Sev teetered slightly as he turned the corner. St. Mungo's had gotten rid of his flu in about twelve seconds, and he hadn't wanted to wait for Albus Dumbledore to rescue him from overzealous, noxiously sympathetic Healers. However, setting out on an empty stomach, still slightly wobbly from two weeks of uninterrupted coughing, without even enough pocket change to take the Knight Bus, to walk from the heart of London to its pleasant, suburban outskirts had probably been a bad idea.

"Sixteen Elm Road… Sixteen Elm Road…" Sev's eyes nervously roamed the street. Though he spent as much of his time away from school as he could at this house, he had seldom arrived walking. Conveniently, a handsome bronze sign was affixed to the gate to the front lawn.

Longbottom

16

Home Sweet Home

He stepped through the gate, over a sleeping crup, and around the large statues, ivy, and yew placed strategically around the windows, to hide any magical goings-on in Longbottom's Concoctions: A Potion For Any Occasion. The store took up the house's lounge.

Sev ducked around back, to the kitchen door, and barely had his hand on the knocker when it swung open. Kingsley Longbottom smiled down at him. "Hello, Sev. I thought we might see you. Albus told me what happened."

"Um… Hi, Mr. Longbottom." There was really only one person he felt at all like talking to. "Is Frank here?"

"Last I checked he was happily roiling in teen angst locked in his bedroom. Come in." Sev tailed him into the spacious, tidy kitchen. "Oh, eldest son!"

"Coming!" Sev listened, comforted by familiarity, to the crash of a slammed door, the sudden clatter of hurried footsteps, a scrape, a swear, and the series of unpleasant bumps as Frank toppled down the stairs and landed at his father's feet. "If you all wondered, that did, in fact, hurt."

Sev hauled him up by the shoulders. "Quidditch?"

"Let's go." Wordlessly, they made their way to the basement door, and into the enchanted cellar, magically expanded to the approximate size of an international league quidditch field. As the Longbottoms were sandwiched in the suburbs, the enlargement spell was the only way to get any practice in, but it was nothing like playing outside.

There were five brooms hung on the wall, one for each Longbottom. Sev reached for the nicely aged Shooting Star that nominally belonged to Mrs. Longbottom. It was a lousy broom, but he'd ridden it so much he at least knew the feel of it.

"Uh, actually, Sev…" Frank sounded a bit nonplussed, which was uncommon. Sev turned and had a long, thin package thrust hurriedly into his arms. "It was supposed to be your birthday present, but, you know, since you're here anyway…"

Sev was gaping more than listening. He had just unwrapped a dream made broomstick. "A… Comet… 160…?"

"Yeah, well, Mom thought…"

"We both know damn well I'm poor. Stop being a mook."

Frank grinned. "What's a mook, anyway?"

"Phoebe says it." He swung reverently onto the broom. "Let 'em out."

"Don't you want a bat?" Frank threw one at his head. "Okay, they're coming."

Sev barely noticed, swinging at the bludger by instinct. He was still in shock over the broom. It didn't drag, wiggle, stick in midair, attempt to buck him off, jerk spontaneously to the left, make eerie cracking noises when he turned, or leave splinters where he'd rather not think about it. The second bludger almost hit him before he remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

Enjoying himself immensely, Sev dragged his mind back to the present and attacked the bludgers with a vengeance. His long time friends, rivals, and enemies were all the more amusing on a decent broom. Whack! There went Tom Riddle. Whack! There went James Potter. He didn't understand quite how whacking iron balls solved all his life's problems, the way even blowing things up in potions class couldn't, but he was damn grateful for it.

They practiced for hours. Sev was vaguely aware he was suffering acute exhaustion, but on a broom it didn't matter. When Mrs. Longbottom came down to make them eat, he was abrely aware of the time that had passed. Then the Longbottoms collectively knocked him into an enchanted sleep.

"That was sadistic, you know," said Sev conversationally, over breakfast.

"Mom thought it was a good idea. Stop hogging the bacon."

"Hey, man, nobody ever feeds me. I need this bacon."

"Aren't you two cute." Mrs. Longbottom dropped a lengthy letter on the table. "Apparently, Sev, you're supposed to join your Aunt and sisters at the Leaky Cauldron—" She waited for his squawk of righteous indignation to conclude. "On the thirty-first of August, to get your supplies. In the meantime, make yourself at home."

"Oh." Sev prodded his bacon with a fork, noting with satisfaction that it had all its tines and wasn't tarnished to black. "What else would I be?"

"That's both sweet and pathetic." She swept into the store.

"I can't decide, does your Mum hate me or just find me a minor stain on the landscape?"

"No, just a bacon glutton. Now share!" Frank lunged across the table and managed to knock a glass of orange juice over both of them and Sev off his chair. He managed to snatch the last strip of bacon, though. "I win."

"Did not."

"He said facedown in a pool of O.J."

"Get off me." Sev elbowed Frank in the ribs. "You weigh a hell of a lot for someone short."

"Who's short? I'm not short! You're tall, Freak!" Frank punched him in the arm. "I found an old copy of 'A Hard Day's Night' in the neighbor's trash. Wanna listen to it six or eight times and see if there's any discrepancies we can find between it and the old one?"

"Excellent." Sev shook his head, sending a shower of orange juice spattering around the kitchen. "And, I might note, my trained musician's ears sense your Mum coming back to see what we just did to the kitchen."

"It was a troll attack." Frank turned tail and leapt up the stairs three at a time.