A Credit to the Family
A large brown owl swooped toward a lone Victorian house in the middle of a large park. When it was almost touching the bay window it stopped, turned, and sped off in the opposite direction. A short, round- faced boy sitting on the porch let out an audible sigh of relief. Neville Longbottom, newly sixteen years old, sat like this every morning in a terrifying ritual, waiting for that owl. It was the owl that would deliver fate, his future...his O.W.L. results.
For as long as he could remember, Griselda Marchbanks had been coming to tea with Gran. Every time she did, Gran and Professor Marchbanks would instruct Neville on the importance of academic study. It was always the same and Neville, who could remember few things, could repeat this speech with frightening accuracy.
Gran called in a shrill commanding voice that brooked no disobedience, "Neville, Neville come down here. We have company."
Neville would run down the stairs as fast as his short legs could carry him. His grandmother stood at the door, dressed in her best black dress with bits of lace. Next to her stood an ancient witch in navy robes, a large navy bonnet, and carrying a frilly navy parasol.
Gran gave him a stern look as he crossed the hall, panting heavily. "For heaven's sake boy, there's no need to stomp so. Neville, say hello to Professor Marchbanks."
"Hullo Professor Marchbanks," Neville said in a polite tone, still trying to hide his wheezing.
"Good day, Neville," replied Professor Marchbanks.
"Neville, tell Twink that we will be having tea in the parlor."
By the time he returned from his errand, his grandmother was already sitting at the table talking to her friend. Neville would sometimes catch bits of their whispered conversations, 'Frank', 'Alice' 'the boy', but they broke off the second he came into the room. For a few minutes they would drink their tea in silence, Neville keenly aware of both pairs of eyes scrutinizing him. Then Professor Marchbanks would break the silence with the inevitable question.
"So, Neville, how are your studies going?"
Then Gran would break in with, "You know Neville, Professor Marchbanks is head of the O.W.L.s, one of the most important tests of wizarding ability. Your grades on the O.W.L.s and the N.E.W.T.s can very well determine your entire future."
Since Neville had entered Hogwarts these visits had grown worse. Before he had gotten his letter, they were never entirely sure he wasn't a squib. Now they were even more adamant about the importance of academic success.
Professor Marchbanks would then ask him about his grades, and Gran's mouth would form in a thin line of disapproval. Neville's grades had always been a sore point for his grandmother. While in school, Neville would be considered an average student and his marks passable, at home Gran considered average unacceptable. Neville's father, if Gran was to be believed, had been some sort of male Hermione Granger, always top of his class in everything, always perfect. As Neville was rarely perfect, this was a hard memory to live up to.
This became more and more apparent as the dreaded O.W.L.s approached. Apparently, the whole Longbottom family had scored high on the tests; Gran herself had achieved nine O.W.L.s, Great-Uncle Algie eleven, and Great- Auntie Enid ten. But this was nothing compared to Frank.
As Gran would continually remind him, "You know your father got thirteen O.W.L.s. Yes, highest in his year, he was."
"That he did," Professor Marchbanks would add, "I had the honor of grading some of the practical portions myself, very impressive."
"Of course Neville will have to put in quite a bit of study if he even hopes to attain half that many. Neville is a good boy but he just doesn't have the talent his father had," this was accompanied by an accusatory glance at him.
After this Gran and Professor Marchbanks would discuss the teachers and classes of Hogwarts School. "Oh and is that Minerva McGonagall still teaching Transfiguration? She seems very competent...How are you doing with that Potions Master, Snape, not much for conversation but I hear his expertise is unparalleled...I am certainly worried about his Defense Against the Dark Arts test, so many teachers, his knowledge must be very sketchy, at best..." and so on. But Neville knew that it was only a matter of time before they got to the worst subject of all, his own grades.
Professor Marchbanks would turn to him and say, "So what do you think we can expect from you, come fifth year?"
Neville's mouth went dry as visions of Potions exams swam through his head. If only all of life were like Herbology...
But Gran had already interrupted, "Neville will of course be buckling down this year, the O.W.L.s can very well determine the course of your life. I expect he will be doing countless hours of extra study, especially in that Potions class, where his grade have been shamefully under par."
"Ah yes Potions," put in Professor Marchbanks, "quite possibly the most difficult O.W.L. to attain for many."
"Yes, quite right, but Neville will study and do well on his tests. He won't shame me or his parents and will behave as a credit to the family." She said this with finality, but her voice contained a note of warning that things had better not be otherwise.
A credit to the family. It was something Gran always told him he ought to be, and something that so far, Neville had never managed. Sure they were proud when he had shown his first signs of magic, and when he had gotten his letter, but that was mainly relief that he was not a squib. He had never done anything spectacular, never done anything out of the ordinary. For Neville, doing ordinary things was hard enough.
He scanned the sky again for signs of owls. Owls with O.W.L.s. He thought of his grades with trepidation, but not terror. Too many things had happened to him that year for him to greet a simple piece of paper with heart-pounding fear. True horror was reserved for things like duels with Death Eaters, sadistic Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, and Professor Snape. Of course Gran was still a force to be reckoned with. And a very angry Gran, incensed by low O.W.L. marks...Neville really didn't ever want to think about that.
Neville closed his eyes for a moment to shake out the mental image. When he opened them again a large brown barn owl was flying just above him, toward the parlor window. He knew the moment had come. What he didn't know was whether it would be better to delay his fate or meet it head-on. He debated internally for a moment, then decided to go inside to Gran. He stood up and strode to the front door, reflecting that perhaps he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.
The parlor door was closed when Neville got there. He rapped on the door with more confidence than he felt. "Come in, Neville," answered Gran's voice from inside the door.
The room was warm and rather stuffy, and Neville thought it felt stifling. Gran motioned for him to sit down across from her at the small table. Neville did so, wishing his stomach would stop writhing. For a moment neither he nor his grandmother spoke. Then she began. "I have here a letter from Hogwarts with your O.W.L. results." She demonstrated to the piece of parchment she held in her hands.
"Well, can I see them?" Neville broke out, unable to contain himself.
"Hmm, let's see. 'These are the Official Ordinary Wizarding Level Scores for Neville Francis Longbottom'...Ah here we are, Charms-Acceptable, not as well as I would have hoped but at least it's a pass...Transfiguration- Exceeds Expectations, well that's better, although I would expect no less from a pupil of Minerva McGonagall...Potions-Poor, humph," Gran's lips thinned but she said nothing. She soon continued "Astronomy- Acceptable...Herbology-Outstanding, I should hope so with all the time you spend with those ridiculous plants...Divination-Poor, but perhaps that's all that can be expected from a person without the Sight...Defense Against the Dark Arts-" She broke off as though not believing what she was seeing, "Outstanding? And with a special commendation for your hexes in the practical portion." Gran was unable to keep the surprise out of her stern voice. "History of Magic-Acceptable, you ought to have studied more for that one dear...and Care of Magical Creatures-Exceeds Expectations."
Neville sat in silence. He was not unhappy with his results although they were rather mixed. He had really feared that he failed them all. And an 'O' in Defense! He could hardly believe it. Not that it really mattered to his Gran. She was probably disappointed as usual that he wasn't as good as his dad.
"Well well, these marks were not what I would have hoped although there were some pleasant surprises. You have few specific areas of talent, but show much room for improvement. You're not the student your father was, but seven O.W.L.s is not a terrible amount. Still, I expect you to study hard for the next two years and do a bit better on the N.E.W.T.s. You must score high and behave as a credit to the family."
Later, Neville sat in the garden pondering, among other things, his OWL marks. Seven O.W.L.s. It was more than he ever expected. Unfortunately it was less than Gran had wanted. Why couldn't she just accept the fact that he would never be his father? Why couldn't she see that he wasn't smart and perfect like the rest of the family? He had gotten an 'O' in Defense Against the Dark Arts, with special commendation, and she was disappointed. Why couldn't he ever please her?
A few days later Neville was sitting in his room writing a letter to Luna Lovegood. Well, actually he was thinking about writing more than actually doing any. She had sent him a letting a few weeks after school ended, and Neville had been so shocked he hardly knew how to reply. He had just gotten to Dear Luna, when he heard the doorbell ring, then the sound of his Gran greeting Professor Marchbanks. He laid down his quill with relief and waited to he summoned downstairs.
But the summons never came. Neville sat for a few minutes waiting for it in silence. Had Gran not realized that he was at home? Had Professor Marchbanks left unexpectedly? There was only one way to find out. Neville left his room and crept down the stairs, wincing as the second step from the top creaked loudly. He looked in the entrance hallway for Gran and the Professor, but it was empty. He walked down the hall and passed the parlor, its door slightly ajar. He meant to knock but stopped dead when he heard his own name.
"Yes, well I was disappointed with Neville's marks at first but now I realize that he had a few more things on his mind at the end of last term," Gran was telling Professor Marchbanks.
"And where is the boy now?" Inquired the other woman.
"Oh he's upstairs in his room, I didn't want to bore him with the talk of two old crones. Besides Twink told me that he's up there writing to a friend of his from school. A female friend," Replied Gran confidentially. Out in the hall, Neville felt his cheeks burn uncomfortably.
"Ohhhh," put in Professor Marchbanks in a tone that made Neville want to throw socks at Twink. "I suppose he needs a bit of rest after the events of last term. Has he told you exactly what happened in there?"
"No, Neville was never much of a talker, and I feel like he doesn't want me to bring it up. However, I wrote Dumbledore with my concerns and he agreed to meet with me last week. I guess he didn't want to say much in a letter for security concerns, you know how it is."
"Too well I do, I will never forget the year the Astronomy O.W.L. was intercepted by some unscrupulous students. We didn't figure it out until we had to hand out fifteen perfect scores that year." Professor Marchbanks sighed and Gram continued.
"So I popped over to Hogwarts last Tuesday for the meeting. Dumbledore informed me that Neville had been a part of a secret organization to learn defense in spite of that awful Delores Umbridge." Gran's voice dropped to a whisper. "Apparently Neville and a small group of other students discovered that You-Know-Who's supporters were going to break into the Ministry last June. I'm a little sketchy on the details, Dumbledore couldn't tell me everything you understand, but somehow Neville and five other students ended up fighting a group of Death Eaters."
Professor Marchbanks gasped. "No! That poor boy, is he alright?"
"The rest of the group was injured in the scuffle until the only ones left standing were Neville and Harry Potter. Imagine, Neville fighting alongside Harry Potter! What exactly the Death Eaters and Potter were doing in the Department, Dumbledore couldn't tell me, but by the time he and the Ministry had shown up, things had gotten rather hairy. I've heard that there were Unforgivables used." Gran finished in a whisper of terror.
"Surely nothing like that was used on Neville?" Professor Marchbanks seemed genuinely shocked.
"By the time I got to visit Neville in the Hospital Wing, all he had was a nosebleed. The two younger Weasley children had a few scratches, and the Granger girl was still recovering from a nasty chest wound."
"Amazing that Neville came through it alive." Professor Marchbanks spoke Neville's name with a hint of newfound respect.
"Neville even threw a few hexes against..." she paused for a moment "the Lestranges."
"Not the..."
"The very same." Gran gave her teacup a fierce look. "I do hope he got in a few hits for Frank and Alice."
"You must be so proud of him." Professor Marchbanks felt her eyes start to water.
"I am. He's grown up so much like his father." Gran's gaze momentarily softened. "And he got an 'O' in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Not only that, we gave him a special commendation for those hexes. Professor Tofty told me his was one of the best practical examinations of the year."
"Did he?" Gran's face twisted in a way that looked like she was trying to smile but the muscles had atrophied from lack of use.
"And that's no mean feat in a grade that contains both Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. Since he was able to perform with such skill during the practical examination, I think it very unlikely that these abilities did not come in useful during more pressing situations." Professor Marchbanks gave Gran a sly smile. "And did you know that he got top marks on the Herbology O.W.L.?
"Of course! Well I must say that the boy does have a way of surprising us all, me especially. But then again surprise has always been a tactic of the Longbottom family."
"And if I'm not mistaken, I believe the boy has only begun to surprise us," said Professor Marchbanks as though she was uttering a prophesy.
Behind a slightly ajar door, a teenage boy with a round face and brave eyes smiled.
A large brown owl swooped toward a lone Victorian house in the middle of a large park. When it was almost touching the bay window it stopped, turned, and sped off in the opposite direction. A short, round- faced boy sitting on the porch let out an audible sigh of relief. Neville Longbottom, newly sixteen years old, sat like this every morning in a terrifying ritual, waiting for that owl. It was the owl that would deliver fate, his future...his O.W.L. results.
For as long as he could remember, Griselda Marchbanks had been coming to tea with Gran. Every time she did, Gran and Professor Marchbanks would instruct Neville on the importance of academic study. It was always the same and Neville, who could remember few things, could repeat this speech with frightening accuracy.
Gran called in a shrill commanding voice that brooked no disobedience, "Neville, Neville come down here. We have company."
Neville would run down the stairs as fast as his short legs could carry him. His grandmother stood at the door, dressed in her best black dress with bits of lace. Next to her stood an ancient witch in navy robes, a large navy bonnet, and carrying a frilly navy parasol.
Gran gave him a stern look as he crossed the hall, panting heavily. "For heaven's sake boy, there's no need to stomp so. Neville, say hello to Professor Marchbanks."
"Hullo Professor Marchbanks," Neville said in a polite tone, still trying to hide his wheezing.
"Good day, Neville," replied Professor Marchbanks.
"Neville, tell Twink that we will be having tea in the parlor."
By the time he returned from his errand, his grandmother was already sitting at the table talking to her friend. Neville would sometimes catch bits of their whispered conversations, 'Frank', 'Alice' 'the boy', but they broke off the second he came into the room. For a few minutes they would drink their tea in silence, Neville keenly aware of both pairs of eyes scrutinizing him. Then Professor Marchbanks would break the silence with the inevitable question.
"So, Neville, how are your studies going?"
Then Gran would break in with, "You know Neville, Professor Marchbanks is head of the O.W.L.s, one of the most important tests of wizarding ability. Your grades on the O.W.L.s and the N.E.W.T.s can very well determine your entire future."
Since Neville had entered Hogwarts these visits had grown worse. Before he had gotten his letter, they were never entirely sure he wasn't a squib. Now they were even more adamant about the importance of academic success.
Professor Marchbanks would then ask him about his grades, and Gran's mouth would form in a thin line of disapproval. Neville's grades had always been a sore point for his grandmother. While in school, Neville would be considered an average student and his marks passable, at home Gran considered average unacceptable. Neville's father, if Gran was to be believed, had been some sort of male Hermione Granger, always top of his class in everything, always perfect. As Neville was rarely perfect, this was a hard memory to live up to.
This became more and more apparent as the dreaded O.W.L.s approached. Apparently, the whole Longbottom family had scored high on the tests; Gran herself had achieved nine O.W.L.s, Great-Uncle Algie eleven, and Great- Auntie Enid ten. But this was nothing compared to Frank.
As Gran would continually remind him, "You know your father got thirteen O.W.L.s. Yes, highest in his year, he was."
"That he did," Professor Marchbanks would add, "I had the honor of grading some of the practical portions myself, very impressive."
"Of course Neville will have to put in quite a bit of study if he even hopes to attain half that many. Neville is a good boy but he just doesn't have the talent his father had," this was accompanied by an accusatory glance at him.
After this Gran and Professor Marchbanks would discuss the teachers and classes of Hogwarts School. "Oh and is that Minerva McGonagall still teaching Transfiguration? She seems very competent...How are you doing with that Potions Master, Snape, not much for conversation but I hear his expertise is unparalleled...I am certainly worried about his Defense Against the Dark Arts test, so many teachers, his knowledge must be very sketchy, at best..." and so on. But Neville knew that it was only a matter of time before they got to the worst subject of all, his own grades.
Professor Marchbanks would turn to him and say, "So what do you think we can expect from you, come fifth year?"
Neville's mouth went dry as visions of Potions exams swam through his head. If only all of life were like Herbology...
But Gran had already interrupted, "Neville will of course be buckling down this year, the O.W.L.s can very well determine the course of your life. I expect he will be doing countless hours of extra study, especially in that Potions class, where his grade have been shamefully under par."
"Ah yes Potions," put in Professor Marchbanks, "quite possibly the most difficult O.W.L. to attain for many."
"Yes, quite right, but Neville will study and do well on his tests. He won't shame me or his parents and will behave as a credit to the family." She said this with finality, but her voice contained a note of warning that things had better not be otherwise.
A credit to the family. It was something Gran always told him he ought to be, and something that so far, Neville had never managed. Sure they were proud when he had shown his first signs of magic, and when he had gotten his letter, but that was mainly relief that he was not a squib. He had never done anything spectacular, never done anything out of the ordinary. For Neville, doing ordinary things was hard enough.
He scanned the sky again for signs of owls. Owls with O.W.L.s. He thought of his grades with trepidation, but not terror. Too many things had happened to him that year for him to greet a simple piece of paper with heart-pounding fear. True horror was reserved for things like duels with Death Eaters, sadistic Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, and Professor Snape. Of course Gran was still a force to be reckoned with. And a very angry Gran, incensed by low O.W.L. marks...Neville really didn't ever want to think about that.
Neville closed his eyes for a moment to shake out the mental image. When he opened them again a large brown barn owl was flying just above him, toward the parlor window. He knew the moment had come. What he didn't know was whether it would be better to delay his fate or meet it head-on. He debated internally for a moment, then decided to go inside to Gran. He stood up and strode to the front door, reflecting that perhaps he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.
The parlor door was closed when Neville got there. He rapped on the door with more confidence than he felt. "Come in, Neville," answered Gran's voice from inside the door.
The room was warm and rather stuffy, and Neville thought it felt stifling. Gran motioned for him to sit down across from her at the small table. Neville did so, wishing his stomach would stop writhing. For a moment neither he nor his grandmother spoke. Then she began. "I have here a letter from Hogwarts with your O.W.L. results." She demonstrated to the piece of parchment she held in her hands.
"Well, can I see them?" Neville broke out, unable to contain himself.
"Hmm, let's see. 'These are the Official Ordinary Wizarding Level Scores for Neville Francis Longbottom'...Ah here we are, Charms-Acceptable, not as well as I would have hoped but at least it's a pass...Transfiguration- Exceeds Expectations, well that's better, although I would expect no less from a pupil of Minerva McGonagall...Potions-Poor, humph," Gran's lips thinned but she said nothing. She soon continued "Astronomy- Acceptable...Herbology-Outstanding, I should hope so with all the time you spend with those ridiculous plants...Divination-Poor, but perhaps that's all that can be expected from a person without the Sight...Defense Against the Dark Arts-" She broke off as though not believing what she was seeing, "Outstanding? And with a special commendation for your hexes in the practical portion." Gran was unable to keep the surprise out of her stern voice. "History of Magic-Acceptable, you ought to have studied more for that one dear...and Care of Magical Creatures-Exceeds Expectations."
Neville sat in silence. He was not unhappy with his results although they were rather mixed. He had really feared that he failed them all. And an 'O' in Defense! He could hardly believe it. Not that it really mattered to his Gran. She was probably disappointed as usual that he wasn't as good as his dad.
"Well well, these marks were not what I would have hoped although there were some pleasant surprises. You have few specific areas of talent, but show much room for improvement. You're not the student your father was, but seven O.W.L.s is not a terrible amount. Still, I expect you to study hard for the next two years and do a bit better on the N.E.W.T.s. You must score high and behave as a credit to the family."
Later, Neville sat in the garden pondering, among other things, his OWL marks. Seven O.W.L.s. It was more than he ever expected. Unfortunately it was less than Gran had wanted. Why couldn't she just accept the fact that he would never be his father? Why couldn't she see that he wasn't smart and perfect like the rest of the family? He had gotten an 'O' in Defense Against the Dark Arts, with special commendation, and she was disappointed. Why couldn't he ever please her?
A few days later Neville was sitting in his room writing a letter to Luna Lovegood. Well, actually he was thinking about writing more than actually doing any. She had sent him a letting a few weeks after school ended, and Neville had been so shocked he hardly knew how to reply. He had just gotten to Dear Luna, when he heard the doorbell ring, then the sound of his Gran greeting Professor Marchbanks. He laid down his quill with relief and waited to he summoned downstairs.
But the summons never came. Neville sat for a few minutes waiting for it in silence. Had Gran not realized that he was at home? Had Professor Marchbanks left unexpectedly? There was only one way to find out. Neville left his room and crept down the stairs, wincing as the second step from the top creaked loudly. He looked in the entrance hallway for Gran and the Professor, but it was empty. He walked down the hall and passed the parlor, its door slightly ajar. He meant to knock but stopped dead when he heard his own name.
"Yes, well I was disappointed with Neville's marks at first but now I realize that he had a few more things on his mind at the end of last term," Gran was telling Professor Marchbanks.
"And where is the boy now?" Inquired the other woman.
"Oh he's upstairs in his room, I didn't want to bore him with the talk of two old crones. Besides Twink told me that he's up there writing to a friend of his from school. A female friend," Replied Gran confidentially. Out in the hall, Neville felt his cheeks burn uncomfortably.
"Ohhhh," put in Professor Marchbanks in a tone that made Neville want to throw socks at Twink. "I suppose he needs a bit of rest after the events of last term. Has he told you exactly what happened in there?"
"No, Neville was never much of a talker, and I feel like he doesn't want me to bring it up. However, I wrote Dumbledore with my concerns and he agreed to meet with me last week. I guess he didn't want to say much in a letter for security concerns, you know how it is."
"Too well I do, I will never forget the year the Astronomy O.W.L. was intercepted by some unscrupulous students. We didn't figure it out until we had to hand out fifteen perfect scores that year." Professor Marchbanks sighed and Gram continued.
"So I popped over to Hogwarts last Tuesday for the meeting. Dumbledore informed me that Neville had been a part of a secret organization to learn defense in spite of that awful Delores Umbridge." Gran's voice dropped to a whisper. "Apparently Neville and a small group of other students discovered that You-Know-Who's supporters were going to break into the Ministry last June. I'm a little sketchy on the details, Dumbledore couldn't tell me everything you understand, but somehow Neville and five other students ended up fighting a group of Death Eaters."
Professor Marchbanks gasped. "No! That poor boy, is he alright?"
"The rest of the group was injured in the scuffle until the only ones left standing were Neville and Harry Potter. Imagine, Neville fighting alongside Harry Potter! What exactly the Death Eaters and Potter were doing in the Department, Dumbledore couldn't tell me, but by the time he and the Ministry had shown up, things had gotten rather hairy. I've heard that there were Unforgivables used." Gran finished in a whisper of terror.
"Surely nothing like that was used on Neville?" Professor Marchbanks seemed genuinely shocked.
"By the time I got to visit Neville in the Hospital Wing, all he had was a nosebleed. The two younger Weasley children had a few scratches, and the Granger girl was still recovering from a nasty chest wound."
"Amazing that Neville came through it alive." Professor Marchbanks spoke Neville's name with a hint of newfound respect.
"Neville even threw a few hexes against..." she paused for a moment "the Lestranges."
"Not the..."
"The very same." Gran gave her teacup a fierce look. "I do hope he got in a few hits for Frank and Alice."
"You must be so proud of him." Professor Marchbanks felt her eyes start to water.
"I am. He's grown up so much like his father." Gran's gaze momentarily softened. "And he got an 'O' in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Not only that, we gave him a special commendation for those hexes. Professor Tofty told me his was one of the best practical examinations of the year."
"Did he?" Gran's face twisted in a way that looked like she was trying to smile but the muscles had atrophied from lack of use.
"And that's no mean feat in a grade that contains both Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. Since he was able to perform with such skill during the practical examination, I think it very unlikely that these abilities did not come in useful during more pressing situations." Professor Marchbanks gave Gran a sly smile. "And did you know that he got top marks on the Herbology O.W.L.?
"Of course! Well I must say that the boy does have a way of surprising us all, me especially. But then again surprise has always been a tactic of the Longbottom family."
"And if I'm not mistaken, I believe the boy has only begun to surprise us," said Professor Marchbanks as though she was uttering a prophesy.
Behind a slightly ajar door, a teenage boy with a round face and brave eyes smiled.