Starting over again terrified him. Neville Longbottom never really felt at home at the Ministry of Magic, yet the same thing always screamed in the back of his mind: Neville Longbottom wasn't Harry Potter and he certainly wasn't the spitting image of Frank Longbottom; he didn't mean he favored his once beautiful and fair mother; he did not exactly follow in his father's footsteps. After what probably went down in the books as the shortest interview ever, Neville sat up in the Three Broomsticks and nursed some drink as he licked his wounds.
The interview had been scheduled at eleven-thirty on Monday not an hour later, so he sat here unemployed with no prospects before his twenty-fifth birthday. He didn't forget about it; time simply ran away from Neville. He took his old enchanted coin out of his pocket, passed it through his fingers, and remembered the good old days when he actually got comfortable in his skin; he no longer stood out as the disappointment of Frank and Alice Longbottom. But Harry Potter made it as an Auror. Neville failed again, but at least his grandmother wasn't here to witness this life altering mistake.
Madam Rosmerta came downstairs at around one. She had gotten on in years and still retained traces of her beauty. A young woman with blonde hair walked behind the Three Broomsticks counter reading through a book. Neville drummed his fingers on the polished surface and slipped the old DA coin back into his pocket. He'd been interviewed by Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, and a grungy old man he'd seen on the back of some books in Flourish & Blotts. Neville couldn't place the renowned man's name for the life of him, yet the fellow was definitely someone who either discovered or completed some really impressive task.
As she walked closer, Neville recognized Hannah Abbott. After leaving school, he had this fling with Luna Lovegood, and they were still friends, which was cool, but it went nowhere. Harry got the fame, the bravery, and the girl. Hannah put on weight, he noticed, as she placed another beer on the felt pad to keep the half-empty one company. Neville took a swig. She tended to the regulars, remembering their names and slipping in and out of conversations like a natural. She hadn't been so chatty or popular in school.
"If it makes you feel any better, Mr. Longbottom," said Hannah, sliding vegetable stew across the bar and adding a spoon and bread, "at least you're on the opposite side of the grass. It's better than the alternative. Chin up."
"Yeah, well, I guess that's true." Neville grinned as Madam Rosmerta shooed her away and told Hannah to grab something to eat and get off her feet. The elder barmaid served the younger one stew, too. As Hannah stepped out from behind the bar and tossed her apron on the back of a barstool, she revealed a secret. Surprised to see Hannah had one on the way, Neville blurted out the first thing to come to mind; it came out before he could stop himself. "Well, you're not fat."
Hannah did a double take, certain she'd heard differently, and surprisingly, she threw her head back and laughed. Neville, admittedly relieved, a complete idiot suffering from a sudden onset of word vomit, threw out an awkwardly phrased congratulations. Hannah put away some food, which Neville found really impressive.
"I'm pregnant, not fat," she assured him, thanking Rosmerta for seconds. Rosmerta shook her finger at her as Hannah added, "and the whole barmaid playing the role of a harlot really helps for tips, if case your mind was going there."
"That's … good?" Neville, hesitant and uncertain, knew this was the wrong response when Hannah concentrated on the leftover dregs in her bowl. She was rather pretty in a plain sort of way. Hannah finished her lunch and left. Neville, late again, sat there for a good while before Madam Rosmerta placed a hand over his half-finished beer.
"If you were waiting for an in, Professor Longbottom, that was it." Madam Rosmerta waved her wand lazily and Neville's leftover stew poured itself into a long cylindrical container. Neville's eyes shifted around the pub. Madam Rosmerta slipped his leftovers into his satchel and handed it over. "See you around?"
"Not a professor, but thanks," said Neville. She'd added lots of bread, too, which rather made him feel like a charity case. He paid for the meal and only had the old DA coin left. He headed outside, not catching whatever Madam Rosmerta said in parting. Neville caught up with Hannah, nearly running into her outside of the post office. She was crying, waving an owl in the air before she tucked it away in her red handbag. He snatched her book out of the mud and shook most of the stuff off it. A correspondence from St. Mungo's fell out of it. "Look, Hannah, I'm really sorry …"
"What? Why?" Distracted and distant, her head clearly somewhere else, Hannah wiped her tears away clumsily, not really listening to him. She picked up the owl she'd received from the hospital. "I can't get through Healer qualifications. And I'm stuck here ... Zachariaa denies anything with …says I'm a whore."
"You're not a whore. What an awful thing to say! You're still in touch with Zacharias Smith?" Instantly angry with Zacharias, though he didn't yet know why, Neville, a complete failure at this adulting thing, caught on as Hannah wiped the wrinkles from her dress. He put two and two together, and since she stopped there, he bet with the worthless Galleon in his pocket with the Protean Charm cast upon it he was right. Floundering, he offered it to Hannah. "Here's a tip. Don't walk in dark alleys after midnight."
"You're so stupid," said Hannah, walking along with him and chuckling at his joke simply to make him feel better. She wore no ring.
"At least you have a job? I walked away from the Ministry thinking I had this Herbology thing in the bag." Neville shook his head sadly. Not wishing to dwell on his false start, he offered Hannah a hand. A small jolt of courage coursed through him like an electric shock when she took it. "I never liked Zacharias."
Hannah snorted. "Yeah, well, he's definitely not one to stick around."
"You were together?"
"Oh, no, we were talking one night, and sharing drinks, and swapping stories," she said, sounding like she hated this story. She shrugged off her lapse of judgment and gestured at herself. "And this happened. I haven't seen him or received an owl from him since."
"Nice bloke," said Neville, finding it oddly comforting Zacharias didn't change. Frankly, Neville wasn't altogether surprised by this move or lack of a move. Zacharias Smith stepped up whenever it suited it, yet he never fully committed to the cause and bowed out at the first available opportunity. Hannah, steeling herself, nodded and patted his arm. He fed her the expected line, not really sure what to say. "You'll be a great mum."
"How do you know?" Hannah sounded dejected and defeated.
Neville shrugged. He didn't have an answer to pretty much anything lately. And he knew this sounded lame in his head, yet he'd paired off and imagined Hannah Abbot with old Ernie Macmillan. Was this because they'd been Hogwarts prefects together and Neville missed the old school days? Maybe. But where in the name of Merlin had old Zacharias snuck in? Apparently Mr. Smith settled for being a deadbeat dad with no plans of changing his prospects.
"His loss." Neville chose to look on the bright side. He placed a hand on Hannah's lower back and whistled a tune his Gran used fall into around the house. His Uncle Algae was still around, and Gran's loss had hit him harder than expected; she'd been his second mother, and he hadn't made it home in time from a research project about Lotus Leaf to tell her this. "Do you have a name?"
"Reagan." Hannah, slightly more confident, nodded and seemed a bit happier.
"It's unisex. Boy or girl, makes the job easier," he said, actually placing meaning behind his words.
Neville walked around Hogsmeade with her. Talking about school and the properties of Stinksap, they eventually wandered aimlessly towards the Hog's Head. Aberforth stopped sweeping outside his establishment and leaned on his broomstick. He stroked his wiry beard and cleaned his dirty spectacles. Neville grinned, thinking of Aberforth's brother, wondering if people always thought momentarily of Professor Dumbledore when they peered into the unkempt barman's brilliant blue eyes. Aberforth grunted, acknowledging them or at the very least Neville, for this passed as a hello as good as any, and Neville steered Hannah over.
"He doesn't like me." Hannah checked over her shoulder.
"Nonsense. He doesn't know you," said Neville, raising his voice as he approached the barman. Yes, he probably didn't like her; Aberforth hated people and loves his goats and kids. "Ab, how's it going?"
"Back in the country, Longbottom?" Aberforth offered him a bandaged hand and welcomed him like a friend; Neville knew Aberforth tolerated his presence and this made for friendly enough in Neville's book. Whenever he was in Scotland, Aberforth offered him houseroom, though the barman never bothered with washing the sheets. "I hear you accepted a teaching post."
"You can't accept what you're not offered, Ab," said Neville, "so don't count your dragon eggs before they've hatched!"
Aberforth grunted again, shrugging this off like it was nothing of consequence, and went to tend to his goats. When he came back from around the establishment, Professor McGonagall accompanied him. They were arguing about something, which Neville thought was a waste of time, for Aberforth took advice from nobody. Professor McGonagall hadn't changed much. She'd aged, of course, her face more lined and her hair going grey, but she'd stayed the same no nonsense teacher; Neville had picked up on this in the hurried interview. He suspected she used a Color Changing Charm, and perhaps she didn't care so much anymore about her appearance because age eventually took its sweet time.
"It's not sanitary," said Professor McGonagall crisply, closing her arms.
"What makes you think I give a damn? I'm sorry." Aberforth pointed with his injured hand towards the Three Broomsticks. "Either you've mistaken me for Mitchel Burke or his tortoise heels happy-go-lucky granddaughter! You can head over that away. I am not my brother, as you know well, and I don't particularly like you. I'm alive. You've done your task for the day, Professor McGonagall. Tell Albus I'm not dead yet. Good day."
"Hey, Ab," Neville cut in, catching a familiar cold stare in Professor McGonagall's eyes as she opened her mouth.
She doubtless had a thing, or two, or fifty to say about Aberforth. Growing up among a gang of old people, Neville understood people of a certain age said whatever they wanted whenever they damn well pleased. Neville checked the deep festering wound on Aberforth's arm. They headed inside. Hannah sanitized a table whilst Neville fumbled around Aberforth's stores. Aberforth griped a bit about him not asking permission. Ignoring Aberforth, Neville found a mortar and pestle, some herbs, a natural antibiotic, and a Muggle antiseptic. Neville placed his satchel in a chair as the broom, charmed, danced across the dusty floor; it mainly kicked stuff up because Aberforth wasn't too talented with household spells. The Hog's Head got a cleaning once in a great while, despite the fact Aberforth really couldn't care less.
Aberforth sat with Professor McGonagall and Hannah.
"You can't simply bandage this, sir," said Hannah, taking Aberforth's arm and passing her wand over it. Shards flew into a nearby bowl with a soft plink, plink. She went back over her work carefully and nodded as Aberforth admitted he fell behind the bar and slammed into beer bottles. Neville mashed the herbs into a paste and spread it generously over Aberforth's wound after he splashed antiseptic over it. Bandages shot out of the end of Hannah's wand. "All better. Please be careful, Mr. Dumbledore."
Aberforth acted a little shocked to be addressed this way. "Nobody calls me that. It's Aberforth, and seeing as you're the new barmaid ….I am the grouchy old man. And I ain't no sir, miss."
"Okay," said Hannah brightly, all smiles again. Neville exchanged a look and a laugh with her.
"I don't see whatever's funny, you two," growled Aberforth.
Neville rolled his eyes. "Nothing, Ab, it's nothing."
"Well, that's that." Professor McGonagall got to her feet and checked out state of the shabby place. She reached in her robes and handed Neville a thick envelope with the Hogwarts crest on it. Neville gawked at her, momentarily at a loss for words, and she actually smiled when she stopped by the door. He stowed the envelope away in his satchel. "Nothing's finalized yet, Mr. Longbottom. Or Professor Longbottom. You have the best starting package I've ever seen. You ought to thank Pomona and her husband Barry for the incentive package. They went to war for you with the governors over this appointment."
Neville snapped his fingers, putting a name to the face he'd seen on the glossy jackets. This had nagged him in the back of his mind all day. "Barrington Sprout!"
"Yes. I can't believe you missed that." Professor McGonagall tapped her hand on the doorframe and came back after she walked off. She forgotten to say goodbye, Neville guessed, but this wasn't it. The Professor never forgot her manners. "You should come for lunch. Pomona talks about you all the time like a third son, and Barry wants to meet you."
Neville flushed with color, feeling like he missed the step in the Grand Staircase. "Seriously?"
Hannah beamed at him. "What is so special about this man, Neville?"
"Barrington Sprout wants to talk to me." Neville couldn't believe it. Most people probably didn't know nor care who this man was, a nobody who came alive on the page, but Neville viewed him as a role model. "Me?"
Aberforth rolled his eyes at the ceiling, clearly not impressed, for he responded dryly, "No, the other Mr. Longbottom."
"Don't ruin this for me, old man. You be careful," said Neville, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Rude. I've got a business to run here!" Aberforth had exactly zero patrons at present. Minerva left, shaking her head.
"You want me to grab takeaway from that place?" Neville couldn't place the name. Aberforth waited. He allowed for Neville memory lapses, which is probably one of the reasons they got on so well. Neville, frustrated, scrunched his face, thinking hard and getting nowhere. "You know ... that place..."
"Boy, you know I haven't the slightest idea what the hell you're taking about," grumbled Aberforth. Hannah smiled serenely, cleaning up her mess. Aberforth shrugged. Food was food to a man who neared 160 something. "Yeah. Whatever."
"Goodbye, Mr. Dumbledore. It was a pleasure meeting you," said Hannah.
"You're nice," said the barman, cutting it short and sweet. Neville realized he edited here. Hannah left, waiting for Neville outside. Aberforth pointed at the door again with his properly bandaged hand and dropped his tone. "You bring the healing barmaid back, Longbottom, I like her. You should keep that one."
"Bye, Ab," said Neville, grinning in spite of himself.
Aberforth got to his feet and went back to work when they started towards the castle. When they strode up the Great Hall, Neville almost unconsciously veered off to the Gryffindor table. Hannah, walking ahead of him, stopped to check if he was all right. She said all she needed in a questioning look. Neville supposed things were more lax in the summertime because not all the teachers were there and the house-elves didn't keep to a rigid timetable. Pomona Sprout both of her former students. Barrington, or Barry as he liked to be called, shook Neville's and Hannah's hands and acted like an everyday man.
"I don't know you, sir," said Hannah apologetically.
"He prefers it that way," said Minerva, who had started lunch already.
Barry shrugged. Pomona and Professor McGonagall laughed. Barry, it turned out, had started at Hogwarts with the headmistress and met his future wife, Pomona, when she'd arrived a few years later. The headmistress passed Neville plate of sandwiches and a salad. Barry, soft spoken, asked Neville a question.
"I'm sorry," he blundered.
"Pomona and I are headed to the Sahara Desert to study an invisible species of cacti for our fiftieth wedding anniversary," said Barry. He shrugged, no doubt reading the shock on Neville's face. "The Caspar Cacti. It isn't the Mimbulus Mimbletonia, but it should be fun. We should be back before term starts. Would you like to come?"
Neville flushed. He felt them all staring at him as he studied Barry. Pomona tipped roasted summer veggies onto Neville's plate. Hands down, this would be the greatest invitation he'd ever received. Neville said yes, and he searched for his satchel when Professor McGonagall asked for his contract. Embarrassed, he mumbled he'd left it at the inn and rushed off to get it. When he got outside, he jumped up and down, elated, stunned by his sheer luck. He couldn't wait until September first!