AN: Greetings! This is a cursed child prequel/AU. I've been writing this with my friend Pheas, and it's going to be a long story! We do know how it ends, so if it looks as though we won't be able to finish it, we'll post an epilogue. We'll be posting chapters at a steady clip at first... Please R&R - suggestions welcome.
Neville looked around quickly before dabbing at his dripping nose with the edge of his red and gold tartan scarf. It seemed impossible that anyplace on Earth could be gloomier than Scotland, but this forsaken corner of Ireland was certainly trying.
He frowned down at the tassels on his scarf. His boss, Headmistress McGonagall, would not be pleased to know he abused her last Christmas gift in such a fashion.
"What she doesn't know..." He muttered, stopping abruptly as a slick stone wall rose before him out of the mist.
"Blimey," he exclaimed softly. The wall extended above him as far as he could see, and stretched out into the fog in either direction. There were no doors, no windows. Not that he could tell, at any rate.
But Neville Longbottom hadn't spent most of his life in Hogwart's for nothing: he had long ago grown accustomed to castles with a mind of their own.
He bowed his head slightly, wand held loosely in his outstretched palm.
"Professor Longbottom of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, here to see Mr. Cathal Hughes. I have an appointment." When nothing immediately happened, he hesitantly reached forward and pressed his hand against the wall.
Still, nothing happened.
Neville pursed his lips and looked thoughtfully at the wall.
"Alohomora," he said softly, moving his wand slightly. Still, no change. He tried several other spells, but the wall never budged.
Neville pulled his long hair back and tied it with a leather band he kept in his pocket and stared at the gray stone, lips pursed thoughtfully. He pulled a piece of parchment from his robes and examined it closely.
"Definitely in the right place," he sighed. "Oh, come on, then. Just open, won't you, please?"
As soon as the word "please" left his lips, an enormous pair of brass-edged, dark wooden doors appeared in the wall. Neville chuckled, examining the door knocker, which looked distinctly like the ghost of Jacob Marley, only instead of groaning and rattling its chains, the face winked at him and tipped its hat.
"Funny," he snorted, lifting the knocker and letting it fall. The door promptly opened, and he stepped into the darkness beyond. His second step, however, took him straight into a brightly lit room, with a fire burning merrily in the hearth. An elderly couple, sitting in matching, overstuffed armchairs, looked up at him in surprise.
"Oh dear," the woman said, taking her glasses off her nose. "We've lost track of the time, Mr. Hughes."
"Indeed, Mrs. Hughes," the man responded cheerfully, struggling to his feet and dropping his newspaper behind him onto the chair. "You must be Professor Longbutton, isn't it? We actually were expecting you, though I don't suppose it looks like it."
Neville started to correct the old man about his name, and then decided not to, when the fellow beamed up at him.
"Yes, indeed," he responded. "Though I nearly didn't get past your outer wall."
"Oh pish," the lady said, swatting her husband lightly on the arm. "You forgot to turn off the security system. I am so very sorry, Professor Lingonberry. We're so forgetful these days. I'll just fetch young Cathal for you."
"Thank you," Neville said after her retreating form, deciding that Lingonberry had a nice ring to it.
"Did you have a good trip over?" Mr. Hughes asked pleasantly, looking over his reading glasses at Neville.
"Er, yes, thank you," Neville responded awkwardly, given that he had not traveled by muggle means.
"I know apparition to this location can be a wee bit rough," the old gentleman continued, to Neville's surprise. He had been told the boy's guardians were muggles. "Not that I would know," he acknowledged, as if hearing Neville's thoughts.
"Ye-sss," Neville responded slowly, "there was some turbulence involved, now that you mention it." He paused, trying to think of a polite way of inquiring about magic, without freaking the man out, should he not actually know about it. "If I may ask, how did you become acquainted with, um, our world, Mr. Hughes?"
The snowy-haired man chuckled, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes. "Oh, aye," he answered easily, "I've always known, now, haven't I? This is Hughes Castle, and I am, after all a Hughes. Albeit, from the poorer, squib branch of the family, so I'm just the caretaker. But I've been around magic folk all my life."
Neville nodded, opening his mouth to ask more questions, when he stopped suddenly. The skin on his neck crawled, and the hairs on his arms rose on goosepimpled flesh. A wave of magic swept through the room, so strong that Neville could practically taste it, sweet and thick on the tip of his tongue. If it were a color, he thought, it would be burnt umber; a deep rich, reddish brown, like the flames licking off the logs in the fireplace.
"Cathal," the old woman said excitedly, "meet Professor Gongbottom."
"I believe it's 'Longbottom,' Ma," a soft, amused voice responded. "How do you do, Professor?"
Neville nearly gasped; he could actually see the boy's aura, shimmering about him like an oversized halo. Aquamarine eyes, like light on a Caribbean lagoon, looked back at him inquisitively.
"Are you all right, Professor?" The boy asked, brows creased in concern.
"Er, yes, quite," Neville said, hastily clearing his throat. "Quite. Indeed. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hughes. I've come to bring you your letter - did your parents explain the situation?"
"Oh, yes," he answered enthusiastically. Aside from the rosy glow and the striking eyes, Cathal Hughes was a handsome child: thick golden brown hair, neatly combed, pale skin, and a rangy frame that suggested the beginning of a growth spurt. When he smiled, which he appeared to do often, a dimple appeared in his right cheek. "I'm to go to Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! My godmother told me about it when I was little and said I would go when the time came. Is it true there are ghosts? That you can talk to? Most of the ghosts here talk to me all the time, although the portraits never will. Brendan Hughes - he was 3rd Lord Hughes - told me they won't speak to me because they don't think I'm a real Hughes, but he says I am." This was all said in single breathless rush, which stopped abruptly.
"Sorry," the boy muttered, blushing. "I was going on, wasn't I?"
Neville smiled at him gently. "Most of the ghosts will talk to you," he responded, "though there's one or two you'd probably rather wouldn't. But most of them are quite nice."
Cathal beamed up at him.
"Are you really a professor? What do you teach?"
"Herbology," Neville responded, "the study of magical plants."
"Oh," Cathal exclaimed, putting a hand to his chest, "we have a magical greenhouse right here! We try our best to take care of everything, you know, but my parents and I, we're not always sure what to do..." He trailed off uncertainly.
"I'd be glad to take a look before I go," Neville answered the unasked question reassuringly. "But why don't you read your letter first and see if you have any questions."
"Where are my manners," Mrs. Hughes exclaimed. "Won't you sit down, Professor, and have a cup of tea?" She tugged him by the hand toward the pink flowered wingback chair she herself had been occupying, and then all but pushed him into the seat.
"There," She said with satisfaction. "You just rest yourself, dearie, and I'll be right back with tea. Mr. Hughes, give me a hand?"
"Yes, dear," her husband readily agreed, with a friendly wink for his guest.
The room fell silent as Cathal broke the wax seal on his letter and began to read. Neville took the opportunity to study the boy. He made a tiny movement with his hand and whispered a clarividius spell. Neville barely stifled a gasp. Cathal's magic flowed and raced through his body like quicksilver, flaring a warm red at his Qi points, particularly at the base of the skull and the fingers. It was the clearest magical energy flow Neville had ever seen in a child. Really, in anyone.
"Tea's ready!" Came Mrs. Hughes' voice from down the hall. Neville hastily closed the spell, and the light show instantly faded.
"What was that you just did to me?" Cathal was looking at him curiously.
"Wha..what?" Neville asked blankly.
Cathal made a figure eight gesture over his chest. "The lights," he answered. "What do they mean?"
Neville shut his mouth hastily when he realized it was hanging open. The boy should not have been able to see that. "It was a spell to show me the energy flows in your body," he explained apologetically. "Sort of like an x-ray for magic. I'm sorry - it was a bit rude of me, without asking you first."
"That's so cool!" Cathal enthused, as his parents entered the room bearing platters piled high with sandwiches, scones, cups and saucers. Fragrant steam snaked out of a pink teapot. "Ma, Pa," he said excitedly, "the Professor was looking at my magic!"
"Oh?" Said Mr. Hughes. "What did it look like, then?"
'It was very bright, and very fast," Neville said honestly.
"That's our boy," Mrs. Hughes cooed, pinching Cathal's cheek. "Very bright and very fast."
"And loud," Mr. Hughes chuckled. "You forgot loud."
A pleasant tea full of pleasantries followed, also full of Cathal's questions about school, about magic, about Scotland, and occasionally about Neville himself, the latter of which his adoptive parents gently deflected. Finally, Neville sighed and put his teacup down.
"That was delicious, Mrs. Hughes," he smiled. "Thank you for your hospitality."
"Oh, it was nothing," she said, obviously pleased at the praise, "and it's really Mr. Hughes who did most of the work. I'm rubbish with the baking."
"But you make a mean pot of tea," Mr. Hughes qualified.
Neville smiled, pleased that this boy, who already literally glowed with magic, had grown up in such a loving home. "As I explained in my letter, I'll come back again tomorrow," Neville said as he rose, his long frame unbending from the chair, "to take Cathal shopping for his school things."
"We can take him," Mr. Hughes said pleasantly, "no need to trouble yourself, Professor."
"Um, well," Neville hesitated, "I'm afraid he needs magical items. I was planning to take him to London."
"London!" Mrs. Hughes exclaimed. "But that's so far!"
"Not the way they go, dear," her husband said gently, shooting Neville an inquisitive look.
"Cathal," he turned to the boy, "would you please take the dishes to the kitchen?"
The boy narrowed his eyes slightly, and for a moment, Neville thought he might refuse. Instead, he gave a brief nod and muttered an assent, gathering the dishes in a magic-enhanced blur. Neville's eyes widened. It was common for a boy as promising as Cathal to exhibit frequent bouts of accidental magic, but very rare for him to have purposeful control.
The room was silent until Cathal left.
"I will come with you, of course," Mr. Hughes said, and Neville was startled to see that the slightly daffy twinkle was completely gone. "And we will not be leaving Ireland just yet. We can shop just as well in Dublin's magical quadrant."
"Excuse me?" Neville said blankly.
"You examined him," Mr. Hughes said matter-of-factly. "I may be a squib, but I know what a clarividius spell is. And we both know it's not sporting to cast one without the individual's permission, especially with a minor. You overstepped your bounds, Professor Longbottom."
Neville stared at the man, as still as if he were in a total body bind, noticing absently that the older man seemed to have no problem getting his name right now.
"I'm sure you meant well," Mrs. Hughes said softly, patting Neville on the arm. "We can see you're a good man, and the house would not have let you in if you wished Cathal any harm. But we'd prefer Mr. Hughes go along with you tomorrow. No objection?"
"No," Neville said, licking his lips. "Of course not. And I apologize. My curiosity got the better of me. It's just..." Neville hesitated.
"You can see it on him," Mr. Hughes sighed. "I know. I've tried to teach him how to shield his aura, but I just lack the skill and the knowledge."
"I can teach him," Neville said quickly, "if you'll allow me, that is."
The elderly couple shared an entire conversation in the quick glance they exchanged.
"Why don't you stay with us, Professor?" Mr. Hughes responded. "For a couple of days? That way, we can get to know you a little better, and you can help Cathal get ready to start school."
"We would certainly appreciate it, dear," Mrs. Hughes said, patting his arm again, "if you can spare the time."
Neville did a quick mental calculation about how much more work he needed to do before the start of term to be ready for his classes. "I can do that," he agreed. "I'll just need to take care of a few things — I can come back tomorrow, if that sounds good to you."
"Here," Mr. Hughes said, reaching into a drawer along the wall. He held out a metal disc with what looked like a coat of arms carved on it. "It's a portkey," he explained at Neville's blank look. "It'll let you directly into the front hall, and also let you apparate out from there. Easier, and the security system might bounce you this time, in any case, since you performed an unauthorized spell on Cathal."
"It's that sensitive?" Neville was startled, yet again.
The couple just smiled at him.
"Right then," he took the portkey and jumped out of his seat. "I'll be back tomorrow?"
They nodded. "We'll let Cathal know," said Mrs. Hughes, who gestured for Neville to follow her out to the front hall.