Neville Longbottom had decided long ago that he hated parties.
Especially his Gran's so-called "small social gatherings."
Well, maybe hated was a strong word. Maybe it was just discomfort around large groups of people, mostly "people of importance" who were always looking at him like they expected more. What "more" was, Neville couldn't tell you. As if he hadn't proven himself all ready, even after risking his neck two years in a row. It was exactly…well, it was exactly what his father would have done, but for some reason, Gran still treated him like a child. She was always telling him to be more like his father, to "be a Longbottom." This bash that his Gran had put together for his seventeenth birthday wasn't any exception.
How she had managed to get around the new ration standards put in place by the Ministry, or even to get this many people to stick their noses out of their houses during such a dangerous time, was a miracle that Neville was sure he'd never understand. Sure enough, their large Lancashire mansion was brimming with his Gran's numerous acquaintances, friends, and friends of friends, and there was enough food to feed a small army.
Neville thought he should be commended for his behavior so far; he had managed not to spill anything or trip on his dress robes (yet), had graciously (if shyly) made "the rounds" through the guests in the Main Hall, and hadn't complained to his Gran once. He hadn't even bothered, this time, to ask her if he might spend a quiet birthday with his parents at St. Mungo's, because he knew the very request would upset her. Though it didn't exactly bother him to not see his parents – it was painful, sometimes, to see them suffering year after year. Now he was taking a well-deserved break by…
By what, exactly? He was standing the kitchen, but he couldn't remember why he had walked in there in the first place.
Neville shrugged the odd yet familiar feeling off. This kind of thing seemed to happen to him a lot. If Gran had been in the room, she probably would have scolded for his forgetfulness. Gran had been acting strangely all day, too, snapping at him every five minutes. Luckily, she didn't seem to have noticed his absence from the celebrations yet.
It suddenly occurred to Neville that he was probably using the kitchen to hide from her, and he had to suppress a small smile at his own predictability. A frothy laugh at the doorway brought him out of his own thoughts, and he jumped slightly before turning around to see the intruder.
"What are you doing in here, silly?" It was Gloria Vivanian, his Great Uncle Algie's young and quite beautiful…well. The family never talked about her "companionship" with Ungle Algie, and Neville (smartly, for once) had followed suit. She was dressed in clingy gold robes that, in Neville's humble opinion, shimmered in all the right places. He felt his face begin to blush blotchily.
"Erm…well, you see...ummm.." Well, that was spectacular. Now she probably thought he was even more of an idiot. Also, he had forgotten why he had come in here…wait, hadn't he just figured that out a minute ago? Before his thoughts could be jumbled even further, Gloria spoke again.
"Don't worry," she laughed in a breathy but good-natured way, "I won't tell on you for hiding out in here. I could use a bit of a break from all the excitement myself." She laughed again, Conjured what looked to be a hot cocoa for herself, and sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter. Neville noticed, with another blush, that her dress robes were obviously not designed to be stretched into such a position.
She sipped her drink quietly, a pensive look on her face. Neville thought she looked slightly nervous, despite her casual demeanor. For the first time, Neville wondered if she actually liked all the parties that Great Uncle Algie took her to…and then wondered why he was being so observant all of a sudden.
It was as if she read his mind.
"You know, between you and me, I'm not really a 'party person'," she said with a slight wink and a sigh.
"Oh, really?" was all that came out of his mouth. At the same time, he wondered what do to with his hands, for he was suddenly conscious of their presence, just hanging at his sides. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Yes. Sometimes I'd just rather curl up with a good book and a cup of hot cocoa at home." She smiled at him again. It was a smile that invited conversation, no matter how stupid one's hands looked.
"Well, you seem to have the drink covered, ma'am," He managed to work up a small smile, and then wanted to hit himself. He just called her ma'am, for Godric's sake. For some reason, though, he plunged onward, "All I have are Herbology textbooks, though."
There was an awkward pause, and Neville feared his small attempt at a bit of humor had come back to hit him in the face like pus from a Mimbulus mimbletonia. What the hell was he doing, anyway?
"Do you want to visit your parents?"
Neville felt as if someone had doused him with cold water.
"W-what?"
"Do you want to visit your parents, Neville?"
"U-Uncle Algie, he…erm, he told you about my parents?"
"Yes." She was blatantly staring at him now, but there was something else in her eyes. Neville couldn't put his finger on it, but he was too stunned to try, anyway. He unsuccessfully tried to remove the puzzled frown from his face.
There were a hundred ways that Neville expected to respond. He would thank her for the offer, but politely decline. He would explain that he wasn't comfortable with the situation. He would tell Gloria he didn't want her to see something like that. He would say that his Gran wouldn't approve, that she would say he wasn't "being a Longbottom," which was perfectly true.
What he didn't expect to do was leave a scribbled note for his Gran on the counter, grab a handful of Floo Powder, and practically drag Gloria by the hand into the fireplace with him…all in the space of the next ten seconds.
As the sight of his kitchen began to spin away, Neville almost thought he saw his Gran and Great Uncle Algie enter it…
Augusta Longbottom took a deep, steadying breath as she watched her son and Gloria Vivanian spin away in a flurry of green flame. Not for the first time, she wondered if she would ever see him again after tonight…if he could forgive her for the decision she was forcing him to make. She cleared her throat and fervently hoped that the sound that came out would be her normal, confident and self-assured voice.
"How much will Gloria be expecting as payment, again?" Luckily, her tone did not betray any hint of the turmoil of emotions she was feeling. She wasn't as sure about her face, so she remained facing the fireplace, posture as straight as ever.
"Around ten galleons, Augusta," said Algie wearily from behind her. Augusta knew he didn't approve of her method of handling this matter.
"What other choice did I have?" She asked him sharply. She heard his footsteps come closer and tried to turn away again, but he caught her wrist before she could move an inch. You could have told him yourself, his eyes said accusingly.
"I have to get back to the party," she told him sternly, but didn't make a move to leave.
Augusta didn't know how long the two of them stood there. A half hour, two hours…it could have been only twenty minutes. Her old joints began to ache, but she would not let herself sit. She would be ready, because when (she refused to think 'if') Neville came home, he would need to see her the way he had always seen her – erect, proud, and ready and waiting to deal with whatever problem came up next, like a true Longbottom.
But Augusta had to admit to herself that this wasn't just any problem. Neville had turned seventeen, which meant that he had a right to know about the heavy memory charms placed on him as a child; the memory charms that protected him from the memories of his parents' torture. It also meant that he was now his parents' legal medical guardian, which left him with a…a choice to make.
The fireplace sprung to life with green flame, and for the first time in many years, the elderly woman felt her strength leave her. Before she knew it, she was on her knees, tears streaming down her face at an alarming rate.
Neville stepped out of the fire and quickly went to her, gently holding her up. His eyes were slightly swollen, but there was no other trace of emotion on his face. She wondered when he'd gotten so strong.
"The funeral will be on Monday," he said quietly. It was almost a whisper, but there was a different quality to his voice now; he was confident, steady…like his father had been…
Augusta looked into her grandson's face.
He was a Longbottom.
FIN.