July 30

That night, the Rasmussen and Lindhal families gathered round the dining room table for Neville's eleventh birthday. In keeping with the subdued tradition, it was a simple dinner and quick exchange of gifts, but Niels and his cousins always had an enjoyable time at their small celebrations.

As Aunt Clare and Oscar cleared the cake plates from the table, Niels thumbed his pocket watch and smiled to himself. He was pleased to be eleven. His name backwards was Elliven, very close to eleven, he thought. And eleven was a magical age for wizards and witches: they could go to school, and learn amazing things. He had waited patiently – and impatiently – for this day to come, and now he was finally eleven, at the all important age where he could become a true wizard.

Returning from the kitchen, Oscar shot his cousin a stealthy smile. Neville had no time to inquire, as his aunt approached him.

"I'm going to give you your present now, Niels. But it must be a surprise!"

Neville looked up at her confused, but in an instant, she had waved her wand, and everything was black and quiet. He felt a thrill of anticipation and excitement, as something small tread on his trainers. Neville reached out and felt something… furry?

Aunt Clare undid the charm, and Niels was shocked to see a puppy before him. Gazing up with beautiful brown eyes, the puppy mischeviously bounded into Neville's lap, sniffing his hands and then contentedly settling himself on his wizard.

"Ooh so pretty!"

Britta ran to pet the puppy in Neville's hands, while Oscar observed the dog from afar: he'd never been a large fan of dogs. Neville simply looked at his aunt, with expressively grateful eyes.

"He's a Finnish Lapphund," Aunt Clare explained. "Very loyal dogs, and very hearty: he'll want to play all the time when he gets older. Muggles and wizarding kind alike treasure the breed. This one comes from a magical litter: his father, Canute, was the longtime companion of Stefan Numers."

"Really?" Oscar broke in excitedly. "But Mama, how do you know Stefan Numers?"

Aunt Clare chuckled. "You didn't know that Stefan was an old school friend of your father? Rivals on the Quidditch field too, as I recall. Your father nearly beat him for best player in their final year."

Oscar's mouth made a big O: his dad had been friends with his Quidditch hero, and he hadn't known.

"Magical Finnish Lapphunds are extremely intelligent, so he'll be well trained and won't get in to too much mischief. Stefan's sons and daughters named the puppies: his name is Vali. But you are welcome to change it, Niels, after all it's your dog."

"No," the small boy's voice came out in a whisper, still gazing down happily at his puppy. He looked up at his aunt. "Vali is a nice name."

Oscar snorted. "Magni would be better."

"Or Princess Freya!" Britta broke in, still petting little Vali.

"You can't name a boy dog Princess Freya," her brother replied scathingly.

"Can so!"

"Can not!"

"Can so!"

"Can not!"

"Children!" Oscar stuck his tongue out at Britta, but hushed as his mother clapped her hands and looked at them expectantly. "It's Niels's familiar: he will keep or change the name as he likes."

Neville looked up again. "My-my familiar?"

Aunt Clare smiled kindly at him. "You'll be headed to Valhalla this fall, but I decided we could get your animal companion in advance as a birthday gift."

Oscar stopped glaring at his sister and glanced at Neville, smiling. "I bet you'll have a letter from Valhalla tomorrow morning!"

The three Rasmussens all looked at Neville, who beamed at the news. He was a wizard, he would go to Valhalla with Oscar, Vali, and Madoc, Oscar's owl, and he was finally "elliven". Nothing could go wrong, nothing except…

"Neville will not be attending Valhalla. He shall attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as his father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and all the members of the Longbottom family before him did."

Grandmother Longbottom's voice broke out. She'd been watching Neville's birthday proceedings much as she always had, silently and sternly, and the family had paid little attention to her. Now, the wizened witch in the rocking chair had cast a shadow on the celebrations, and no one knew quite how to begin.

"Augusta," Clare began slowly, but Neville cut her off.

"What do you mean, Grandmother? I'm a wizard, right? So why can't I go Valhalla?"

"You are of course a wizard, but a wizard of your status and caliber may only attend the finest wizarding school in Europe, which is Hogwarts."

"No it isn't," his cousin replied promptly.

"Oscar!" Clare exclaimed, frowning at her son, but the young boy was not deterred.

"Well, it isn't Mama. Everyone knows that the two top schools are Durmstrang Institute and Valhalla. We take the best magical beings from five countries, and Durmstrang has two campuses to accommodate the best wizards and witches from a whole bunch of countries. Then Beauxbatons, then Galileo, and then Hogwarts."

The whole family was quiet as Oscar delivered his verdict. Seeing the frown on his mother's face and the look of silent rage on Grandmother Longbottom's, he hastily backtracked a bit.

"Well, that's what I heard." He stuck his chin out defiantly. "Anyway, Niels can't go there: they didn't even send him a letter! And I know they send them early, because I got one last year."

"Oh!" Neville turned to face his grandmother, a pleading look on his face. "So I won't be going after all I guess. They don't seem to want me, right Grandmother?"

The old matriarch looked sternly at Oscar, and then at her grandson. Terrifyingly for Niels, the woman smiled at him in a not particularly a nice manner.

"Unfortunately for the both of you, he has already received a Hogwarts letter. On July first, an owl appeared at the home, addressed to the Longbottom / Lindhal family. Naturally, as the head of that family I opened the letter, and promptly sent back Neville's acceptance. There's no question of him attending Valhalla now. I suspect he won't even receive a letter, since his name will be magically removed from the list of children as he is already enrolled in another school."

Silence blanketed the cozy Rasmussen living room. For a fairly warm summer's night, the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees from sheer anger, hurt and hostility.

"Alright, off to bed!" Aunt Clare broke the silence, clapping her hands. "Oscar, Niels, Britta, I expect that all three of you will have your faces washed, teeth brushed, and be snug in blankets by the time I check on you. Grandmother Longbottom and I are going to have a little discussion first."

Oscar leapt up immediately, pulling his still shocked sister along with him up the stairs. Neville stood slowly, the puppy Vali in his arms.

"Don't worry, Niels. I'll transfigure a basket for him when I come to say goodnight," Clare said kindly to her nephew. Niels smiled sadly at her, then glanced at his grandmother before making his way to the stairs.

"Neville?" The boy froze on the second step, hearing the sharp call of his grandmother.

"Happy birthday dear."

July 31

After tucking in the boys and Britta, Clare Rasmussen made her way down the stairs to confront the Longbottom matriarch. Augusta had remained in her chair, a small smile playing about her mouth revealing her great pleasure at disrupting the night's events. Clare glared at the woman.

"How could you, Augusta? On his birthday? The happiness of your grandson means that little to you?"

Augusta gave Clare a sharp look.

"His happiness is inconsequential. Becoming a wizard worthy of carrying the Longbottom name is the only priority, and I won't have him squandering his status at some second tier school like Valhalla-"

"This has nothing to do with Valhalla, with his education," Clare broke in angrily. "This, like everything else we've disagreed about over the years, is all about you."

Augusta drew herself up proudly and cast a critical eye at Clare.

"I have tolerated the Longbottom exile in Norway. I left behind all of my closest and longest friends, lost a great deal of status in society as matriarch of the distinguished and pureblood Longbottom family, not to mention abandoned a seat on the Wizengamont, and," and her the old woman's voice wavered just a bit from the cold steel inflection, "I lost my son."

"And I lost my sister," Clare replied.

"When Dumbledore suggested blood wards, I graciously-"

"Reluctantly," Clare interrupted.

"- Agreed to share Longbottom Manor with you," Augusta continued speaking as though she hadn't heard. "But you outright refused, forcing me to uproot my life and lineage to bow down to your demands and live in this horrible country."

Clare kept control of her voice, but her emotions were swirling and she subconsciously fingered her wand.

"And I had good reason for wanting to raise Neville out of Britain. We didn't know if Voldemort had really gone," Clare ignored Augusta's flinch at the name, "what his followers might try next… Death Eaters claiming bewitchment, Imperius… Neville would have been an easy target in England."

"Dumbledore-"

"Dumbledore threatened to place Neville in a Muggle home if I would not agree to move to England," Clare hissed at Augusta, who was shocked into silence. "Oh yes, the patron of the Light was not willing to let his Chosen One have a solid, stable childhood if it meant he was far from his control and influence. He claimed it would be better if Neville could be raised far from the pressures of fame and expectation. When I argued that Norway would provide just that, he resorted to threats. Oh with twinkles in his eyes and lemon drops, but threats to take my nephew all the same."

"But…" Augusta was clearly lost, though she did her best to remain composed. "How? How did we end up here?"

Clare's anger frothed just under the surface. "Johannes, from that 'second rate school' Valhalla, needed to only say a few words to his contacts in the Norwiegan Ministry. Norway, as you'll recall, was next for Voldemort in his eventual expansion plans, that much we learned early on in the war. The government had a vested interest then, in keeping The Boy Who Lived safe from everyone. I secured Frank and Alice's will, and the Norweigan Ministry leaned on the British Ministry until approval was granted to spirit you two out of the country."

"And we've kept him safe, from everything and everyone these past eleven years, and now you want to throw him to the wolves?" Clare's voice jumped an octave, her tone critical and stern. "You want to put him in the path of Albus Dumbledore, of all people? Not to mention the remnants of Voldemort's followers, of course."

"Neville must go to Hogwarts! He must cement his position as the heir to the Longbottom name, and establish himself in wizarding society. You-Know-Who is gone," though in her mind, Augusta was not entirely sure, "and Dumbledore will have no cause to bother him now. And I shall take up residence in Longbottom Manor, and be a short apparition away to assisting my grandson."

Clare regarded Augusta severely. "Neville could go to Valhala, where Oscar would be there to protect him, where the children would not gawk and stare at him, and where wizards and politicians would not jostle to use him as a tool or figure for self-aggrandizement. In spite of all his parents suffered, and the history of the magical world in Britain, you want him to attend Hogwarts?"

Augusta drew herself up imperiously. "My grandson will go to Hogwarts. And as I am his primary magical guardian and the family elder of the Longbottoms, my decision is binding, and it is final."

"Fine. But Neville will return to Norway every summer, to renew the wards and strengthen my sister's sacrifice. And if one thing should happen to him at Hogwarts – one thing – I will contest your primary guardianship, bring him home, and enroll him at Valhalla. And I have Norweigan Ministry contacts and eleven years of evidence to make that happen."

Augusta pursed her lips, then smiled painfully. "Then we understand each other perfectly."