She was disappointed with him; he was nothing like his father. Mixed with the disappointment was fear, fear that her own weak magic would be remembered and blamed for producing this almost-squib. No better than a muggle, she heard them say, and in the confines of her mind she could not help agreeing with them.
Had the weak magic of Aggie Wildsmith skipped a generation, only to reappear in her grandson?
Was this really all what would be left of her Frank?
She had herself never had particularly strong magic, but that was acceptable for a woman whose life would only consist of handling a household.
When her Neville grew closer to that girl, she had to admit that she was a bit worried. A half-blood, and a muggle-raised one at that, was not what she had wanted for him. In the end, though, she relented. The girl was rather powerful magic-wise, and perhaps it would make up for her grandson's… deficiencies in that regard. Merlin knew that he was not much of a wizard, even though he had admittedly improved during the years.
Aggie Wildsmith was proud of being able to trace her ancestors back to the thirteenth century, proud of being a pure witch and belonging to an old family. The thought that it might all go to waste was one she did not dare to consider.