Far from the prying eyes of magical gossipmongers, in a small, quiet village on Norway's western coast, the Boy-Who-Lived was weeding a vegetable garden. In the clear, bright days of Norway's short but seemingly endless summers, Neville Longbottom, known as Niels Lindhal, was busy tending the earth, his hands immersed in soil. He'd sing green lullabies as he watered the tomatoes, plucked the weeds from in between the pea shoots, and subtly used magic to attract ladybugs to the garden.

The Norwegian Ministry of Magic was aware of his presence, and indeed status in this little village. But as Norway was one of the last true wildernesses for magical beings, with a long history of wizards, giants and the like that had now been utterly forgotten by a secular Muggle society, the country was a refuge for The-Boy-Who-Lived. His grandmother, Augusta Longbottom lived with him as Ainse Lindhal, and both were residents of his aunt's farm, which also housed his Aunt Clare Rasmussen and cousins Oscar and Britta.

Niels knew that his parents were British, but Norway was the only home he'd ever known. And certainly in Niels' opinion, there was no better place on Earth to be a wizarding child than Norway. The Norwegian Ministry of Magic was relatively open about underage magic: as long as underage magic was done under the supervision of an adult and away from Muggle eyes, there was no problem with exploring skills. Wands were not issued until the eleventh birthday, but flying on toy broomsticks, playing with magical creatures, and accidental or experimental magic went unpunished.

And Norway was a great haven for magical creatures, with rare breeds of magical horses, cattle, and odd creatures living in Niels' province. Not to mention the clans of giants and Norwegian Ridgebacks inhabiting the mountains of Norway. Oscar and Niels often pretended to be magical zoologists in their younger years, tracking down new species in the valley, getting into various scrapes with a lethifold or a hinkypunk en route, which their wits and bravery only barely allowed for a narrow escape. Britta would protest when they kept her from the games.

"But Mama says lethifolds aren't even in Norway! You can't even play right!"

"Britta, in our world, anything can happen," Niels patiently explained. "We can have lethifolds and hurlyburlies and Mangorian Tigers and grizzly bears and centaurs if we want to."

The little girl was rarely pacified, until the boys agreed to be brave Viking warriors rescuing the fair maiden Britta who was kept under lock and key by a horrible troll and guarded by crazed dragon.

Oscar was a year older than Neville and Britta four years younger than her brother. Sibling resemblance was minimal: Oscar was far taller than Neville, with more sculpted features and much more dramatic coloring of bright blond hair, piercing blue eyes and fair skin…a dead ringer for his deceased father, Johannes Rasmussen. Britta meanwhile had a softer, round face like Niels, Aunt Clare and his mum Alice. "The face of an angel hiding a monster of a temper," Aunt Clare joked. She shared her brother's intense eyes, though a bit more sapphire in color than cerulean, and had darker, dirty-blond hair like Neville.

Neville sighed in the vegetable garden. Wiping the sweat from his brow with a cloth, he moved outside the collections of plants to sit on the cool grass. Neville himself this year had grown taller, though not nearly enough to rival his cousin for height. He had lost quite a bit of his childhood chubbiness doing all of Oscar's chores as well as his own, though his face remained round. He had worked extra hard round the house, helping Aunt Clare with any and every possible task, desperate to forget that Oscar was off at school while he was stuck at home.

For Neville was dying to learn magic. Oscar had been accepted at the prestigious Valhalla Lyceum for the Magical Arts, located somewhere in Sweden; Visby, he could remember from Oscar's letter, but Neville wasn't exactly sure what part of the country it was. The house had been quiet without him. Aunt Clare missed her oldest child, but was far too busy with work and running the household to pine. Britta had also been sad, but Niels was still home for her to pester and play with. It was Neville who missed Oscar most acutely. After months of loneliness, winter holidays arrived, and Oscar was back, regaling him and Britta with tales from school.

"And the fast-ferry, the Valkyrie, is filled not just with students, but all kinds of magical creatures! My pal Tapani reckons he saw a hag on the way over!"

"Are they all students?" Niels asked excitedly.

"Not all of them," and Oscar's face reflected brief disappointment, before becoming animated again.

"Most are headed to Eadgilstad: it's a town only for magical beings, and it's just outside the walls of Valhalla. And guess who founded Eadgilstad, Niels? Bodulfr!"

Little Britta gasped while Neville repeated the name with awe. Bodulfr was a legendary werewolf hero in magical Scandinavia, though he had other names in other countries. Muggles had even got wind of the man's greatness, though had completely failed to tell true stories about him, and even bungled his name into Beowulf.

"Eadgilstad has a large community of werewolves, and there are a few at school too. But there are a bunch of vampire students, and a large number of haldi. They're really amazing!"

"What are haldi?" Neville looked at his cousin, perplexed.

"Hm, well, they're kind of magic people that can also talk to animals and magical creatures and nature spirits. And there are nine different tribes of haldi, and each one has an animal spirit symbol, I think, and they can turn into that animal! We're learning about their origins, and of all magic people in History of Magic."

Britta's eyes were shining. "Oh but Oscar, is Valhalla beautiful? Is it like the wonderful places in the stories with the brave maidens and princesses?"

Oscar grinned. "It's the most amazing place I've ever been."

Niels had anxiously awaited the six months to June when Oscar returned to Norway from school. He watched his aunt carefully, asking questions about household spells. He tended the garden dutifully, and saved his pocket money to buy more rare magical herbs in Trondheim, hoping he'd learn more about their properties before he started Herbology. He read late into the night, wearing his eyes out and squinting at small print beneath the covers with his torch. Fantastic Flora: 10,000 Magical Plants, Herbs, and Trees, Great Beasts of Scandinavia, The Norse Legacy: Ancient Magic of the Vikings were stacked on his beside table, dog-eared and worn with repeated reading.

Niels was greatly looking forward to Valhalla, and he could tell Aunt Clare was equally excited for it. But he could tell that Grandmother Lindhal was less than pleased from her even more than usual severe expression anytime Valhalla was mentioned in the house. He supposed there must have been some school in Britain that his father attended, and she would want him to go there, he thought with a frown.

Thinking about his parents was difficult. Since he had never known them, Neville never had occasion to miss them. He certainly wished he had his parents, and had mixed emotions about their willingness to die for him, but Niels had never wanted for love or attention.

As Niels Lindhal, he lived a quiet life under the caring, kind eyes of his dear aunt. He'd come to love her as his own mother, and from her amazing stories he knew that his deceased parent, Alice, had been extremely close to her sister, sharing a patient, kind temperament that was flecked with enduring loyalty and a strong commitment to justice. His aunt was quite fair when it came to both lavishing praise and administering discipline for all of the children. Oscar was his best friend, and though the two were technically cousins, being raised together made their connection brotherly more than anything. Little Britta, though she annoyed Niels and Oscar most of the time was still dear in their hearts as all little sisters are. Neville had a family that loved him dearly, and he loved in return, and despite not having his parents

Grandmother, on the other hand, was removed from the happy family nucleus, preferring to scowl and frown in the corner, especially at him. She'd made a few pointed comments to Neville about his lack of talent, when he'd fallen off the foal pony at the zoo, when Oscar had accidentally cursed him to have elephant ears. She'd occasionally whisper to herself, when she thought no one could hear her, about the end of the Longbottom line with her "foolish grandson".

As he finished his gardening for the day, he couldn't help but think brightly of the future, out from Grandmother's disapproving glare, to learn magic with Oscar.

"My last summer before Valhalla," he said softly. He smiled. He liked how it sounded when he said it aloud.

July 30th was Neville's birthday, and as Niels sat on the ground, looking out over the surrounding green hillside, he himself wished he'd been born a different day. The long summers of the Midnight Sun began to wane, giving way to darkness and foreshadowing the icy thrall of winter. He half suspected that his cousins' toned-downed celebrations earlier in the year were done to imitate his own. For Grandmother Longbottom, Neville's birth was directly responsible for her son's death. Aunt Clare always kept the children happy and in celebratory moods with presents and sweets, and sometimes trips to fish or sail along the fjords, but things were often subdued.

"Hey, Niels!"

Oscar walked up the hill toward his cousin, a box clutched in his hands.

"What is that, Oscar?"

"It's your present! I made it at school- well, I made part of it. And Mama helped me finish it and er- put it all together, when I got back."

Neville's eyes widened brightly. Oscar had made him a present? He was getting his first magical gift then! Aunt Clare had encouraged always encouraged her family to make their own gifts. As children, this meant that Oscar, Niels, and Britta made do with Muggle supplies to create gifts. But Oscar had now begun attending Valhalla, and in one year, he could use his magical skills to create something for his cousin's birthday, something that awed Neville.

"You made it at Valhalla?" Neville's hands shook as he grasped the box, quivering with excitement. "Can I open it?"

"Wait for me!"

The two boys glanced backward to find Britta scurrying up the hill, waving her arms wildly. Oscar's younger sister, Britta too longed to see magic, especially as she herself was late to show signs of magical aptitude.

"Hurry up already," Oscar hollered, annoyed that his sister was delaying the unveiling of his present.

"I'm comin, I'm comin," she squawked through her heavy breathing, now running as fast as her little legs could carry her.

The small girl plopped on the grass beside Niels, "Open it, Nev," Oscar commanded, eager to see his cousin's reaction.

With baited breath, Neville and Oscar were silent, lending a stillness to Neville's patient opening of the box, punctuated only by the exhausted panting of Britta.

"It's...wow..."

In his hands, Neville held a silver pocket watch, a Muggle device for telling the time, but one that plenty of wizards used as well. (In fact, the first watches in Germany were rumored to have been a collaborative project between a Muggle and wizard both intrigued by time and space as perceived in the two worlds.) It had two sets of hands and faces, one revolving around numbers, and one with a miniature map of the galaxy. And in the lid, a small family portrait, Neville could just make out his distinctive diamond shaped scar on a figure to be him.

"That's not even all it does," Oscar said. He tapped the galaxy face twice with his wand.

"_" Britta said solemnly. She was amazed at the display of magic, but where Neville was excited looking at the lifelike projection of the stars around them, she was awed into a quiet love of the object.

Oscar tapped the face twice again and the stars disappeared. "I put the charms on the watch! And It does the same thing with the family portrait. Here, you try, Niels."

Neville was startled, and nearly alarmed. "Me? But-but I'm not in school yet."

Oscar shrugged. "Just use my wand and tap twice."

"But I'm not supposed to do magic!"

"Well, ok then," Oscar sighed, and looked at his cousin. "But don't you want to?"

In the back of his mind, a little voice popped up, Well, Neville, you do want to, don't you? She's wrong about you, you know. You can be a wizard, a great wizard, but you've got to start now.

Neville reached out and grabbed Oscar's wand, and tapped softly on the mini portrait in his wand. Immediately, the portrait was floating before the three, framed in ebony wood. Neville could tell Oscar had painted it himself: his artistic cousin had been an expert with Muggle colored pencils and watercolors. Britta's room still had some of his amateur designs of castles and fairies and grindylows and mermaids, while one of Neville's favorite possessions was his collection of wizarding tales retold, written and charmed by Aunt Clare, with beautiful illustrations by Oscar.

But here, his cousin's artistic talents had transformed with the use of magical art supplies, or so Neville guessed. Oscar had made a truly wonderful portrait of the two families, the Longbottoms/Lindhals and the Rasmussens. Neville's eyes wandered over the faces of his waving parents: his father smiling brightly, his mother serenely. Even Grandmother Longbottom was captured in a mostly happy state, her habitual frown replaced with a stern look of pride and rank. Britta and Oscar were happily waving and making faces to Neville's left in the painting, with their parents Aunt Clare and Uncle Johannes.

Tears in his eyes, Neville tapped twice again on the watch, and the portrait was back in miniature form opposite the clock face. He turned to Britta and Oscar, who were also a bit tearful.

"Thanks," he whispered, clutching the watch in his fist.