Chapter Six
"Your friends want to what?" His gran's voice cracked through the soft harpsichord music like the shattering of china.
Neville cleared his throat and repeated himself.
"They want to work with Mum and Dad."
"Well, that's very kind of them, I'm sure," said Augusta Longbottom tersely. "But you can tell them no."
"Gran…"
"Don't `Gran' me, young man. You know as well as I do that it's no use."
"They think there's hope!" he said, insistently. Mrs. Longbottom snorted. "Gran, I'm serious. I think they may actually-"
"I admire your optimism, Neville," said Mrs. Longbottom, "but I cannot allow yet another group to raise our hopes and break our hearts. It will be another fruitless endeavor and it does not do to dwell on what cannot be. Now eat your scone. You're far too skinny as it is."
"Hermione says…"
"Hermione?" Mrs. Longbottom raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, this is the young lady who used to rescue you in Potions class, isn't it?"
He nodded, too used to such remarks to pay them any heed.
"I liked her," Mrs. Longbottom mused, "She seemed very bright. And she married Harry Potter, didn't she?"
"Yes," said Neville, buttering his scone and pretending not to notice the thoughtful look now crossing his grandmother's face. "They… er… have a couple of kids now, actually."
"Oh?"
He knew his grandmother's `Oh?'s as well as he knew anything in the world, and he knew-from that one, significant syllable-that he was well on his way to persuading her.
"Yes," he said, taking a bite of his scone. "They adopted them."
"Now wait a moment," said his grandmother suddenly. "I spoke to Andromeda Tonks before she died... she said something about her grandson."
"Oh, yeah, that was Teddy," said Neville casually, "He's their youngest, you know. He looks a lot like Harry, but he has Hermione's eyes."
"He's a Metamorphagus?"
"Yeah, but he hardly ever looks like anyone else. I mean… they're great parents. Harry understands what it's like, I think, not having parents, and he knows, what kids need. Hermione, too."
Another thoughtful silence.
"And you say you think she and this Luna Lovegood… really have hope?"
"That's the great thing about Luna," said Neville, sipping his tea. "She's always able to find hope in any situation."
"I see."
Neville took another bite of his scone and allowed another silence.
"Hermione Potter," said Mrs. Longbottom, "I seem to recall hearing her name somewhere recently…"
"Healer McDonough, probably," said Neville, "she and Luna visit Mum and Dad all the time."
"Oh…"
She sat in meditative silence, as Neville finished his scone.
"Well, Neville, you've nearly persuaded me," she said, almost grudgingly. "But I want to talk to them first. Fetch me quill and parchment. I'll write to them. I don't want you giving them any ideas."
"Of course, Gran," said Neville, ducking his head and hiding a grin of triumph. "Er… should I get the owl, too?"
"Of course you should, Neville, I'm writing to them, aren't I? Don't dawdle, now, go and get them!"
^*^*^*^*^
Augusta Longbottom was anything but sentimental, and she prided herself on her ability to look at situations analytically. Organization was a core value of hers, as were practicality, thriftiness, and common courtesy.
She was not a mean-spirited person; she was a very good woman at heart, but unfortunately, one would have to find a very organized way of finding that out. It may have been years living in times of chaos that made Augusta so desperate for stability and order, or perhaps it was Augusta's own upbringing. Either way, she did not entirely appreciate the Lovegood girl's distinctly disorganized way o f thinking. Her meeting with Luna had gone well enough-Augusta had at least judged that the girl had her heart in the right place, and was really rather intelligent-but needless to say, she had higher hopes for her meeting with Hermione Potter.
She rapped on the door and straightened her vulture hat as she waited. She had surveyed the yard with some trepidation, for nearly four young children were running about with a black and white checked ball. She knew it was good for them to be outside, and they'd been very polite-but she wished they'd have some supervision.
"Hello, Mrs. Longbottom!"
She stared at the young man in surprise. She had expected his wife to answer the door, but here he was-Harry Potter, the Chosen One, greeting her like an old friend.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter," she said briskly, trying to hide her surprise. "I believe your wife and I had an appointment."
"She's in the kitchen," he said, standing aside. "Come on in."
He led her across the foyer into a neat little kitchen, warm with the smells of baking bread and simmering stew. Harry walked right over to his wife and kissed her hair.
"Hermione, Mrs. Longbottom's here."
"Thank you," she said, twisting her head around and returning the kiss. Mrs. Longbottom blinked, unexpectedly touched by the couple's tenderness.
"Please sit down, Mrs. Longbottom," said Hermione, motioning to a chair. "Would you care for something to drink?"
"No, thank you." She noticed that Hermione seemed slightly nervous. Mrs. Longbottom suddenly felt ashamed of herself-an unusual sensation in its own right-and she smiled.
"You… ah… seem very happy here."
"Oh, yes, very." Hermione sat down across from her. "I've never been so happy."
What a declaration, thought Mrs. Longbottom with some amusement. Ah, well, she's young. She has room enough to say such things.
"I trust your family is doing well?"
"Yes, thank you. Teddy is finishing up a nap," she said, "but I thought you might like to meet him. I… understand you were friends with his grandmother."
"Who told you that?" She was caught off guard (again) and the question escaped her before she could stop it.
Hermione looked surprised.
"Neville did."
"Oh. Oh, of course."
She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. This whole situation was so entirely new that she really didn't know how to behave. And Augusta Longbottom always knew how to behave.
"Mrs. Longbottom," said Hermione hesitantly, "I… I understand that you have some-misgivings about our… idea."
"Well, yes, now that you mention it." Relief swept over her as she seized upon the subject. "I don't think I need to tell you that I've endured several different Healers trying to `solve' my son and daughter-in-law. And all of them have been useless."
"Yes," said Hermione, "Neville explained that to us."
"Well, how are you going to be any different, Mrs. Potter? You'll forgive me for being so abrupt, but I have reason to be wary."
"Luna and I… we're not experts in anything," Hermione began, "But… Mrs. Longbottom, I visited Alice with Neville on their anniversary a few weeks ago, and… and I could see how much it hurt him. And after spending some time with Frank and Alice, Mrs. Longbottom, I've started to realize that-they are still there, deep down. And if I have hope, what kind of friend would I be if I stood by and let Neville suffer any longer?"
Again, that peculiar sensation of being moved-Mrs. Longbottom lowered her eyes and did not answer for a moment.
"That's very kind of you," she said finally, trying to smooth out the tremors threatening her voice. "But I'm afraid I require more than simple empathy to persuade me."
"Oh, of course-I… I have some research if you'd like to-"
"No, no, no, that will only make my head spin." Mrs. Longbottom waved a hand.
Hermione looked puzzled.
"Then…"
"I am a very old woman, Mrs. Potter, and I do not cope well with lost hopes. Should I allow you and your friend to begin to work with my son and his wife, you must work with the awareness that you are my last hope."
A very odd look came over Hermione's face-suddenly the young woman looked unusually wise, as if the phrase were not entirely unfamiliar to her. Which, Mrs. Longbottom realized with a start, given who her husband was, it wasn't.
"We'll need time," Hermione said, quietly. Mrs. Longbottom gazed at her-the grave determination in her face, the wisdom in her eyes, and an unusual depth of understanding in her voice. And suddenly, for perhaps the first time in years, Mrs. Longbottom felt as though she were in the presence of someone much, much wiser than herself.
"All things take time," she said in a low voice. "But-and I never say this lightly, Mrs. Potter-I trust you."
And the moment the words left her mouth, she knew it was true. Somehow-madly, insanely, inexplicably-she trusted her. There was something about Hermione that inspired trust, and… Mrs. Longbottom was weary of suspicion.
She wanted to trust someone again.
"Thank you," said Hermione, and suddenly, she smiled. Her youth returned and her cheerfulness was almost infectious. "Would you… like to meet Teddy?"
"I would," said Mrs. Longbottom, trying not to look too eager. "If it wouldn't bother him."
"Oh, no, Teddy's a very happy baby," said Hermione. Mrs. Longbottom found herself smiling at the girl's expression.
Andromeda had chosen well.
"How old is he now?"
"Nearly two," said Hermione, "He doesn't talk very much yet, but he can walk a little if he wants to. Hello, Teddy!"
Looking around the room, Mrs. Longbottom guessed that Teddy shared this room with one of the boys-Jack, she thought, noticing the sign on the door. Hermione bent over the cradle and pulled the baby into her arms.
"He's still sleepy," Hermione said, laughing. "Can you say hello, Teddy?"
The boy blinked sleepily, and Mrs. Longbottom was taken aback by the deep brown of his eyes. His hair was sticking nearly straight up, black and unruly, and he wrinkled his nose, obviously none too pleased at having to wake up.
"Hello," she said, and her voice trembled.
She remembered Andromeda's excited letters about her grandson. Andromeda had tried to seem very casual about it, but it hadn't worked. The baby had been a bright spot in a very bleak time, and… if it hadn't been for the baby… Andromeda would not have fought that fever half so bravely as she had.
Teddy looked at her curiously, then turned back to Hermione, looking puzzled.
"Mrs. Longbottom, Teddy Bear," said Hermione, the endearment sounding very natural and very familiar. "She was a friend of your grandmother's."
Teddy looked bashful and hid his face in her sweater.
"Oh, don't be shy," Hermione laughed softly and kissed his hair. "Say hello."
"It's all right," said Mrs. Longbottom, "I'm not a particularly inviting person."
She studied the baby a little longer.
"He looks like your husband."
She nodded.
"What about his… parents?"
"We won't let him forget," said Hermione, quickly. "We've no intention of pretending that Remus and Dora weren't his… true-parents."
She struggled a little with the wording.
"I believe Andromeda told you that you were to raise him as your own."
"Yes," said Hermione, "and… he is ours, Mrs. Longbottom. It sounds very selfish, I know, but-but I can't help but think of him as my son. Dora was his mother; and I very much wish she could have had more time with him… but…"
She trailed off and looked down at Teddy, stroking his hair with a hand and allowing a silence to ensue.
Mrs. Longbottom gazed at them with a strangely tight throat. For a moment, she remembered-standing in a solemn room, inwardly wild with grief but outwardly dignified and calm; cradling a plump baby boy and realizing… realizing that she had been forgotten-that they had both been forgotten. She remembered being stunned… how quickly she had to move from grandmother to parent… how desperately she had wished the boy could have parents of his own…
She had to look away.
"Well," she said with difficulty, her voice sounding unfamiliar to her own ears, "I… think that's very… admirable."
And for once she was not ashamed when a few soft, salty tears trickled down her cheeks.
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