Chapter Twenty-four
oooP1ooo
(Harry)
A hiss escaped Salazar as tiny needle-like claws caught his fingers. The tiny kitten hissed back, kitten-blue eyes glared at him as he handled the little male. Omorose chuffed up at him as she arranged the other six kittens within the basket.
It had taken the last weeks of school to convince her that it was safe to move them into his suite. Now, just in time for Godric and him to leave for the holidays, she showed up with her demands to move. The books had explained that kneazle kittens grew slowly and the mother barely left them during the first month. So it technically wasn't a surprise. Salazar just hadn't planned to do this before dawn the day he was supposed to take the train back to London.
Hogwarts thrummed excitedly at his side, curls bouncing with her ill-restrained motion. "Isn't he the cutest cutie every papa?" She leaned over to reach eye level with the kitten. "Hello, cutie-pie! I'm going to name you Mer–"
"Don't!" Salazar tried to interrupt the child.
"–lin!"
Salazar sent a flat look at Hogwarts. "What did I say about naming them? One's for Gregory once he starts talking to me again."
The little girl just beamed and held out cupped hands. "Not to but I'll only name this one, papa! Merlin is too cute not to be named." He reluctantly relinquished the kitten. She cuddled the little dark-brown kitten to her chest and made little cute sounds at the poor kitten. Unlike with him, little Merlin happily cuddled up against Hogwarts.
"That's my little Merlie," muttered Hogwarts, "You're going to be my fierce warrior mage like Papa Rie but like books and cat-naps like Papa Sally, and be pretty as your mama Rosie."
Salazar studiously ignored his school's mutterings as he finished setting up the cozy little space in his bedroom. (He was entirely unsurprised that she created nicknames, not just claimed the ones Godric had made up an age ago. This was clearly Godric's fault.)
His room now had a large bed, chest-a-drawers, and an end table but, ignoring the piles of books he needed to either return to the library or put on proper shelves, there was plenty of space for Omorose and the latest litter. More likely than not, Mipsy or one of the other House elves would take his absence as an excuse to set up the study and shelve all the books there.
"There," he muttered to his kneazle, stroking her sleek fur as she purred in acceptance. "Take care of yourself and the little ones. And don't let Hogwarts name any more of them. She cannot have all of them. Your progeny would take over the enter school if that was the case.—Which we don't want."
Omorose purred louder at the idea and Salazar rolled his eyes at her. He would miss her presence over the holidays. She would have been handy to have during his meeting with the Black Pater too.
He glanced at his watch and made a face at the time. Being very awake, the founder left the cats and child in his bedroom—Hogwarts didn't notice him leave and Omorose was busy—and headed down the long hall into the kitchens.
There were no House elves about. Helga's domain was dark, the usual roaring fire just cinders. He stood at the side and took in the dark shadows and the strange silence. It reminded him of sleepless nights and how he would sometimes wander down here for a cup of tea.
An alert would inform Helga, no matter that he always attempted to avoid triggering it, and she would join him. He started to make her tea in anticipation of her joining him. She had never failed to do so. Neither of them often spoke during the dark of night. They would just sit together with warm beverages heating them through.
His socked feet padded against the worn stone as he traced those well-trodden paths, found mugs where mugs had always been and found a selection of teas, coffees, and hot chocolate mixes where once had only been jars of herbs for tea. He reached for his usual mint flavor but paused. Helga would have loved hot chocolate.
It took little to deviate from warming water to warming milk. A few minutes passed before he set two mugs down in the same seats they had always sat. He breathed in the sweet steam of his hot chocolate and sighed, oddly content.
He had tried to relax as Godric had ordered. Salazar had focused on the midterms and his relationships with his peers over these last weeks. It had mostly worked.
The pureblood Slytherins were still ignoring him, though he wasn't entirely certain if it was due to them still being mad or just focused on the tests and the excitement of the coming holidays. Draco was still mad enough to avoid acknowledging him most days (but not every day). Gregory followed the blond's lead but almost agreed to see the kittens. The others just seemed distracted.
His Hufflepuff cousins had dragged Godric and him to the Hufflepuff vs. Ravenclaw quidditch game to "de-stress" from all the studying. (Blaise had tried to convince Salazar to help with a gambling ring at the quidditch match. He didn't join in with the boy but he may have offered tips on how to do it right.)
He knew he had done well, but hopefully not too well, on the exams. It was difficult to edit his answers on a time-limited test compared to the homework so he wasn't entirely certain he sounded like an eleven-year-old with some of his answers. Hopefully, he had struck a decent balance. He had no interest in beating his eleven-year-old peers for the top grades. He didn't need such grades for his future.
With the midterms, pranks and detentions and other manipulative moments had also ceased. The twins focused on their classes for once. Dumbledore focused on wrapping up the investigation of the loch. Snape focused on harassing children into studying, which could be worse as all children needed to gain a thick skin and should have been studying without the insults.
Overall, it had been a decent break. It felt like the calm before a storm, though. The Holidays were upon them and Salazar didn't know what all would happen. He needed to respond to Hannah's invitation and he had not seen any hint of the invitation from the Malfoys.
The bench's legs across from him scrapped against the stone floor, pulling his gaze up from his mug. Godric settled across from him, rubbing at his face in a clear attempt to wake himself up. It wasn't working particularly well. Hazel eyes glared out at him from between his fingers before he felt his way across the table to the mug of cooled hot chocolate and pulled it close so he could hold it between both his hands. Steam slowly began to rise from it a moment later.
Hogwarts had finally bonded with Godric and Salazar had helped reconnect the wards to him yesterday morning. The train ride through the wards would have forced the wards to connect on their own. They had agreed that might not be the best thing when leaving the wards. The connection needed time to settle a little before being stretched.
Godric had been sleeping since.
"You should still be sleeping," Salazar remarked in a way of greeting.
His brother made inarticulate sounds of agreement and aggrievement.
"You both be needing sleep."
Salazar turned in his seat and offered a smile at Mipsy. She looked entirely unimpressed, arms folded across her chest. Other House elves shuffled in behind her and began working on breakfast.
She glanced over their table and huffed to herself. "Masters be needing refills and breakfast."
"I's be getting Master Rie's things now that he's bonded with Hogsie!" called out another House elf, "I's won the right!"
Mipsy turned a sour look towards the newcomer while Salazar shifted in his seat to see better. From the corner of his eye, he also saw Godric take note.
Godric's official House elf was male and the visual opposite of Mipsy. He had dark eyes and dark leathery skin with quite a lot of reddish-brown fur covering what was visible. His ears were upright, though the tips flopped down. He also wore a pillowcase with a Hogwarts crest stitched across it but it had been shaped into a work apron instead of the dress-like pillowcase Mipsy wore.
The male House elf puffed up his chest at realizing he had both founders' attention and announced, "I's be getting porridge and a plate of bacon for you."
Mipsy blatantly rolled her eyes before she pivoted and stomped away.
Salazar turned to give Godric a "what is happening" look. Godric shrugged and turned to his new elf. "That would be great, uh…What's your name?"
The House elf bobbed into a sweeping bow. His ear tips flopped back and just brushed against the ground. "I's be Olen, Master Rie! I's be happy to serve you and Master Sally–"
Mipsy appeared and set a platter of food in front of Salazar. Instead of his usual tea and plate of cheese and nuts to nibble on, she had brought him a full English breakfast. She flicked her gaze at Olen as she set a second platter filled with more meat and eggs.—And waffles of all things. Salazar didn't know they made waffles here.—To finish off she floated over a mug of tea and a refill of his hot chocolate.
Olen squawked in outrage and bustled off into the busy part of the kitchens.
Salazar stared at the feast before he glanced up at Godric, glanced over at the kitchen workers that looked to still be prepping food and in no way had things ready to plate, and then turned to Mipsy. "How–"
"Master Sally woke up ages ago," sniffed Mipsy, "I be making certain proper food be ready when Master Rie joined you. I also be making food for the train." Then she flounced off with a sway of her hips that House elves didn't do.
Godric reached out and snagged a piece of bacon before he grumbled out, "Thank the Mother we are leaving whatever this is behind."
Olen rematerialized with his platter of food, including a bowl of porridge, as Godric finished the piece of bacon. Shoulders slumped and disappointment flickered across the House elf's face before Salazar reached out and snagged a bacon piece from Godric's plate. He didn't need any bacon but he also had no interest in helping Mipsy mess with the poor thing.
The two sat there, slowly munching through way too much food for the rest of the early morning. As they finally gave up and rose, each House elf appeared with a bag filled with sandwiches and sweets. Back in the suite revealed Hogwarts curled up on the floor by the fireplace, nose to nose with Merlin.
She jumped up at the sight of them, and demanded, "Hugs before you go! And I want two armfuls of prank material Papa Sally!"
"Of course, two armfuls," Salazar agreed as he hugged her.
Godric snorted as Hogwarts beamed.
She turned gleefully to Godric and lifted the brown kitten toward him. "Papa Rie, this is Merlin. He's my own kneazle. Little Merlie is going to be magnificent when he's older!"
The Gryffindor, amused, took a tiny paw between his fingers and mimicked a handshake, "Good to meet you, Merlin."
Hogwarts huffed, clearly put out. "You need to give him pets goodbye Papa!"
Godric carefully patted the kitten's head, exaggerating his usual reluctance near animals.
Their little school rolled her eyes and turned expectantly to him. Salazar reached out and gave the kitten a good rub behind one of his ears. "Remember to leave him with Omorose most of the time. He's still too young to be away from her for long."
She pouted but nodded and vanished down the hall to his room to place Merlin with his, hopefully unnamed, siblings.
"Shouldn't that be her Christmas present?" Godric asked, "The cat–"
"You seriously think I gave a thousand-year-old school—one that will continue to exist for another thousand years at the very least—a cat?" Salazar countered, feeling more than a little insulted at the lack of intelligence that implied.
Godric paused in consideration. His brother glanced over to him and then back to the hall as he asked in a whisper (as if a whisper would keep Hogwarts from knowing what was said), "You don't think she knows any binding rituals right? She isn't going to just bind the poor thing to her to exist for as long as she does?"
Salazar frowned. He couldn't recall anyone completing a binding ritual within Hogwarts for her to witness…except– "The only ritual she could take for reference should be Helga's and Gareth's wedding ritual and that's if she had been conscious at that point. That shouldn't–couldn't bind Merlin to Hogwarts in a way to extend his life to match hers–"
"Wouldn't it?" Godric said, "I mean, I don't know how Gareth died but the ritual they chose is supposed to equalize their life spans to increase the chance they live as long as the other…"
He closed his eyes and sighed. "That binding also requires words spoken by both participants–"
"Kneazles are damn smart and intent is more important than literal words."
"Hogwarts is not going to marry a cat!" Salazar snapped out flinging his hands out in emphasis before he stomped down the hall and called over his shoulder, "I'll see you in the Great Hall."
Godric called after, "It wouldn't be the worst son-in-law we could have! She likes the bleeding poltergeist Sal!"
Salazar made certain his door snapped closed loudly as an answer to that. Turning from the door revealed Hogwarts kneeling before Omorose's bed cuddling one of Merlin's siblings, silver eyes dancing with silent laughter.
"Don't worry Papa, I won't marry Merlin or Peeves until I'm at least ten."
He stared at her. Maybe it was because of the lack of sleep but he couldn't help but repeat the end of that statement in a mix of horror and disbelief, (Entirely skipping over the fact that Hogwarts was a building joking about marrying a kneazle or a poltergeist.) "Ten?"
"I want my Papas at my wedding," she answered in one of those matter-of-fact tones that made anyone hearing it know the child thought you were an idiot and it reminded him that she was somehow mentally eight. And a building, which also needed to be factored in when considering her actions.
Salazar forced himself to pause and look at the little girl properly. She was clearly entertained by the entire concept but that was it. There was no seriousness about her statement. There was something there, though. An idea gleamed in her gaze, taking root there and he had a good guess what it was. He finally stated, "I will endeavor to live long enough…Please talk to me about any plans to do a ritual to tie him to you."
Hogwart grew solemn and she looked down at the brown kitten in the basket before glancing up through her red lashes at him. Her voice was tiny as she asked, "Is it possible, Papa?"
His lips thinned and he set the bag of food down before he knelt beside Hogwarts. He rubbed Omorose as she leaned up to demand pets. As he stroked his own bonded kneazle, he slowly answered, "All living things have their life to live. It is unnatural to extend a being's life beyond that natural point. Merlin will die when it is his time. Just as Godric and I had to do the same–"
"But you came back," Hogwarts whispered.
"Our return, at least of our memories, isn't part of the natural order of things. No one is truly immortal, Hogwarts. Even a phoenix has a true death."
She stared up at him in silence. A frown twisted her lips and she muttered, "But Helen–"
"You would wish for the unfulfilled existence of a ghost on Merlin?"
"No!" she snapped, "I don't want anything bad for him, Papa…I just…You all left me." Silver eyes looked up with unshed tears. She spoke in a tiny, quiet voice, "I don't want to be alone."
Salazar grimaced as he was literally about to leave her but reached out and pulled her into a one-arm hug. He carefully took the kitten in her hands and returned it to Omorose. Then he hugged her properly.
Hogwarts clung to him, her breath slightly hitched as she hid her face against his chest. Salazar couldn't help but recall that the last time he had left he hadn't come back. He had died and some of the things Hogwarts had said over the months hinted at that fact having hit her hard.
This entire conversation took on a different light.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her glowing, curly-haired head and whispered, "I'm not going into any battles. It's just the Holidays. I'll be back. I'm coming home this time. You'll see me on Christmas day, too. I'll have my satchel stuffed to the brim with pranking material."
The little girl snorted a wet-sounding laugh at that ridiculous claim before pulling away. "And a surprise, remember?"
Salazar opened his mouth to retort before he recalled the conversation and sighed as he said, "Right, I do remember now that you reminded me. I seem to keep agreeing to more and more presents for you."
She beamed up at him, though her gaze was still a little shiny. "This'll be the very best Yuletide in eight hundred years papa!" She hopped back and waved as she faded, "See you soon!"
A meow from Omorose pulled him from depressing thoughts spiraling about everything they had and hadn't said. He gave his kneazle a final ear scratch, packed the bag of food into his satchel, and threw on a deep green winter robe over his tunic and trousers.
The ground sunk under his foot as he stepped through his bedroom mirror and onto his dorm room bed. A peek through the spelled curtains revealed an empty room, beds visible and empty. The Slytherin common room had a few stragglers hunting for misplaced objects but was otherwise just as abandoned. It wasn't until he reached the ground floor that Salazar heard the ruckus of a good thousand students and the score or more faculty attempting to direct the overly excited children. The main hall was lined with trunks as if it was the end of the school year, and more sensible-sized duffle bags and suitcases. House elves were going over lists and checking them twice as they reviewed tags on each piece of luggage.
He had to push his way through streams of children rushing this way and that, and weave around groups of chattering friends before he reached the Great Hall. Within was a similar madness. It had the added ambiance of Christmas decor with seven evergreen trees somebody had chopped down from his forest covered in twinkling lights and ornaments representing one of the four school houses or seven primary classes. (No, he wasn't bitter over waking up to that surprise. It's not like the wards were tied to the trees or anything like that.)
Salazar ended up using his brother bond to hunt down Godric. He was chatting with the Weasley boys who had sat together, Ron sitting with his older brothers at the Gryffindor table for once. They were one of the few staying over the holidays. Which Salazar wasn't certain was a good thing if the looks Fred and George kept sending him were any indication but that was a future problem. Maybe the holidays would help the boys realize some things.
Professor McGonagall stepped up to the raised dais and flicked her wand, making a sharp bang sound. The noise lowered in the hall and she called out, a charm enhancing her voice so even those out in the hall likely heard her, "The carriages have begun to roll out. Eight children are allowed per carriage. Please group yourselves at that number as best you can. The train will be leaving within the hour if we keep to the schedule."
She paused to glance over them all before waving a hand at the various professors still in the Great Hall and continuing her explanation, "A professor will mark your name off as you enter a carriage. Please do not attempt to carry any large luggage with you, only personal bags. The House elves will move your things if you leave them in a pile in the hallway. Thank you, and have a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone. I expect to see each of you back ready to learn come January!"
Since he was at the Gryffindor table, his group ended up consisting of all Gryffindors. He also ended up being the one to direct the group to the growing line for the carriages.—If he hadn't, they would have been in the back of the line and rushed to find a compartment on the train. One day the children might thank him for wrangling the lot. (He included Godric in that number.)
The children rambled away at each other, none truly listening to the other or paying any mind to where they were actually walking, as they all focused on telling everyone their holiday plans. Hermione was going skiing somewhere. Dean expected his mum to drag him to Bath for its Christmas market one weekend. Seamus was visiting his grandparents in Limerick. The rest of the children were just going home. Salazar didn't bother joining in and none of the eleven-year-olds noticed his lack of plans.
By the time they reached the front of the line for the carriage, the children had finished their rambles and were antsy to start the long train ride. Professor Sprout checked their names off as a sled, though it looked like the bottom could be replaced with wheels to convert it into a carriage, was pulled up by thestrals.
"Invisible horses?" Hermione asked, clearly noticing the tack. Salazar imagined it odd seeing only the tack and not the skeletal horses.
Godric answered as they settled into the back where there was just enough room for all seven of them and the various personal bags each had brought. "Thestrals are pulling the carriage. You can only see them if you've witnessed a death."
"Oh," the bushy-haired girl said, eyes going round. Godric grimaced, realizing what he had implied. A stilted silence spread across the group. After a moment, Hermione helplessly glanced at Lavender, of all people, for help.
Lavender startled a little as she realized what Hermione was silently asking for, and then jerked forward slightly in her seat to lean around Parvati and asked Salazar, "Have you seen anything interesting in your tea leaf reading lately, Harry?"
"Well," Salazar paused, glanced at Godric, and then shrugged and said, "Neville's tea keeps showing a lion and a bumblebee."
"Separately or together," demanded Parvati.
He leaned back slightly and tilted his head to look at the Gryffindor Patil properly. "They transform into each other depending on how you turn the cup."
She raised an eyebrow and looked over at Neville speculatively, "Prediction of a transformation? That is far more clear-cut than my mother usually sees things."
"Oh," Lavender looked thrilled and very pleased with herself, "Neville, are you going to become the best Gryffindor Hogwarts has seen since our founder? Wouldn't that be exciting! I knew you'd figure out things."
"But he hasn't," Hermione countered with frustration, hands flinging out and almost whacking Dean. "I mean," she turned to Godric and offered some praise for once, "you've gotten the theory down and finally did a few spells in time for the midterms but you have so much to make up for still!" She looked a little exhausted for a second before she rallied herself and announced, "We'll just have to stick it out, right Neville? All that studying helped. Continuing it will do wonders I'm sure!"
"Uh," Parvati spoke up, stopping Hermione from unraveling the conversation with spontaneous study plans, "That's not what I think it means. I mean, you can never be certain what divination truly means until after the fact but…Well, Longbottom's House spirit is a bumblebee right?"
Godric nodded.
"Well," she continued slowly, "I think, maybe, this has more to do with personal transformations instead of grades. Divination rarely cares about the little things–"
"Little!" squawked Hermione but Patil ignored the outburst.
"–The Longbottom bumblebee is transforming into the Gryffindor lion, or the opposite is happening. That…that could be huge." She bit her lip and hesitated.
Salazar watched her, intrigued. Could she guess what he thought the divination meant?—His original guess had been Neville regaining his memories but since he was still seeing it, that was unlikely. Now, he wondered if it had to do with Godric being split between two House Paterships. Maybe Godric had to choose. Maybe it had been a prediction of it all, the memories returning and House conflicts that might arise in the future. He won't know if all was complete until he stopped seeing the lion and bee in Godric's tea.
Or it could be something else entirely. Parvati was right, there was no way to know what the divination meant until after it was done with.
Their sled jerked to a halt at the train station entrance.
The noise of hundreds of students rumbled out over the small train station. The small group split up. Parvati pulled Lavender over to her twin sister and Ravenclaw friends. Dean and Seamus ran off to claim the better compartments. Salazar dragged Godric with one hand and carried his satchel with the other as he decided to claim a compartment near the prefects, where few children wanted to be. Hopefully, it would be quiet up there. It was going to be a long trip. He could feel it in his bones.
Salazar found an empty compartment and settled in. Godric tossed his bag in the overhead rack and immediately crashed on a bench. Soft snores soon escaped the blond as he slumped across the space. The Slytherin founder debated until the train was moving. Then, since no one else came for a seat, he joined his brother in slumber, taking over the other bench.
He honestly expected someone to bother them. Draco, maybe. Someone would wake them. So he'd close his eyes for a few minutes and accept the traditional day-long ride back to London overdoing anything productive besides catching up on sleep that still often alluded him and that Godric simply needed with recovering from the bonding.
Somehow that didn't happen. It was only the slowing of the train that drew both boys back to the waking world. They weren't alone though. There were Hufflepuffs curled up on the floor playing some muggle card game. (If it had been a wizarding one, there would have been explosions.) Susan, Hannah, Megan, and another girl he didn't recognize had claimed the floor.
Hannah grinned up at him as she noticed he was awake. "You two really needed sleep, huh?"
"Wha?" slurred Salazar as he continued to process their presence.
"We came by to invite you both—well Neville will be there no matter what…" Susan smiled sheepishly before she stuck a card in Salazar's face. "I know it's last minute and I understand if you cannot make it but my Aunt gave permission since Hannah was allowed to do so too. So here's an invite!"
Salazar sat up and took the card. "For what?"
"The Bones Christmas party," Susan said quietly, almost embarrassed, "It doesn't happen every year like most and we don't invite everyone but the Potters used to receive an invite whenever we did host one. It's only right we renew that tradition."
The Slytherin founder stared down at the decorative card. The party was two days after Christmas. "I'll let you know." He looked up and frowned. "Did you all come for that?"
Susan nodded before she glanced out the window at the slowly changing scenery of London. It wouldn't be long before they reached Kings Cross Station. "That's all. I had meant to give it to you at breakfast…We better get back to our compartment for our things!"
The group rushed off, the compartment door banging shut as they left.
"How long do you think they were in here for?" Godric asked as he slumped back in his seat.
Salazar sighed and pulled down his bag from the above luggage rack. "Who knows."
Godric grabbed his things as the train came to a stop. Soon they were rushed off the train by the horde of excited children. Platform 9 3/4th station was packed with relatives eager to collect their children and focus on the holidays. It was as maddening as the throng of activity departing Hogwarts had been. There were too many people to move quickly. Most were children fighting for space within the baggage section.
His brother made an odd sort of noise, pulling Salazar's attention from the almost-fight occurring between children and adults over reaching luggage. He followed his brother's hazel gaze and stared. A tall elderly woman searched the crowds of children, lips pursed and brow furrowed in a generally disagreeable expression. A large hat with a stuffed vulture sat on her head.
He considered saying multiple things but in the end, Salazar said, "Let me know if you need anything."
Godric huffed out an almost bitter laugh. "Back at you."
The two clapped forearms, Salazar could feel the brother bond tattoo on Godric's arm warm under his hand. Then they split up. Godric went to the Longbottoms. Salazar vanished through the passage to the muggle side of the world.
oooP2ooo
(Neville)
Gran shrank his bag and stuffed it into her red purse. Godric sent a silent thanks to the Mother the bag only had some clothes in it. (Though watching her purse explode from some old magical artifact reacting poorly to being shrunk would have made his day.)
She reached out and fiddled with his collar as if it hadn't been laying straight. He barely repressed a shiver at the contact.
For all his memories he only knew she was a bitter, old, uptight woman. He didn't know for certain that she knew what all had been done to him. His gran might not be complicit in his abuse.
It didn't excuse her. It only meant she had been purposefully ignorant while being his legal caretaker.
He still had difficulty reconciling the desperate love and need for approval he felt for her and what she let happen to him. For all that he was mentally old enough to be in his eighties, he was physically a child who recalled feeling so strongly for her. He couldn't help but feel some shadow of that love. She was family. Family was supposed to matter.
"Neville," Gran announced, "Pater has requested our presence this evening. You will conduct yourself befitting the heir you are. This is finally it. Fitzwilliam must be ready to make you the official heir." She tutted and tugged at his collar again as she muttered, "There is so much for you to understand about the Longbottom political positions…"
Gran shook her head, patted him on the shoulder, and announced, "I've set an appointment tomorrow at Twilfitt and Tatting's for your formal robes. There are multiple balls you will be expected to attend now." She held out her arm expectantly as she added, "We will visit Franklin and Alice for an hour and then go to Longwood for his requested meeting and supper."
Godric stifled a sigh as he tucked her arm to his side as if to guide her like a little gentleman. She immediately gave a little twist and spun him around with her as her magic wrapped around them. A POP throbbed through his ears as the world spun and seemed to have the air sucked away. The squeezing sensation of magic pulling them almost instantaneously from Kings Cross Station to St. Mungo's lasted only a moment. It was an uncomfortable moment, though.
In a blink, Godric found his surroundings altered. It took a second for his mind to adjust, causing motion sickness even though he hadn't actually moved in the literal sense after the twist. A few breaths eased the sensation, though memories of constantly throwing up after side apparition filtered into his mind.
"You're finally getting a handle on it," Gran remarked, pulling Godric's attention and reminding the founder of her grumbles over the years as she cleaned up after him as a child.
He forced himself to just nod in response and instead took in his new surroundings. Godric was not anywhere near mentally ready to see his parents. He would have rather have had another day to recover from bonding with the wards and Hogwarts. (This was probably what he got for forcing Sally to relax. They both forgot about the bonding until the last minute.)
St. Mungo's was sterile. The walls were white and the floors a gray tile. White fairy lights floated over metal bars as if playing the part of torches. A large bronze plaque by the receptionist announced the focus of each floor. On the opposite wall from the plaque were multiple fireplaces for floo access.
Gran dropped his arm and swept through the entry, past the receptionist, didn't even pause at the sight of bespelled and cursed patients waiting in the sitting area, and acted as if the healer that happened to open the door to the stairs had done so for her benefit. Godric followed and offered a nod of thanks to the poor, sleep-deprived man still holding the door open in bewilderment.
They traveled up four flights of stairs before Gran used her wand to fling the door open and swept down the hall. Godric glanced at the plaque by the stairwell door, Fourth Floor: Spell Damage, before he followed. Doors lined the walls. Each door had a plaque announcing Ward 34 or Ward 36. Some had names alongside the numbers such as Dilys Derwent Ward, 43, and the ward Gran entered, Janus Thickey Ward, 49.
Godric hesitated at the doorway. His gaze swept over the long room. It was reminiscent of Hogwarts healing ward but with a nurse's desk near the door and a few chairs to wait at. A larger sign over the small desk confirmed this was the Janus Thickey Ward for Brain Damage Due to Excess Spell Contact. To its right were doors to two spacious bathrooms. Behind the desk were the two rows of beds, though most were hidden behind privacy-bespelled curtains. The room was as sterile as the rest of the hospital. It even smelled overly clean with a sharp hint of lemon in the air.
A motherly-looking witch smiled kindly at him from the reception desk. He recognized her, though he couldn't recall her name. She may have never given him a name since she had been here forever. He had been a tiny child when he first met her.
"Merry Christmas, Neville." She said kindly, "Your mother will be so pleased to see you. She's still in the fourth bed to the right. We moved Franklin across from her again."
Godric offered a sharp nod. His throat constricted even as he considered saying something. Instead, he fled after Gran. Where the old woman turned left into a curtained-off area, he turned right and stilled at the sight before him.—Emotions bubbled up from ten years of memories surrounding this place and the woman before him.
Wispy hair with clear streaks of gray framed a round face. Her cheeks were sunken and her eyes looked a little too large. Alice Longbottom didn't look any different from the last time he had visited her just before going to Hogwarts. It felt like she should look different, though.
So much had changed since he had last seen her.
He couldn't help but feel a greater distance forming between him and this poor woman. She was his mother but he had no memories of her being a mother. He had been raised by an entirely different woman.
Alice Longbottom smiled at him and shuffled over to him. She pulled out something from her robe pocket and held it out.
Remembering doing so a hundred times before, Godric held out his hand and felt the familiar weight of something fall into it. Godric's shoulders slumped and he blinked back tears as he stared down at the little, colorful wrapper crumpled up in his hand. All the wrappers he had kept over the years had burned within the tower room when he had lost control. Every little treasure Alice had given her son, back when he could look at her and see a mother, was gone.
Godric took the wrapper and carefully flattened it as he said a quiet, "Thank you."
It felt like he was saying so much more than a simple thank you: A sorry for not being her son anymore. An apology for never going back to the little eleven-year-old that dreamed of her recovery. A promise that he would have Sally come and take a look, even though his brother was no healer.
He didn't voice any of that. (He didn't voice truth: He could never be the son she had before the attack.)
The reincarnated founder sank into a seat at her bedside, even as she climbed back into bed. Godric's gaze slowly turned across the room and stared at the unresponsive form of Franklin Longbottom. Gran sat at his side, hand clenching at her son's. He wasn't surprised by the devastation written across her wrinkled face.
Godric turned back to the little wrapper, stuffed it into his robe's pocket, and slumped into his seat. This was going to be a long holiday.
Alice picked up a crayon and scribbled away at an already colorful parchment. The Hogwarts founder watched her with a mix of regret and wishful thoughts of a child he wasn't anymore and a hint of wonder at what might be possible because this woman still responded to the world while her husband did not.
An hour wasn't long, even when left to one's thoughts.
Gran's quiet call of, "Neville," pulled Godric back to the present. There was a softer quality to the old woman as she regarded him sitting at his mother's bedside. Maybe it was wishful thinking affecting him in more ways than one, but she almost seemed kind and she certainly held an air of regret though Godric couldn't help but imagine it was directed towards Franklin instead of him, or towards him not being more Franklin's son than Alice's.
"It's time to go," Gran stated, tone still soft.
Godric nodded and glanced back at Alice Longbottom once more. Goodbye was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't voice it. He hadn't felt like speaking since parting with Sally. (There was this overhanging sense of foreboding he was firmly ignoring. There wasn't an upcoming battle. He didn't understand why he was feeling that something bad was coming. It was just family functions. But he hated these family functions, which was probably why he had this feeling.)
He hesitated to speak up now. Saying goodbye felt final in a way he couldn't quite understand.
The eleven-year-old reached out and clasped one of Alice's hands in his for a second instead. Then he followed Gran out of the ward. He stuffed his hands into his robe pockets, found his father's wand in one and his mother's candy wrapper in the other. He could feel the indent of his wand within the thin inner pocket on his right and self-consciously moved his father's to the left wand pocket also. He felt a little better storing it properly, almost as if he had done something to take care of his parents.
oooP3ooo
Longwood Manor was a museum—he had recalled that fact but seeing its entryway covered in armor and artifacts forcefully reminded him. The ornate foyer they had apparated into was decorated for the Christmas season on top of the normal clutter of centuries-long wealth and history. An elf stood waiting for them and offered a sweeping bow as he announced in his squeaky voice. "Pater is waiting for you in his study, Madam. Little master is free to wander."
Augusta swept up the grand stairs to Pater Longbottom's study and Godric was left to do what he wanted. The founder shook his head, firmly ignored this second sign of Gran's plan not working out too well, and wandered over to the first door. His memory proved accurate when a familiar couch sitting in a familiar sitting room was revealed. He closed the door with a sharp click. Godric didn't need any more reminders of those memories.
His hazel eyes swept over the area with a thoughtful frown. Besides that room, he knew the dining room, his usual small suite, Pater's study and preferred sitting room, and the greenhouses and grounds. He spent most of his childhood visiting the extensive greenhouses when able and this particular sitting room. He had avoided the majority of the manor since the few times he had gotten up the nerve to investigate, something unsavory occurred. In hindsight, those unfortunate accidents were likely attempts to force his magic to reveal itself.
Perhaps it was time to properly look around. The manor was large, it would take a few days to search through it from top to bottom. With that thought, Gryffindor wandered off as ordered. (Pater had probably assumed he'd go to one of the greenhouses. If he wasn't supposed to wander into unused sections of the manor, the old man should have specified instead of assumed.)
Longwood manor was opulent and old. It had rooms upon rooms. All of them were decked out in velvets, brocades, and other rich fabrics. Earth tones were the general scheme. Green and browns and golds but not Slytherin green and not Gryffindor gold, not even Hufflepuff yellow. That was carefully, purposely avoided.
Godric passed through one-half of the lower level, poked his head into rooms, and sometimes wandered in for a closer look. He passed the dining room, the small ballroom, and the large ballroom. A quick peek into the next two closest rooms revealed the guest powder and restrooms. After that was a sitting room adjourned by another. Large doors between the two rooms had been left wide open, creating one large sitting area. All these rooms were carefully decorated with Christmas ornaments. It was all set and ready for some elaborate event.
He doubted the decorations were for the family dinner. That could only mean there was a party of some type planned for later in the holiday. So maybe Gran was right and he would be announced to the world as the Longbottom heir at last.
The reincarnated boy didn't wonder over the possibilities. Speculation was silly when it looked like he'd learn soon enough.
Eventually, he escaped the heavily decorated section of the manor and reached the more unused section. Another set of double doors opened into a dusty hall. It shouldn't have surprised him. Pater and, until last year, great grandma had lived in this large manor all by themselves. It was much too large to bother dusting the entire place often. Not even House elves would bother to work more than they had to.
This section of the manor began with more sitting rooms in the same general scheme though with older fashions, fabrics, and fading colors. One of the rooms was almost identical to the Pater's preferred sitting room, which made Godric change his estimate of how long it had been abandoned. It hadn't been used in years but Pater, or the previous one, had once used it for some reason or other.
It had the same velvet curtains, though in an aged pattern, and almost identical velvet-covered furniture. The sitting area wasn't centered on a fireplace like Pater's sitting room, though. Instead, the seats all faced a wall. Godric frowned at the empty wall for a long moment, considering what planned portrait or landscape might be missing when he realized he was looking at an elaborately designed tree. It covered the entire wall and the sitting area faced its trunk.
This was the Longbottom family tree carefully painted over the wall. He got closer and skipped over the names and tiny portraits as he tried to find ones he recognized. Godric flicked his gaze down to the rooted base as he wander along its length in search of familiarity. Some generations up from the roots, he stilled and stared at a pair of names.
Humphrey of Longbottom, 1070-1169, married to Bryony of Gryffindor, 1076-1172—His baby girl.
Godric sank to his knees and tranced her name. His baby girl had married the heir of the Longbottom House, one of the original seven. He was descended from his own daughter. Godric sat back, stunned. He was his own descendant. The reincarnate took that fact in and considered it for a time. Then he tucked it into the back of his mind and returned to the tree.
He traced the branches that extended from his daughter; they were the primary branches that extended from the trunk. She had had three sons. One had been named after him. Those boys had boys and on it went. The tree bloomed with names, male and female. Hundreds of people made up the Longbottom House over the centuries. The women married into powerful Houses and families, even the Potter Family—Sally was likely his descendant, too.
It was as he reached the 1700s that Godric started to see a concerning pattern, one that had existed for centuries before but not in nearly the quantity to notice until this part of the tree. Names had no death date. More and more children died before being given a name. Too many children died around their eleventh birthdays.
Godric knew what it meant. Between his memories, common historical 'facts', and Sally's basic investigations on squibs, Godric knew that these were people discarded by the House. These were the supposed squibs of the family. He didn't know what to think about the sheer number with death dates near their eleventh birthdays instead of no death dates at all. (He knew exactly how he felt—Sick. Horrified. Disgusted.)
The end of the branches struck him worst, though that was because of how close he was to it. William Longbottom, his great, great grandfather, and the previous Pater, had had three stillborn older siblings, an older squib brother, and a younger squib sister. The present Pater Longbottom had two squibs and two stillborn siblings. Both Paters had had older squib brothers; meaning the last two Pater Longbottoms hadn't been the original heir.
Godric traced up past his grandfather who had only Uncle Algie for a living and acknowledged sibling. Gran and Grandpa had had two older children before Franklin: A boy and a girl. Neither had death dates. That didn't mean he had an aunt and uncle out there in the muggle world. There were too many Longbottoms with no death dates on this tree for him to assume that. They could be dead. The tree just no longer tracked their existence.—Gran and Grandpa had tossed their children away. Pater had either ordered it or allowed it.
He couldn't help but look up to the next branch. Godric stared for a moment before he reached up and traced the portraits. A stillborn and then two other children stared with baby faces. He was the youngest child of Franklin and Alice Longbottom.
He was not an only child.
He had had siblings.
Talbot Franklin Longbottom, 1972-1973, and Isolde Marie Longbottom, 1973-1973 had come before him.
Come and gone.
Godric stared at his dead siblings' names for a long time. He barely registered his own name written out as Godric Neville Albert Longbottom Gryffindor. It wasn't nearly as important as the rest of the tree.
He dropped his hand and took a step back. House Longbottom had a squib problem. They could desperately use purification rituals.—The House should know how to do those rituals. The Longbottom's had been one of the original seven ruling clans, all of whom had originally gained power through their druidic origins.
Of all the old families with squib problems, the Longbottoms would have been his last guess. It explained his situation at least.
A pop-click of a House elf entering the dusty room caused Godric to jump. It was the elf from earlier.
The House elf tutted, "Little master wandered in sections we haven't cleaned!" He snapped his fingers and dust vanished from Godric's clothing, which still included his outer winter robes. "Little master is to meet Master Fitzwilliam by the conservatory's door. Master Fitzwilliam had expected Little master in one of the greenhouses. Supper will be late if Little master dilly-dallies!"
Godric nodded, surprised that he hadn't been called to the study. That Pater Longbottom had gone to him for once was interesting. Another good sign for Gran's hope he would be the official heir at last. He might actually have to decide on which Patership to claim.—Godric had been thinking to keep the Longbottom one and leave the Gryffindor to his descendants (he was more than a little curious about what secrets the ancient House held)…but he was his own descendant.
Luckily he would have a few years to decide.
Memory guided the eleven-year-old back through the dusty halls and to the conservatory. Seated amongst decorative plants was Fitzwilliam Longbottom, a man that looked nearly as old as a muggle his age did instead of in the 60s Godric would expect now that he had seen the family tree.—Gran looked older than she should too, thinking about it.
"Walk with me," Pater ordered as he rose and shuffled to the exit with his cane as clear support instead of decoration. Outside a thin layer of snow glistened.
Godric silently followed.
They shuffled along a snow-cleared brick path in silence. Their breaths escaped into the air as little puffs of fog. Pater guided him past the closest greenhouses and eventually onto a gravel path. A copse slowly loomed larger as they walked down it.
"You are no longer my heir," Fitzwilliam said with a voice as graveled as the ground.
Godric's stomach dropped before relief rushed over him along with a mixed bag of depressing "never-good-enough" acceptance. The man had the right to decide the heir and that was the end of it.
He wasn't surprised about the decision. Godric hadn't let himself think too hard on his future Patership. Even as a child, he had expected this for years. Receiving his Hogwarts letter had given him a false sense of hope. Then he had recalled his past life and saw the two paths he could go down but had known in the back of his mind, after everything he had experienced under House Longbottom, which path it would be.
It didn't make it any easier a pill to swallow. He would have preferred being tossed out as a child than go through everything Pater Longbottom had forced him through. What had been the point of it all if Fitzwilliam was going to remove Neville as heir anyway?
His great grandfather explained the decision in a rush of creaking words Godric barely paid attention to at first, "You are not suitable for the Pater position. Longbottom House cannot be led by a near-squib. I have seen your grades and have read the platitudes of your professors. They expect nothing from you and you give nothing of consequence...You do have the making of an excellent herbologist. You will find a place within our botanical gardens or perhaps the husbandry efforts…But the Pater requires more than skill at our family specialty. It needs guts and the ability to show Longbottom House is a power to be reckoned with after everything that has happened."
Pater Longbottom stared hard at him before he nodded and guided Godric down the path to the copse of trees. "The line of succession," he continued to explain as they stopped at the end of the gravel path, "will go to my brother's children. Unless Harfang outlives me and wants the work, Humphrey is heir and Percival is his heir. After him, our more distant cousins stand in the succession until Percival has a magically strong son."
Godric finally spoke, his voice came out flat as he attempted to keep his emotions from surfacing. Now wasn't the time to respond emotionally. It wouldn't change anything. "What happens to me?"
"The House Magick will decide," Pater answered back, "I hope you will find a place as I've said. Something unstressful, something that may help heal you from what those monsters had done to you and your parents."
Gryffindor clenched his jaw to keep from responding. The man was removing any responsibility for Godric's fate. Godric had magic; he was no squib. There was no reason to call on Longbottom House magick except to make certain said magick wouldn't accept Godric as heir in the future if Godric attempted to take the position from Humphrey or Percival by force.
By calling on the House magick to judge Godric, Godric could lose his right to the Longbottom name and all the specialized House magick that came with it.
Pater Longbottom waved at the tree line.
Godric turned and stared. The gravel path ended between two ancient looking aspens—gatekeepers. Godric was nudged towards the space between the trees. "Go. Meet the House Magick, Neville."
He shot an incredulous look at the old man. This was a druid's grove, not some inner sanctum where Longbottom magick ran wild. The old man would have to call on the House to manifest itself otherwise Godric would be standing around in the cold waiting for something that would never happen.
The reincarnate decided to just get this over with and walked through the gatekeepers. A frown tugged at his lips when the view didn't change. He was standing just inside the copse of trees. No druid grove suddenly stretched out before him.
Godric glanced back and found Fitzwilliam watching him.
"Go," the old man repeated, this time waving a hand at him.
He turned back to the forested area before him. His brow furrowed as he slowly walked deeper in. Godric searched for some sign of where he should go but only saw leafless deciduous trees with the odd mix of evergreens. The smell of rotted and wet leaves filled the air the further in he walked. Snow crunched underfoot, though most areas were just wet.
This wasn't like the forbidden forest. It was not just because there were so few evergreens either. There was no settling of old magic on his shoulders. Something was missing about the place.
After a few minutes and a couple of turns through the forested area finally found Godric in the grove—what was left of the grove.
It was decrepit. Multiple trees were dead or missing entirely. The general circular clearing a Druid grove created was filled with underbrush and sprouts of new-growth trees. No one had cared for the grove in a very long time. It had been abandoned. The only reason Godric had found it at all was due to his knowledge of what a grove should look like.
This was a mockery of what it should be and not something he would have expected from one of the Seven. While it had been clear that druids didn't exist anymore on a large scale, he hadn't thought it would have been abandoned on a personal level. The Longbottoms were supposed to be Druids.—He had thought him excluded from the teachings due to age or squib status, not due to the entire practice being abandoned.
Godric slowly walked through the grove to its ancient and dying, oak. Chunks of bark lay across the ground. Without leaves, it looked like a skeleton of what it should be.
Buzzing echoed out from behind him, from the way he had come.
Godric didn't turn to investigate immediately. He was reluctant to face the inevitable. Instead, he reached out and pressed his fingers into the deep grooves in the bark still wrapped around the oak's trunk. He could make out the druidic carving for strength.
Golden light flickered across his hand's skin. The buzzing danced at his back. Godric closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath before he turned to look back.
A glowing, head-sized bumblebee danced in the center of the grove. House Longbottom had come to judge him.
Godric pressed his hand more firmly against the bark even as he reached out with his free hand in welcome.
The bumblebee moved in a circle in response. It took a tour around the sorry grove as it slowly circled around back towards his outstretched hand. Somehow, its buzzing was not the happy humming of a busy creature of nature but one of mourning.
A fuzzy feeling pressed against his hand as the bee made contact. The Longbottom bumblebee glowed too bright to see. In a blink, it was gone. Magick burned up his arm and through him. The world awoke and Godric hissed out in discomfort, jaw clenching reactively to keep from making noise. The magick reached through him to his mind. His eyes slammed shut in a ineffectual attempt to shut out the new senses.
He could sense the grove's dying breaths. It mingled with the jitter of new-growth and the slumber of the majority of trees. The House magicks pulsed with sorrow attuned with the grove's pain.
A deep sense of abandonment and loss echoed through him. The Longbottom House had forgot itself. He could feel the echoes of the House magick's connection to nature, to plants and earth, and all the deep-bedded connections to the magicks of the world, to the magical side of the druidic arts. While the connection to plants and nature was strong, the connection to the deeper parts of druidism was loosening and fading from its grasp.
Longbottom magicks probed at him in question. It desired an answer from him about something and it seemed to find some part of it within his own memories. But not all of it. He could feel it searching but he couldn't understand what it hunted for. Its prob moved from his mind and reached into his core.
Something sparked to life in response. Godric stiffened as a roar resonated all around and through him. His eyes flew open and he found himself standing before a giant golden lion. Said lion, the House Magicks of House Gryffindor, roared once more. The Longbottom magicks searching for answers within him made an odd jerking sensation and consolidated within his chest. Godric had a second realization that the magick was leaving him before pressure slammed through his chest, folding him over and knocking the air from his lungs as the Bumblebee rematerialized.
Loud buzzing and rumbling sounds of warning pulled his gaze up even as he gasped for breath. He watched in a sort of this-cannot-be-seriously-happening moment of horror as the Longbottom House magicks charged at the Gryffindor House magicks with its pointy stinger and the Gryffindor House magicks swatted it away.
Each House magick danced around the other with threats and warnings Godric eventually realized might be actual arguments and conversation.—The only thing they could be arguing over was him.
When he thought he should do something, intervene in some fashion he guessed, the Gryffindor lion bowed to the Longbottom bumblebee. The giant bee proceeded to circle the lion's head three times before it buzzed away, leaving the grove entirely.
Godric stared after the House magicks leaving. His heart pounded against his chest. Instinct told him what this meant as the Longbottom bumblebee faded into nothing. The sounds of the plants surrounding him faded with the bee. The world grew quieter than it had ever been to his memory.—He hadn't realized how much noise he had heard until it was gone.
He wasn't—It couldn't mean—This wasn't happening.
A rumble pulled his gaze. Godric couldn't help but rub at his chest as an ache, a feeling of loss grew. The lion nudged him in the chest and rumbled deep in its throat as it stepped back to show off its new crown of oak leaves. Godric stared up at it and then reached up to grasp a leaf. The lion helped by bowing. Once Godric had touched the leaf, it nudged his chest once more and vanished.
Warmth pushed the growing ache away for a moment.
Godric leaned back against the oak and stared blankly ahead. Something was gone. Godric wondered what he had lost. (He knew. He knew but didn't want to acknowledge it.)
A pop-click announced a House elf. Godric looked over at the little creature but didn't really see it—He was leaning against a dying oak in a dead druid grove where he had just been–
"Yous to take this," said the elf as it held out a worn shoe.
Godric stared down at it and suddenly knew what he had to do. The Longbottoms didn't want him. The House magicks had reluctantly given him up to his Gryffindor claim but had gifted him something the House members no longer acknowledged, let alone used. (Oak leaves were often tied to druids for a reason.)
Fire purified. And the Longbottoms didn't deserve these remains as some abandoned monument to their history.
He pressed magic into the depth of the dying oak and let his fire smolder in its heartwood. Then Godric reached out and took the worn shoe, knowing exactly what it was.
"Goodbye," said the House elf sadly.
Magic wrapped around Godric and the world spun into a blur. Godric tightened his grip instinctively as he was spun away from Longwood and the Longbottom House.
oooPooo