Alright, so this is something I have a problem with. If you're going to leave a review criticizing my work, and I have no problem with criticism, it's very appreciated, please be concise in what you have a problem with and don't give me vague and patronizing criticism that could apply to literally anything. If I lost you, I want to know where, so I know where to go back and review. If you can't tell me that, nothing will change. I cannot read your mind and I honestly don't want to. So if your criticism isn't constructive and beneficial to your reading experience or my writing experience, keep it to yourself.

"You old COW, that was not funny! You could've given Neville a bloody heart attack!" Hermione was shaking, and despite her screeching at the old woman who was cackling like a madwoman, she refused to let her hand go. She expected there to be screaming, scratching, and fighting, but there was none of that.

"Don't you go giving yourself too much credit, Granger. I made peace with Death. Don't think for a second that if I hadn't, I wouldn't have fought the bloody bitch tooth and nail to get back where I need to be." Nodding, Hermione looked between the two of their hands, Augusta's greying and speckled with moles and liver spots, as well as an expanse of freckles across what was likely once beautifully porcelain skin. A sob from Neville caught her attention, the older woman's hand reaching out to grasp his shoulders, offering him a smile, one which he seemed to have inherited.

"Nan," he started, his voice thick with emotion as he clutched her hand tighter. She placed a hand on his cheek, her eyes travelling around the astonished faces in the room until she made eye contact with Hermione, sighing lightly, her eyes flashing to Harry and then to Ron.

"You take good care of my grandson. He's a good boy, but I need you all to help him become a damn good man. Better than my son ever was." Those words seemed to send Neville into a fresh wave of tears. Hermione herself knew that it was a common insecurity he had, one she was surprised Harry didn't have, constantly having James Potter, the man who stood up to Voldemort, thrown in his face. To hear such words from his grandmother meant a lot to him, she knew. "These next few months will be hard for him, but I trust you all to take care of Neville. If you don't, I'll enter your dreams and drive you to the afterlife so I can beat the bloody devil out of each and every one of you. And you, Girl." Hermione didn't need to be seen to know that Augusta was talking to her. "When you see that grandmother of yours, you tell her that she may have outlived me, but I've got more time under my belt than she, so she'd best not gloat about it, the bloody ginger bitch." This brought a laugh from the Dimitriou heir, tears sliding down her face at the heartfelt words she had said about her grandson.

"I plan to haunt the halls of that manor for the rest of eternity, you know," she said, chuckling slightly, turning to Hermione. "And when that ruddy hag finally croaks, she'd better haunt them with me if she knows what's best for her." A smile was the young woman's response as Lady Longbottom turned to her grandson. "Don't put yourself through that hell, Boy. You go out there and you live. Live, make a life for yourself, a name for yourself. Only then do you have my permission to walk the halls of that manor again." He nodded, closing his eyes when she delivered a playful jab at his chin. "Buck up, you're a Longbottom! None of this crying business. I'll be right and royally pissed if the last thing I saw was my grandson bawling like some little girl at my bedside. Personally," she started, faux whispering to him. "I wanted to die drunk off my arse on Ogden's finest, but a couple cowardly Death Eaters is as good enough of a second option as it's going to be." He chuckled, raising her fist to his mouth and planting the barest of kisses there. She smiled, Hermione barely registering her slipping her hand out of hers, the light leaving her eyes as it fell limp beside her.

"Let's give him some time to himself," she faintly hears, feeling a hand grasping the one that held Augusta's hand, pulling her to her feet and leading her out of the room. She didn't regain focus until she was out of the room, down the hall, and sitting in a nearly deserted hallway, the first thing she saw not being the large, green orbs of Harry Potter, but the azure gaze of Ronald Weasley, her lip quivering slightly before she pulled him into her arms, clutching him tightly in a way that made her realize that it had been forever since she'd done so. In that moment, she realized that she'd missed him, and as she felt him release her, she smiled when no ill feelings met her heart.

"I owe you both an apology. What I did was wrong, I should have known that you'd have to have an important reason why you kept that information to yourself. It's just," he started, pacing the hall. Harry found them as they were ending their embrace, offering Ron a meaningful look before he took a seat next to Hermione. They waited for him to speak, knowing that he often had to gather himself to prevent himself from saying the wrong thing. "It's just that, you don't know what it's like. Percy, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George. They're all superstars in their own right. Then there's you two. Harry, mate, I know you hate the fame, but you can't deny that when you enter a room, every eye turns to you and they talk about how great you are. Yeah, you have to face the scorn of the public, but when you talk, they listen. When I talk, all they see is your sidekick. Hermione, you're a genius. Deny it all you want, but there has never been a moment when you don't have the answers to something. You're more powerful than any pureblood prick I've ever met and they're already dubbing you the Brightest Witch in a century or something. Then to hear that you're a Dimitriou? Even Mum gushed over your family name when we were kids, about how whoever married into your family would be the luckiest person alive, and that person turns out to be you. Honestly, do you have any idea how bloody weird that is. I've known you my whole life and I would have never guessed it. Me, your best friend!" She smiled slightly, placing her hand over his.

"You are not a sidekick, Ron. If anything, you keep us grounded. You know how inflated Harry's ego can get sometimes. You're always there to knock him down a peg or two. And you're so wise. You're irreplaceable as a friend. Don't let anyone lead you to believe that you're not. Yes, the twins are the pranksters, Percy's the brain, Charlie's the heart, and Bill is the leader, but you're what they need, Ron. You're the soul, and without you, everything would fall apart. Ginny looks up to you so much. She may not say it, but she does, I know. You are the glue, and without you, Ronald Weasley, all of this would cease to be."

He smiled, running a hand through his hair as he looks at the bustling community of sick and well, all with the same goal, and that was to go home. Looking up at his friends, he grinned playfully. "And what about Fred and George?"

Harry spoke up at that. "Listen, mate, you can't win 'em all." They all chuckled as Ron punched the dark haired Savior in the arm, a sign that all was well, or at least as well as it could be.

"Do you want to come over? You could room with Harry." Ron shook his head, taking a seat in the waiting room, not far from his family, but far enough to earn them a bit of privacy. "Mum will want up all to stay home tonight." He looked around and leaned closer to them. "Death Eaters killed Augusta Longbottom. The order is panicking and Dumbledore wants to take Harry back to Grimmauld, Neville too." The two of them looked up at that, frowns on their faces. "Harry is not leaving my house, and next week, we're leaving the country, the Death Eaters won't be able to even touch him where we're going. Neville is going home with us." Ron opened his mouth to warn them of the older redhead that stood behind them, but it was too late.

"What do you mean he's going with you two?!" They both turned abruptly to meet the furious expression of Molly Weasley. "Harry and Neville are leaving with us today, and if you had any sense, you would come along with them. The Order," she lowered her voice, her eyes darting around. "The Order is where they will be the safest. They will be surrounded by more than capable wizards, as well as Dumbledore." Hermione rose to her full height, which wasn't the most impressive, but she had a few inches on the Weasley matriarch.

"Harry and Neville are coming home to London tonight. Augusta asked us to take care of Neville. His friends. I know you think you're doing what's best and-"

"Now look here, girl-"

"-AND the Order thinks themselves to be his best option, but my parents-"

"Muggle-"

"MY! PARENTS!' she powered through, daring the redheaded woman to complete her sentence. People were staring, but she didn't care. She would not let Molly Weasley finish a sentence where she belittled her parents and cheapened all of their hard work to none but two muggles who just fortunate enough to birth The Brightest Witch of Her Age. "-are more than capable of protecting the two of them, Mrs. Weasley. They successfully raised a Dimitriou on their own and have nearly fought the wizard world tooth and nail to keep me. My parents can keep Harry and Neville safe, and if it comes down to it, I believe that Neville should be the one to choose where he goes. Petunia Dursley left Harry in my mother's care, so if you want him, you must take that up with her, but Neville needs us. I asked Ron if he wanted to stay as well, but he informed me that you feel it would be safer if he went home, or back to the Order, and I am perfectly fine with that, but Neville makes his own decisions. He is now a Lord, he doesn't have to go anywhere he does not want to." The shorter woman seemed furious, ready to lash out when a voice spoke up.

"I'm ready whenever you are." The lot of them looked back to see Neville standing behind Ron, exhaustion written on his face as he stared at Hermione, who walked to stand beside him, running a hand over his arm.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for a bit longer? I know how it can be." He smiled, nodding as he placed a hand on her shoulder, making his way over to the Weasley family, pulling the Weasley matriarch into a hug.

"Thank you," he said softly, sure to pour his gratitude into those two words. She had been the first person to grab him, to hold him and tell him everything would be alright. She offered him a shoulder to cry on, a place to live if he ever got lonely, and a chance to be in a family again. Molly Weasley was a wonderful woman and she opened her heart to him when others would have turned their backs. She returned his embrace, clutching to him in a way he often imagined his own mother would have, if she'd been herself. She made him feel that the world wasn't so big, in a way his friends could never hope to. Smiling at her whisper of assurance, that she wasn't upset with him, and if he ever needed her, she would be readily available.

"Are you absolutely sure that you're ready to leave? You know that once we go, we can't come back, right?" He nodded, watching the two of them share a look that spoke volumes, but they nodded, Hermione holding out a hand and pulling him along, Harry placing an arm on his shoulder, lending him strength against the many eyes that watched them. There was an unbearable ache in his chest when the Weasleys left, and he didn't understand where it was coming from, but the further they got from the hospital, the more it ached, Hermione and Harry holding tighter to him as they went on, seemingly understanding their pain. "Just a little bit longer, Neville. Mum and Dad are on the way. Fight through it, just a little longer." He nodded, feeling the cool breeze of the outside air caressing his face, almost in pity of himself. He didn't have much energy in him, he was hurting, and he was exhausted. His eyes grew heavier and heavier as he went, their grips becoming tighter as his eyes grew heavier still and his knees gave away, darkness encompassing the world around him.

When he woke, he was met with the stormy blue eyes of an unfamiliar man, with a head full of silver hair. Opening his mouth to speak, he found his throat to be dry, coughing slightly, alerting the man that he was awake. A glass of water was thrust out in front of him, which he took and consumed greedily.

"You gave us quite the scare, Neville Longbottom." How did this man know his name? Where was he? Looking around, he saw that he was in a room, the walls painted in a beautiful shade of periwinkle, almost matching Hermione's Yule Ball dress from their fourth year. She was undoubtedly beautiful. The Belle of the ball, the Muggles would say. He was in a large sleigh bed, his back supported by numerous pillows. Light fell on him, though it was rather soft. In his window, he was faced with an expanse of grass, a small pond just beneath the window.

He started to ask a question when the door burst open, revealing the auburn haired beauty that he had just been thinking of, dressed in a pair of shorts and a sports bra, a rather shocking contrast to the modest girl he had grown up with, her hair in a mess, meaning that she had likely just awoken. Behind her, of course, was Harry Potter, his glasses twisted on his face, seemingly dressed in his pajamas as well. "Neville," Hermione said in a relieved tone, a smile on her face as she leaped into the bed with him, the dark haired Potter doing the same, though he fell on his stomach, falling fast asleep. Tahe bed was large enough for the three of them to fit, Hermione kneeled beside him, seemingly trying to peer into his very soul.

"We were so worried about you, weren't we, Harry?" When she got no answer, she his the Gryffindor with a pillow, pulling him from his slumber. "Mhm, yeah," he said tiredly, turning his face towards them, blinking sleepily. "Not that I'm not glad you're alright, Nev, but she kept me up all night with her stupid facts and books, I want sleep." The blond chuckled slightly. "Did you learn anything interesting?" Harry scoffed, but humored him. "Before Hogwarts installed indoor plumbing, wizards would just shite themselves and scourgify it." His reward for his statement was a laugh from Neville and another pillow to the face from his gracious host. "Idiot," she murmured, turning to the man that watched them with amusement.

"Neville, this is my dad, Harold Granger," she said, motioning to the older man, a smile on his face as he nodded in acknowledgement. He was so seemingly different from Stavros Dimitriou. He remembered the first day he met him, almost like it was just that morning.

If there was one thing Neville Longbottom hated, it was floo travel, especially international floo travel, something that had to be done at least twice monthly when his grandmother, and her best friend, Jocasta Dimitriou. Strange name, his grandmother had always said, contradictory, she said. He didn't know what contradictory meant, but even thinking it made him feel decades smarter than his five year old self could.

"Jocasta! Get your pale ginger arse in here and say hello to Neville!" The shuffling of feet sounded, the door behind them opening to reveal an woman,her red hair flowing behind her, porcelain skin glowing as she shot Lady Longbottom a glare, kneeling in front of the boy, who his in his grandmother's skirts. Despite her old age, she had a youthful look to her, an image of beauty that it seemed only she could possess, one that seemed to grow with age. Her hazel eyes shone brightly as she reached to cup his face, a voice filling his head. I see you, Neville Longbottom. You will grow to be a great man.After that, she rose to her feet, turning to face his grandmother. "Augusta Longbottom, you wretched hag. How many times am I going to have to tell you that I am a redhead, not a ginger? For me to be ginger, I would have to possess both red hair and-" Augusta held up a hand, stepping around the woman and exposing Neville to the lavish interior of the Dimitriou manor. "Where is the girl? I take it I didn't bring Neville along for no reason. The boy nearly got sick all over my shoe.

As if she sensed herself being thought of, the doors burst open to reveal a small, redheaded tornado who would flip his world on it's side. "Giagiá! Giagiá!" The woman smiled widely as she stopped the speeding bundle from tackling her legs, the blur coming into focus to reveal a girl, one who seemed to be a photocopy of the woman before her. "Giagiá," she smiled, brushing off her legs. She seemed to have been dressed in muggle clothing, an odd contraption, dunkaroos, if he remembered correctly.

"Adad," she said, motioning for her to stand in front of the boy. He'd known that he was rather tall for his age, but the girl didn't even reach his shoulder, her large, hazel eyes staring curiously at him. Her eyes squinted as she leaned closer, her small nose wrinkling as she scrutinized him.

"Polý adýnatos. Kakó agóri. Aschimos." He didn't know what she said, but he did know that he liked it. It sounded amazing coming from her beautiful lips, pouty and pink, the very color his face was beginning to turn. She frowned at him, cocking her head. "Giatí moiázei me aftó? Den ton sympathó." A smile spread across his face. More beautiful words from this beautiful girl.

"Adad, it is rude to speak about people in what they do not understand. This is Neville Longbottom, and he is the grandson of my dear friend, Augusta. He doesn't have many friends, so I was wondering if you would like the honor of becoming his first friend?" She cocked an eyebrow, frowning as she looked him up and down, clearing her throat before sticking out a hand.

"Hello," she started slowly, speaking in a rather thick accent that he had to strain his ears to hear. "My name is Adad Dimitriou and I am five years old." Five years old? She was just as old as him, yet she was so small! His thoughts had wandered before he realized that he hadn't accepted her hand. Grabbing it firmly, he raised it to his wet lips, planting a sloppy kiss there. The women looked rather amused as she held an expression that he would know in his older years was disgust, but in his younger years, he paid it no mind. She discreetly wiped her hand on the front of her dunkaroos, muttering to herself as she walked on, it being evident that he was to follow.

Three hours into their playtime and she had yet to utter a single word to him. And to be honest, she didn't have to. She had an aura about her, that her words needed not be spoken for him to know what she wanted. When he'd fallen off of the second step, his own feet entangling him, she simply brushed him off, then continuing on without a word. She could hear their grandmothers laughing loudly. A set of footsteps also filled the air. They were sure and strong, a man's footsteps, though he couldn't tell if it was a good man or a bad man. He could always tell, but only if they were where he was. Once, his uncle tried to sneak up on him in the gardens and scare him, but he was able to move out of the way just in time. If his grandmother was in a bad mood and coming to find him, he could always hide.

"Adad." The thick voice cut through the air, almost as if he was standing next to them, but he was several meters away. Neville's eyes scanned the yard until they reached his feet, only to find finely tailored shoes, likely made from the best material. He travelled up his legs, long and sturdy, making him with he had such assurance. He looked at his arms, powerfully built in a white button up shirt, the sight making his tummy flutter slightly. On his hands, there were several rings, each containing rare gems, those which he had never even seen before.

"Patéras," Adad said, rising to her feet and brushing the dirt off of her dunkaroos. From where she had been in the dirt, tending to a flower. She said when it bloomed, it would sing, and if he was a good friend, he could come listen. He had never heard of such a thing, and he wanted to see it. "Aftós eínai o fílos mou-" She seemed to catch herself, remember her grandmother's word. "This is my friend, Neville." He liked the way she said his name, it sounded different, almost like a poem.

The man didn't seem so interested, or at least that was what Neville could feel. He was too terrified to look the man in his face, scooting closer and extending his hand. When he got no response, then he managed to look up, though he wish he hadn't. Stavros Dimitriou was a handsome man, or so he had often heard, with his strong jaw, clear skin, and sharp, blue eyes that made even his own knees weak. His full lips were pulled back in a sneer, staring down at his hand as if it were poison. A hand smacking his down told him that Adad was standing next to him, her eyes wide, but standing at an angle that if the man decided to kick or strike, she would catch the impact. He decided in that moment he did not like Stavros Dimitriou. "Lypámai, patéra," she started hurriedly, lowering her head slightly. "Tha páme tóra mésa." With that, she pulled him behind her, hurrying inside the large manor.

When they entered the room, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck, a sign that she had smacked him. "Anóito agóri! Prospatheíte na pethánete?!" He stared at her with confusion, tears welling in his eyes as she stared at him, her hands planted on her nonexistent hips. "Dry your tears, I barely touched you, idiot boy," she hissed, glaring at him. "You will not do that again, Katalavaínete!?" she said, waving her pointer finger with every stressed syllable. He must not have answered quick enough, as he received another smack to the back of the neck, his eyes watering, but he dared not let the tears fall, for she had barely touched him. "Katalavaínete?!" He nodded rapidly.

"Katalavaínete, katalavaínete!" She smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

"Kalos, Neville. Very good."

A smack similar to the one from his memory startled him back to reality, his eyes landing on Harry, hissing as he rubbed the back of his neck, Hermione glaring at him. It seemed not much had changed. The Granger patriarch chuckled, informing them all that be would go and get breakfast started soon, and for Neville to rest. Hermione rose from his bedside, placing a kiss on his cheek as she made her way to the door, Harry not far behind.

Translations

Polý adýnatos. Kakó agóri. Aschimos.Too Skinny. Scrawny boy, Ugly

Giagiá Grandmother

Giatí moiázei me aftó? Den ton sympathó. Why is he looking like that? I don't like him.

Patéras Father

Aftós eínai o fílos mou This is my friend

Lypámai, patéra. Tha páme tóra mésa. He is sorry, father. We will go inside now.

Anóito agóri! Prospatheíte na pethánete? Foolish boy! Are you trying to die?

Katalavaínete!? Understood!?

Anyone who knows me(And since very few of you do, this is kind of news) will know that for Augusta Longbottom, I have always pictured Dame Angela Lansbury, or if many of you don't know, Aunt Adelaide from Nanny McPhee, Sybil Vane from The Portrait of Dorian Grey, Mrs. Potts from Beauty and The Beast, Miss Daisy from Driving Miss Daisy, Nellie Lovett from Sweeney Todd, Jessica Fletcher, the main character from Murder, She Wrote. I don't know why her face comes up, but it does. For Jocasta, however, I've decided on Susan Sharandon, who is known as Janet Weiss from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Jane Spoffard on The Witches of Eastwick, Louise Sawyer from Thelma and Louise, Marmee March from Little Women(EEP), Queen Narrissa from Enchanted, just all in all, a solid performer. I don't know what it is about these two women, but that's who I want.

Also, yes, I know they're called dungarees, or overalls for those who don't fund any familiarity in the word. It's just young Neville not really understanding all words. He's five, it won't come to him easily.

SO this is Chapter… seven! It honestly doesn't even feel like I've done that many chapters, but here we are. I've been very busy with writing recently, planning novels and preparing myself for a creative writing competition. You guys make my day bright and your reviews put a smile on my face. I hope you all are having a lovely spring/fall, and I look forwards to writing to you next time. Until we meet again loves.

Thank you for reading

Stay weird,

Momo