A/N: so when people asked about the Tapestry in the Headmaster's office, this omake popped into my head. It presumes that the events of Harry Potter and the Vale of Destiny have played out to a successful conclusion, and…well, you'll figure it out.
Disclaimer: as with all of my writings on this site, I don't make a penny from them. They are done out of respect for, and love of (and to 'correct' some of the little things, like having Cedric die in the fourth book) JKR's wonderful creation. No copyright infringement is intended.
Harry Potter and the Hogwarts Tapestry
The newly installed Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry looked around his office and sighed, wondering once again how he allowed himself to be convinced to accept the position.
"Bit much, isn't it, boy?" One of the paintings—a Headmaster long dead that the newest member of Britain's most elite wizarding 'club' didn't recognize—sneered down at him.
"Oh, shut it, Oliver," another painting said firmly. "Relax, young man," the ancient wizard in the painting went on. "It only seems overwhelming for the first decade or two," he grinned, and then winked at the latest person to hold the seat.
"After that, you'll be too busy doing the paperwork to feel anything but harassed and harried," another painting, this one of a tiny slip of a witch, smiled down at him.
"Robbing the cradle these days, aren't they? In my day, the Board wouldn't have given a second thought to letting someone your age be a Professor, let alone Headmaster," another ancient wizard sniffed. His beard, almost floor length, shifted slightly in the region of his waist, and a tiny mouse peeked out from the strands of white hair.
As the other paintings made their various opinions known, the new Headmaster remembered the last piece of advice the previous occupant of the office had given him.
"Be firm with the paintings, right from the start. They are there to aid and advise you, not to run the school themselves. Oh, and don't worry about seeing anyone you'd rather not on the wall; Hogwarts selects the most appropriate former Headmasters for each new one, and the House elves will have completed the change out by the time you can walk here from the investiture ceremony in the Great Hall. So, walk in, take a deep breath, and claim the space as your own. If you need to, remind them that they can spent the remainder of your tenure in storage; after a millennium of Headmasters, you have an ample selection to choose from." Septima Vector had smiled at her young friend and Deputy the previous day, enjoying his discomfort. "And, most of all, relax! You know the school, the faculty and the students; everything else is here," she said, tapping a small bound journal with one immaculate fingernail. "Rowena Ravenclaw had the foresight to put together an 'Owner's Manual' for the castle, it's been updated on an as-needed basis by practically every Headmaster since. Only the current Headmaster can read it, and most of us have done so the first day or so after taking the Chair. Also, it's the tradition for the outgoing Head to write a personal letter to their successor. You'll find mine here on the desk beside the Manual. Read it first, as it's spelled to destroy itself after twenty-four hours, or after being read. I'll also leave you a list of the things you need to do immediately," she went on, then laughed reassuringly. "Oh, don't look like that! It's only a few small things, there's nothing major to be done after you accept the wards at the investiture. Still and all, there a few things you'll need to do here in the office—little things, but very useful—and right after the investiture is the best time for that. Among other reasons, that's why the reception won't be held until several hours after the investiture ceremony; officially, it's to let you 'freshen up' between ceremonies. Unofficially, it's to let you fully take the castle's reins before you have to appear in public as the Headmaster. Plus, you'll have time for a quick nap…believe me, take one, you'll need it."
Just then, the new Headmaster was far too nervous to let himself even think about napping at any time in the future. Drawing himself up, he looked around the office, then spoke softly but firmly. "Now, listen up, you lot. I am Sir Neville Longbottom, Lord Longbottom of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom, Order of Merlin First Class, Order of the British Empire, and newest Headmaster of this School. While I appreciate the compliments about my age," Neville smirked, "I'll have you know that I'm almost seventy years old. Those of you who have been in this office during the tenure of the previous two Headmistresses know that I've been Professor of Herbology, and then Deputy Headmaster, for almost thirty years now." He stopped, and then grinned. "All right, I realize that makes me a 'young man' to some of you, but still…."
Neville paused, gauging his audience. A few huffed and looked a bit miffed—those he marked carefully for possible transfer back to storage—but most were smiling and nodding, satisfied.
"Fine, then. Now, let me do what I have to do; I've got a reception to host in a bit under five hours from now." And with that, he carefully sat down in his—HIS—chair, picked up Vector's promised letter, and began to read.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A short time later, Neville sat back, more tired than he had expected to be. Septima's letter had been brief and to the point; mostly "relax, you'll do fine, don't call me, ask the paintings if you must, trust the Faculty and your resources as Headmaster and DON'T CALL ME!", along with short lists of 'Do Now' and 'Do the First Week' things. Most of the 'Do the First Week' list was social and/or political, the two now being forever intertwined by his new position: notes to all of the attendees at his investiture as Headmaster and the upcoming reception, a joint meeting with his entire faculty as well as private meetings with his Heads of Houses and as many other faculty as he could manage, formal notices of his assumption of the Headship to the Ministry and Wizengamot (stupid, really; both the Minister and Supreme Mugwump had attended the investiture and would be sitting with him at the reception tonight) as well as the Board of Governors (also stupid, they had also been out in force today, were expected this evening, and had given him the bloody job in the first place!). He also needed to make a small number of public appearances—Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, the Ministry—to 'show the flag', as it were. Having been groomed by Vector for the last two years to follow her, there was nothing here that was unexpected; it merely was a bit overwhelming to see it listed out in Septima's neat hand.
There was almost nothing to be done with regards to the mechanics of running the school itself; that was the primary job of the Deputy Headmaster, and Neville had seen to it that all of the regular functions of the school had been set up to be taken care of at least for the next two months. He was still trying to persuade his first choice for Deputy to take the job, but his Potions Master was being recalcitrant about taking on the additional responsibility. Neville smiled, understanding all too well that taking on the Deputy Head's responsibilities cut into one's research time; he fully intended to take at least two half-days a week and reserve them solely for greenhouse time, by Merlin! Still, he had a plan to convince his Potions Master: tonight he would mention to Lady Malfoy that he was considering offering the position to Gawain Greengrass, the Divination Professor. The former Miss Sally Darrow-Wright hated the Greengrass family with a deep and abiding passion, and had for almost four decades now. It was something about them trying to enforce an old marriage contract between her husband and Astoria Greengrass just after the end of the Voldemort War, if Neville remembered correctly. The Greengrass' had argued before the Wizengamot that Lord Malfoy's marriage to a muggle was neither legitimate nor legal; hence there was no reason for Draco to not marry their youngest daughter. The barrister had then gone on to suggest that Draco might even keep his 'little muggle' as a 'divertissement'; the Greengrass family had no objection to such things so long as the heirs were pure-blooded and the proprieties observed in public.
The Wizengamot had eventually sided with the Malfoys, but it had been a close-run thing. The slap-fest between older daughter Daphne and Sally in the halls outside of the Wizengamot chamber had made the front page of the all of the major wizarding papers (Sally had easily pinned Daphne), but the two women actually concerned in the business had later become fast friends—the only two members of the two families that were on speaking terms, it seemed. Neville just happened to know, from years of helping Sally tend the Malfoy's cottage garden in Hogsmeade, that Astoria had written her a letter of apology, telling Sally that she, Astoria, had been forced into the situation by her family and that she personally found it horrible and disgusting all 'round. The two had met in secret for tea in a muggle bistro, and formed a 'girl thing' bond that had endured Astoria's expulsion from the Greengrass family (for marrying a muggle herself), Sally's miscarriage (with her second pregnancy), and the Most Horrible Separation in History (Draco and Sally, three weeks, when Draco insisted that Sally essentially be cloistered when he discovered that she was pregnant the third time). Neville shuddered at the memory. Draco had been absolutely impossible to live with, it had been right before the winter midterms and holidays, and the Potions Master had raged around the castle, assigning yards of essays for all of the classes and giving out detentions to every person—students AND faculty—that crossed his path. Headmistress McGonagall had given Draco three days to calm down, then dragged him into her office where Narcissa was there waiting to meet him. Minerva McGonagall had then dressed the young Master up, down and sideways, and barred him from the castle 'until you come to your senses, young man!'. Narcissa had dragged Draco literally by the ear to Astoria and Robert Cuthbertson's home, where Sally was hiding from him. Narcissa and Astoria had then refereed the resulting row, which ended with Draco sobbing in Sally's lap, begging her to never, ever leave him again.
"Actually, Neville, it was very sweet it it's own way," Sally had said to Neville as they picked peas together one fine afternoon. "After my miscarriage, Draco looked up every single complication of pregnancy that could possibly occur, and he was terrified that I'd get every one of them with Abby, and die myself during the pregnancy. The idiot only wanted to protect me, in his own stupid way. Once that came out, and he had it explained to him that I wasn't some delicate hothouse flower or china doll, how could I not take him back? Underneath all that Malfoy, he's a good man, my husband," she smirked.
Of course, when Abigail Narcissa Malfoy was born six months later—two days late, but almost seven pounds of wiggling, healthy, screaming, perfect baby girl—Neville had been profoundly glad that Hogwarts was in summer recess. At the rate Draco had given out fine cigars, he'd have had half the student body smoking within the first two days. Needless to say, Sally had not died with Abby's birth, nor the three that followed her. While the Malfoys didn't quite manage the Quidditch team that the Potter-Diggorys had, Draco and Sally's brood filled even old Malfoy Manor with screams and laughter as 'Papa Lucius' and 'Nana 'Cissa' spoilt the brats rotten…as the doting grandparents insisted was well within their rights.
Neville shook his head, catching himself drifting in his memories. No time for that, not today! Turning back to Septima's letter, he glanced at the 'Do Now' portion, and got to work.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Less than an hour later saw Neville almost done with the list of immediate concerns. He'd meditated briefly to more firmly set the school's wards linkage with his magical core (more would come in the days and weeks to follow; it generally took nearly a full year for the links to 'set', according to Vector's note), attuned most of the office's gizmos, gadgets and artifacts to his magical signature, had the portraits introduce themselves (among them was Lord Richard Potter, one of Harry's forbearers who had been the one to tell him to 'relax' a bit earlier), and set a new password on the gargoyle (changing 'tangent' to 'horticulture'). Now then, what was next? Oh, yes….
Turning, Neville fixed his eyes on a particular book on the shelf behind him.
"Reveal the Headmaster's Tapestry," he said, quoting the words exactly as instructed.
A brief tingle followed his command as the castle's magic once again confirmed that he was, indeed, the Headmaster. Then, silently, two bookshelves slid apart to reveal the Headmaster's Tapestry.
"Sweet Merlin!" Neville breathed, impressed. What hung before him was an ancient, giant-sized version of the Marauder's Map. The first image that appeared was the castle itself, which quickly shifted perspective until the entire surrounding area was seen, before zooming back in to the central portion of the castle.
"Not a bad piece of work, if I do say so myself," came a voice from behind him. Turning, he recognized Lord Potter's voice.
"So, Lord Potter, your work, eh?" Neville asked, smiling. "Your descendant Harry has one remarkably like it."
"Please, Headmaster, Richard will do just fine." The tall, thin man with horribly messy hair and startling blue eyes grinned down from the wall. "I suppose that he, or someone else in the line, found my notes." The former Headmaster shrugged. "Well, that's why I left them, after all. Tell me, was this Harry the maker of this 'other' map?"
"No, that was his father, and his father's friends at the time," Neville said, grinning. "They were notable pranksters, and made the map as an aid to mischief-making," he went on, watching out of the corners of his eyes for the reactions of the various paintings. A couple looked terribly offended, and he immediately decided that at least one of them was going to spend a long time looking at the back of the storage room.
Lord Richard was not among the offended. Quite the opposite, in fact. "Oh, did they? Well, good show, then, jolly good show! Gave their own headmaster right fits, I'd imagine. Who was the lucky man, or woman, by the way? Are they hanging here now?"
Neville's brow furrowed as he frowned. "No, that would be Albus Dumbledore, and you won't be seeing him here, ever." That caused a murmur to sweep around the room. "Now is not the time to be explaining that to those of you who haven't heard the tale; suffice it to say that any portrait of Albus Dumbledore that survives will never hang in this office." A cell in Azkaban, perhaps, but never this office, Neville thought savagely. "Now, Lord Richard…pardon, Richard…could you tell me how this lovely piece of enchantment works?"
"I'd be glad to, my boy," Richard Potter smiled, putting his curiosity about this Headmaster Dumbledore...good family, whatever had happened there?...and his own descendant on hold while he answered the questions of the current Headmaster. "The Tapestry is attuned to your magic, as is so much else in the castle, as you've discovered. You only have to look at the key book on the shelf—the bright red one that you initially spoke the incantation to—and think of the Tapestry, and the bookshelves will open. Then, either speak or clearly think of the name of a person or persons in the castle or on the grounds, and you will be shown their position on the map. You can also have the map show you the quickest route from this office to a person's location, on command. Also, you might want to study the map at your leisure, it contains as many secret passages, shortcuts and hidey holes as the castle will allow it to show."
"So, there are some places that Hogwarts doesn't want seen? What if a student gets into one of those places and gets into trouble?" Neville asked, concerned. Vector's letter had briefly described the Tapestry, noting that on more than one occasion she had used it to find a lost or injured student quickly.
"Not possible," Richard answered confidently. "Hogwarts places the lives and safety of her students above all other concerns; she won't allow them to go into dangerous situations without considerable…persuasion. As only the Headmaster can control the castle to that extent, you yourself would know of the dangerous areas, making them visible to you on the map. The mapping function also covers large portions of the Forbidden Forrest and Hogsmeade village. Of course, the tapestry does have limits, but what doesn't?" he shrugged.
"I see," Neville said thoughtfully. And indeed he did, as a large number of unanswered questions were suddenly answered in his mind. As Lord Potter said, only the Headmaster could control the castle to that extent…. "Well, let's try it, shall we? Show me…the Groundskeeper cottage," he said firmly, settling back in his chair.
The lines on the map whirled for a brief moment, then coalesced into a diagram of the cozy three-bedroom cottage that stood where Hagrid's old hut once did. Two names floated about location dots in the cottage, one in the bedroom and another in the living room. It appeared that his groundskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures Professor, Charlie Weasley, was in the bedroom while his wife (and Professor of Ancient Runes and Magical Informantics) Hermione Granger-Weasley was in their living room. In her favorite wingback chair reading, of that Neville had no doubt.
The new Headmaster grinned. Oh, this explained much! And, just think how much fun he was going to have, telling the Supreme Mugwump about it!
Then, Neville sighed. There were still a number of things to do before the reception, and he was already looking forward to the nap Septima had urged him to take. A wave of his hand closed the bookshelves, and he picked up his list once more.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Some one or some ones…and Neville had his suspicions about just who it might be…had decided that the reception following his investiture as Hogwarts Headmaster was going to be a Grand Affair (with Large Letters). In fact, it had grown, and grown, and grown until Neville had heard it being referred to as the Social Event Of The Season (again, Large Letters).
When he finally figured out just who was responsible for him being the chief target, er, Guest of Honor at the SEOTS…currently he was almost certain about three of them, with another few high on his list…there would be consequences! Oh yes, most severe consequences! Such behavior would have to be punished, if for no other reason than to keep it from ever, EVER happening again. At least to one Neville Longbottom, that is….
Unfortunately, since one of the 'almost certain' was his wife, Hannah, he couldn't do a lot to her. Or to his Professor of Ancient Runes and Magical Informatics. Or to the wife of his Potions Master. (Draco himself, while always enjoying events like this, would never have done such a thing to his friend…Neville hoped.)
However, the Supreme Mugwump and Minister for Magic…that pair were fair game! His face set in a hard mask, he stalked over to where the Mugwump and Minister were hogging (and probably spiking) the punchbowl.
"Minister, Supreme Mugwump," he said through clenched teeth. "How good of you to come this evening."
"Wouldn't miss it for all the tea in China, old boy!" the Minister of Magic smirked. Was that a bottle of Old Ogden's he had just slid back into his robe?
The Supreme Mugwump was beaming at him, eyes twinkling in that maddening way that he had developed decades ago, just to annoy people with. "Oh, yes, indeed…it's not everyday that Hogwarts gets herself a new Headmaster, how could we not be here?"
Neville dropped his voice, hissing so that only the Mugwump and the Minister could hear him. "If I find out that you two had anything to do with turning my nice, quiet little reception into this…this…" he darted his gaze around the room.
Infuriatingly, the Supreme Mugwump only laughed and twinkled a bit more. "Social Event Of The Season, Headmaster?"
"Yes," hissed Neville through clenched teeth, leaving hideous threats unspoken.
The Minister for Magic leaned in close before he spoke, keeping his words between just the three of them.
"Buck up, Longbottom. Welcome to our world. We have to put up with this shite almost every day, and now so do you." Leaning back, a huge (and patently false) smile grew on his face.
"Bugger you both, gits," Neville grumped. "Give me a shot of that punch," he ordered.
The Supreme Mugwump and the Minister for Magic exchanged looks that told each other that they'd been thoroughly busted, then they snickered together. "Of course, Headmaster," the Minister said, and carefully used his body to conceal the bottle that he used to fill Neville's empty goblet.
"Oh, thank Merlin," Neville said, tossing back a healthy swallow. A moment later, when the initial spasm passed, he felt much better. "Actually, I'm glad that you two did come, even if you're both prats. Still, why are we having this conversation here, in public? Shouldn't we all be mobbed by our faithful fans, or something?"
The Supreme Mugwump smiled. "That's what minions are for, Neville, as you'll quickly learn. We've only got another few minutes, at most; until then, our faithful friends and allies are running interference so that we three can 'discuss important matters' in relative privacy."
Neville had already noticed that very thing being done very discretely, but it was good to have it confirmed. "Well, then, I think I need another shot of those 'important matters' before the mob gets to us."
The Minister for Magic grinned, and refilled the Headmaster's goblet with the same care as before.
"Well, I like that! Getting my husband drunk at his very own reception!" Hannah Longbottom's voice came from just behind Neville's shoulder.
All three men turned, blushing furiously, just as Hannah elbowed her way into the little group. "Now, quick, pour me a double," she commanded. "I've been out there being the good little wifey, and I'm about to go spare." When the Minister finished his task, Hannah tossed hers back with all the aplomb and skill of an old Hogwarts hand. "Ahhhh…mother's milk!" she sighed, holding out the goblet for another, which the Minister quickly provided. For better or worse, it was the last of the bottle.
"Well, that's all I have with me," the Minister sighed, turning to the Mugwump. "You?" he asked.
The Mugwump just shrugged. "Just my pocket flask," he said. "That's for emergencies only, you know. We might be kidnapped by portkey to a deserted island, or something, and desperately need it then."
"Too right," the Minister agreed. "Sorry, Hannah, we'll just have to do with what they're serving tonight."
Hannah sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Once again, I find myself disappointed by the incompetence of my government. Whatever shall I do?"
"Vote us out of office?" the Minister said hopefully.
"Call for a vote of no confidence and run me out of my job?" the Mugwump asked, smiling.
"No, there's nothing for it but to make you two suffer. I think I'll do everything I can do to keep you in your posts for the next fifty years, I think," Hannah grinned evilly.
"Just as long as you keep this one," the Minister said, elbowing her husband, "in the Headmastership until at least our first round of grandchildren get through here."
"I think I can do that," Hannah grinned. "Oops, guess what? It's time for us to all go and play nice-nice with the hoi poi. Remember, no hexing allowed, for any of you," she said, a faux-fierce glare sweeping over all three men.
"Yes, ma'am," they answered in chorus, then had to fight to keep from giggling like schoolboys.
"Humph! Men!" was all that the Lady Longbottom had to say, as she led her husband towards where the receiving line would be starting.
After her, Harry Potter-Diggory and Cedric Potter-Diggory—the Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot and Minister for Magic, respectively—followed, arm in arm.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Much later, Neville, Harry and Cedric gathered in Neville's office. 'The Girls'—Hannah, Sally, Hermione, Luna, Susan, Astoria, a few others—were off somewhere discussing 'things men were not meant to know', which meant that the real problems of the country were being worked out, and the men who fronted for them would be informed shortly of their lines. Meanwhile, Draco, Charlie, Dennis, Justin and a few other males had moved the drinking to the Black Dog in Hogsmeade, where they could drink under the gimlet eye of one Lord Sirius Black, Proprietor.
Translation: Draco and the rest of the menfolk had retreated to a real bar as soon as the reception was over, for some real drinking with a real drinker.
Neville, Harry and Cedric would be joining them shortly, Merlin willing. But, Neville had something that just wouldn't wait.
"Harry, you'll like this," he promised, dropping into his chair. HIS chair, behind HIS desk. Neville gave a little shudder at the thought.
The Supreme Mugwump obviously read Neville's mind. "You look good behind that desk, Neville," Harry said, his eyes warm. "Not that Septima didn't do a good job, these last twenty-odd years, but…."
"There's never been a more worthy butt in that chair, Nev," Cedric grinned.
"Thanks, Minister. Oh, by the way…should we be worried about collusion between the branches of our government, what with you two sleeping together and all?"
Harry and Cedric both laughed. "Well, since you mention it, yes, probably," Harry managed, between chuckles. "Still, it's going on almost ten years now, and I don't think the country's suffered too badly, has it?"
Neville's quick shake of the head was all the answer anyone in the room needed. "I will say this, Cedric: the position of Charms Professor is yours anytime you want it. Old Flitwick's said as much, several times these last few months."
Cedric just snorted. "Oh, come on, Neville! Flitwick's only, what? Not quite a hundred and twenty? He's only getting started," he finished. "Besides, there are already people on me to run again for a third term, and there are a few more things I'd like to see finished before I step aside. Maybe in five years, if the job's still open?"
Neville 'harrumphed'. "Tell Flitwick, then; he can't retire until you're free to take up the post. I won't have anyone else for it."
"Flitwick won't be retiring, he'll just be moving from one job to another," Harry grinned. "Five years from now, I expect to have grandchildren for him to start tutoring, and not just in the summers, either."
"Some of our peers already have great-grands on the horizon, you know," Neville said musingly.
Cedric and Harry both shrugged. "We're not concerned about that," Cedric said easily. "Harry and I had reasons to want to wait before we started with our own, and our oldest have also wanted to wait a bit. It's not an issue for us, not like it would be if we were muggles."
"Since we can both reasonably expect to have another sixty or so good years in us, we're fine as it is," Harry said quietly. He and Neville met each other's eyes, and Neville was swept back across the years to just after the War, when he and Harry discussed the Death Magic that Harry was having slowly cleansed from his body. The destruction of Voldemort had required things from all of them that were distasteful, to say the least; Harry had born the brunt of it. Ultimately, it had been Neville, Cedric and a few others who had supported Harry through the aftermath of victory. "But," Harry was going on, "J. A. and his wife have been making the right noises for a few months now, and unless I miss my guess, Anna Lily was positively glowing the last time I saw her."
"James Amos will make a fine father, and he made a real match when he landed Diana Bones. Tell me, does Draco know that Benjamin's wife might be in a family way?" Neville asked carefully.
"No, and neither does Sally; don't you say a word, either, Longbottom," Harry mock-threatened. "Ben and Ann will 'officially' let us know when they're ready. Until then, we all know nothing and say less. Understood?"
Neville nodded his understanding. "Fine. Just remember how Draco was with the birth of his children. When he has the first grandchild come around, I'll probably have to have him sedated in the hospital wing."
Harry and Cedric both snickered, only to be cut off by the Headmaster. "And don't think I won't have the same done to either or both of you, Mr. Supreme Mugwump and Minister! I seem to remember a certain someone using a vintage Firebolt to skywrite the name of his new son over Diagon Alley some years back."
Cedric at least had the grace to blush at this, while Harry snickered and took his husband's hand. His first pregnancy with J. A. had been long and difficult, and Cedric had been at his bedside constantly for the last few weeks as the healers fought to keep little Jamie from coming prematurely. His later pregnancies had been much easier, as had Cedric's; in no small part because of what had been learned during his first attempt. It hadn't hurt that Draco Malfoy had been there almost as much, refining the potions constantly to improve their efficacy at maintaining Harry's pregnancy with a minimum of side effects. Even now, over two decades later, Draco's monograph on male pregnancy potions was considered the standard in the field.
The three sat in companionable silence for some time, old friends at ease with each other. They had spoken about this moment many times in the past, and now it had finally come. The Headmaster of Hogwarts was arguably the third most influential wizard in Great Britain, after the Minister and the Supreme Mugwump. Now that Neville had taken on his new hat, it was almost like the three were coming home once more.
"So," Harry said, breaking the silence. "I want to get home at a reasonable hour, because I, for one, can't sleep in tomorrow," he joked. Of the three, his day would start later than either of the others.
"Fine," Neville huffed. "I suppose that you old men need your rest, and all that," he said, then turned and ordered the bookshelves to open. He deliberately didn't look at his guests, but listened closely to their reactions when they realized just what they were looking at.
"It's…a giant Marauder's Map!" Harry gasped.
"It's done as a tapestry, rather than on parchment," Cedric observed carefully, always mindful of the little details. "Does it work like the map we have?" he asked, just as carefully.
"Basically, yes, as far as I know," Neville said. "It's keyed to the Headmaster, and can show me anyone in the castle or surrounding area, out to most of Hogsmeade and the Forrest. It's mostly been used in emergencies to find lost children, or those who got off and injured themselves too badly to come back on their own; it also shows almost every secret passage and short cut around the old pile," he said warmly.
"Well, now we know, don't we?" Harry said, his voice calm. "I rather suspected as much, from time to time. Let me guess, the Lords Hall is a dead zone for it?"
"It's one of the very few, yes," Neville said. "I think the Chamber of Secrets is another, but not the Room of Requirement, most of the time. I'll have to play with it a bit, you understand," he trailed off, then shrugged.
"Do we know who made it?" Cedric asked. "The charms involved must be…incredible," he breathed. He'd worked with the original Marauder's Map for years, trying to understand its secrets, but always limited his investigations for fear of harming it. Even Sirius and Remus had only been able to tell him so much; James Potter had done most of the delicate work himself, and the others hadn't know just exactly how or what he did to make it work.
"That would be me, Minister," a voice said from behind Cedric's head. Turning, he saw an aged wizard with facial features and hair that was messily familiar. "Lord Richard Potter, at your service," the elderly wizard said, bowing.
"Lord Richard…Potter?" Harry breathed the question.
"Indeed I am, good sir. And you are, might I guess, my descendant? The Headmaster mentioned that he knew one of mine well, and I'm afraid that the hair is something of a dead giveaway for the men of the Potter line," he chuckled.
"I'm a Potter, Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Evans," Harry said, his eyes lighting up.
"James? Never heard of him, I'm afraid," Lord Richard smiled. "Not surprising, considering that I've been dead for most of five centuries now, give or take a few years. Still, the Family tapestry in the vault should have both of us on it; you can use it to figure out just what level of 'great-' grandfather or whatever we really are. Still, we're related, the hair tells me that much. Pleased to meet you, Harry."
"Pleased to meet you, Lord Richard," Harry said, his smile growing with each passing second. "So, you made the tapestry?" he asked.
"Indeed I did, and I suspect that your father found my journal with my notes on how I did so. Feel free to share them with the esteemed Minister over there," he nodded towards Cedric, who was studying the Tapestry intently.
"I will if I can find them, sir; there have been a few rearrangements of the library in the last few years," Harry said.
"What Harry means is a couple of wars, the destruction of Potter Manor, and moving the library into a Gringotts vault and out again at least twice," Neville spoke up. "There are still boxes of books in storage at the new Potter-Diggory Manor, waiting to be catalogued. Somehow, between keeping down a never-ending supply of Dark Wizards, running the country, parenting an entire Quidditch team of little ankle biters and whatever else always seems to come up, some people never get around to properly unpacking their things," he said, glaring at his two friends.
Lord Potter (and several other of the former Headmasters) laughed out loud at Neville's assertion, as well as Harry and Cedric's matching glares at him. "What, have house elves gone out of fashion, then?" he asked.
"Have you ever tried to use a library organized by house elves?" Harry asked, then shook his head. "Don't. Just…don't. I keep meaning to do it myself, but like Neville said, something always seems to come up. And before you start; no, I can't ask Hermione, she'd freak at some of the things I know are in those old trunks. She's never really gotten over Dumbledore's programming about 'Light' and 'Dark' magic. She'd want to report me to the Ministry for some of them, and burn the rest. No," he said, shaking his head, "I'll get to it, probably when Cedric retires as Minister. I'm going to resign as Supreme Mugwump that very same day, on the grounds that I'm going to spend more time with my husband, thank you very much. Until then," he shrugged, "it's not like I have lots of free time to read, anyway."
"Until then, I rather doubt that the Minister for Magic would condone prosecuting the Supreme Mugwump for possession of Dark materials," Cedric smirked. "I've gotten too used to having you steal the duvet to ever sleep alone again."
"Oi! Prat!" Harry said, with a fond look at his husband.
For his part, Neville just snickered. "By the way you two carry on, you'd think you were an old married couple."
"We are an old married couple, thank you very much, just like you and the lovely former Miss Abbott," Cedric laughed.
"Damned right," Neville grinned. "And, speaking of my lovely wife, I think that I'm going to throw you two out soon so that I can go have a few drinks for form's sake, then go to her bed. I, for one, have had an exhausting day." The Headmaster raised his hand, as both men across from him began to speak. "Yes, you can both come back soon. Cedric, I know that you'll be wanting to look at the Tapestry, and discuss it with Lord Richard. Harry, you'll be wanting to update Richard on just what's been going on with the family recently. You're both certainly welcome here at any time, just realize that I've got a school to run and may occasionally have to throw you out for a bit."
Harry and Cedric both nodded, the years in their current positions having taught them all too well that sometimes work has to take precedence over everything else. Cedric was the first to rise, but only just.
"We'll take our leave, then, Headmaster," the Minister said. Then, he nodded to the walls. "Headmasters," he repeated, then reached for Harry's hand.
"We'll be back in a day or so, when we can spend more time chatting you all up," Harry smiled. "Also, there are a few things which Ced and I have to talk about with the Headmaster, in our official roles."
As Neville and Cedric both rolled their eyes, Harry laughed and pressed on. "Yes, yes, I know, blame me for wanting to keep the country running smoothly. Actually," he said, his voice dropping somewhat, "as good as Septima was to work with, I'm looking forward to it being the three of us, together again."
"You realize, Harry, that there are going to be times when we're at odds," Neville cautioned. "Hogwarts has got to be my first responsibility, and I can't go along with you and Cedric just because we're friends gone on these last forty-odd years."
Harry snorted, and Cedric frankly laughed. "Neville, the day I expect a Longbottom to 'just go along' with me for any reason is the day I'll retire to my garden," the former Hufflepuff barked. "Oh, we'll have our share of rows…but then I expect the winner to buy the firewhiskey afterward, just as always."
"Fair enough. Now, if we can just get that pig-headed git of a Supreme Mugwump to listen to reason and do exactly what we say…." Neville answered.
"Oi! Right here, you great thumping louts!" said Supreme Mugwump objected.
"Out! Get out of my office this minute!" the Headmaster thundered, before waving his friends out. "I'll be down to the Dog in a bit, but don't expect me to stay very long. It really has been a long day for me."
After Cedric and Harry had gone—promising to have his drink waiting for him when he arrived—Neville closed the bookcases and went about shutting down the various other little things in his office that needed it for the night. Then, as he was about to step on the staircase, he turned once again and looked at his—HIS—office.
Headmaster Longbottom, he thought. Yes, I think I can get used to that.
And with that last thought, he left to join his friends.
A/N: ryencoke and sunsethill wrote the reviews that started me thinking about this little scene; so I just had to write it. It's probably as close to an Epilogue as VoD will ever have, and I totally reserve the right to not make everything in VoD turn out just exactly as I've hinted at here…except for how many kids the Potter-Diggorys and the Malfoys have. Swarms of little rug rats I see, yes indeedy!