Author Note: I am not, nor have I ever been, J.K. Rowling.This story fits with As We Survive and takes place the summer before The Deathly Hallows. This is how I There is quite a bit of history in this one, ancient history is one of my favorite casual hobbies so I had a bit of fun researching the Longbottom family history, or what I imagined it to be.
Chapter 1: Home
Deep in the North York Moors there are 15 miles of unplottable land, known to the wizarding world as Longbottom Grange. This is the home that Neville Longbottom returns to every year, and this is where he sat on Sunday, 5th of July 1998, the day he returned from his sixth year at Hogwarts. It was the summer that Headmaster Albus Dumbledore died at the hands of Professor Severus Snape. The same year that Death Eaters had been able to find their way into Hogwarts. It was the second year that Neville's school year had ended in a battle. And that was why, on this particular evening, Neville sat for longer than usual and stared up at the stars with more sadness and more awe than ever before. Somehow, despite all the odds, Neville Longbottom had survived two battles before his 17th birthday. How he had managed to live, when Albus Dumbledore had died, was a strange and painful mystery to him.
Neville's seat was the gate in the outer wall of the back garden, the one that separated the great stone farmhouse from the pastures beyond. It was his place to sit and remember and think. The past year, the death of the well-loved and greatly revered Headmaster was still raw like a fresh wound in his mind. His body was still painful and sore from the battle that had taken place the night that the Headmaster had died. Just the thought left him feeling emptied and wounded, as though an invisible knife had been driven into his chest. Instead he let his mind wandered back to the winter holidays of his first year, to one of last conversations that he had had with his grandfather. The memory was bitter but sweet, and remote enough that it no longer gave him the agony that it once had.
Robert Longbottom had been in failing health the summer before Neville's first year, but that Christmas Neville was shocked by how much he had changed in one semester. His once stout and powerful form had withered and shrunken, and the roundness that had once made him a comforting and jovial figure to the boy was gone, leaving Neville feeling already half-bereft of his grandfather. The wizen figure of the once powerful man sat in his armchair by the fire, in the upstairs sitting room, seldom leaving it as he stared out the window and across the moor with a wistful expression on his face. But that night, which was the last before Neville returned to Hogwarts, he was staring at Neville with a bright and penetrating gaze in his red-rimmed blue eyes.
"Something troubling you, my boy?" His grandfather asked, in a gentle quavering tone. And his voice hurt Neville, because it was as withered and worn as the man who was speaking. But it also comforted him, as he heard some of his grandfather's old brightness in the voice that had been so strong only a few years before.
"Granddad." He said, "I'm clumsy at school and some of the other kids…they call me things…I try not to listen, but sometimes I worry that I'm not good enough. I want to make you and Gran proud, but…" His voice trailed off, as he wondered if he really wanted to talk about this on his last night.
"What sort of things do they call you, Neville?" The man asked leaning forward, his watery eyes kind and concerned.
"They say I'm fat and useless, and that I'm a disgrace as a wizard. And, granddad, they're kind of right, aren't they?" And he rushed on, not sure if he wanted reassurance from his grandfather, or just an honest answer. "I mean, well, I'm useless at a lot of magic, and completely hopeless in potions. I just don't think that I'll ever amount to much…" And he felt ashamed because he could not quite keep the tears from his voice.
'Tell me, Neville, do you sit around the house when you are here at home? Do you eat cake and biscuits and lay about doing nothing?" His grandfather asked seriously, a twinkle in his eye.
Neville looked at his grandfather in shock, "Of course not, granddad, gran would never allow that!"
"Then what do you do when you are here, my boy?" Robert asked in a confused voice, with a twinkle in his eye.
"Why granddad, you know what I do!" Neville said, with a worried look, "I help in the garden, and bring stones to fix the wall and I feed the goats and chickens. And when gran lets me I walk in the moor and sometimes help her gather the heather and gorse to make the winter beer. I help in the garden, and look after the plants in the greenhouse. I harvest the vegetables from the garden and I help gran with the milking and muck out the goats. And…you know what I do granddad!"
"Well," Robert Longbottom said, in a stern tone with a watery twinkle in his eye, "And are you just faffin'* when you're at school? Do you sit around and eat chocolate frogs and play wizard chess and skive off your lessons and sleep when you should be studying and go riding around on brooms?"
"Of course not! Professor McGonagall would have me in detention faster than anything." Neville said warmly, "I never would, anyhow, and I don't have the time. There's so much to learn, and so many essays. I barely have time to spend with my friends." He did not add trying to keep them out of trouble, because he could not imagine how he would explain to his granddad the enigma that was Harry Potter and his proclivity for getting himself into dangerous situations. And he really did not want to try and explore his own failures at protecting his fellow classmates from loosing house points.
"Ah, and what do these friends say about you?"
"They say that I'm worth way more than the kids that tease me, but I think that they were just saying that because they felt bad for me." Neville said, quietly looking at the floor shamefacedly.
"Whether they said it because they were just trying to cheer you up or not, they were absolutely correct. You are not fat my boy; you simply have a good healthy layer of warmth, just like all the Longbottoms. It keeps us comfortable and strong when the wind is howling over the moor from the sea in the dead of winter. It protects us from the biting cold, when we have to run out to rescue the sheep or the goats from a draugrhund* on nights when it's silin'* down on the pasture. You are not fat my boy, you are simply wearing the natural protection that nature has given you."
Neville looked at his grandfather skeptically, and laughed nervously. "A layer of protection, granddad?"
"Of course. There may be a bit of extra there, for the warmth, you see." And he good-humoredly jabbed Neville's midsection with a crooked index finger. "But underneath is strong, solid muscle. All the Longbottoms have it when they're young, and though it may go away for a fair few years when you're in your prime, it comes back when the body gets older, mind. I reckon it's just the way that our bodies have trained themselves to be, to resist the cold and the wet."
His grandfather said, looking ruefully down at his own frail figure, and Neville's face fell as the wizard continued, his blue eyes a little distant. "The warmth as left me again, because it knows I won't be needing it any longer. But don't fret for me boy, I've lived a long and healthy life, and I've had your grandmother to keep things interesting for me. Bless the terrifying old shrew." And he said the last with such cheerful and fearless affection that it forced a loud and nervous laugh from his grandson.
Robert Longbottom grinned broadly at Neville, seeing the first genuine smile that had graced the boy's face since the winter holidays began. And Neville laughed a little sadly, because he saw in his grandfather's eyes the same cheeky mischievousness that had finally won over the "old shrew" many years ago. He had heard the story whispered by his granddad, about how his grandmother had come to the Grange when she was a young girl, bitter and angry at the arranged marriage that had sent her to the moors and the husband she believed to be too old. The unwanted marriage that had driven her far away from the high society and the life of luxury that she had been raised to expect. How she had slowly been won over by the mischievous and boyish charm of the "old man."
Neville smiled as he remembered the story, and his grandfather's words, "And I swore I'd never lay a hand, or a finger, or my lips on her until she was willing. And I kept my word. A gentleman always keeps his hands from a lady until she gives him leave to touch her. And a lady does the same for a gentleman." Neville shuddered slightly at the thought of his grandparents touching, and caught his grandfather's eye. The old man and the boy chuckled guiltily, as they realized they were both reminiscing about the same story. And they stared half in fear at the kitchen where they could hear the precise, articulate movements of Augusta Longbottom as she cleared up from the evening meal.
Eyes watering with laughter, Robert shook his head, and sighed contentedly, "Ah, she's a good woman, we are both lucky to have her."
"I know, granddad." Neville said, then added, because for some reason he couldn't help being completely candid with his grandfather, "Sometimes I just wish that she was a little more…I mean, I want to make her proud but I don't think I ever will."
Robert sighed, "I know she's strict with you my boy. But never forget this, no matter how seldom she tells it to you, the woman loves you with every ounce of that strict and terrifying heart of hers. She was not brought up to be soft, and I doubt she ever will be after what happened to your parents. But she'll do well by you, and I know that you'll do the same for her. It won't be long now before it will just be the two of you and I hope you'll do the best you can to lighten her load, whether she gives you the freedom or not."
"I will granddad, as much as I can." Neville said, quietly, "But I hope you'll be here for a while yet. I don't know how we'll get along without you around."
"I promise to hang on till after Easter." Robert said, with finality, "I wouldn't want to miss your grandmother's Easter lunch, it would be a crime to insult such a lovely meal with my absence." And he winked at his grandson, then settled back tiredly into his chair and began to snore.
Neville covered his grandfather clumsily with the warm wool blanket that had fallen from the elderly man's lap during their conversation. Then he kissed him, on the forehead and whispered, "Sleep well, granddad." Shoving his hands in his pockets he went through to the kitchen to the back garden. That night he stayed on the gate for a long time, reveling in the feeling of the wind from the moor and the stars in the sky. And he listened, as his grandfather had taught him, to the bleating of the goats and sheep and the howls of the moor hounds as the sped their terrifying way across the moor, hunting the small creatures that lived in the hollows and the protection of the heather.
"I miss you, granddad." Neville whispered into the darkness, as he wiped the moisture from his eyes. Then he slid down from the fence, and walked out to where the goats were wandering around their enclosure. He herded the goats into the old stone barn, which had been the property's first permanent house when it was built in 622. Two years after King Edwin of Northumbria had granted the large section that covered many miles of moor to Knox Langbotehome* in 620. The land had been a reward for his clever use of magic when he and his sons had protected the queen and her entourage from the Draugrhunds.
Neville smiled as he remembered the story as his grandfather had read it to him
He said goodnight to the goats, and turned towards the house with a sad smile on his face. He walked slowly through the pasture and the back garden, then turned suddenly and went around to the front garden and stared up at the stars and gazed out at the moor that spread its open hills in front of him, dark and shadowed under the bare sliver of moon that hung in the sky.
He entered the house through the front door and into the sitting room, where the ancient cabinet stood. He took a set of keys from his pocket, and used one to open the cabinet, then removed an ancient roll of parchment from it. He sat down in one of the over-stuffed armchairs in front of the empty fireplace, and began to read:
The following is a translation of an ancient document, which records the manner by which Longbottom Grange was first bestowed upon our family by Queen Cwenburg, the first royal consort of King Eadwine of Northumbria, now known as St. Edwin. The account begins thusly –
The queen's company, having become lost and confused on the moors, then found themselves beset upon all sides by great hounds, darker than the blackest night, with wild great eyes that flamed and burned with evil in the moonless night. The company didst think then that they would soon be lost, for neither sword nor arrow, nor even knife nor speare didst to sway the foul beasts, those magic horrors of the darkest kind.
Then, from beyond the darkness there rose the figures of wizards, each holding in one had a wand and in the other hand a flaming torche, which then drove away the beasts, and set their tailes aflame. The howels of the beasts, as they ran from the burning flames, were horrifying to hear, though the company did take notice that the flames did neither scorched the ground nor set to light the heather.
Then the whole of the seven let out a great roaring of laughter that set our teeth on edge, and caused the youngest of the attendants of the queen to become faint with the sound of it. Though the queen herself, and another of her attendants, both did smile well upon their rescuers, being women stout of heart and doughty. The eldest of the company, and it would seem to be their father, for we then learned that they were of one family, the oldest being recently returned home from a long apprenticeship with a wizard knight, and the youngest being but two and ten years of age.
The queen entreated them to stay with our company through the night, and promised them rich rewards for all the troubles that they went to, and for their brave and cunning rescue of herself and her attendants. The elder man did then introduced himself as Knox Langbotehome, for he had been borne and now did reside in the long valley that runs the length of that stretch of the moors. So the wizard and his sons did then, in humble aspect and with great willingness to serve, bow to the queen's entreaty and spent the night with the company, though easily, as they were wizards, could they have returned to their own home. And, indeed, the second son, a lad of one and twenty, did return to his mother and sister, who were residing not far away, to ensure their safety with his presence. Though the father did then laugh and say he pitied any, be it foul beast or thieving knave, who would run afoul of his stouthearted wife.
They broke their fast with us at light of day, and then did we see our rescuers clearly, and greatly were we amazed. For they were neither as fearsome nor as terrifying as was our first impression. Rather they were all but rather round and jolly men, stout of body as they were of heart, and their hair was flaxen in the morning light. And the youngest but a chubby lad, both shy of voice and manner. It did further amaze us that men of such weight had moved so quickly and silently in the darkness the night previous. As we broke our fast they did eat heartily, with manners rustic but genteel, and their speech was good and learned, though their mannerisms were simple and plain as that of any peasante, so that we knew not what to make of them, for they seemed to be both of the peasantry and of noble birth.
Before we parted ways, the queen bequeathed the whole of that long stretch of heather to Knox Langebotehome and his sons, for we had learned from them that they had, by various enchantments, imprisoned within the boundaries of that region all creatures magical whose origins were most dark and dreadful. They were, therefore, determined to protect the weary traveler from the accosting beasts, and so she gave them titles and the lands and bid them do their duty to the crown. And the eldest man did bow his greying head in right good humor to her, though the twinkle in his eye said that he had little need for any such formality.
Thus this document was bestowed upon the family Langebotehome, upon the death of St. Edwin, King of Northumbria, to be a proof that the land in question does solely belong to them and all that come after of that name, from this present time and forevermore.
Neville smiled, and snorted in amusement at the descriptions of his ancestors. Then he returned the parchment to the cabinet, and said goodnight to his grandmother. Giving her a dutiful kiss on the cheek as she sat in her parlor knitting a cardigan for his next year of school. Then he walked reluctantly up the narrow stone stairs to his bedroom. He was, he knew, resigning himself dreams of the past year, but his summer would be a working one and sleep must be had, no matter what nightmares awaited him in his dreams.*
Text Notes:
*"Faffin'" means "messing about".
*Draugrhund is a creature partially of my own invention but based on gytrashes, Welsh gwyllgi and the yeth hound of Devon, originally inspired by the Hound of the Baskervilles by A. Conan Doyle.
*"Silin'" refers to heavy rain.
* The spelling here is not a mistake, I decided to use the spelling Langbotehome because many names have changed in pronunciation and spelling over the years, and then settled into a more common spelling as language has become more standardized.
*The spelling here is not a mistake. English spelling was not fully standardized until the 18th century, this document was translated in the early 15th century. My goal here was to make this legible, while still being as authentic as possible.
