A huge thank you, as always, to Suburban House Elf for the beta and to everyone reading. Your reviews keep me writing, when the going gets hard.
Chapter Eleven – Son and HeirSaturday morning arrived. The three of them walked in to the ward. The smell was the same as ever. Neville breathed a sigh of relief. His mother and father were decently covered up, the cords of their – thankfully – clean dressing-gowns tied. They must have been tidied up especially because it was his birthday. He squeezed Hannah's hand a little tighter, before letting go and walking up to his mum's bedside.
"Hello, Mum." He kissed her and turned towards his dad to hug him. But Dad was lying on his side facing the wall and didn't respond to Gran's gentle shake of his shoulder.
"May I sit here?" Hannah didn't wait for permission but plonked herself down on the edge of Alice's bed. Neville swallowed nervously – she'd addressed his mum directly, as though she expected a reply. Hadn't he made it clear? "I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs Longbottom." Hannah leaned in and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Neville said you wouldn't mind if he brought me to visit you."
"Ah – ah…" His mother's voice was creaky, with a note that sounded like surprise. She reached out a hand and touched Hannah's cheek, staring wonderingly. Neville found that he was clenching his jaw so tight that his head had started to ache. He forced himself to relax and sat down in the easy chair between his parents' beds. Hannah had extended her hand in turn and was pushing Alice's tangled hair back off her worn, lined face.
"You look like Neville," she said conversationally. "You should be very proud of him. He passed his Apparition Test this morning."
"H – Hannah, she can't …" he whispered urgently. Hannah turned on him with a firm expression that said quite as clearly as if she had spoken the words, Be quiet. However, when she spoke, her voice was gentle.
"I'd love a cup of tea. Is there a café in this place?" She raised her eyebrows meaningfully but it was Gran who responded.
"I could murder a cuppa. Come along, Neville."
When they returned ten minutes later – the corridors leading to the Janus Thickey ward were long – Neville couldn't believe his eyes. He stopped several feet away from the pair of beds. Hannah was still sitting where he'd left her, chattering away conversationally. Somehow she'd got hold of a brush and was carefully detangling the straggly hair around his mother's face. Gran, carrying two mugs of dishwater tea, walked around to the far side of his dad's bed, sat down in the other chair and unrolled her knitting. Neville continued to stand, his mouth hanging open foolishly at the sight of his mum – was it possible? Yes, she was smiling slightly. Her eyes moved incessantly over Hannah's face and she kept reaching up to pat the younger woman's hair.
"The back too? No problem. You just turn around a bit so I can get to it. There we go." Hannah shifted position on the bed, turning her head to greet Neville as she did so.
"Look – your mum's hair's dead straight and fair like mine. It's finer than mine though. You must take after your dad, hair-wise."
"Wh – where did you get that brush?"
"Oh – it was in the drawer. I think the staff must have forgotten to help her with it this morning." Neville's mother stared vacantly and ran her fingers through her hair, which was smooth and untangled for the first time he could remember. "You pointed it out to me, didn't you, Mrs Longbottom?" Suddenly, Alice's expression changed – she looked puzzled and a little scared.
"Call her Alice, girl. It's what she's used to." Augusta's needles clicked and she kept her head down to hide her expression that was wavering between anger and reluctant amusement. What was the little minx up to now? Really, as though it mattered whether or not her daughter-in-law's hair was tidy. Alice wouldn't recognise herself even if she had a mirror to look into. Besides, her hair was mousy, almost completely grey in fact, not fair.
Augusta snorted and drained the dregs of her cup. Ugh – tea leaves. She leaned over and stroked the rough, unshaven cheek of her sleeping son. She preferred visits when he slept through them. The deep lines around his mouth relaxed and she could almost pretend that he was still twenty-five, still her strong, big-voiced bear of a man, already several steps up the Ministry ladder. As only ever happened in Frank's presence, Augusta let her guard down and allowed her thoughts to drift back to the past. The source of all her hopes – Frank was going to re-establish the name of Longbottom, put their family back on the map. He'd have been a just and capable Minister, she knew it. Prodigious talent, boundless potential – Amelia had said so, in his first review and she was no soft touch. Augusta shuddered and bent her head to her knitting again. She didn't like to think about Amelia.
Frank's eyes opened slowly and she was immediately alert. His unfocused gaze seemed to catch on hers for a second before sliding away to where light was squeezing in below the roller-blind hanging askew on the spotted and grimy window. She sighed and reached out for his cup of tea, settling his head in the crook of her arm so that he could take a few sips. She shouldn't still be nursing her first-born at her age. From time to time, during the past sixteen years, Augusta had thought about making up a lethal dose of some tasteless, painless potion, one that would ease Frank into a dreamless, endless sleep. She didn't have the nerve. She had to trust that the draughts the staff gave him kept the nightmares quiet – and pray that the flicker of consciousness she thought she sometimes detected in her son's deep-set, coal-black eyes was all in her imagination.
Hannah finished tidying Alice's hair and replaced the hairbrush in the bedside cabinet. Now, Neville sat and watched as his mum searched through the big leather handbag that she refused to be parted from. He knew what was coming – the ritualised, endlessly repeated part of every visit – and wished he'd warned Hannah in advance not to react. With an impatient motion, Alice upended the bag over the bedspread. Sweets and chewing gum rained down, mixed in with all manner of fluff and crumbs. She sifted through the rubbish, knocking handfuls onto the floor, until she found what she was looking for. Fussily, she unwrapped a piece of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. She dropped the gum back into the pile of sweets and turned the paper over in her hands. Automatically Neville reached out, but instead of handing it to him his mum held the paper back, cradling it protectively. He dropped his hand and waited. Hannah was watching quizzically – Neville thought he could feel her holding her breath. His mum held out the offering to the kind one who'd touched her hair, who took it and pocketed it without a second glance. "Thank you, Alice." The confused woman frowned slightly and looked around with an agitated expression.
Neville felt a squeezing in his chest as he saw Hannah's bewilderment. She'd reacted perfectly – what could he do? In that second, a realisation hit him with a blinding flash. Neville knew he'd do anything to make everything all right again and take away Hannah's pain. She tried so hard and she'd treated his mum with respect and she put up with Gran going on at her and she was beautiful and he had to keep her safe, whatever happened. He put his arm around her. "Why don't you try calling her Mum? That might help."
Augusta snorted over her knitting.
"Can I ask you something?" Hannah began tentatively, a little later. She and Neville were queuing for the Floo. Augusta had gone on ahead, saying that she needed to stop off at Diagon Alley on the way home.
"'Course."
"Why are your mum and dad in a locked ward? It seems – weird. I mean, they need looking after but … other than that …well, they seem pretty harmless. Isn't it a bit, you know, old-fashioned?"
Neville frowned and tried to remember what they'd said to him, years ago, when he'd asked why they couldn't just come and live at home. I'd look after them Granddad he'd implored, as they walked away from the ward one Christmas. They could have my room.
"It's Dad. The first year they were in there, they tried loads of treatments. But every time they took him off the potions that sedated him, he'd go berserk. He nearly killed half a dozen mediwizards and witches. In the end, they gave up."
"What about your mum?"
"She's worse if anything. H – her injuries I mean. She didn't attack anyone but she didn't respond to any of the treatments either. Granddad said it'd be cruel to separate them. The only time they tried – one year Mum came home for a visit on my birthday – she cried the entire time."
"Oh, Neville."
"It's all right. I was only two. I don't remember." Hannah squeezed his hand and changed the subject.
"So, who's coming to the party this afternoon?"
Neville shrugged. "Dunno really. Gran does the invitations. Great Uncle Algie's coming. That's why Gran had to go to the shops. We thought he was still in Peru but he got back yesterday and he – um – likes his Firewhiskey."
"You mean – you don't get to invite anyone at all – not even from school?" Hannah said with incredulity. She entertained herself with a brief diversion into a fantasy where she gave Augusta a good kick up the backside. Neville looked nonplussed.
"Never really thought about it, to be honest. I expect people are busy. Why would they want to come to my birthday?"
"Because they're your friends, of course. What about Hermione – you got a card from her didn't you?" Neville smiled.
"Yeah – she always remembers. But she's busy – they all are." Hannah sighed.
"It's a bit of shame, that's all," she said, trying to hide her disappointment. Neville shrugged again.
"I suppose I could've invited Luna – but I didn't think. Sorry Hannah, it's probably just going to be us, Great Uncle Algie and Great Aunt Enid and maybe a couple of Gran's friends. It'll be dead boring. I'm sorry – I know you went shopping and everything."
Hannah made a brave attempt at a reassuring smile. An afternoon with Gran and half a dozen old biddies just like her. Great. She wondered if she ought to have invested in a Shield Hat, rather than a set of new robes. "It doesn't matter. I don't like huge crowds anyway. And it'll be better for Dad." They reached the front of the line. "This is me – didn't you say you were going to Apparate home and meet me there?"
"I think so – I need the practice. Hang on a minute…" Neville pulled Hannah out of the queue just as she was about to reach into the pot of Floo powder held out by a porter.
"What do think you're doing, Neville? It'll take another ten minutes to queue up now and I've got to wash my hair and iron my robes and …"
"Shh. Close your eyes."
Hannah squeaked in surprise as Neville pulled her close and Disapparated.
She stumbled as they landed on the verandah with a noise like a small thunderclap. Neville peered at her anxiously, his arm still round her waist. "Do you feel dizzy?"
"I – I'm fine." In truth, she wasn't sure she could feel all her extremities. Nervously, she put up her hand and patted her ears. Both present and correct, thank goodness.
"I suppose that was a bit reckless," Neville said contritely.
"No! It's OK, honestly. You did really well." He smiled, looking gratified.
"I'll give you a lesson tomorrow, if you like. After we've been to – you know …"
"Great." Hannah did her best to sound enthusiastic.
"It's brilliant being of age. Shall I Apparate us upstairs?"
"Don't be daft, Neville. Look – your gran's copped us. She's looking daggers at me through the kitchen window."
"I'll go and see if she needs help with the food."
"Right – I'm off for a quick bath."
"Another one?"
"How else am I supposed to wash my hair – with that stone jug on the washstand? It weighs a bloody ton."
"OK, OK!" Neville pushed open the back door. Maybe he could heat up some water without Gran noticing.
Hannah paused outside the living-room. A murmur of voices coming from inside sounded like more than a handful of people. Her dad wasn't in there yet. She could hear his shuffling tread along the first floor landing. She turned to look up as he started down the stairs and heaved a sigh of relief – his shoes were clean and he'd put on a decent shirt. "Hi, Daddy."
"Hello, my love. You look smashing. Just like your mother." A glow spread through her, warming her fingers and toes.
"Thanks. How are you today?" His expression darkened a little.
"Oh, don't you fret about me, lady. Concentrate on impressing all these magic folk. They'll all be sizing you up – checking if you're good enough for that young lad, I reckon."
"Daddy!"
"I may not be a wizard, but I'm no fool. I know why I've hardly seen you these past few weeks." His voice had taken on its familiar self-pitying whine. The glow faded and Hannah looked at the floor, gathering the top cloak of her new robes around her shoulders against the draught from the front door.
"I – I'm sorry, Dad. I've been so busy at – at work. I'll make it up to you, I promise."
Her father shrugged, his mouth twisting as though he were choking back a retort. Then he visibly pulled himself together.
"I'll hold you to that. Now come on – let's face the music together."
The music was loud, blaring out of the wireless in the corner of the living-room. The room was crowded and stuffy but there was a comforting smell of pastry from the freshly-baked pies and flans gracing the polished dining-table that had been moved in from next door. Neville had been buttonholed by Great Aunt Enid the minute she arrived and was patiently explaining to her that yes, he had passed his Apparition Test first time and no, he was not expecting to be made Head Boy when he got back to Hogwarts in September.
"But my boy – your father …" she was murmuring querulously, "Such a success. I'm sure if my dear sister had a word with Minerva …We were all at school together when she was Head Girl you know. Of course, Iwas several years below the two of them in Gryffindor." Then she broke off, her mouth still open as she peered over Neville's shoulder. He turned to see what she was looking at.
He nearly dropped his pumpkin pasty. Hannah was framed in the doorway, wearing knee-length robes of a warm and dusky pink colour. Exactly the colour of the St. Swithins in bloom in the garden, he thought. And the underneath bit was quite – tight, he noticed. He swallowed an overlarge bite of pasty convulsively. As he hastened forward to greet her, he saw her dreary dad slip through the door behind her – straight into Gran's chair, he noted with annoyance. Hannah looked taller than usual. Merlin – her shoes were about three inches high. Her mouth almost reached the level of his chin. He found himself wondering if anyone would notice if he Side-Along Apparated her to the greenhouse for a few minutes.Focus, he told himself firmly as he reached her side. His Gran's words from half an hour earlier echoed in his ear.
"You're the host of this bloomin' shindig this year, my boy. And thank Merlin it's the last time I have to put up with listening to Enid quizzing me about whether or not you're going to be Gryffindor prefect, or Quidditch Captain or Gobstone President."
Neville kissed Hannah chastely on the cheek, nevertheless aware of his Great Uncle Algie giving a long wolf-whistle from his vantage point by the drinks cabinet. Blimey, he must have got stuck into the Firewhiskey even earlier than usual.
"Neville!" Hannah hissed in his ear, dragging him over to the window. "What onearth is Professor McGonagall doing here? And – oh my God – that's never Madam Pomfrey?"
"I'm so sorry. It's awful. I had no idea."
"And who's that girl with the long dark hair?"
"Dunno. Uncle Arnie said something about her being here on duty. I think Mr Weasley might have asked her to come."
"Which one's Uncle Arnie?"
"Arnold Peasegood – he's not really my uncle. He's over there, getting stuck into the potted shrimps. He was Dad's best friend from school. He works at the Ministry, in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. He hasn't been able to make it the last couple of years. That's his wife sitting next to him."
"And you're still in touch – that's nice."
"They're my godparents."
Hannah peered with curiosity at the heavily-made-up siren on the sofa. "Oh. My. God."
"Yeah – um." Neville lowered his voice. "That's why we're having to listen to this awful racket."
"Your godmother is Celestina Warbeck?"
"That's her stage name. You can call her Charlotte. She's all right, apart from the music. Down to earth, you know."
"Ah, Hannah, you've arrived." Augusta bustled in from the kitchen carrying the centrepiece for the table, an enormously long cake covered in pale and dark brown icing. Five of seventeen candles twinkled like stars in the night sky, forming the shape of the constellation of Cassiopeia. The remaining twelve exuded bright white wreaths of mist that swirled around the cake, giving the impression that it was surrounded by clouds. "Very nice frock, dear."
"It's a formal robe, actually," muttered Hannah. "New season."
"G – gran," Neville stammered. "You made me a broomstick cake instead of a toad or a spade one."
"That's right. I've been waiting for another opportunity to make one of these for years. As you've finally seen fit to rescue Frank's Nimbus from dilapidation, I thought it was about time. I've just been telling Minerva here about your Sloth Grip Roll."
Neville and Hannah goggled, as Professor McGonagall walked graciously over to the little group by the window, smiling benignly. "Happy birthday, Neville. Hello Hannah, it's nice to see you again."
"Good afternoon, Headmistress," said Neville with, he thought, remarkable aplomb, considering he was completely freaked out by the presence of his Head of House in his house. Disconcerting didn't begin to describe it. It was worse than her occasional flying visits to the Gryffindor common room in search of some miscreant.
"Who knows, we may be requiring your presence on the team next year, if you've improved as much as your grandmother assures me is the case," Professor McGonagall said dryly, with a twinkle in her eye. Neville heard Hannah stifle a giggle.
"Ahem. Yes – well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Ah! Here's our final guest now." Augusta, feeling decidedly flustered, swept off to greet a little woman climbing out of the fireplace. Somehow Minerva still managed to make her feel like an untidy and incompetent schoolgirl, decades after they'd shared a room together. Augusta pulled herself together. She was a respectable pillar of the community, with a reputation as a Herbalist and Potion maker of some renown. It was very good of Minerva to have found the time to drop in, she scolded herself, and it was quite correct that she should be sensible of the honour of entertaining the new Head of Hogwarts. Let it not be said that Augusta Longbottom had no appreciation of the niceties of rank.
A wave of tiredness washed over her. For a moment, she felt uncharacteristically overwhelmed. It had been a long day, and it wasn't over yet. What had she been thinking of, inviting such a crowd? Pretentious, that's what it was. Zelda was bound to have fun at her expense later. "Dear Pomona, welcome. You have leaves in your hair, as usual." She offered her cheek for a kiss.
There was a sudden shriek and a whirlwind in pink hurled itself between the two women. "Professor Sprout!" Hannah cried, flinging her arms around the dumpy witch standing on the hearth rug and nearly bowling her over. They hugged for a long time, laughing delightedly. Finally, Professor Sprout stepped back and held Hannah at arm's length.
"My darling girl. How I've missed you. Susan was no match for those tearaways in second year. Let me look at you." Professor Sprout surveyed her former prefect approvingly. Hannah sensed Neville moving towards her, then felt the warm, comforting grip of his hand in hers. Professor Sprout's unruly eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Well, well," she said, brushing a few final leaves from her battered hat into the fireplace. "Harumph. What have we here? My most talented student – and my most conscientious. Splendid. Neville, m'boy …" She cleared her throat and recited what sounded like a carefully prepared speech. "I'm absolutely delighted to be here on such an important occasion. Thank you for inviting me to share your special day."
Neville nearly blurted that it was Gran who'd invited her but remembered his manners just in time. "You're very welcome, Professor. May I get you something to drink? Butterbeer, pumpkin juice?"
"Got anything a bit stronger?" asked Professor Sprout, formality forgotten, as she bustled over to the drinks table. "Ah, Algie, my good man! Haven't seen you in yonks – how was Darkest Peru? Elf wine? Excellent."
Presents had been distributed and the broomstick cake cut. Having been introduced by Neville, Hannah was making rather nervous conversation with his godmother, who was doing most of talking. She felt a little faint. At one time she'd had three Celestina Warbecks in her Famous Wizard Card collection. "Can you believe it? This is the first time I've seen my godson since he before he went off to Hogwarts. World tours you see, darling – every summer for the past sixteen years, until this one. And look at him, all grown up. Hardly the fat little sweet barrel you used to be, are you Neville?"
"Auntie Charlotte!" Neville didn't sound like he really minded.
"So sorry, my darling. Look at me, I've no room to talk. Thank heavens for the Empire line, that's what I always say."
Out of the corner of her eye, Hannah saw a tiny figure in a long, shapeless black dress beckoning to her from the lumpy sofa that had been pushed against the back wall. A brisk, elderly and somehow familiar-sounding voice called, "Neville old chap, come over here a minute, would you? And bring your little friend, I haven't been properly introduced."
Keeping hold of her hand, Neville drew Hannah over to the oldest witch she'd seen in her life. But wait a minute – she knew that beaky, intelligent face. Oh no. Memories of her Transfiguration O.W.L. practical exam sailed to the forefront of her mind, breaking loose from where they usually remained deeply anchored in the furthest, most inaccessible reaches of her consciousness. She could see Professor McGonagall looking at her quizzically from the other side of the room. As if that weren't enough, Madam Pomfrey was seated next to Griselda Marchbanks on the sofa. Hannah felt like an exhibit pinned to a card.
"Good afternoon, Professor Marchbanks," said Neville, leaning over to kiss the softly wrinkled cheek held out to him.
"Tsk! Such formality – I've changed your nappy you know young man."
"Sorry Auntie Zelda."
"And you my dear – have we met before? Remind me, Neville."
"This is Hannah Abbott, my girlfriend." Hannah jumped and a strange tingly feeling washed over her. Neville gave her hand a squeeze and her knees buckled slightly. She flapped a hand in front of her face. It was hot in here.
"Nice to meet you properly lass. Do you remember me?" Hannah nodded, shamefaced.
"Hello, Professor Marchbanks, Madam Pomfrey," she said politely. She was sick of this party already. What was Augusta thinking, inviting all these teachers to her grandson's seventeenth birthday? The woman must be a sadist. Talk of the devil …
"Hello, Poppy," said Augusta, walking over to them. Neville darted away and came back almost immediately with a kitchen chair for his grandmother to sit on. "I'm sorry I missed you when you arrived. Thank you so much for coming. Has Griselda been taking care of you?"
"Marvellously, thank you, Augusta. You know me – I can never resist an opportunity to harass a former patient. Neville – how's that scar of yours?"
"F – fine, thank you, Madam Pomfrey," he said, picking up Hannah's hand again.
"What about the bones? Any aches and pains?"
"N – not any more," murmured Neville, looking as though he wished the ground would open up and swallow him. Hannah moved a little closer and leaned comfortingly against the arm attached to the hand she was holding.
"Been getting into scrapes, eh, Neville?" interjected Professor Marchbanks. Hannah was about to leap to his defence when Augusta broke in.
"Don't youdaretease the boy, Zelda Marchbanks. You know perfectly well that Neville wasonce again injured in defence of his country, fighting fully-qualified and highly-trained Dark wizards!"
So it was possible for Augusta to say something nice about her grandson, thought Hannah, respectfully surprised. She couldn't understand why Neville didn't seem more pleased. He still looked pained and embarrassed and his arm had gone all tense where she was resting against it. She was on the point of dragging him away so she could ask him what was wrong when she realised that Madam Pomfrey was now addressing her. "And what about your problem, Hannah? I received your letter."
Oh no,not here. Please shut up. Both Neville and Augusta were staring at her in blank surprise. "I took the liberty of bringing a little something with me. You should find it does the trick." Madam Pomfrey rummaged in a black briefcase on the floor next to her and brought out a round tin that Hannah recognized instantly.
"One large spoonful, dissolved in warm water, best taken two hours before bed. It'll keep the symptoms down to a minimum." Hannah's face was burning and she could feel Neville's puzzled eyes upon her. She fixed her gaze on the tips of her lovely new shoes and tried not to cry.
"What have you got there, Poppy?" asked Professor Marchbanks. "Is it regarding this Sensitive condition we were discussing?"
"That's right, it's a simple Calming Draught. I had to administer it all too often to this one over the years, did I not?" Hannah raised her eyes and nodded gloomily. She supposed the cat was out of the bag now, so she might as well be polite. Madam Pomfrey was being kind as ever, albeit in her usual forthright fashion.
"This young woman is the clearest case of Magical Sensitivity I have encountered since … well, never mind about that." She paused for a second, apparently deep in thought, then roused herself to continue. "More to the point, Hannah, I do have an answer to the question in your letter, if you are serious about following a career that will take you out into the world."
"Y – yes I think so." I don't have much choice.
"I must say I don't recommend it, as it will require a particular strength of will with a temperament and disposition such as yours. If you are determined – you will need to learn to control the condition with your brain and senses, that is, both physically and mentally. It will not be easy but there is an excellent foundation programme at St. Mungo's you can follow. It's possible that the Ministry, as your employer, would be able to provide you with financial support. I believe it's not without precedent." She considered, head on one side. "Although, perhaps not in current circumstances."
"Th – thank you, Madam Pomfrey." Hannah took the hated Calming Draught tin and looked at it helplessly. She couldn't put it in the pocket of her robe, it would ruin the line. Perhaps she'd be able to escape upstairs for five minutes. She could do with a break from all the scrutiny. That wasn't an option right now though, it seemed.
"Do you have your wand on you, by any chance, my dear?" Professor Marchbanks was addressing her again.
"Er – um …" Of course she did but what was the better answer, she wondered – the truth or flat-out denial? She settled on a slightly truculent, "Why?"
"Yes, she does, I noticed it earlier," a smiling Professor McGonagall replied, wandering over to join the group by the sofa. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Griselda?"
Madam Pomfrey was nodding indulgently. "Wonderful idea. Lay the ghost, as it were."
Oh my lord. Sadists – all of them.
"What's this – party tricks? Splendid." Great Uncle Algie weaved unsteadily across the carpet, followed by a worried-looking Professor Sprout.
Hannah bowed to the inevitable. "You can borrow Trevor – he won't mind," whispered Neville. "He's under the food table waiting for crumbs." Hannah turned and judged the distance between her and the toad, who was gazing at her unblinkingly, as though he knew perfectly well that he was about to be put-upon.
She pulled out her wand, murmuring "Sorry Trevor," and produced an exemplary Vanishing Spell. Her hands were dry this time. Or perhaps all the practice they'd had on Augusta's hat had helped. Although, thinking about it, it wasn't a spell she'd found particularly hard to master in lessons, which was perhaps why becoming a laughing stock for that particular incident had been so hard to bear. It was strange to think that years of exam nerves and feeling like the clumsiest witch ever born might have an explanation other than simple stupidity. Could it really be that her funny feelings would turn out to be useful, like Hermione Granger had suggested, rather than something to be embarrassed about?
"Bravo!" cried Great Uncle Algie. "Not one I ever mastered, I have to say."
"Good girl," said Professor McGonagall, with a distinct note of relief in her voice, stepping forward to reverse the spell.
"Nicely done, Hannah," nodded Professor Marchbanks. "Thank you for humouring me."
Hannah hands did shake a little as she put the wand back in the inside pocket of her robes. She could feel her dad staring at her from across the room. He appeared to have been hitting the bottle with Great Uncle Algie and his head and shoulders were wreathed in thick blue cigarette smoke. He looked very sorry for himself, and as though this mood was about to take a turn into nastiness of some kind or another. She'd have to head him off, try and get him upstairs before he showed himself up. She broke away from the congratulatory crowd that had surrounded her and went over to him, searching for words that would soothe rather than irritate.
To her surprise he stubbed out his cigarette and got to his feet. "I'll be off then," he said with a bright social smile, that looked almost entirely unforced.
"Right you are, Dad," she said, in an equally breezy and polite voice. "Are you going to pop upstairs for a bit? I'll bring you a cup of tea if you like."
He stepped forward and whispered in her ear. "I mean it, I'm off – for good, like. I can't take it love. I have to get out of here. This isn't my world. I'll not take you away from your friends but I'll take my chances."
"Wh – what do you mean? You're not – leaving?"
"My bag's packed. There's a train to York in half an hour."
"You planned this." He said nothing. "Where are you going?" Her dad shrugged. "Not home – Dad, you can't."
"Can if I want," he said, sounding for all the world like a truculent small boy.
"Just wait another hour or so," Hannah pleaded desperately. "We can talk."
"Nothing to talk about. I should have done this months ago. Sent you back to school like I wanted." Hannah gasped. The unfairness of it. Talk about a selective memory. She nearly lost her temper but forced herself to keep her voice even.
"I couldn't go back – you were ill. You couldn't go down the shops for a pint of milk." Her dad shrugged moodily.
"That was then. You've got your own life now. I need mine back. I need to start looking into what happened to your Mum again. It's not like you're ever going to do it. Wouldn't be surprised if you were in cahoots with the rest of them – up to your neck in it."
Hannah gaped in disbelief, then clamped her mouth firmly shut. Neville came over to join them, looking searchingly at her face for clues. She kept her eyes down and her lips pressed together. She couldn't make a scene at Neville's birthday party, or let her dad spoil things. Typical selfish, self-centred behaviour. How on earth her mum had put up with his nonsense for so many years was beyond her. Bloody drama queen,I could swing for him, she thought rebelliously. She'd known it had only been a matter of time but what a time to choose. "Um – can I get either of you another drink?" asked Neville timidly.
"No thank you, young man. I'm just going."
"Going?" Neville looked blank.
"He's not going anywhere," muttered Hannah through gritted teeth.
"Thanks for inviting me but I have to be off now. I'll be seeing you, Hannah." He walked – a touch unsteadily – through the door that lead into the hall and picked up a small case half-hidden behind the umbrella stand. Hannah hadn't noticed it when they'd come in. "I've left a note for the lad's granny." He leaned over and kissed her cheek, breathing Firewhiskey and tobacco fumes. Hannah grabbed him by the arm, resisting an urge to throw her arms round his neck like a five year old. "Daddy, please! Don't do this." Don't leave me too.
"You'll be fine now love. Trust me. Take care of her, lad." Mr Abbott detached his daughter's hand and stepped out into the early evening chill, looking noble and self-sacrificing. Hannah went to run after him but felt a touch on her arm. The strange young woman with the long, dark hair was standing behind her.
"Should we stop him, do you think?" Arnold Peasegood had come into the hall to join them and peered after Mr Abbott walking down the drive, as dusk enveloped him. As her dad left through the front gate, now secure on its hinges, Hannah noticed his shoulders squaring and how he looked somehow taller before he disappeared for good.
"No, we can't hold him," the girl replied. "The house is cordoned off anyway. I'll send a message to the Ministry, let them know I'll be intercepting him there, try and make him see sense." She turned to Hannah. "He'll be back with you before tomorrow morning." Hannah stared at her wildly. Who on earth was this woman, who looked hardly older than herself but was clearly in a position of authority?
"Seems as though you and your Dad have attracted the attention of someone or something quite unpleasant. That was a nasty trap they'd set in your old place."
"I'm – I'm sorry – who are you?"
The girl gave her a wry grin. "I'm afraid that information is given out on a strictly 'need to know' basis." She turned to Neville's godfather. "I'd best be off then – now we've got a security breach on our hands … think you can manage here?"
"Not sure. Depends if Great Uncle Algie asks the wife for an impromptu performance. Things could get out of hand quite quickly." He grinned. "It was good to meet you – give the others my best."
"The others?" The woman arched one eyebrow questioningly.
"Just Kingsley then." Arnold tapped the side of his nose and winked. The girl shied like a startled animal, gave a final nervous grin and Disapparated almost silently.
Hannah stumbled back into the living room. Not looking where she was going, she tripped on the hole in the threadbare carpet and would have fallen, had Neville not been there to catch her. He felt her shaking, with a deep trembling that seemed to reverberate through her whole body, as she hid her face against the stiff white cotton of his best shirt. He could feel heat coming off her and the dampness of her tears as he patted her shoulder nervously, becoming steadily more aware of the painful silence that had fallen in the room. He glanced at his grandmother. The lamps were not yet lit and her expression was unreadable in the gloom of early evening, as the sun set behind the trees in front of the house.
Great Aunt Enid was the first to break the silence. "Where did that man go? What was a Muggle doing here anyway, Augusta? You still haven't explained." Neville felt Hannah's shoulders stiffen. She drew away from him and turned round slowly.
"That man was my dad," she said, in a calm enough voice, although Neville could see that her hands were still shaking. She clasped them in front of her and faced Great Aunt Enid with a tranquil expression, belied by the quilting of her jawline.
"Well, in that case I amsorry, dear. I had no idea."
"Why should you be sorry? My mother was a Muggle too. Until she died."
"Oh! The poor little thing."
Hannah gave Neville an agonized look, whispered, "I'm so sorry," and fled the room. He heard her footsteps climbing the stairs, unevenly owing to her unaccustomed high-heels. For a moment he stared around at the assembled guests, torn between going after her and his duties as host. Most people were looking vaguely uncomfortable, staring at the floor or pretending to eat and drink. He was still stupefied by indecision, when Great Aunt Enid spoke again.
"Terribly sad, of course but a little decorum wouldn't go amiss. Still, what can one expect, really?"
Professors McGonagall and Sprout exchanged horrified looks. Griselda Marchbanks glared from Great Aunt Enid to Gran and back again, as though urging her friend to say something. Neville looked at Gran, who met his eye unflinchingly. She didn't – she couldn't – agree with what Great Aunt Enid had said. Could she? Neville looked away. He felt really hot for some reason and his hands seemed overlarge and clumsy. He folded his arms to get them out of the way. "Erm – I'm sorry Auntie Enid, I'm not sure I understand what you mean?"
"Come now, Neville dear." Her large eyes were mild and unblinking. "A pretty little thing, but not quite our sort, wouldn't you agree Algernon?" She gave her tinkling laugh and sought support from her wayward husband, nodding over his plate of chicken and Waldorf salad.
"Hmph, capital fellow I thought – held his drink better than some wizards I could mention. Still, you're right m'dear – eh, Neville? Plenty of fillies for a well set-up young fellow like you – and a Longbottom no less. No need to settle for a – hmm yes, well …" He went back to mumbling over his drumstick.
"Quite," continued Aunt Enid. "I seem to recall there were a good number of girls born in the same year as you. Bones, Parkinson, Patil – twins I believe – to name but a few. All good wizarding stock." Stock? Neville felt queasy and quite out of his depth. Aunt Enid went on as though she hadn't said anything at all untoward. "Do you remember, Augusta, we talked about it with Alice, when we visited her in St. Mungo's after the birth?"
"I remember that conversation," interjected Griselda Marchbanks crisply. "I remember Alice laughing and telling you to not to be so daft."
Neville was becoming steadily hotter. He was glad his hands were clamped under his armpits, because he could feel himself trembling as badly as Hannah had been before her escape. "Th – that's enough," he began shakily. "Y – you can't run my life anymore. I'm seventeen. Who I'm f – friends with is none of your business."
"Well, really!"
"And – and don't mention my mum to me either. You've never once been to see her in all these years."
"Sister! Are you going to allow him to speak to me like this?"
Augusta was smiling strangely. "Neville's right actually Enid. He is of age."
"Flagrant disrespect!"
"Oh, don't give me that flannel. You've always been a meddlesome old busybody, Enid." Gran passed her hand across her forehead in a dismissive gesture. "He's right about another thing too. You're hypocritical and a snob. You never took to Alice. If I hadn't listened to you lot back then, I'd have had more time with my Frank."
Neville could see the corners of Professor McGonagall's mouth twitching. Uncle Arnold, however, was frowning heavily. His wife had averted her eyes from the scene and begun stacking cleared plates on the sideboard. She looked a little sick. Griselda Marchbanks had Trevor on her lap. She was feeding him a sausage on a stick and stroking his back thoughtfully.
Great Aunt Enid's face was tinged with two spots of colour high on her sharp cheekbones but when she spoke, her voice was cold. "Augusta, you're overwrought. I'll put this down to the pressure you've been under. But mark my words, if you don't want repeat of last time …"
"Last time?" interrupted Augusta, equally coldly.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Your Frank was living over the brush goodness knows where, with that trollop." Neville hadn't heard the word before but he didn't like the sound of it. He was still trying to catch up with the fact that Gran had somehow leapt to his and Hannah's defence. "She caught Frank good and proper, everybody knew it." Caught him? thought Neville, bewildered. What did that mean?
"Put your foot down with the boy, while there's still time. Or that little blonde piece will have her feet under your table before you can say Jack Robinson." Neville still wasn't quite sure what Aunt Enid was implying but the insult intended towards his mum and Hannah was clear enough. The anger flowing through his veins made him feel powerful, despite his shaking hands. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, his grandmother spoke again in her most forbidding tone.
"Thank you for the advice Enid, but I think it's time you and Algie were going. He's had more than enough. Go on – be off with you." Augusta had her wand out and was pointing it directly at the fireplace.
"I have never … not in all my born days …" Great Aunt Enid was still stuttering with rage when Arnold and Augusta manhandled Great Uncle Algie into the fireplace with her and threw a handful of Floo powder at them.
Neville sighed in relief and gratitude and felt a rush of love towards his grandmother. He made a decision. "Excuse me, everyone. I have to go. Thank you all for coming. Sorry, Gran. I'll come back and help clear up later."
Gran looked as though she wanted to stop him but Neville found himself surrounded. Professor Sprout enveloped him in a bear hug. "She's a good girl, Neville. Don't you listen to any of their nonsense."
"I won't," he whispered back, scarlet in the face at being clasped to the bosom of his favourite teacher and role model.
"Look after yourself, Longbottom." Professor McGonagall gripped him by the hand. "I'll see you on the first of September."
"Keep taking good care of that scar," said Madam Pomfrey, raking him over with a gimlet eye. Neville edged away before she could ask him for one last look.
"Bon soir, darling boy." It was his godmother's turn to sweep him into a sweetly-scented embrace. "You've grown so handsome, I hardly recognise you. And your petit chou-fleur is lovely."
"I didn't know you could speak French, Auntie Charlotte," grinned Neville. "Thanks for the album – and for the new edition of 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi."
"We guessed you were about due for another copy," Uncle Arnie joined in, clapping him on the back. "It's been three years after all."
"And the silver knife is brilliant."
"We hope you like the message on it," said his godmother, kissing him again on both cheeks.
"It's great," said Neville, looking again at the engraving which read, "To Neville, on his coming of age, from your ever-loving godparents."
"Off you go lad," grunted Griselda Marchbanks in her gruff voice. "We'll see ourselves out."
"Thanks Auntie Zelda," said Neville, kissing her politely and backing out of the living-room before anyone else could waylay him. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for moment, taking deep breaths of the cooler, slightly musty air of the hall. A small sound caught his ear. He looked up to see Hannah sitting on the top step of the first flight of stairs. She smiled at him.
"I heard what you said. That was brave, standing up to your relatives like that."
Neville bounded up the stairs and sat down beside her. "I'm so sorry. Areyou all right?"
"'Course I am. I've heard worse." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Afriend am I?" Her voice had regained a little of its usual mischief. Neville shifted uncomfortably. "And anyway, what's all this about you and Pansy Parkinson?"
"Oh, come off it."
"I'm sorry – is it Parvati Patil? I hate to break it to you, but Susan doesn't fancy you."
"Give it a rest, Hannah. I'm not interested those girls."
"You'd better not be."
"I can show you how not interested if you like …" Neville stood up and pulled Hannah to her feet.
"Watch it Neville, my dress is going to get all creased."
"I thought these were robes."
"That would be the whole ensemble. You'll notice the top part is already lying in a heap on the floor."
"Whatever," he said, finding a row of tiny buttons down the back and beginning to painstakingly undo them. "What's this underneath?"
"Um – it's the undershift. Silk. You approve?" Neville mumbled something inarticulate as they stumbled in the direction of the bed. Tomorrow they had to try and break a traffic light without getting caught by the Muggle Please-men but after that …
There was something connected with his birthday Neville hadn't yet told Hannah about. He hoped she'd be pleased.
This chapter is dedicated to Charlotte Songbird, who is so Awesomely good-natured that she still reads this, even though the story breaks up not one, but two of her OTPs. Anyone interested in knowing more about Arnold Peasegood and Celestina Warbeck can find the story of how they met here.