Homecoming
Date: 24 May 2000
Time: Early Evening
Character(s) Involved: Neville Longbottom, Augusta Longbottom
Complete or Incomplete: Complete
Rating: PG
Neville loosened his jaw, yawned, and stuck his pinky fingers in his ears. Apparating always altered the pressure in his head so drastically that he popped in nearly deaf. There was no easier way to get home, and besides, he hated traveling home by floo. All too often, Aunt Enid would be in the kitchen, cooking something in the hearth, which discouraged unwanted visitors. Of course, Neville didn't really look forward to being engulfed in flames and covered in stew.
The Longbottom Estate sat on a good amount of land located near the Muggle town of Pendle, in Lancashire. That's what the Longbottoms did: own land, which they allowed both Muggles and magic folk to till and work and grow things on. Thank Merlin, they didn't have to do any of the work themselves, except Enid's prize flowers and whatever Neville kept saying he wanted to grow on a nice acre or so of sun-soaked soil once things settled down at work.
The estate wasn't a huge monstrosity with miles upon miles of echoing hallways. It still seemed like a home, cozy and comfortable, but with room for most of the family if needed. But after two wars against You-Know-Who, the number of family members had dwindled significantly.
Neville stood on the porch, cautiously digging through his pockets for the key to the front door. His last visit home was during Easter hols, not too far away according to the calendar, but it was still a lifetime according to his Gran. And that, coupled with the fact that he'd somehow forgotten his best set of dressrobes at the house would probably earn him an earful of Howler-worthy screeching from her.
A head, sporting a tall hat with a stuffed vulture perched atop it, popped out of the second-storey window.
"Neville Longbottom!"
Neville cringed instinctively. He stepped to the edge of the porch and angled his head up. "'G-Gran?"
Augusta glared daggers down at her grandson. "I found your dressrobes."
"Ah," Neville squeaked. "That's brilliant, Gran. Thank--"
"Why..." She drew the word out for emphasis. "...are they caked in dirt?"
"I...oooohhh..." He tried to piece together the patchwork of recollections he had of the Hogwarts gala. He'd only managed to pull himself away from work for an hour, but that was enough to enjoy a drink and the atmosphere of being back at the school. Afterwards, he went back to the hospital, where he struggled with repotting the last of the apothecary's mandrakes. The chore was apparently more trying than expected, because somehow Neville had completely forgotten to change out of his formalwear. But how his robes got back home was a complete mystery.
Augusta clicked her tongue. "No matter. I suppose they can be cleaned before Friday evening?"
"I promise, Gran. They will. Um..." He was about to continue, but Augusta had already dipped her head back into the house, which only meant one thing: she was headed downstairs. Neville automatically started to tug at the wrinkles in his robes and ran his fingers through his hair to make his part settle. His weight shifted anxiously from foot to foot and when Gran finally tugged the door open, he hoped he looked respectable enough.
"You've missed a button, dear," said Gran, her gnarled hands reaching out to his chest and fixing the buttons properly. Neville stood still, too used to her attention to be embarrassed. Besides, no one else was about to see anyway. But when she licked at the corner of her kerchief and attempted to wipe clean a smudge of dirt along the side of Neville's neck, he decided to step free.
"You haven't said if you'll come with me to the gala, Gran."
"Have you asked anyone else?" Gran asked, her eyes intense. It had been years since she could tower over her grandson, but he still found her formidable, even if he hovered over her by a few inches.
"No. No, but I've been busy with work and...and with other things as well. I just--"
"Forgot." Augusta finished. "Oh, Neville."
"I meant what I wrote, though," Neville added. "I...I do want you to be there with me. For...for the family? I mean, none of us 've gotten the Order of Merlin and I thought that it'd be brilliant to...to have you there with me. I mean--"
"Yes," she said, a hint of a smile playing at the deep creases of her mouth. "Yes, I would be happy to accompany you, Neville. Would you have expected anything less?"
"I..." his eyes dipped downwards for a split moment before he leaned in and gave his Gran a chaste kiss on her cheek. "Thank you, Gran. I promise. It'll be brilliant. The Ministry's pulled out all the stops for this, apparently."
"Have you decided what you'll say if you win?"
"N-no, but--"
"Neville, stay for dinner," Augusta said, slipping her arm into the crook of Neville's elbow to lead him inside. "We've some things we ought to talk about."
"Um...al-alright." After all, Neville Longbottom could never refuse any of his grandmother's requests.
Time: Early Evening
Character(s) Involved: Neville Longbottom, Augusta Longbottom
Complete or Incomplete: Complete
Rating: PG
Neville loosened his jaw, yawned, and stuck his pinky fingers in his ears. Apparating always altered the pressure in his head so drastically that he popped in nearly deaf. There was no easier way to get home, and besides, he hated traveling home by floo. All too often, Aunt Enid would be in the kitchen, cooking something in the hearth, which discouraged unwanted visitors. Of course, Neville didn't really look forward to being engulfed in flames and covered in stew.
The Longbottom Estate sat on a good amount of land located near the Muggle town of Pendle, in Lancashire. That's what the Longbottoms did: own land, which they allowed both Muggles and magic folk to till and work and grow things on. Thank Merlin, they didn't have to do any of the work themselves, except Enid's prize flowers and whatever Neville kept saying he wanted to grow on a nice acre or so of sun-soaked soil once things settled down at work.
The estate wasn't a huge monstrosity with miles upon miles of echoing hallways. It still seemed like a home, cozy and comfortable, but with room for most of the family if needed. But after two wars against You-Know-Who, the number of family members had dwindled significantly.
Neville stood on the porch, cautiously digging through his pockets for the key to the front door. His last visit home was during Easter hols, not too far away according to the calendar, but it was still a lifetime according to his Gran. And that, coupled with the fact that he'd somehow forgotten his best set of dressrobes at the house would probably earn him an earful of Howler-worthy screeching from her.
A head, sporting a tall hat with a stuffed vulture perched atop it, popped out of the second-storey window.
"Neville Longbottom!"
Neville cringed instinctively. He stepped to the edge of the porch and angled his head up. "'G-Gran?"
Augusta glared daggers down at her grandson. "I found your dressrobes."
"Ah," Neville squeaked. "That's brilliant, Gran. Thank--"
"Why..." She drew the word out for emphasis. "...are they caked in dirt?"
"I...oooohhh..." He tried to piece together the patchwork of recollections he had of the Hogwarts gala. He'd only managed to pull himself away from work for an hour, but that was enough to enjoy a drink and the atmosphere of being back at the school. Afterwards, he went back to the hospital, where he struggled with repotting the last of the apothecary's mandrakes. The chore was apparently more trying than expected, because somehow Neville had completely forgotten to change out of his formalwear. But how his robes got back home was a complete mystery.
Augusta clicked her tongue. "No matter. I suppose they can be cleaned before Friday evening?"
"I promise, Gran. They will. Um..." He was about to continue, but Augusta had already dipped her head back into the house, which only meant one thing: she was headed downstairs. Neville automatically started to tug at the wrinkles in his robes and ran his fingers through his hair to make his part settle. His weight shifted anxiously from foot to foot and when Gran finally tugged the door open, he hoped he looked respectable enough.
"You've missed a button, dear," said Gran, her gnarled hands reaching out to his chest and fixing the buttons properly. Neville stood still, too used to her attention to be embarrassed. Besides, no one else was about to see anyway. But when she licked at the corner of her kerchief and attempted to wipe clean a smudge of dirt along the side of Neville's neck, he decided to step free.
"You haven't said if you'll come with me to the gala, Gran."
"Have you asked anyone else?" Gran asked, her eyes intense. It had been years since she could tower over her grandson, but he still found her formidable, even if he hovered over her by a few inches.
"No. No, but I've been busy with work and...and with other things as well. I just--"
"Forgot." Augusta finished. "Oh, Neville."
"I meant what I wrote, though," Neville added. "I...I do want you to be there with me. For...for the family? I mean, none of us 've gotten the Order of Merlin and I thought that it'd be brilliant to...to have you there with me. I mean--"
"Yes," she said, a hint of a smile playing at the deep creases of her mouth. "Yes, I would be happy to accompany you, Neville. Would you have expected anything less?"
"I..." his eyes dipped downwards for a split moment before he leaned in and gave his Gran a chaste kiss on her cheek. "Thank you, Gran. I promise. It'll be brilliant. The Ministry's pulled out all the stops for this, apparently."
"Have you decided what you'll say if you win?"
"N-no, but--"
"Neville, stay for dinner," Augusta said, slipping her arm into the crook of Neville's elbow to lead him inside. "We've some things we ought to talk about."
"Um...al-alright." After all, Neville Longbottom could never refuse any of his grandmother's requests.