Neville Longbottom stood on the London sidewalk, looking across the street at the abandoned department store window.
As he stood there, trying to muster the courage to cross the street, his gaze shifted to the muggles rushing to and fro around him. It seemed that everything was brighter that day. Not only the sun, which was no longer eclipsed by the Dementor fog that had plagued England since last summer. It just seemed that there was a general air of excitement.
Neville understood that while the muggles may not have known about the great peril that had so recently threatened not only the wizarding world, but also the muggle world, they had sensed the tension. Like a monster in the closet that you refuse to look at, muggles may have turned a blind eye to the strange events which had occurred over the last several months, but they could not ignore the heavy weight of despair that had settle over their country.
But finally, at long last, the clouds had lifted, literally, and the muggles were taking advantage of the beautiful day, wandering, stress free, through the streets of London.
Occasionally, Neville would watch an oddly dressed person walk up and peer in the window of the abandoned department store. Then the person would seem to disappear. The passing muggles paid no attention to these occurrences, and Neville acknowledged that, had he not known what secrets the building held, he also would have missed it.
But Neville did know. And he could no longer put it off. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his parents. He loved his parents, and he had not been able to visit them since the prior summer. But every time he entered St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, he knew that when he left, he would have to leave his parents behind. Again. And every time he left, he was enveloped in an overwhelming sense of despair.
He knew it would be worse this time. This time he could tell his parents that the witch who had tortured them was dead, and yet they were still trapped. Trapped in the prison of their own minds.
Bellatrix LeStrange. Even now, knowing she was dead, he could not help but feel the hate and anger well up inside of him at just the thought of her.
It was hard to believe that it had been a week since Neville and his friends had battled for their very lives. A week in which everyone in the wizarding world had been celebrating.
Everyone except Neville and the others who had been there for that epic battle. For them, the week had been filled with mourning, as their friends, their mentors, those who had fought so valiantly against Voldemort and his supporters, were honored and laid to rest. It was agreed by all that they should be laid to rest at Hogwarts, next to Professor Dumbledore. The school had become a symbol of everything they had fought and died for, and it only seemed fitting that they should be allowed to remain there.
These thoughts occupied Neville's mind as he crossed the street and approached the shabby display window. He looked at the lonely mannequin in the window. "I'm here to see the Longbottom's." A second later, he found himself standing in the lobby of St. Mungo's. Looking around, he saw a line off to his left formed by people holding various packages. At the head of the line, two wizards were magically examining the packages carefully. Since the incident over a year ago when a Broderick Bode, a Ministry employee, had been killed by Devil's Snare while recovering at the hospital, extra security measures had been put in place. And even though Voldemort was now dead, the Ministry was hesitant to withdraw these measures until they were sure they had rounded up all of Voldemort's supporters.
Neville took his place in line and waited nervously. He wasn't nervous about the search. There was nothing even remotely dangerous about the potted plant he carried. It wasn't even magical. No, he was nervous about seeing his parents.
No matter how many times he told himself that it wasn't possible, he still could not keep from hoping that upon hearing the news of LeStrange's death, his parents would miraculously be better. The dreams of a child. And Neville was no longer a child. Growing up as he had, it was quite possible he never had been.
Neville finally reached his place at the front of the line. After carefully examining the plant, the guards passed Neville through. He slowly made his way to the fourth floor to the Janus Thickey Ward, the place that had been his parents' home for close to eighteen years. He stood momentarily outside the closed door to the wing. Taking yet another moment to prepare himself for what he was about to do. Although he knew, rationally, that the possibility that his parents would even understand the import of what he was telling them was extremely low, again there was that hope. Maybe the information would offer them some bit of solace.
As Neville stood there staring at the closed doors, he remembered all the trips he made here with his grandmother. Finally, Neville pushed open the doors and stepped through. The nurse on the wing looked up and smiled when she recognized him. Neville was glad to see Healer Strout had been reinstated after the incident with Broderick Bode. She was kind and cared deeply about her charges.
Neville made his way to the back of the wing where his parents' space was somewhat separated from the other patients in the wing by a curtain. As he stepped around the curtain, he saw his father standing by the enchanted window. Although the window was not a real window, it had been enchanted to reflect the outside world. His parents could look out and watch people walking down the street or watch the clouds roll by in the sky.
Frank Longbottom turned briefly at Neville's entrance, glancing at him as one would a stranger. Curious for a moment, but uninterested. It had always been this way for as long as Neville could remember. Although Neville loved his father, they had never shared any kind of connection. Frank Longbottom had withdrawn too deeply into his mind to engage in any kind of relationship with anyone. Neville walked over and placed the plant on the windowsill. He watched as his father reached forward to touch the silky blossoms.
Neville's mother, Alice, sat on the bed. Neville walked over and sat down beside her. She looked over at him with the ghost of a smile playing over her mouth. "Hello, mother," he said as he returned the smile. She reached over and clasped his hand. While Neville had never really felt a connection with his father, his mother always seemed to know who he was even if she was unable to express herself to him. It seemed that even Bellatrix LeStrange's evil was not strong enough to break the deep bond between a mother and her child.
Neville sat for a moment, just letting the peace that his mother's touch invoked settle over him. She softly stroked his hand, as a woman would stroke a restless baby. It was almost as if she could sense his inner turmoil.
"She's dead."
The stroking stopped. Neville glanced at his mother's face. A single tear rolled down her cheek. For a moment, a moment so brief that it was barely a measurable speck of time, Neville saw his mother looking back at him. His mother as she was before the torture. A brief flash, and then the slightly vacuous expression returned to her eyes, and she resumed her stroking.
Neville heard the short expulsion of breath from behind him. He turned, startled to see his grandmother standing just inside the curtain. He had not heard her enter. Looking at her face, he knew she had overheard his statement to his mother and she'd witnessed Alice's reaction. He turned back to his mother and continued. He wanted to get it all out.
"Voldemort is dead, also. Harry killed him. You will never have to worry about either of them ever again." Finally, Neville felt the relief that he had been searching for since that night. Relief that he could offer his parents this small amount of peace.
Neville's grandmother walked over to the bed and placed her hand on Neville's shoulder. "You should have seen him, Alice. He was magnificent. When it seemed like the battle was lost, when everyone else was paralyzed by grief, he fought on. He stood up to Voldemort. He refused to give in. It was the bravest thing I've ever seen."
Neville had stiffened slightly as his grandmother spoke. They had never had a close relationship as he was growing up. It seemed he had continually disappointed her by never living up to her expectations. By never being as good as his father. But as she stood there with her hand on his shoulder, Neville could hear the pride in her words, and he could feel the love in her touch.
After a moment, his grandmother walked over to stand by her son. She glanced down at the pot on the windowsill that had so enthralled Frank Longbottom. "What in the world is this?"
"They're zinnias," Neville said of the small white blooms.
"But what are they for?" Neville could understand his grandmother's confusion. She had never understood his affinity for plants, and she would be especially baffled by the fact that he had brought his parents a muggle plant.
"They're not magical flowers." He could see that she didn't understand. Flowers were a magic all of themselves. The right flower would make you feel better just by looking at it. She also didn't know that you could speak in the language of flowers. White zinnias stand for goodness, and for him his parents embodied goodness, like a light that could not be extinguished even by Bellatrix LeStrange's darkness.
Dismissing the flowers, Augusta Longbottom walked back over the stand by Neville. "I have spoken with Minvera. In the fall, Hogwarts will reopen. Considering the quality of education, or lack thereof, which was offered in the last year, it will be as if that year did not happen. Those wizards and witches who were seventh years will have the option of returning to complete the last year of their studies." Neville listened to his grandmother speak. Of course, she was just confirming the rumors he had already heard.
"You will, or course, return to complete your seventh year. After the role you played, and the way you proved yourself in the battle, Minerva will not be able to deny you admittance to the Advanced Transfiguration class…" His grandmother droned on, but Neville quit listening. He was wrong. Nothing had changed. Neville, the grandson who loved Herbology still did not live up to the Longbottom standard.
No. Things had changed. He was Neville Longbottom. He stood up to Lord Voldemort. He pulled Gryffindor's sword from the hat. He was his parents' son, and he had fought as bravely as they had.
"No."
The forcefulness with which he uttered that one syllable was enough to stop his grandmother's diatribe. "Excuse me?"
For the first time in his memory, Neville looked his grandmother directly in the eye. "I will return to Hogwarts, but I will study what I want to study. I'm going to be a herbologist. And until the term starts, I'm going to stay with Harry, Ron and Hermione at Sirius's house."
Augusta Longbottom leveled an assessing look on her grandson. Never had he stood up to her. After a moment, she looked back at her son. "Your father did always love his Herbology classes." That was all. The only words of acceptance she could give. However, when she looked back at Neville, he saw something in her eyes that he had never seen before. Respect. For him.
Neville walked back over to his father. "You'll need to water this." Frank looked briefly at Neville then back at the plant. Neville returned to his mother and took her hand. "It's time for me to go now, but I'll be back soon. I'll be staying nearby until school starts."
Alice reached over to the small table and opened the drawer. She withdrew a small candy wrapper and gave it to Neville. He slipped the small paper into his pocket. "Thank you, Mum."
Finally, he turned to his grandmother. Together the walked out of the ward, but for the first time, Neville didn't feel like he was walking away from his parents. He finally realized that a part of them lived in him.