CHAPTER FOUR


After the decision was made, events started to move rather quickly. Shacklebolt's reply came only two days after Percy and Neville's conversation, freeing Neville to begin preparation in earnest. He started to make lists of all the things he needed to do, but quickly realized that the lists were taking time that could be spent actually doing things.

So he went room to room, moving and sorting and thinking. There were far too many tables and not nearly enough beds. He tried transfiguring one of the tables but ended up with nothing more than a squishy ottoman. Still, furniture aside it was starting to come together. Planning an orphanage, Neville realized, was a bit like planning a garden. You created your areas for certain things and made sure nothing disagreed with what was next to it.

He charmed walls blue and yellow and green and red, hung pictures and mirrors and curtains. He found, miniaturized and stored in an attic, overstuffed chairs, soft-worn quilts, old toys. He examined the kitchen and sitting rooms and took a perverse delight in removing anything that had ever scared him as a child. With a whispered apology to his gran, he even took a particularly ugly clock outside and blasted it to bits with his wand. He politely asked old portraits if they could smile a bit more. He chose one potential bedroom and, tears in his eyes, used a Sticking Charm to create a border of Drooble's Gum wrappers, which looked surprisingly nice. He spoke to all his indoor plants, warning them about the increase in population and noise level to come, and he swore that the plants he'd brought from Hogwarts turned greener.

A week and a half after Shacklebolt gave his approval, Neville was wrestling with an old and ugly armoire when he heard a series of popping noises. He boggled wide-eyed as half the faculty of Hogwarts appeared next to his front door. "Need some help with that?" Hagrid asked. Neville nodded dumbly as Hagrid lifted the cabinet and carried it out the door.

McGonagall watched him leave and turned back to Neville with a smile. "We have come to offer our services, Mr. Longbottom. Please put us to work."

Neville gaped at her before stammering "Beds. Uhm. I need beds. I tried to…but…only an 'Acceptable' OWL you know…"

But McGonagall was already heading up the stairs, Flitwick at her side muttering to himself about waving pixies. Neville turned back to Sprout. "I feel a bit ambushed."

Sprout frowned. "Why's that, dear?"

He shrugged. "I didn't really expect anyone here, or to…" he trailed off. "This wasn't necessary. I could have managed."

She put a hand to his cheek. "No one ever doubted that! We're all just so proud of you for doing this wonderful thing. We wanted to help."

Neville found he couldn't lift his gaze from the floor and he felt himself blush. "Thank you. I do appreciate it." He tried to set his shoulders in a manner that suggested confidence he didn't feel. "Anyway, would you like to see my gardens?"

Sprout smiled. "Oh certainly, but later. Right now, you and I have something else to take care of."

"Where are we going?" Neville asked as Sprout pulled him toward the fireplace.

She picked up a handful of Floo powder. "We need to tend to some of the preparation you've neglected." She tossed the powder in the fire, announced "Hogwarts" and stepped through. Neville shrugged and followed her.

She led him through the corridors of Hogwarts, down steps he hadn't seen in months. Finally, they stopped in front of the Hufflepuff dorms as Sprout said the password to release the lock on the door. Inside the Hufflepuff common room sat a number of children, and Neville's heart sank. In all his time making plans, he'd thought about the welfare of the orphans in general, but never realized he was forgetting to think about them as actual people. They were being sent to him and they'd never even met him. He stepped forward into the room. "Hello."

In the corner a figure, still improbably small, popped up. "Neville!" Nigel bounced. "Look, guys, it's Neville! I told you about him."

"Good things, I hope," Neville said, trying to resist the urge to twist his hands in his shirt. Nigel had been a housemate, a fellow student, just last term; now he was clearly part of this group of children and Neville was clearly not.

He attempted to guess at the ages of the children. The Ministry had told him that there were ten children too young for Hogwarts and without any willing relatives. Neville tried to determine which ten they were, but almost all the children looked tiny. One girl waved at him and he smiled back. Another boy, though, slammed a toy centaur into the wall. "Don't see why we can't stay there."

Nigel rolled his eyes. "I told you! Because other people need these rooms! You can come in a few years, when you're old enough!"

"It really is better to wait," another child added. "You'll want the time to get ready."

The boy dug the toy into the carpet angrily. "I just want to go home."

Neville froze. What could he possibly say to that? "I'm sorry," he said, without thinking much about it. He lowered himself to the floor next to the boy, still on autopilot. "What's your name?"

"Brian," the child answered sullenly.

"Hi Brian. I'm Neville." He fought a rising wave of uncertainty. "Did your mum and dad fight You-Know-Who?" Brian nodded. "Mine did too, the last time. They're…very sick now, so I know how you feel. I wish you could go home too. And I'm really sorry you can't but that's why I want you to come stay with me, because there everyone will know how you feel and maybe…maybe that can be okay too? If you can't go home?"

Brian turned away to push his centaur across the floor, and Neville deflated. He thought he'd almost had it. But when he stood up, Sprout had tears in her eyes and Nigel was shaking a little. Neville swallowed hard. "Uhm. Nigel, could you introduce me to everyone else?"

Nigel took a deep breath, visibly pulling himself together, before pointing out the other children who were too young for Hogwarts. In addition to Brian, there was also Myrna and Alistar who were close to Hogwarts age, Celeste, Jamie, Eileen, Nicholas, Ian, and Roger who were between eight and four, and Aurora, who was two and apparently spent most of her time with Hagrid. He tried to at least say hello to each of them. The children all seemed overly serious, and Neville's heart broke a bit.

Sprout dragged him out soon after, because Neville would have been content to just watch the children play for approximately the rest of his life. It wasn't that he hadn't previously realized how hurt the children must be, but it had just been made clear to him how powerless he was in the face of that grief. It was his connection to the children, their common backgrounds, that made him want to do this, but he'd never been able to ease his own pain over what had happened to his parents; how could he help anyone else?

But he took deep breaths and stayed calm and went back to his grandmother's house, where McGonagall and Flitwick proudly displayed their handiwork. Neville was in awe of the colorful bunkbeds, the rooms set up for maximum usage and enjoyment. The professors waved off his thanks, saying that they were only too happy to help in this undertaking. They left together and Neville found himself alone, thinking of his parents, of all the dead parents, and wondering how he'd ever expected he could pick up the pieces.