"Aconite…"
He stared at his notes blearily, trying not to think about his encroaching headache. A cough tried to explode from him. He stifled it. It stuck within his throat and burned like hell.
He let out a groan of frustration, kneading his temple. This was getting ridiculous. He was going to have to pick up some Pepperup Potion from the Apothecary first thing tomorrow morning.
The day was getting close, and Neville Longbottom could not afford to be on his back with a cold when it came.
He had been working overtime, trying to finish his lesson plans before the inevitable interruption. Once it happened, he likely wouldn't have a moment to spare. He'd be taking care of both of them. He glanced around his desk, sadly noting the lack of the three glowing spheres that normally adorned any place where he worked. He took them with him to school, and carried them in his cloak back home when he was able to go. But they were no more – destroyed with many of his other possessions in the attack on his life several months ago. He could replace them, of course. He had the money. But it didn't feel the same.
And perhaps, he thought, it did little good to dwell on memorials to the dead, when new life could sprout up any day now.
His eyes turned to the portraits on his desk, his thoughts to the people in them. A blonde woman in a sunshine-yellow wedding dress (only her, he thought with a chuckle) and her handsome groom, in his best black and white dress robes. Luna and Rolf. They would be the godparents. Neville had debated that point with himself and with his wife for a while. The Scamanders were magizoologists, often traveling out of the country for their work. They were… pleasantly eccentric. Yet – especially after the attack – Neville and his wife both agreed that there were few people they trusted more. Besides, they had twin boys themselves – five years old, if Neville remembered correctly – and those boys, odd as their parents were, seemed perfectly fine. Both were extremely bright children, probably because of their broad exposure to so many strange things. If, for some reason, the worst happened, the child would have a fun, well-traveled childhood with two older adoptive brothers, at the very least.
He smiled at his own wedding photograph. Luna (much younger and unmarried) was there, along with several of the young men he had lived with for years. With a pang, he realized most, if not all, would be in Ottery St. Catchpole tomorrow with their spouses – well, except for Seamus Finnigan, who was very interested in women (and would tell you as much when asked) but hadn't found one that could put up with his personal brand of madness. Or all of the explosions.
Harry Potter was holding a party; he had just celebrated a birthday (which anyone who knew a regular reader of the Daily Prophet would know). Actually, Neville himself had just had a birthday, given that the two had been born within hours of each other. Neville's birthday wasn't in any Daily Prophet announcements, and he was fine with that. In any case, he had declined Harry's party invitation. Harry and the rest of his friends would understand. Hannah was due any day now, and he wouldn't have felt right straying so far away from her.
Once the baby was born and Hannah was well enough, everyone would see enough of the Longbottoms. Neville would make sure of that. After all, Neville and Hannah's remaining blood family was sparse at best. Hannah's mother had been murdered by Voldemort's Death Eaters years ago. Her father remarried not long after the war, which caused a rift between him and Hannah.
As for Neville…
Alice Augusta Longbottom. That was the name Neville had picked for a daughter. Neville's grandmother, Augusta, had passed on several years ago. She was able to see the conferral of his Order of Merlin, his short tenure as an Auror, and his wedding to Hannah. But her health had begun a slow, steady decline since the war ended. For all the pain the war had caused, it – and the responsibility of raising young Neville on her own – had kept her young and vibrant. After it was all over, she simply ran out of things to do. She was still as irascible as ever, but had nowhere to go to outrun her old age. She had even said so herself. She was the one that suggested that Neville, once he'd left the Auror Office, interview for the Herbology position at Hogwarts.
Neville was still having trouble with a name for a son. Which was ironic, because he had always hoped for a son –only, selfishly, because he was the last Longbottom left. But after near twenty years of trying and three separate miscarriages, alive and healthy were the only two things that mattered to him now.
Even if he had to deal with the awkwardness of the baby not having a name for a few hours because Neville couldn't think of one off the top of his head.
A door behind him creaked open. He looked up from his notes and craned his neck around.
Baby Longbottom, cocooned in the bubble of its mother's belly, preceded Hannah into the room. That Hannah was still walking around – let alone working – as heavily pregnant as she was, was all at the same time a miracle and a source of worry to her husband.
"You know," Hannah sighed, supporting herself against a nearby chair for a moment. "Maybe we should name this baby 'Patience'. It sure is taking its sweet bloody time."
Neville frowned. He'd told her to stop working weeks ago, but Hannah hadn't been able to hire any help earlier. Caring for the Leaky Cauldron wasn't at the top of most job-seekers' preference lists. Not to mention that it had all the look of a temporary position, which wasn't attractive to anyone looking to make a steady income. Finally, though, help had come in the unlikely form of one of Hogwarts' most recent graduates. Heather Stretton was Hogwarts' most recent Head Girl – a Ravenclaw who was a bright student with a strong work ethic. She'd gotten a job with the Ministry not long after graduating, but found within a couple of months that she hated the place – or at least that particular Department. Her boss at the Department of Magical Transportation was a famously uptight sort, and for that reason it wasn't reputedly a great place for a young adult fresh out of school to start a career. Even the Department of Chronicles and Records (or was it Records and Chronicles? Neville never remembered) was more interesting by comparison. And that was saying a lot. But Heather's willingness to work here – at least for a while – made her a no-brainer hire. Even if she was overqualified and likely to bolt for the first Ministry opening, it would be at least enough for Hannah to get through the delivery.
"Where are your keys?" Neville asked.
Hannah sighed heavily. "I gave them to her. I'm done."
Neville resisted the urge to smile.
"She's picked enough up so she can survive without me for a while," Hannah said, sitting down on the bed. "I mean… she was Head Girl, right? After looking after a few hundred teenagers, a couple dozen drunks on a Saturday night shouldn't be much trouble. I mean… you just make sure nobody fights, shags, or lets any bodily function loose on the floor. It's basically the same thing."
Neville laughed, which caused his cough to flare up.
"That's getting bad, love," Hannah noticed and said, frowning.
"I'm getting something for it tomorrow," Neville reassured her.
Hannah had gotten stuck working as a barmaid after she'd graduated, too. By her second year, she feared nothing – because she had seen everything.
"So…" Hannah asked as Neville left the table to sit by her side. "Got one for a boy yet?"
"Nope," Neville admitted.
Hannah sighed, rather overdramatically. "You're overthinking things. Why not just name him Neville, junior?"
"Because I don't want to name a son after me," Neville replied, a bit louder than he'd meant to out of frustration. "I told you that already. It's bad enough he'd have to be my kid. I don't want to saddle him with the exact same name as mine."
"What's wrong with your name?" Hannah asked, tracing her finger around his chin. "Neville Francis Longbottom?"
"Nothing," Neville clarified. "But… I don't want him to be pressured by being my son."
"Oh, really?" Hannah queried almost teasingly. "I thought you weren't a big deal."
"I'm not," Neville sighed. "But everyone else thinks I am – and that's the problem."
Hannah paused for a moment. "…Augustus? What about Augustus?"
Neville tilted his head. "Augustus Longbottom."
"'Gus' for short," Hannah added.
"I don't like the nickname 'Gus'," Neville deadpanned. "Rhymes with 'pus' or 'fuss.'"
Hannah slapped his arm and laughed. "No, but really… Augustus isn't a half bad name. It's regal. An emperor of Rome called himself Augustus. That's probably where your great-grandparents got it when they named your gran."
"I thought it was just because Gran was born in August," Neville pointed out.
"Also named after the same emperor," Hannah pointed out.
"Where do you get all this?" asked Neville.
"I read," Hannah said simply. "Cauldron gets slow during the day. In any case… I think it's a girl. A lazy girl, who has no sense of urgency and wants me to be pregnant for a full year."
"Hey." Neville took his wife's hand. "No complaining, remember? We've waited almost twenty years for this. Another week or two is easy."
"Speak for yourself," Hannah answered, leaning over onto Neville's shoulder. "You're not the one that has to carry it – or push it out later, mind."
Neville could only chuckle in defeat. "You've got me on that one."
They sat there in silence for a long while. Years upon years ago, it was during the conversations that Neville had started to fall in love with her. But it was in the silences just like this one that Neville realized that this was the woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. And it had proven useful. There had been days, many days along this life journey with her, that words fell short to describe whatever they were feeling at the time.
The first two times, Hannah cried for weeks. But it was the most recent one, almost two years ago now, that had been the roughest and most painful. They were in their thirties and Hannah had seen it as her last real chance. When they lost the baby, Hannah spoke to no one for several days. Looking back, it might have been a good thing. She'd said later that she had been willing to let him go, or even go away herself, if it meant he could find a wife that could give him children.
That was why silence was good sometimes. Some things, thought in the heat of the moment, were better left unsaid.
"So…" Hannah finally spoke, putting her hand on Neville's knee. "You're still working on lesson plans."
"I'm a teacher," Neville said. "It's my job. And school starts in a month—"
"You're not really going back in September, are you?" Hannah asked. "Really, I'd prefer you not go back at all…"
"What else am I supposed to do?" asked Neville. "Especially now. The students need me."
"Our baby needs you!" Hannah exclaimed. "I need you. Don't you remember why you left the Auror Office in the first place? Why I even asked you? We wanted to have children. And I didn't want our child to face having to grow up without his father like you and I did!"
Neville used to rise with Hannah whenever she got emotional like this. He'd figured out years ago, though, that it wasn't helpful.
"Hogwarts isn't the Auror Office," Neville said.
"You're not safe there either, obviously," Hannah answered. "Don't you remember what happened in May?"
"Of course I remember what happened in May," Neville replied, a bit irritated. "It happened to me."
"All the things I've been hearing…" sighed Hannah. "I can't imagine Hogwarts will be a nice place to be right now."
"That's part of the reason I've got to go back," Neville sighed. "At some point. Wenster's acting Head of House while I'm gone. He's not a bad person, I guess, but… set in his ways. He'd make the problems that are already there worse."
"And why is that our problem?" asked Hannah. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound selfish, but… I just…"
Neville heaved another sigh. "She trusted me. Professor McGonagall. She wanted me to help bring some of the change that she couldn't. The school governors fought her tooth and nail when she wanted to appoint me as Head of Gryffindor and demote Wenster. They said I lacked experience and that I was too close to the students. They said they weren't sure about what would happen when I decided I wanted a family. And they were right about all of it."
"Well, to hell with the governors," Hannah said. "Honestly. And since when have you been wrapped up in trying to impress people?"
"It's not about them, it's…" Neville trailed off. "I wasn't hired because I could be a great Herbology teacher, Hannah. She wanted me and the others to be there for things like this. To keep something like Gladius Leo from ever happening again, to maybe steer some students off from a bad path, the way she couldn't. The reason I'm still there is the reason I was still there twenty years ago. To unite the school and keep the innocent safe from any dark forces within it."
"It sounds very heroic when you put it that way," Hannah answered. "I'll bet Professor McGonagall didn't realize one of your students would try to murder you on the job. Why couldn't you have overpowered him? I mean, it sounds brutal, but… with all your experience? And it would have been self-defense. Not even the Wizengamot would've—"
"My guard was down, alright?" Neville asked. "I'm not an Auror any more. Didn't you get sick of me pulling a wand on you every time you walked into a room? I didn't—"
The rest of his sentence choked in his throat.
"I didn't want to think a student would be capable of doing what Claudius did," Neville admitted. "Especially not then. I mean… I thought I was getting through to him. That last detention was going to be all he saw of me. But that night he wasn't himself and he just… snapped. There's so much I don't know…"
"Well…" Hannah said, grabbing hold of his arm. "He's in Azkaban, right? So he can't bother you anymore."
"I don't know if that's right, either," Neville answered. "The one thing I do know… I have to go back before too long."
Hannah sighed. "I know. I know you can't just… not go back at all. But just promise me… two months. Wait two months, and then you can go back."
Neville thought about it for a moment. "It's a deal. Two months."
Hannah looked down, rubbing her belly. "You know… I don't think I would have been ready when we were twenty."
Neville remembered himself as a twenty-year-old and had to smile. "Me, neither."
Hannah looked up at Neville, her eyes brimming. "I'm almost forty now. I still don't think I'm ready. I have no idea what I'm doing. If only…"
She trailed off, her face contorted suddenly, and she put her hand to her mouth, letting out a sob. Hannah's mother had died years ago, killed by Death Eaters at the behest of Voldemort for reasons no one had figured out to this day. Twenty-plus years of time had dampened the blow of the loss, and up until recently, whenever she spoke of her mother, it would be with a wistful smile on her face. Recently, though, her grief was painful and sharp, as if the terrible thing had only happened days ago. At first Neville, not knowing any better, blamed it on the pregnancy. He realized later he was only half right – only after it occurred to him that he himself was going to be a father soon, had no idea how to actually do such a thing, and had no father of his own to ask for advice.
Now, though, all he could do was pat his crying wife on the shoulder – he dared not get too close because of the cold he felt coming on – and say:
"We'll do it together. Just like we've done everything else."
Ginny Potter had outdone herself this year.
Lurid, obnoxious, magically floating balloons. Lightning bolts, black-haired heads with glasses (but no eyes), the number 39... a house that was filled with aunts and uncles and cousins and other guests.
Lily liked people well enough – but with so many relatives calling at such a time, she was growing rather weary of answering the same questions with the same well-rehearsed answers. And Fiamma (the ginger bundle of feline fur squirming mightily in her tight grip) didn't do well with crowds of strangers. Lily bit her tongue through the presentation of gifts. She'd never been able to think of anything to get him. After all – what did an eleven-year-old girl with no Galleons of her own get the most famous wizard in Britain… even if that wizard was her father?
"It's nice, I guess…" Dad was presently responding to Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, who had apparently given him a set of what looked suspiciously like potion-making equipment. "But what would I use this for?"
"Hobby? Wasn't my idea, mate," Uncle Ron said, angling his head toward his impatient-looking wife. Aunt Hermione wrinkled her nose.
"No book?" Dad asked with a smirk, looking straight at Aunt Hermione. Lily, meanwhile, was looking at the sparkling candles on her father's humongous birthday cake. She half hoped the entire thing would catch fire. That might add some excitement to this somewhat dull portion of the afternoon. But then, she thought sadly, she wouldn't get any cake. She rather liked cake.
"It's on backorder," Aunt Hermione said, looking needled.
"Backorder? Where did you get this stuff from?" Mum piped in.
"Paris," muttered Aunt Hermione, almost as if hoping no one could hear her.
"Paris?" Mum repeated loudly. "How—"
"Bill and Fleur," Aunt Hermione said. "It's from all of us, really."
Uncle Bill, Aunt Fleur, and Lily's cousins by them – Victoire, Dominique, and Louis in that order – were conspicuous by their absence. They were on holiday in France with Aunt Fleur's family.
Lily tried to hide a sigh of relief as her mother finally revealed her own gift – it looked like a clock from where Lily was sitting.
"So I can worry about you lot from work?" Dad asked, half jokingly.
"So you can stop worrying."
Lily, noticing that her brothers were already gone, decided at this point to try her luck with leaving the table. She made it a few steps – no one said anything.
Behind her, though, she heard, barely above a whisper: "You'll get the other part once we get rid of all these visitors."
It was a good thing that she wasn't sitting at the table any longer. The look of disgust on her face got there almost without her permission.
"What's that face for?"
A couple of arms gripped her.
"Mum's talking about giving Dad a gift," Lily said, recognizing the voice. "The private kind."
"What's wrong with that?" The arms spun her around by her shoulders. She'd grown taller since the last time they'd seen each other, but Lily still felt so small next to Teddy Lupin's almost unnatural lankiness. She wondered if he was making himself taller than he really was just to make her look tiny. "How do you think you got here?"
"You've never walked in on them," Lily said darkly, shuddering. It had been three years since that little incident, and it left her with an image she was still trying to scrub from her brain.
"That's very true," Teddy admitted.
Motivated by boredom, she followed Teddy outside.
"So… one month left," he said after they had walked the meadow between the Potter House and the Burrow for a few minutes.
"One month too long," Lily replied. Not two weeks ago, her parents had taken her to Diagon Alley to purchase her wand. Eight inches, dogwood and dragon heartstring. ("Whimsical but stout," Ollivander had described it… whatever that meant.) The only thing about that was that it meant that she got a full seven or eight weeks to look longingly at her wand, hold it, imagine, make the end light up with Lumos, and not much else.
"I'm tired of being the only one left here when everybody goes off," Lily went on. Pointing accusingly at Teddy, she added, "You haven't even been coming over for supper anymore."
"I've been busy," Teddy replied. "You know that bloke Stone that was working with me and Mel?"
Lily and her parents had ducked into Quality Quidditch Supplies to see Teddy on that warm July day when they had gone to get her wand. 'Stone' was a massive mountain of a youth a bit younger than Teddy, fresh out of Hogwarts. Lily gave him a wide berth – Stone seemed to be boiling at a mild simmer as he busied himself with hauling boxes of Quidditch balls around. Because of their magical properties (particularly the Bludger's tendency to try to kill everyone in the room) transporting them by magic was unsafe at best. 'Mel' was a brunette lady, about Mum's age, tousle-haired but pretty (not as pretty as Mum, though). Mum and Dad struck up a conversation with her as well – apparently they had all played Quidditch together at some point way back when.
"Stone made it onto Pride of Portree's reserve Quidditch team. Portree's Keeper got a cracked skull from an off-target Bludger, so they sent him an owl. Now it's just Mel and me. I was always good at explaining the different broom brands, but now I've got to haul these bloody great crates around the shop. And I'm not part-giant like Stone was."
"Was he really part-giant?" asked Lily curiously.
Teddy shrugged his shoulders. "Never asked him about his family. Wouldn't surprise me, as big and as strong as he is… anyway, running the shop with just two of us…"
Teddy shook his head.
"Where are James and Al?" he asked.
Lily shrugged. "Al's off somewhere with his girlfriend."
Teddy raised an eyebrow. "Wait, what?"
"Don't ask him about her, he'll probably say she's not," Lily deadpanned. "That's what he tells me because he still thinks I'm a little kid. But you can tell he likes her by the way he looks at her. I know what that look means. It's the same way you look at Victoire."
Teddy smiled knowingly, but the smile was not a full one. Clearly he missed Victoire. "I love Victoire. You know that. If I wasn't so bloody skint…. Anyway, what about James?"
"James? I don't know what his problem is," Lily said. "He's changed. He stays shut up in his room all the time, doesn't talk much. He used to prank Al and I all the time, but he doesn't even do that anymore."
"Hmm," Teddy droned. Then, obviously trying to change the conversation to a lighter topic, he asked, "So? What house do you think you'll be in?"
"Gryffindor, of course," Lily said. "I mean… I'd hope so. My whole family's been in Gryffindor – well, almost all of them."
"Louis was sorted into Ravenclaw like Victoire, right?" Teddy asked. "Maybe you'll end up there. You're clever enough."
"…Mum and Dad say it doesn't matter to them, but… I couldn't picture being in another house, away from everyone else."
"You can't be attached at the hip to Al and James forever, you know," Teddy pointed out.
"Easy for you to say," Lily sort of snapped. "You were an only child."
An awkward silence.
"I'm sorry," she added after Teddy didn't speak for a while. "I didn't mean it like…"
Teddy put a hand atop her head. "I know what you meant. I wish sometimes my parents were still around… and they lived long enough to raise me and maybe give me a little brother or little sister. But I've got Uncle Harry, and Aunt Ginny, and Victoire, and you lot… so it didn't turn out so bad."
"And you're going to marry Victoire one day, right?" Lily asked. "One day soon?"
Teddy chuckled. "I'm working on it."
"What do you mean, 'working on it'?" Lily asked impatiently. "Why can't you just buy a ring and ask her? I'm sure she'll say yes."
"Do you even know how much a ring costs?" Teddy laughed. "It's not as easy as going into Diagon Alley and plopping down a couple of spare Sickles. Those things are wicked expensive."
"Well, try to hurry up," Lily said, folding her arms. "And when you set a date, try to do it during the summer. I want to be there to see, and I can't do it if I'm away at school."
"I'll keep that in mind," Teddy answered. "Now… how about seeing if we can't find your brothers?"
Lily grinned.