Disclaimer: I own nothing.

I fell in love with Neville's Gran in book seven. Before that, I thought of her a tottering old woman who pushed her grandson too hard. For some reason, I then saw her in a new light, as a powerful witch who deeply loves her family.

I wanted to be an Auror.

Brilliant witch, they said. Only one in her family to go to Hogwarts. What they didn't know was that I was the only one to go because my uncle paid for it.

You're too smart to stay here and raise bowtruckles like the rest of your family, Uncle Francis said. I want you to go to Hogwarts and make something of yourself.

My father protested, saying that I was a girl. Girls should stay home, make the meals, bounce the babies. My brother should go instead. He's a boy; he'll go, get the education, help the family.

But Uncle Francis insisted, Uncle Francis had the money and so I went.

The Sorting Hat put me in Hufflepuff. It nearly decided on Ravenclaw, but Hufflepuff won over and into Hufflepuff I went.

I passed my O.W.L.'s with distinction. Back then, we discussed our options with our Heads of House in year six, not five. I told her I wanted to be an Auror and fit Dark Wizards.

Not a teacher? she asked.

Auror.

An assistant Healer?

No, an Auror. Why can't I be an Auror? I've double checked and I have all the grades needed. I passed my O.W.L's and am doing well in my N.E.W.T. level classes.

See, Augusta, the problem is, they won't take girls.

I was shocked. I had checked and double checked the requirements and somehow missed that one. Yes, it was true- only boys were allowed to be Aurors then.

I didn't give up. I never give up. I promised Uncle Francis, who had died in my third year, that I would make something of myself. When the time came, I sent in two applications: one as August and one as Augusta. Both had the same grades, the same qualifications. The only difference was the box marked "witch" or "wizard."

August was accepted and Augusta wasn't.

In spite of their inane rules, the head of the Auror Department himself was not, in fact, inane. He came up to Hogwarts and spoke to me directly, asking why I had wasted his time with two applications.

Because I wanted to see if I could get in, I said stubbornly. I'm good. I would be an asset to your department. I have an knowledge of magical creatures that few posses. I'm not scared of danger or hard work If the only reason you don't want me is because I have

a. . . .

Women don't become Aurors. You should find a nice wizard, get married and let him protect you. You're pretty and once you keep these high-and-mighty women's liberation ideals to yourself, I suspect some nice wizard will ask you to marry him. Leave the safety and well being of the wizarding world to the men. With this final word, he crammed his hat on his head and left the room. I stared after him, fury in my face, my mouth hanging open.

A nice wizard did, in fact, propose. Nigel Longbottem was a very quiet, very thoughtful Hufflepuff a year ahead of me. His grades were average but he was kind and gentle. He rarely spoke, but listened often to me talk of politics. When I asked him his opinion, he would simply smile and say, "Well, now, Augusta, I think you have that thought out enough for both of us."

Nigel worked at the Ministry in a small department. He was content there. He would have never moved up to head of his department if I hadn't pestered him, always pushing him to the limits of his abilities, urging him to work better, work harder. Of course, I had a hand in it too. Don't think that a lovely meal, a round of Firewiskey and wife tolerant of cigar smoke doesn't help your job!

Then we had Frank. Oh, Frank. A lovely child, every mother's dream. He was strong and brave and handsome… so wonderful. I didn't want him to be quiet like his father. Thoughtful and kind, yes, but also bold and daring and willing to take risks. I pushed him too, but in a different way. I tutored him at home, teaching him advanced spells, encouraging his natural abilities. We were close.

Then he married Alice. I thought he was crazy and screamed at him. You're an Auror, tops in your class! This girl, this Alice, she's trying to steal you from your job. How can you get married! There's a war going on! This is a war, not a time to raise your family. This is no time for games! You need to be out there, fighting for the rights of wizarding kind!

He accused me of being envious, of wanting the position in the Order that he had, of wanting to be an Auror like him. He was right, of course. I would have given anything, anything, to be fighting You-Know-Who. It was what I had wanted since my second year, when an Auror came to speak at our Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Supplying the Order with homemade cakes, brownies and the occasional pie could only go so far. I wanted to be there, to be in the action, to be doing something, instead of sitting at home, waiting, wondering, worrying

I loved my son too much to say anything more, so I kept quiet as he married Alice and had Neville.

When the head of the Auror department came once again to my door, I didn't cry. I didn't scream. Nigel did. He cried and raged and stormed about how unfair it was. The war was over, why was his son hurt now? Me, I set my mouth in a line and did what needed to be done. My grandson had to be taken care of and we would take him, of course. I would raise him, love him, yes, but the sweet little round faced boy would know how brave his parents were. He would be raised to know their sacrifice and be proud.

Nigel wanted to protect him, to keep him home and safe. He didn't want him to be daring and brave like Frank but he needn't have worried. Neville was neither like Frank nor Alice. Not brave or daring, he was content to watch the world go by, wait for a cookie to be offered, rather than levitate the cookie jar to himself like most toddlers would. Neville was just… Neville. He spent his days tottering after Nigel, watching him tend to his garden. They rarely spoke, but often worked as one, the one knowing what the other needed without asking.

Yet I knew there was more to Neville than we were seeing. I kept pushing, pestering, reminding him of the sacrifice his parents had made.

When word came that the Sorting Hat had put him in Gyffindor, I knew it had chosen correctly. For whatever reason, shy, quiet, plump Neville with his mother's sweet face was just like his father. He just hadn't shown it yet.

Years later, when he pulled that sword out of the Hat and killed You-Know-Who's snake, I knew he had done it. He was his father's son.

And me? Uncle Francis told me to make something of myself. I made Frank and Neville. I never fought You-Know-Who, I never helped to save the wizarding world but I raised the men who did. That's just as good as doing it myself.