewett #order of the phoenix #need to add more but yeah you get the gist

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nevillel · 5 years ago

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⧼ chella man, trans man, he/him / ask by the smiths + the scent of sun-hot grass under your trainers as you tromp off for an afternoon of exploration, the darkness of the night before only in the back of your mind, not following you into the light; the cable-knit sweater flecked with old housepaint and frayed at the wrists that substitutes for the embrace for which you can’t voice your need; collapsing to your knees on the blood-stained cobblestones because it’s over, it’s over, but then why does it still follow you?⧽ ━━ hey, isn’t that NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the TWENTY-FOUR year old pureblood WIZARD is a GRYFFINDOR alumnus who has gone on to be a HERBOLOGIST WITH A SMALL SHOP IN DIAGON ALLEY. i’ve heard they can be quite COURAGEOUS & COMPASSIONATE, but i don’t know… they came off very BASHFUL & RETICENT in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?

pinterest || playlist

quick stats

name: neville longbottom age: 24 gender: male. he is not married to any particular concept of masculinity, but he only uses he/him pronouns and the terms wizard, son, boyfriend, etc. sexuality: he doesn’t use a label for his sexuality, but he often prefers emotional connections first. he could fall for people of any gender. blood status: pureblood and most assuredly a blood traitor. despite this, however, he lives in a very wix-y way without a mobile phone or a television. he’s not opposed to technology, just not very good with it. hogwarts house: gryffindor. he thought he was sorted wrong for a while, but he was always proud of his house. and then he pulled out the sword of godric gryffindor and killed a snake, so that’s that. patronus: incorporeal, though it can still be powerful and effective when he casts it with enough determination. wand: purchased before ollivander’s disappearance. 13 inches, solid yet a bit yielding. cherry wood with a unicorn hair core profession: herbologist. has learned hands-on, not professionally certified. small business owner. researcher residence: a small studio flat above his shop pets: none. hasn’t gotten another toad since trevor ran away from him at the lake. tends to feed the stray cats of diagon, kind of wants a dog likes: tea, hugs, springtime, the outdoors, sturdy boots and flannel, writing and receiving letters, soup and sandwich deals, spending quiet time with friends, emotional openness, cooperation and solidarity, hand-made gifts dislikes: fancy clothes, dishonesty, cruelty, superiority, severus snape and bellatrix lestrange, getting too drunk or using drugs, quidditch statistics talk, flying on brooms, having to transfigure anything, being the center of attention for too long, uneven spots on the cobblestone

biography

[Triggering subjects in backstory include dysphoria, trauma, bullying, body image issues, child abuse, drowning, torture mentions, mental health.]

The Longbottom family is an ancient one with origins in China, their surname once Liang. However, a branch has been established in England for centuries, and they are a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight with a complicated sense of pride about it. Their historical alignment has not been as consistent as some families; they didn’t always Sort to one House, they married into families on both sides of many divides, they were both agricultural and urban in turns.

One consistency was that for several consecutive generations, Longbottoms married other purebloods of East Asian descent. Alice, whose family is Jewish, was an obvious deviation from the pattern, but Frank had fallen for her so emphatically and they were such an ideal match that no one really stood in their way. And they were so happy together, for the time they had together as two independent people taking on the world as a pair.

A baby was born to Frank and Alice Longbottom on July 30, 1996, as the seventh month died. Brave Aurors who were focused on the war, Frank and Alice were nevertheless doting and attentive parents. They had always been prepared for the possibility of war leaving their child behind, and their wills named the fearsome Augusta Longbottom, matriarch of the ancient Sacred Twenty-Eight family, as alternate guardian. When tragedy struck, Augusta took her grandchild to the Longbottom lands in Lancashire.

Growing up, the Longbottoms’ living heir very quickly realized that he was a boy. While a traditional pureblood in many ways, Augusta was also fiercely progressive, and she aimed to smooth his journey as much as possible. Great care was taken to scrub mentions of his assignation at birth and his deadname from all records, and a Hogwarts letter came for Neville, which would have been his parents’ first choice of name for the boy they didn’t know they would have.

While the family was supportive of Neville’s trans identity, they were less understanding about his struggles with magic. For a long time, it was thought that Neville was a Squib. His uncle Algernon “Algie” Longbottom threw him off of a pier in Blackpool in an effort to get him to manifest his magic. The impact ruptured his eardrums, and while there was an easy magical fix to the injury, Neville was too scared to tell anyone for a long time, and he experienced partial hearing loss. While Healed, Neville still likes to use signs and body language to communicate sometimes. He’s curious about the use of signing for spell-casting without vocalization or wands and has wondered before whether that would help him with some magic with which he still has difficulty.

During his time at Hogwarts, Neville’s physical transition followed a schedule similar to puberty with Poppy Pomfrey helping administer the Attisgali Corrective Draught in the appropriate doses. There were stretches during his seventh year when the supply chain for Potions ingredients was disrupted. Because of this, on top of everything else, that year was when he felt the worst dysphoria he has experienced before or since.

Because of the nature of his transition, it is not necessarily public knowledge that Neville is trans. It can be assumed that family members, close friends, and romantic connections are aware. Additionally, people who are old enough to remember him being born may be aware. As a result, while Neville was bullied throughout his school career for his awkwardness and ineptness, he did not face specifically transphobic harassment. The fear was always in the back of his mind, however, forming a complex interaction with his insecurities and trauma. He’s always been sure that he was male. He was just never sure whether he was man enough.

He helped defeat Voldemort by slicing the head off of Nagini and then killing him at last along with his friends and comrades of Dumbledore’s Army. Theirs was a bittersweet triumph, but at last, Neville knew in his heart that he was a man that would have made his parents proud. Nevertheless, he still struggles with self-worth, including body image issues on occasion. He’s trying to do the positive self-talk in the mirror thing, but sometimes he’d rather just exist.

The hope of green growing things means everything to Neville. Pomona Sprout was a mentor for him at Hogwarts, and he still conducts research with her. However, he has chosen to be based out of London instead. He opened his shop in Diagon Alley shortly after graduating from Hogwarts, and despite Augusta Longbottom’s disapproval of his relatively soft career compared to his parents’, he decided that he wanted to honor them by naming his shop Frank & Alice’s Fine Flora.

His shop is a small establishment with a magically Extended greenhouse-like backroom for growing both commercial plants and plants of other use, such as Dittany. At the front of the shop, he sells both domestic and exotic plants, magical and ordinary, including flowers, herbs, and vegetables, both magical and non-magical in nature. He also lives in a flat above his shop. On the side, he provides consultancy and input on everything from illegal seed possession on the Ministry’s behalf to ailing trees on the trees’ behalf. He sometimes journeys around London and the United Kingdom for field research on native plants and to collect seeds. He is also interested in venturing further afield, but recent events have made him stick more closely to London.

His parents also tie him down to London. He goes to St. Mungo’s and spends time with them as often as he can bear. They do know him and they do love him. He’s convinced of that. But he hasn’t given up hope, not entirely, that they might be healed one day, and he might know them as they were before their torture by Bellatrix Lestrange.

He is one-third leader of Dumbledore’s Army in its third reincarnation, and he takes his duties extremely seriously. Neville has more confidence in himself now, and he certainly believes in the power of their collective action against the forces of darkness rising again in their world. He does not, however, put a lot of faith in institutions, including but not limited to the Ministry of Magic and the Daily Prophet. This mistrust does also sometimes extend to people older or in greater positions of authority than himself.

In his mind, he and his peers have been let down and failed one too many times by them. Neville would rather they take matters into their own hands as they did before.

Neville remains in contact with many friends from Hogwarts and has made many new ones. He’s still a bit awkward and frequently forgetful, terminally clumsy, and not the world’s most skilled wizard apart from his reflexes when dueling and his exceptional aptitude for Herbology. While he hasn’t been able to bring himself to attend support group meetings, he’s always slowly processing and healing from everything that has happened and continues to happen. He’s more forgiving of past transgressions than others, and he feels that he can occasionally reach out across the aisle. He has no tolerance for bullies, however, and although he is gentle-natured, that is a vehement position for him. Largely a pacifist, he’s also not afraid to fight for what is right, yet again.

plotted/played connections

(alphabetical by first name)

alicia spinnet - close friend. appreciates her warmth and looks up to her. is letting her teach him to fly draco malfoy - diagon alley neighbor, since they work in the apothecary. considers a colleague, still a bit uncertain about where they stand, but they’ve had some oddly illuminating conversations dudley dursley - slightly suspicious around him but trying to be open-minded ginny weasley - his best friend. has a matching cactus tattoo with her that they can use to communicate emotion. merry lestrange - doesn’t know it, but she’s his cousin. unexpectedly saved his life. very curious to know who she is oliver wood - they were never quite in the same circles in school, but they have mutual respect for each other. susan bones - likes her personally, wary because of her senior position in the ministry for someone their age. they fought over her not rejoining the da. sybill trelawney - former professor. thinks she’s a bit strange, respects that. does not know that she made a prophecy that once potentially pointed to him--unbeknownst to everyone, it turned out that neville was also a boy born in july with the power to defeat the dark lord. viktor krum - secret pen pals. the two most awkward men on the planet.

wanted connections

augusta longbottom! if you bring her, i’ll love you forever, and we can renegotiate anything above. family - longbottom cousin! should be at least part-chinese. see wcs! professional connections - herbologists, people who work with magical creatures, other diagon alley shopkeepers, potential collaborators friends - i love a good friendship thread! feel free to assume friendship but i’ll also happily plot. enemies?? - death eaters and their allies. people who used to bully him and haven’t turned that around. also, people on the ‘same side’ as neville but who believe in different methods and approaches to the point where they butt heads. past partner - neville chooses not to label his sexuality, but this could be someone of any gender. if not someone who was a friend, it was likely something with an emotional level to it, possibly long-term, as neville isn’t really one for casual. if a friend, it could have been one awkward kiss or date.

any - i’m always open to other ideas!

(header img credit @ ofmccnlight)

#nox.intro #updated 10.6.2020

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emeraldbirdcollector · 8 years ago

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Augusta Longbottom stood outside her grandson's door for a minute, gathering her composure before she went inside to say good night. No sense infecting the child with my fears, she thought to herself. A deep breath, and she turned the knob.

Inside, the small boy lay, wide-awake, on his bed, clutching his stuffed toad and smiling at her, that sweet smile that made her heart ache with its resemblance to his father's. She caught her breath for a moment, a sharp pain in her heart at the thought of what she had almost lost. But he seemed to have no idea of having been in any danger at all.

“I'm not a Squib after all, am I, Gran?” he asked, his face alight.

And may that be the only thing you remember about today's debacle. “No, Neville, dear, you are definitely not a Squib.”

“And I can go to Hogwarts?”

“Yes, dear. You'll get your letter when you're eleven.”

He paused a moment, chewing on his lip. “Gran? If I'm...if I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor like Dad and Mum, is that OK? If I'm, maybe, in Hufflepuff?”

“Don't you worry your head about that, child. The Sorting Hat knows best, and it will put you where you need to be. I'm sure it will be Gryffindor, in any case.” Oh, Gods, let it be Gryffindor! You were born with a target on your forehead, lad, and you'll need to be brave and strong. And in Gryffindor, you'll be one of Minerva's, and she'll watch out for you. Pomona is a witch and a half, no doubt, but not like Minerva.

“It's easy to make friends in Hufflepuff, Uncle Algie says, and I haven't got many friends.” The little voice was solemn and slightly sad, and Augusta's heart wrenched in her chest.

Did I do wrong, to keep you so isolated? She remembered, guiltily, how excited Alice had been to be pregnant at the same time as her best friend Lily, and how they had planned so often for their sons to be almost brothers. And now Lily is dead, and James too, and heaven knows what Albus did with little Harry...and I've spent the last seven years trying to keep you safe among family, in case you didn't have the magic after all, in case they broke out of Azkaban and came after you, in case, in case...She pulled herself together. No sense dwelling on the past. Can't be changed now. And it was for his own good. “You'll make friends whatever House you're in, I promise.”

The smile broke over his face again, innocent and bright. “But at least I'll be in a House.”

“That you will.”

“And Uncle Algie promised to get me a real live toad tomorrow. Just like this one.” He held up the stuffed animal, his favorite. “I'm going to name him Trevor.”

“That's a fine name for a toad. Now go to sleep, dear, it's past your bedtime.” She kissed him gently on the forehead, tucked in an errant blanket, and left, closing the door behind her.

Her expression became markedly less gentle as she descended the stairs, and turned dagger-sharp when she saw her brother. “Algernon Aloysius Oddpick, what on EARTH were you thinking?” She backed him into a corner, her finger pointed firmly at his chest. “You could have KILLED him!”

“He's perfectly fine, Augusta,” Algie raised his hands in self-defense. “Not a bruise, not even a scratch. I told you he wasn't a Squib.”

“You DROPPED my GRANDSON out of a second-story window, Algernon!” She kept her voice low, but the fury in it was intense enough to shake him.

“He bounced! He was giggling! Isn't it good to know he has the magic in him after all?”

“And if he hadn't? If it had failed him? How could I ever have explained it to Frank and Alice, that I failed their boy and let him die...” Treacherously, her voice cracked, and she made up for it with renewed fury. “He's all I have left of them! The last thing I ever said to Alice was to promise to keep her boy safe! He's been in danger since the day he was born, and he does NOT need the relatives who are SUPPOSED to look out for him to go DROPPING him out of WINDOWS! Was it not enough that you almost drowned him last month?”

“'Gusta, 'Gusta, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I would have rescued him somehow, I swear I would have. And desperate times call for desperate measures – as you say, he's been in danger since he was born, and he's going to need that magic.”

“That's no excuse. You can't make a child magical by trying to kill him.”

“You can't make him strong by scolding him, either.”

“Don't change the subject, Algernon.”

“It's the truth, Augusta.”

“I am strict with him because he needs a firm hand to encourage him to greater effort. That has nothing to do with my unwillingness to see his life casually put at risk because you think he'd be better off dead than a living Squib.”

“Thankfully, he is neither.”

“No credit to you. If you EVER do anything like this again...” Her expression would have terrified a boggart, but Algie hadn't the sense to be frightened.

“No need, after all, is there?” He grinned at her and made his escape.

She sighed, and lowered herself into a chair, pinching the bridge of her nose tightly. Oh, Frank, Alice, I swear I'll keep your boy safe if I have to murder all my other relatives to do it.

#augusta longbottom #neville longbottom #hp headcanon #harry potter headcanon

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ao3feed-jily · 8 years ago

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In Alio Mundo

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2lAfLzY

by applepieisworthit

In Alio Mundo - In Another World. When Sirius arrives at Godric's Hollow something stops him from running off after Peter and suffering for twelve years in Azkaban. This is the story of how Sirius and Remus come to raise Harry. Rated M for swearing and violence and possible future smut.. who knows?

Words: 2746, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Harry Potter, Andromeda Black Tonks, Nymphadora Tonks, Ted Tonks, Callidora Black Longbottom, Harfang Longbottom, Frank Longbottom, Alice Longbottom, Neville Longbottom, Enid Longbottom, Algernon Longbottom, Augusta Longbottom, Arcturus Black III, Lucretia Black Prewett, Ignatius Prewett, Peter Pettigrew, The whole Black family tree, Cassiopeia Black, Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Albus Dumbledore, Millicent Bagnold, Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley, Bill Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Percy Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Regulus Black

Relationships: Andromeda Black Tonks/Ted Tonks, Callidora Black Longbottom/Harfang Longbottom, Alice Longbottom/Frank Longbottom, augusta longbottom/canon husband, Cedrella Black Weasley/Septimus Weasley, Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Arcturus Black III/Melania Macmillan Black, Charlus Potter/Dorea Black Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Regulus Black/Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: The whole fucking black family, I swear I know the family tree off by heart by now, Yes Regulus is in the list of characters... no I'm not gonna tell you why, you'll probably guess anyway, not sure if this is going to be sirius/remus or not yet, you should let me know, Family Feels, Blood Adoption, Violence Mentions, Torture Mentions, pettigrew is a dick and I hate him, mature because swearing and maybe smut in future, so much swearing seriously, gratuitous use of marauder nicknames, Marauders, Angst, Happy Ending, Horcruxes, sirius is intelligent because that is canon okay, I wish I didn't have to kill off Lily and James

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2lAfLzY

#ao3feed #fanfic #Harry Potter #Jily #James Potter #Lily Evans #Lily Potter #Lily Evans Potter

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bi-apps · 5 years ago

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Accepted - Frank Longbottom

amelia-lia-bones

submitted:

OOC Information:

Name/Age/Timezone-

Kate, 25, EST

Activity Level-

8 - hopefully i’ve already demonstrated that I’m around most days and super committed to this group!

Ships/Anti-Ships-

alice & frank for sure!! I mean, I’m all about chemistry, but they’re already married plus they’re such an otp, so I can’t wait to dive into that dynamic!

Did you read the rules?

yes!

IC Information:

Character Name-

Frank Algernon Longbottom

Age/Birthdate-

24, August 27, 1954

Faceclaim-

ian harding, chace crawford, henry golding

Occupation-

auror!

Blood Status-

pureblood

Traits- Include at least 3 positive and 3 negative.

+ level headed + quick to laugh + humble - guarded - indecisive - anxious

Patronus-

golden retriever – frank’s patronus fits his personality wonderfully. like a golden retriever, he is fiercely loyal to those he loves, easygoing, and fun to be around. also like a golden retriever, he looks a little tougher than he necessarily is.

Boggart-

well, frank would imagine that his boggart would be alice dead, but since they’re both in the heart of the action as aurors and members of the order, he’s become very familiar with the reality that that is a very real possibility in their lives, and though he’s still absolutely terrified of that, it isn’t his boggart anymore.

his true boggart would take the form of a dark mist. frank’s greatest fear is the approaching darkness that he knows is coming, and he’s convinced that it’s going to infiltrate the lives of the people he loves.

Key Points-

Frank Longbottom would be the first to tell you that he had a pretty idyllic childhood. His parents loved one another and loved him, and they had enough money that he never wanted for anything. Sure, his mother could tend toward the stricter side, and it was a bit lonely not having any siblings, but they were a well respected pureblood family, so Frank had plenty of friends to take the place of brothers and sisters. The Longbottom family has always been very good at playing the middle ground in the divisions between various pureblood families, so they remain to this day a recognized family in the sacred 28. Frank’s parents were no different – they didn’t necessarily believe that muggles and muggleborns were any less than themselves, but they also didn’t feel the need to speak those thoughts openly, and no one in the Longbottom family so far has ever married anyone less than half-blood. This left the family in the prime position to float in many different social circles, which resulted in Frank being friends with both families like the Potters and families like the Blacks.

This made things a little complicated when Frank arrived at Hogwarts and was sorted into Gryffindor, following his mother’s side of the family instead of the typical Longbottom sorting of Ravenclaw. It was harder for Frank to remain neutrally involved in relationships from his childhood in Gryffindor than if he had been a Ravenclaw, but he still did the best he could to maintain relationships, even with the friends he had who had been sorted into Slytherin. He was turned off any time one of them said something hateful about one of his housemates, but in typical Longbottom fashion, Frank was always one to keep his thoughts to himself, wanting to preserve the relationship.

Frank always knew that he was destined to be an Auror – his father had been one before moving into the administration of the DMLE, his grandfather had been one, his uncle currently was one. It was the honorable thing to do, and something every Longbottom male had a passion for after Frank’s grandfather had been killed by Grindelwald. So no one was surprised when Frank joined the Auror office after graduating from Hogwarts.

Things began to change for Frank when he met Alice Fawley. A few years younger than Frank, Alice joined the Aurors when he was in charge of helping with the trainees, and he fell fast for younger witch. Alice had grown up with far more outspoken parents, and she had followed in their footsteps to be very active in the cause for muggle & muggleborn rights. Frank loved that about her, and the way she spoke of the inequality in the wizarding world began to make Frank consider things he had never before thought of. He proposed quickly to her, despite his father’s concerns that Miss Fawley wasn’t quite “proper” enough, and they were married soon after engagement.

It was Alice who had led both of them to join the Order, but Frank was enthusiastic as well about this new way to fight. As an auror, it’s easy for Frank to read the writing on the wall and know that a war is brewing, despite the fact that most of the wizarding society seems to be in denial about that fact, and he’s happy for a chance to fight in ways that even being an auror won’t allow. He can’t deny that he’s concerned for Alice’s safety in this war – she’s a little too ready to dive into the fight – but he knows her better than to think that he can stop her from fighting, so he’ll happily fight alongside her instead.

Changes/Extra Info-

nothing I can think of!

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konstantynowitz · 2 months ago

Note

What does von Bültzingslöwen mean? I can’t find any meanings of the surname.

The surname "Von Bültzingslöwen" likely has German origins. The prefix "Von" indicates nobility, meaning "from" or "of," suggesting a connection to a place or estate. "Bültzingslöwen" may refer to a specific geographic location or a historical estate.

The name can be broken down into components:

Bültzings: Possibly derived from a local name or a variation of a place name.

Löwen: Translates to "lions" in German, which often symbolizes strength and bravery.

Overall, the surname could imply noble lineage from a place associated with lions or strength, reflecting heritage or land ownership.

#franzeska augusta von bültzingslöwen #augusta longbottom #frank longbottom #harfang longbottom ii #algernon longbottom #algie longbottom #callidora longbottom #callidora black #asks #neville longbottom #ocs #my ocs #alice longbottom

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readbookywooks · 8 years ago

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The Beetle at Bay

Harry's question was answered the very next morning. When Hermione's Daily Prophet arrived she smoothed it out, gazed for a moment at the front page and gave a yelp that caused everyone in the vicinity to stare at her. 'What?' said Harry and Ron together. For answer she spread the newspaper on the table in front of them and pointed at ten black-and-white photographs that filled the whole of the front page, nine showing wizards' faces and the tenth, a witch's. Some of the people in the photographs were silently jeering; others were tapping their fingers on the frame of their pictures, looking insolent. Each picture was captioned with a name and the crime for which the person had been sent to Azkaban. Antonin Dolohov, read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at Harry, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett. Algernon Rookwood, said the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who was leaning against the edge of his picture, looking bored, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic secrets to He Who Must Not Be Named. But Harry's eyes were drawn to the picture of the witch. Her face had leapt out at him the moment he had seen the page. She had long, dark hair that looked unkempt and straggly in the picture, though he had seen it sleek, thick and shining. She glared up at him through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. Like Sirius, she retained vestiges of great good looks, but something--perhaps Azkaban--had taken most of her beauty. Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom. Hermione nudged Harry and pointed at the headline over the pictures, which Harry, concentrating on Bellatrix, had not yet read. MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS 'RALLYING POINT' FOR OLD DEATH EATERS 'Black?' said Harry loudly. 'Not--?' 'Shhh!' whispered Hermione desperately. 'Not so loud--just read it!' The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban. Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals. 'We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped,'said Fudge last night.'Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals, and we beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached.' 'There you are, Harry,' said Ron, looking awestruck. 'That's why he was happy last night.' 'I don't believe this,' snarled Harry, 'Fudge is blaming the breakout on Sirius?' 'What other options does he have?' said Hermione bitterly. 'He can hardly say, "Sorry, everyone, Dumbledore warned me this might happen, the Azkaban guards have joined Lord Voldemort"--stop whimpering,Ron--"and now Voldemort's worst supporters have broken out, too." I mean, he's spent a good six months telling everyone you and Dumbledore are liars, hasn't he?' Hermione ripped open the newspaper and began to read the report inside while Harry looked around the Great Hall. He could not understand why his fellow students were not looking scared or at least discussing the terrible piece of news on the front page, but very few of them took the newspaper every day like Hermione. There they all were, talking about homework and Quidditch and who knew what other rubbish, when outside these walls ten more Death Eaters had swollen Voldemort's ranks. He glanced up at the staff table. It was a different story there: Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were deep in conversation, both looking extremely grave. Professor Sprout had the Prophet propped against a bottle of ketchup and was reading the front page with such concentration that she was not noticing the gentle drip of egg yolk falling into her lap from her stationary spoon. Meanwhile, at the far end of the table, Professor Umbridge was tucking into a bowl of porridge. For once her pouchy toad's eyes were not sweeping the Great Hall looking for misbehaving students. She scowled as she gulped down her food and every now and then she shot a malevolent glance up the table to where Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking so intently. 'Oh my--' said Hermione wonderingly, still staring at the newspaper. 'What now?' said Harry quickly; he was feeling jumpy. 'It's ... horrible,' said Hermione, looking shaken. She folded back page ten of the newspaper and handed it to Harry and Ron. TRAGIC DEMISE OF MINISTRY OF MAGIC WORKER St. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker Broderich Bode, 49, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a pot plant. Healers called to the scene were unable to revive Mr. Bode, who had been injured in a workplace accident some weeks prior to his death. Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of Mr. Bode's ward at the time of the incident, has been suspended on full pay and was unavailable for comment yesterday, but a spokeswizard for the hospital said in a statement: 'St. Mungo's deeply regrets the death of Mr. Bode, whose health was improving steadily prior to this tragic accident. 'We have strict guidelines on the decorations permitted on our wards but it appears that Healer Strout, busy over the Christmas period, overlooked the dangers of the plant on Mr. Bode's bedside table. As his speech and mobility improved, Healer Strout encouraged Mr. Bode to look after the plant himself, unaware that it was not an innocent Flitterbloom, but a cutting of Devil's Snare which, when touched by the convalescent Mr. Bode, throttled him instantly. 'St. Mungo's is as yet unable to account for the presence of the plant on the ward and asks any witch or wizard with information to come forward.' 'Bode ...' said Ron. 'Bode.It rings a bell ...' 'We saw him,' Hermione whispered. 'In St. Mungo's, remember? He was in the bed opposite Lockhart's, just lying there, staring at the ceiling. And we saw the Devil's Snare arrive. She--the Healer--said it was a Christmas present.' Harry looked back at the story. A feeling of horror was rising like bile in his throat. 'How come we didn't recognise Devil's Snare? We've seen it before ... we could've stopped this from happening.' 'Who expects Devil's Snare to turn up in a hospital disguised as a pot plant?' said Ron sharply. 'It's not our fault, whoever sent it to the bloke is to blame! They must be a real prat, why didn't they check what they were buying?' 'Oh, come on, Ron!' said Hermione shakily. 'I don't think anyone could put Devil's Snare in a pot and not realise it tries to kill whoever touches it? This--this was murder ... a clever murder, as well ... if the plant was sent anonymously, how's anyone ever going to find out who did it?' Harry was not thinking about Devil's Snare. He was remembering taking the lift down to the ninth level of the Ministry on the day of his hearing and the sallow-faced man who had got in on the Atrium level. 'I met Bode,' he said slowly. 'I saw him at the Ministry with your dad.' Ron's mouth fell open. 'I've heard Dad talk about him at home! He was an Unspeakable--he worked in the Department of Mysteries!' They looked at each other for a moment, then Hermione pulled the newspaper back towards her, closed it, glared for a moment at the pictures of the ten escaped Death Eaters on the front, then leapt to her feet. 'Where are you going?' said Ron, startled. 'To send a letter,' said Hermione, swinging her bag on to her shoulder. 'It ... well, I don't know whether ... but it's worth trying ... and I'm the only one who can.' 'I hate it when she does that,' grumbled Ron, as he and Harry got up from the table and made their own, slower way out of the Great Hall. 'Would it kill her to tell us what she's up to for once? It'd take her about ten more seconds--hey, Hagrid!' Hagrid was standing beside the doors into the Entrance Hall, waiting for a crowd of Ravenclaws to pass. He was still as heavily bruised as he had been on the day he had come back from his mission to the giants and there was a new cut right across the bridge of his nose. 'All righ', you two?' he said, trying to muster a smile but managing only a kind of pained grimace. 'Are you OK, Hagrid?' asked Harry, following him as he lumbered after the Ravenclaws. 'Fine, fine,' said Hagrid with a feeble assumption of airiness; he waved a hand and narrowly missed concussing a frightened-looking Professor Vector, who was passing. 'Jus' busy, yeh know, usual stuff--lessons ter prepare-- couple o' salamanders got scale rot--an' I'm on probation,' he mumbled. 'You're on probation?' said Ron very loudly, so that many of the passing students looked around curiously. 'Sorry--I mean--you're on probation?' he whispered. 'Yeah,' said Hagrid. ' 'S'no more'n I expected, ter tell yer the truth. Yeh migh' not've picked up on it, bu' that inspection didn' go too well, yeh know ... anyway,' he sighed deeply. 'Bes' go an' rub a bit more chilli powder on them salamanders or their tails'll be hangin' off 'em next. See yeh, Harry ... Ron ...' He trudged away, out of the front doors and down the stone steps into the damp grounds. Harry watched him go, wondering how much more bad news he could stand. The fact that Hagrid was now on probation became common knowledge within the school over the next few days, but to Harry's indignation, hardly anybody appeared to be upset about it; indeed, some people, Draco Malfoy prominent among them, seemed positively gleeful. As for the freakish death of an obscure Department of Mysteries employee in St. Mungo's, Harry, Ron and Hermione seemed to be the only people who knew or cared. There was only one topic of conversation in the corridors now: the ten escaped Death Eaters, whose story had finally filtered through the school from those few people who read the newspapers. Rumours were flying that some of the convicts had been spotted in Hogsmeade, that they were supposed to be hiding out in the Shrieking Shack and that they were going to break into Hogwarts, just as Sirius Black had once done. Those who came from wizarding families had grown up hearing the names of these Death Eaters spoken with almost as much fear as Voldemorts; the crimes they had committed during the days of Voldemort's reign of terror were legendary. There were relatives of their victims among the Hogwarts students, who now found themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome sort of reflected fame as they walked the corridors: Susan Bones, whose uncle, aunt and cousins had all died at the hands of one of the ten, said miserably during Herbology that she now had a good idea what it felt like to be Harry. 'And I don't know how you stand it--it's horrible,' she said bluntly, dumping far too much dragon manure on her tray of Screechsnap seedlings, causing them to wriggle and squeak in discomfort. It was true that Harry was the subject of much renewed muttering and pointing in the corridors these days, yet he thought he detected a slight difference in the tone of the whisperers' voices. They sounded curious rather than hostile now, and once or twice he was sure he overheard snatches of conversation that, suggested that the speakers were not satisfied with the Prophet's version of how and why ten Death Eaters had managed to break out of the Azkaban fortress. In their confusion and fear, these doubters now seemed to be turning to the only other explanation available to them: the one that Harry and Dumbledore had been expounding since the previous year. It was not only the students' mood that had changed. It was now quite common to come across two or three teachers conversing in low, urgent whispers in the corridors, breaking off their conversations the moment they saw students approaching. 'They obviously can't talk freely in the staff room any more,' said Hermione in a low voice, as she, Harry and Ron passed Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout huddled together outside the Charms classroom one day. 'Not with Umbridge there.' 'Reckon they know anything new?' said Ron, gazing back over his shoulder at the three teachers. 'If they do, we're not going to hear about it, are we?' said Harry angrily. 'Not after Decree ... what number are we on now?' For new notices had appeared on the house noticeboards the morning after news of the Azkaban breakout: BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach. The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-six. Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor This latest Decree had been the subject of a great number of jokes among the students. Lee Jordan had pointed out to Umbridge that by the terms of the new rule she was not allowed to tell Fred and George off for playing Exploding Snap in the back of the class. 'Exploding Snap's got nothing to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts, Professor! That's not information relating to your subject!' When Harry next saw Lee, the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly. Harry recommended essence of Murtlap. Harry had thought the breakout from Azkaban might have humbled Umbridge a little, that she might have been abashed at the catastrophe that had occurred right under the nose of her beloved Fudge. It seemed, however, to have only intensified her furious desire to bring every aspect of life at Hogwarts under her personal control. She seemed determined at the very least to achieve a sacking before long, and the only question was whether it would be Professor Trelawney or Hagrid who went first. Every single Divination and Care of Magical Creatures lesson was now conducted in the presence of Umbridge and her clipboard. She lurked by the fire in the heavily perfumed tower room, interrupting Professor Trelawney's increasingly hysterical talks with difficult questions about ornithomancy and heptomology, insisting that she predicted students' answers before they gave them and demanding that she demonstrate her skill at the crystal ball, the tea leaves and the rune stones in turn. Harry thought Professor Trelawney might soon crack under the strain. Several times he passed her in the corridors--in itself a very unusual occurrence as she generally remained in her tower room--muttering wildly to herself, wringing her hands and shooting terrified glances over her shoulder, and all the while giving off a powerful smell of cooking sherry. If he had not been so worried about Hagrid, he would have felt sorry for her--but if one of them was to be ousted from their job, there could be only one choice for Harry as to who should remain. Unfortunately, Harry could not see that Hagrid was putting up a better show than Trelawney. Though he seemed to be following Hermione's advice and had shown them nothing more frightening than a Crup--a creature indistinguishable from a Jack Russell terrier except for its forked tail--since before Christmas, he too seemed to have lost his nerve. He was oddly distracted and jumpy during lessons, losing the thread of what he was saying to the class, answering questions wrongly, and all the time glancing anxiously at Umbridge. He was also more distant with Harry, Ron and Hermione than he had ever been before, and had expressly forbidden them to visit him after dark. 'If she catches yeh, it'll be all of our necks on the line,' he told them flatly, and with no desire to do anything that might jeopardise his job further they abstained from walking down to his hut in the evenings. It seemed to Harry that Umbridge was steadily depriving him of everything that made his life at Hogwarts worth living: visits to Hagrid's house, letters from Sirius, his Firebolt and Quidditch. He took his revenge the only way he could--by redoubling his efforts for the DA. Harry was pleased to see that all of them, even Zacharias Smith, had been spurred on to work harder than ever by the news that ten more Death Eaters were now on the loose, but in nobody was this improvement more pronounced than in Neville. The news of his parents' attackers' escape had wrought a strange and even slightly alarming change in him. He had not once mentioned his meeting with Harry, Ron and Hermione on the closed ward in St. Mungo's and, taking their lead from him, they had kept quiet about it too. Nor had he said anything on the subject of Bellatrix and her fellow torturers' escape. In fact, Neville barely spoke during the DA meetings any more, but worked relentlessly on every new jinx and counter-curse Harry taught them, his plump face screwed up in concentration, apparently indifferent to injuries or accidents and working harder than anyone else in the room. He was improving so fast it was quite unnerving and when Harry taught them, the Shield Charm--a means of deflecting minor jinxes so that they rebounded upon the attacker--only Hermione mastered the charm faster than Neville. Harry would have given a great deal to be making as much progress at Occlumency as Neville was making during the DA meetings. Harry's sessions with Snape, which had started badly enough, were not improving. On the contrary, Harry felt he was getting worse with every lesson. Before he had started studying Occlumency, his scar had prickled occasionally, usually during the night, or else following one of those strange flashes of Voldemort's thoughts or mood that he experienced every now and then. Nowadays, however, his scar hardly ever stopped prickling, and he often felt lurches of annoyance or cheerfulness that were unrelated to what was happening to him at the time, which were always accompanied by a particularly painful twinge from his scar. He had the horrible impression that he was slowly turning into a kind of aerial that was tuned in to tiny fluctuations in Voldemort's mood, and he was sure he could date this increased sensitivity firmly from his first Occlumency lesson with Snape. What was more, he was now dreaming about walking down the corridor towards the entrance to the Department of Mysteries almost every night, dreams which always culminated in him standing longingly in front of the plain black door. 'Maybe it's a bit like an illness,' said Hermione, looking concerned when Harry confided in her and Ron. 'A fever or something. It has to get worse before it gets better.' 'The lessons with Snape are making it worse,' said Harry flatly 'I'm getting sick of my scar hurting and I'm getting bored with walking down that corridor every night.' He rubbed his forehead angrily. 'I just wish the door would open, I'm sick of standing staring at it--' 'That's not funny,' said Hermione sharply. 'Dumbledore doesn't want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn't have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You're just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.' 'I am working!' said Harry, nettled. 'You try it some time--Snape: trying to get inside your head--it's not a bundle of laughs, you know!' 'Maybe ...' said Ron slowly. 'Maybe what?' said Hermione, rather snappishly. 'Maybe it's not Harry's fault he can't close his mind,' said Ron darkly. 'What do you mean?' said Hermione. 'Well, maybe Snape isn't really trying to help Harry ...' Harry and Hermione stared at him. Ron looked darkly and meaningfully from one to the other. 'Maybe,' he said again, in a lower voice, 'he's actually trying to open Harry's mind a bit wider ... make it easier for You-Know-- 'Shut up, Ron,' said Hermione angrily. 'How many times have you suspected Snape, and when have you ever been right? Dumbledore trusts him, he works for the Order, that ought to be enough.' 'He used to be a Death Eater,' said Ron stubbornly. 'And we've never seen proof that he really swapped sides.' 'Dumbledore trusts him,' Hermione repeated. 'And if we can't trust Dumbledore, we can't trust anyone.' With so much to worry about and so much to do-- startling amounts of homework that frequently kept the fifth-years working until past midnight, secret DA sessions and regular classes with Snape-- January seemed to be passing alarmingly fast. Before Harry knew it, February had arrived, bringing with it wetter and warmer weather and the prospect of the second Hogsmeade visit of the year. Harry had had very little time to spare for conversations with Cho since they had agreed to visit the village together, but suddenly found himself facing a Valentine's Day spent entirely in her company. On the morning of the fourteenth he dressed particularly carefully. He and Ron arrived at breakfast just in time for the arrival of the post owls, Hedwig was not there-- not that Harry had expected her--but Hermione was tugging a letter from the beak of an unfamiliar brown owl as they sat down. 'And about time! If it hadn't come today ...' she said, eagerly tearing open the envelope and pulling out a small piece of parchment. Her eyes sped from left to right as she read through the message and a grimly pleased expression spread across her face. 'Listen, Harry,' she said, looking up at him, 'this is really important. Do you think you could meet me in the Three Broomsticks around midday?' 'Well ... I dunno,' said Harry uncertainly. 'Cho might be expecting me to spend the whole day with her. We never said what we were going to do.' 'Well, bring her along if you must,' said Hermione urgently. 'But will you come?' 'Well ... all right, but why?' 'I haven't got time to tell you now, I've got to answer this quickly.' And she hurried out of the Great Hall, the letter clutched in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. 'Are you coming?' Harry asked Ron, but he shook his head, looking glum. 'I can't come into Hogsmeade at all; Angelina wants a full day's training. Like it's going to help; we're the worst team I've ever seen. You should see Sloper and Kirke, they're pathetic, even worse than I am.' He heaved a great sigh. 'I dunno why Angelina won't just let me resign.' It's because you're good when you're on form, that's why,' said Harry irritably. He found it very hard to be sympathetic to Ron's plight, when he himself would have given almost anything to be playing in the forthcoming match against Hufflepuff. Ron seemed to have noticed Harry's tone, because he did not mention Quidditch again during breakfast, and there was a slight frostiness in the way they said goodbye to each other shortly afterwards. Ron departed for the Quidditch pitch and Harry, after attempting to flatten his hair while staring at his reflection in the back of a teaspoon, proceeded alone to the Entrance Hall to meet Cho, feeling very apprehensive and wondering what on earth they were going to talk about. She was waiting for him a little to the side of the oak front doors, looking very pretty with her hair tied back in a long pony-tail. Harry's feet seemed to be too big for his body as he walked towards her and he was suddenly horribly aware of his arms and how stupid they must look swinging at his sides. 'Hi,' said Cho slightly breathlessly. 'Hi,' said Harry. They stared at each other for a moment, then Harry said, 'Well--er--shall we go, then?' 'Oh--yes ...' They joined the queue of people being signed out by Filch, occasionally catching each other's eye and grinning shiftily, but not talking to each other. Harry was relieved when they reached the fresh air, finding it easier to walk along in silence than just stand about looking awkward. It was a fresh, breezy sort of a day and as they passed the Quidditch stadium Harry glimpsed Ron and Ginny skimming along over the stands and felt a horrible pang that he was not up there with them. 'You really miss it, don't you?' said Cho. He looked round and saw her watching him. 'Yeah,' sighed Harry. 'I do.' 'Remember the first time we played against each other, in the third year?' she asked him. 'Yeah,' said Harry, grinning. 'You kept blocking me.' 'And Wood told you not to be a gentleman and knock me off my broom if you had to,' said Cho, smiling reminiscently. 'I heard he got taken on by Pride of Portree, is that right?' 'Nah, it was Puddlemere United; I saw him at the World Cup last year.' 'Oh, I saw you there, too, remember? We were on the same campsite. It was really good, wasn't it?' The subject of the Quidditch World Cup carried them all the way down the drive and out through the gates. Harry could hardly believe how easy it was to talk to her--no more difficult, in fact, than talking to Ron and Hermione--and he was just starting to feel confident and cheerful when a large gang of Slytherin girls passed them, including Pansy Parkinson. 'Potter and Chang!' screeched Pansy, to a chorus of snide giggles. 'Urgh, Chang, I don't think much of your taste ... at least Diggory was good-looking!' The girls sped up, talking and shrieking in a pointed fashion with many exaggerated glances back at Harry and Cho, leaving an embarrassed silence in their wake. Harry could think of nothing else to say about Quidditch, and Cho, slightly flushed, was watching her feet. 'So ... where d'you want to go?' Harry asked as they entered Hogsmeade. The High Street was full of students ambling up and down, peering into the shop windows and messing about together on the pavements. 'Oh ... I don't mind,' said Cho, shrugging. 'Um ... shall we just have a look in the shops or something?' They wandered towards Dervish and Banges. A large poster had been stuck up in the window and a few Hogsmeaders were looking at it. They moved aside when Harry and Cho approached and Harry found himself staring once more at the pictures of the ten escaped Death Eaters. The poster, 'By Order of the Ministry of Magic', offered a thousand-Galleon reward to any witch or wizard with information leading to the recapture of any of the convicts pictured. 'It's funny, isn't it,' said Cho in a low voice, gazing up at the pictures of the Death Eaters, 'remember when that Sirius Black escaped, and there were dementors all over Hogsmeade looking for him? And now ten Death Eaters are on the loose and there are no dementors anywhere ...' 'Yeah,' said Harry, tearing his eyes away from Bellatrix Lestrange's face to glance up and down the High Street. 'Yeah, that is weird.' He wasn't sorry that there were no dementors nearby, but now he came to think of it, their absence was highly significant. They had not only let the Death Eaters escape, they weren't bothering to look for them ... it looked as though they really were outside Ministry control now. The ten escaped Death Eaters were staring out of every shop window he and Cho passed. It started to rain as they passed Scrivenshaft's; cold, heavy drops of water kept hitting Harry's face and the back of his neck. 'Um ... d'you want to get a coffee?' said Cho tentatively, as the rain began to fall more heavily. 'Yeah, all right,' said Harry, looking around. 'Where?' 'Oh, there's a really nice place just up here; haven't you ever been to Madam Puddifoot's?' she said brightly, leading him up a side road and into a small teashop that Harry had never noticed before. It was a cramped, steamy little place where everything seemed to have been decorated with frills or bows. Harry was reminded unpleasantly of Umbridge's office. 'Cute, isn't it?' said Cho happily. 'Er ... yeah,' said Harry untruthfully. 'Look, she's decorated it for Valentine's Day!' said Cho, indicating a number of golden cherubs that were hovering over each of the small, circular tables, occasionally throwing pink confetti over the occupants. 'Aaah ...' They sat down at the last remaining table, which was over by the steamy window. Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, was sitting about a foot and a half away with a pretty blonde girl. They were holding hands. The sight made Harry feel uncomfortable, particularly when, looking around the teashop, he saw that it was full of nothing but couples, all of them holding hands. Perhaps Cho would expect him to hold her hand. 'What can I get you, m'dears?' said Madam Puddifoot, a very stout woman with a shiny black bun, squeezing between their table and Roger Davies's with great difficulty. 'Two coffees, please,' said Cho. In the time it took for their coffees to arrive, Roger Davies and his girlfriend had started kissing over their sugar bowl. Harry wished they wouldn't; he felt that Davies was setting a standard with which Cho would soon expect him to compete. He felt his face growing hot and tried staring out of the window, but it was so steamed up he couldn't see the street outside. To postpone the moment when he would have to look at Cho, he stared up at the ceiling as though examining the paintwork and received a handful of confetti in the face from their hovering cherub. After a few more painful minutes, Cho mentioned Umbridge. Harry seized on the subject with relief and they passed a few happy moments abusing her, but the subject had already been so thoroughly canvassed during DA meetings it did not last very long. Silence fell again. Harry was very conscious of the slurping noises coming from the table next door and cast wildly around for something else to say. 'Er ... listen, d'you want to come with me to the Three Broomsticks at lunchtime? I'm meeting Hermione Granger there.' Cho raised her eyebrows. 'You're meeting Hermione Granger? Today?' 'Yeah. Well, she asked me to, so I thought I would. D'you want to come with me? She said it wouldn't matter if you did.' 'Oh ... well ... that was nice of her.' But Cho did not sound as though she thought it was nice at all. On the contrary, her tone was cold and all of a sudden she looked rather forbidding. A few more minutes passed in total silence, Harry drinking his coffee so fast that he would soon need a fresh cup. Beside them, Roger Davies and his girlfriend seemed glued together at the tips. Cho's hand was lying on the table beside her coffee and Harry was feeling a mounting pressure to take hold of it. Just do it, he told himself, as a fount of mingled panic and excitement surged up inside his chest, just reach out and grab it. Amazing, how much more difficult it was to extend his arm twelve inches and touch her hand than it was to snatch a speeding Snitch from midair ... But just as he moved his hand forwards, Cho took hers off the table. She was now watching Roger Davies kissing his girlfriend with a mildly interested expression. 'He asked me out, you know,' she said in a quiet voice. 'A couple of weeks ago. Roger. I turned him down, though.' Harry, who had grabbed the sugar bowl to excuse his sudden lunging movement across the table, could not think why she was telling him this. If she wished she were sitting at the next table being heartily kissed by Roger Davies, why had she agreed to come: out with him? He said nothing. Their cherub threw another handful of confetti over them; some of it landed in the last cold dregs of coffee Harry had been about to drink. 'I came in here with Cedric last year,' said Cho. In the second or so it took for him to take in what she had said, Harry's insides had become glacial. He could not believe she wanted to talk about Cedric now, while kissing couples surrounded them and a cherub floated over their heads. Cho's voice was rather higher when she spoke again. 'I've been meaning to ask you for ages ... did Cedric--did he--m--m--mention me at all before he died?' This was the very last subject on earth Harry wanted to discuss, and least of all with Cho. 'Well--no--' he said quietly. 'There--there wasn't time for him to say anything. Erm ... so ... d'you ... d'you get to see a lot of Quidditch in the holidays? You support the Tornados, right?' His voice sounded falsely bright and cheery. To his horror, he saw that her eyes were swimming with tears again, just as they had been after the last DA meeting before Christmas. 'Look,' he said desperately, leaning in so that nobody else could overhear, 'let's not talk about Cedric right now ... let's talk about something else ...' But this, apparently, was quite the wrong thing to say. 'I thought,' she said, tears spattering down on to the table, 'I thought you'd u-- u--understand! I need to talk about it! Surely you n--need to talk about it t--too! I mean, you saw it happen, d--didn't you?' Everything was going nightmarishly wrong; Roger Davies's girlfriend had even unglued herself to look round at Cho crying. 'Well--I have talked about it,' Harry said in a whisper, 'to Ron and Hermione, but--' 'Oh, you'll talk to Hermione Granger!' she said shrilly, her face now shining with tears. Several more kissing couples broke apart to stare. 'But you won't talk to me! P --perhaps it would be best if we just ... just p--paid and you went and met up with Hermione G--Granger, like you obviously want to!' Harry stared at her, utterly bewildered, as she seized a frilly napkin and dabbed at her shining face with it. 'Cho?' he said weakly, wishing Roger would seize his girlfriend and start kissing her again to stop her goggling at him and Cho. 'Go on, leave!' she said, now crying into the napkin. 'I don't know why you asked me out in the first place if you're going to make arrangements to meet other girls right after me ... how many are you meeting after Hermione?' 'It's not like that!' said Harry, and he was so relieved at finally understanding what she was annoyed about that he laughed, which he realised a split second too late was also a mistake. Cho sprang to her feet. The whole tearoom was quiet and everybody was watching them now. 'I'll see you around, Harry,' she said dramatically, and hiccoughing slightly she dashed to the door, wrenched it open and hurried off into the pouring rain. 'Cho!' Harry called after her, but the door had already swung shut behind her with a tuneful tinkle. There was total silence within the teashop. Every eye was on Harry. He threw a Galleon down on to the table, shook pink confetti out of his hair, and followed Cho out of the door. It was raining hard now and she was nowhere to be seen, he simply did not understand what had happened; half an hour ago they had been getting along fine. 'Women!' he muttered angrily, sloshing down the rain-washed street with his hands in his pockets. 'What did she want to talk about Cedric for, anyway? Why does she always want to drag up a subject that makes her act like a human hosepipe?' He turned right and broke into a splashy run, and within minutes he was turning into the doorway of the Three Broomsticks. He knew he was too early to meet Hermione, but he thought it likely there would be someone in here with whom he could spend the intervening time. He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and looked around. Hagrid was sitting alone in a corner, looking morose. 'Hi, Hagrid!' he said, when he had squeezed through the crammed tables and pulled up a chair beside him. Hagrid jumped and looked down at Harry as though he barely recognised him. Harry saw that he had two fresh cuts on his face and several new bruises. 'Oh, it's yeh, Harry,' said Hagrid. 'Yeh all righ?' 'Yeah, I'm fine,' lied Harry; but, next to this battered and mournful-looking Hagrid, he felt he didn't really have much to complain about. 'Er--are you OK?' 'Me?' said Hagrid. 'Oh yeah, I'm grand, Harry, grand.' He gazed into the depths of his pewter tankard, which was the size of a large bucket, and sighed. Harry didn't know what to say to him. They sat side by side in silence for a moment. Then Hagrid said abruptly, 'In the same boat, yeh an' me, aren' we, 'Arry?' 'Er--' said Harry. 'Yeah ... I've said it before ... both outsiders, like,' said Hagrid, nodding wisely. 'An' both orphans. Yeah ... both orphans.' He took a great swig from his tankard. 'Makes a diff'rence, havin' a decent family,' he said. 'Me dad was decent. An' your mum an' dad were decent. If they'd lived, life woulda bin diff'rent, eh?' 'Yeah ... I s'pose,' said Harry cautiously. Hagrid seemed to be in a very strange mood. 'Family,' said Hagrid gloomily. 'Whatever yeh say, blood's important ...' And he wiped a trickle of it out of his eye. 'Hagrid,' said Harry, unable to stop himself, 'where are you getting all these injuries?' 'Eh?' said Hagrid, looking startled. 'Wha' injuries?' 'All those!' said Harry, pointing at Hagrid's face. 'Oh ... tha's jus' normal bumps an' bruises, Harry,' said Hagrid dismissively 'I got a rough job.' He drained his tankard, set it back on the table and got to his feet. 'I'll be seein' yeh, Harry ... take care now.' And he lumbered out of the pub looking wretched, and disappeared into the torrential rain. Harry watched him go, feeling miserable. Hagrid was unhappy and he was hiding something, but he seemed determined not to accept help. What was going on? But before Harry could think about it any further, he heard a voice calling his name. 'Harry! Harry, over here!' Hermione was waving at him from the other side of the room. He got up and made his way towards her through the crowded pub. He was still a few tables away when he realised that Hermione was not alone. She was sitting at a table with the unlikeliest pair of drinking mates he could ever have imagined: Luna Lovegood and none other than Rita Skeeter, ex-journalist on the Daily Prophet and one of Hermione's least favourite people in the world. 'You're early!' said Hermione, moving along to give him room to sit down. 'I thought you were with Cho, I wasn't expecting you for another hour at least!' 'Cho?' said Rita at once, twisting round in her seat to stare avidly at Harry. 'A girl?' She snatched up her crocodile-skin handbag and groped within it. 'Its none of your business if Harry's been with a hundred girls,' Hermione told Rita coolly. 'So you can put that away right now.' Rita had been on the point of withdrawing an acid-green quill from her bag. Looking as though she had been forced to swallow Stinksap, she snapped her bag shut again. 'What are you up to?' Harry asked, sitting down and staring from Rita to Luna to Hermione. 'Little Miss Perfect was just about to tell me when you arrived.' said Rita, taking a large slurp of her drink. 'I suppose I'm allowed to talk to him, am I?' she shot at Hermione. 'Yes, I suppose you are,' said Hermione coldly. Unemployment did not suit Rita. The hair that had once been set in elaborate curls now hung lank and unkempt around her face. The scarlet paint on her two-inch talons was chipped and there were a couple of false jewels missing from her winged glasses. She took another great gulp of her drink and said out of the corner of her mouth, 'Pretty girl, is she, Harry?' 'One more word about Harry's love life and the deal's off and that's a promise,' said Hermione irritably. 'What deal?' said Rita, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. 'You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy you just told me to turn up. Oh, one of these days ...' She took a deep shuddering breath. 'Yes, yes, one of these days you'll write more horrible stories about Harry and me,' said Hermione indifferently. 'Find someone who cares, why don't you?' 'They've run plenty of horrible stories about Harry this year without my help,' said Rita, shooting a sideways look at him over the top of her glass and adding in a rough whisper, 'How has that made you feel, Harry? Betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?' 'He feels angry, of course,' said Hermione in a hard, clear voice. 'Because he's told the Minister for Magic the truth and the Minister's too much of an idiot to believe him.' 'So you actually stick to it, do you, that He Who Must Not Be Named is back?' said Rita, lowering her glass and subjecting Harry to a piercing stare while her finger strayed longingly to the clasp of the crocodile bag. 'You stand by all this garbage Dumbledore's been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning and you being the sole witness?' 'I wasn't the sole witness,' snarled Harry. 'There were a dozen-odd Death Eaters there as well. Want their names?' 'I'd love them,' breathed Rita, now fumbling in her bag once more and gazing at him as though he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. 'A great bold headline: "Potter Accuses ..." A sub-heading, "Harry Potter Names Death Eaters Still Among Us". And then, beneath a nice big photograph of you, "Disturbed teenage survivor of You-Know-Who's attack, Harry Potter, 15, caused outrage yesterday by accusing respectable and prominent members of the wizarding community of being Death Eaters ..." ' The Quick-Quotes Quill was actually in her hand and halfway to her mouth when the rapturous expression on her face died. 'But of course,' she said, lowering the quill and looking daggers at Hermione, 'Little Miss Perfect wouldn't want that story out there, would she?' 'As a matter of fact,' said Hermione sweetly, 'that's exactly what Little Miss Perfect does want.' Rita stared at her. So did Harry. Luna, on the other hand, sang 'Weasley is our King' dreamily under her breath and stirred her drink with a cocktail onion on a stick. 'You want me to report what he says about He Who Must Not Be Named?' Rita asked Hermione in a hushed voice. 'Yes, I do,' said Hermione. 'The true story. All the facts. Exactly as Harry reports them. He'll give you all the details, he'll tell you the names of the undiscovered Death Eaters he saw there, he'll tell you what Voldemort looks like now--oh, get a grip on yourself,' she added contemptuously, throwing a napkin across the table, for, at the sound of Voldemort's name, Rita had jumped so badly she had slopped half her glass of Firewhisky down herself. Rita blotted the front of her grubby raincoat, still staring at Hermione. Then she said baldly, 'The Prophet wouldn't print it. In case you haven't noticed, nobody believes his cock-and-bull story. Everyone thinks he's delusional. Now, if you let me write the story from that angle--' 'We don't need another story about how Harry's lost his marbles!' said Hermione angrily. 'We've had plenty of those already, thank you! I want him given the opportunity to tell the truth!' 'There's no market for a story like that,' said Rita coldly. 'You mean the Prophet won't print it because Fudge won't let them,' said Hermione irritably. Rita gave Hermione a long, hard look. Then, leaning forwards across the table towards her, she said in a businesslike tone, 'All right, Fudge is leaning on the Prophet, but it comes to the same thing. They won't print a story that shows Harry in a good light. Nobody wants to read it. It's against the public mood. This last Azkaban breakout has got people quite worried enough. People just don't want to believe You-Know-Who's back.' 'So the Daily Prophet exists to tell people what they want to hear, does it?' said Hermione scathingly. Rita sat up straight again, her eyebrows raised, and drained her glass of Firewhisky, 'The Prophet exists to sell itself, you silly girl,' she said coldly. 'My dad thinks it's an awful paper,' said Luna, chipping into the conversation unexpectedly. Sucking on her cocktail onion, she gazed at Rita with her enormous, protuberant, slightly mad eye. 'He publishes important stories he thinks the public needs to know. He doesn't care about making money.' Rita looked disparagingly at Luna. 'I'm guessing your father runs some stupid little village newsletter?' she said. 'Probably, Twenty-five Ways to Mingle With Muggles and the dates of the next Bring and Fly Sale?' 'No,' said Luna, dipping her onion back into her Gillywater, 'he's the editor of The Quibbler.' Rita snorted so loudly that people at a nearby table looked round in alarm. '"Important stories he thinks the public needs to know", eh?' she said witheringly. 'I could manure my garden with the contends of that rag.' 'Well, this is your chance to raise the tone of it a bit, isn't it?' said Hermione pleasantly. 'Luna says her father's quite happy to take Harry's interview. That's who'll be publishing it.' Rita stared at them both for a moment, then let out a great whoop of laughter. 'The Quibbler!' she said, cackling. 'You think people will take him seriously if he's published in The Quibbler!' 'Some people won't,' said Hermione in a level voice. 'But the Daily Prophet's version of the Azkaban breakout had some gaping holes in it. I think a lot of people will be wondering whether there isn't a better explanation of what happened, and if there's an alternative story available, even if it is published in a--' she glanced sideways at Luna, 'in a--well, an unusual magazine--I think they might be rather keen to read it.' Rita didn't say anything for a while, but eyed Hermione shrewdly, her head a little to one side. 'All right, let's say for a moment I'll do it,' she said abruptly. 'What kind of fee am I going to get?' 'I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine,' said Luna dreamily. 'They do it because it's an honour and, of course, to see their names in print.' Rita Skeeter looked as though the taste of Stinksap was strong in her mouth again as she rounded on Hermione. 'I'm supposed to do this for free?' 'Well, yes,' said Hermione calmly, taking a sip of her drink. 'Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of life in Azkaban.' Rita looked as though she would have liked nothing better than to seize the paper umbrella sticking out of Hermione's drink and thrust it up her nose. 'I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?' said Rita, her voice shaking slightly. She opened her crocodile bag once more, withdrew a piece of parchment, and raised her Quick-Quotes Quill. 'Daddy will be pleased,' said Luna brightly. A muscle twitched in Rita's jaw. 'OK, Harry?' said Hermione, turning to him. 'Ready to tell the public the truth?' 'I suppose,' said Harry, watching Rita balancing the Quick-Quotes Quill at the ready on the parchment between them. 'Fire away, then, Rita,' said Hermione serenely, fishing a cherry out from the bottom of her glass.

#OrderofthePhoenix #HarryPotter

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