Hogwarts: Neville's Insert Chapter 89
Neville kept going, confident. "To make them, all we need are two parts — the outer shell and the mLEP plate. I experimented with stone and even paper at first, but metal works best. The only catch is that the plate has to be cut, not transfigured. The runes interfered with transfiguration. "
Augusta gave a slow nod. "I can see the potential, Neville. But this would be a massive undertaking. To market, distribute, and sell such a thing… We deal in potion ingredients, not home fixtures. We'd need an entirely separate pipeline for this."
Neville's grin faltered
Algie nodded, "We can't let the lad's efforts go to waste, Augusta. He's onto something here, and you know it. I say we give it a shot."
For a long moment, Augusta's gaze lingered on Neville. Then she sighed, the corners of her mouth lifting up. "Very well. But this will be your project, Neville. I'll advise, and I'll step in where needed, but the responsibility will be yours from start to finish. If you want this to succeed, you'll have to prove you can see it through."
Neville grinned and nodded. "That's fine, Gran."
…
Tuesday, 20th July 1993 – Longbottom Manor
Neville tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, rolling it up neatly past the elbow. The crisp white fabric sat clean beneath the black suit vest, matched with fitted black trousers. He gave himself another once-over in the tall mirror propped against his wall.
His reflection stared back—tidier than usual. The new haircut helped; his previously overgrown mess of curls had been trimmed down into a wavy fringe taper. It looked sharper, more deliberate. Not bad, he thought, brushing the fringe left with his fingers. He'd had to guide the barber at Weeoanwhisker's almost every step of the way, since wizarding barbers only seemed to know three cuts—long and wild, slicked back, or cropped blunt. Still, the effort had been worth it.
Leaning closer to the glass, he squinted at the faint shadow over his lip. "Huh…" He rubbed at it with his thumb. "I'll have to trim this." The small growth of moustache hairs was barely noticeable, but Neville had only just realised they'd begun to sprouting.
He leaned back, adjusted his vest, and gave a small nod.
Grabbing his sling bag from the desk, he slung it over his shoulder, closed his door behind him, and padded down the wide staircase.
The scent of tea and toasted bread drifted up as he entered the main hall. He followed it into the dining room, pushing the door open to find Augusta already at the table. She sat straight-backed, spectacles perched on her nose, teacup in one hand and the morning's Daily Prophet in the other. The plate before her was already cleared save for a stray crust of toast.
She looked up at the sound of the door. "Morning, Neville. Come along now, quickly—finish your breakfast, we've got to be off shortly."
Neville managed a small smile as he crossed to the chair beside her. "Morning, Gran."
No sooner had he sat down than a plate appeared before him with a quiet pop from the kitchen elves. An English breakfast, done exactly how he liked it: four browned sausages, strips of bacon, a pair of fried eggs with yolks still soft, slices of tomato, a toasted English muffin, and crisp lettuce leaves drizzled lightly with yellow mustard.
"Thank you," Neville murmured, reaching for his knife. Instead of eating it piece by piece, he cut open the muffin and stuffed the sausages, eggs, bacon, and vegetables inside, making a hefty sandwich. He took a bite, the flavours warm and familiar, and chewed with quiet satisfaction.
Augusta rustled her newspaper as she sipped her tea, eyes flicking over to him with a faintly critical look. "This Haircut suits you better than that overgrown mop you had before."
Neville gave her a small grin. "Thanks, Gran. You look good as well."
That earned him a faint arch of her brow, though the corners of her mouth softened as she returned her gaze to the paper.
Neville poured himself a glass of orange juice and took a sip before asking, "So… Gran, what are we doing after visiting the hospital?"
Augusta lowered her cup and peered at him over the rim of her spectacles. "Well, I need to get a few things in Diagon Alley. And while we're there, we can check on how the shop's coming along."
Neville nodded. "Right. Sounds good."
At that moment, a flash of blue light swept through the open window. Lumina glided in and landed neatly on Neville's shoulder, trilling brightly before nudging his cheek with her beak. She fixed her gaze firmly on his plate, eyes locked on the bacon.
Neville sighed and held out a strip. "Fine. But if you keep eating like this, you're going to get fat."
Lumina gave an indignant squawk, smacked him smartly on the back of the head with her wing, and hopped onto the table with an imperious trill.
"Oi!" Neville rubbed the back of his head, glaring at her. "What was that for?"
Augusta chuckled behind her teacup. "You shouldn't talk to a lady like that, Neville—even if she happens to have feathers."
Neville rolled his eyes, muttering, "She's spoiled, that's what she is."
Before Lumina could retaliate again, an owl swooped in through the open windows. Hedwig fluttered gracefully down and extended her leg toward Neville.
"Oh—alright, hold still," Neville said, untying the letters from Hedwig's leg. He rewarded her with a couple of strips of bacon off his plate.
Hedwig hooted in satisfaction, snapped up the offering, and launched herself back out the way she'd come.
Lumina let out an offended squawk, feathers puffing up as she stared at Neville as though he'd just betrayed her.
Neville gave her a flat look. "Don't start. She flew all the way from Crawley to bring these—" he held up the letters, "—so she's earned it."
Lumina trilled back, sharp and indignant, as if to say, I could've done the same, but you won't let me.
Neville sighed, breaking the seal on one envelope. "It's dangerous, and you know that," he said firmly. He set aside the others for the moment.
Lumina gave a softer hum, though her eyes still flicked between the empty bacon plate and the open window as if sulking.
Neville smirked faintly and unfolded the first letter. "Alright, let's see what Harry's written. Better start with his—Hermione's is bound to be an essay and a half."
As he read, Neville picked up his sandwich again, chewing slowly while his eyes scanned the page.
It was Harry's first letter since they'd parted at King's Cross. He wrote about life at the Dursleys—how, surprisingly, they didn't disturb him much so long as he finished his chores and kept out of the way. Harry explained that he got up early, finished his list of chores quickly, did his workout, and then spent the rest of the day locked in his room. Meals were shoved through the door, and otherwise, he was left alone.
He also mentioned that Ron had sent him a letter a few days back, though he wasn't sure why.
Neville frowned slightly as he chewed. 'Did Molly force Ron to write? Trying to push him back onto Harry, to patch things up?' He sighed inwardly, setting Harry's letter aside. 'Why else would he have written to Harry's? We barely spoke to him.'
After Ron lost his memories, Harry had barely spent time with Ron. He avoided Ron as if he had the plague and spent most of his time with Neville and Hermione in the Room of Requirement. Harry added that he hadn't replied yet.
He reached for the next envelope, Hermione's neat handwriting standing out. He tore it open with his free hand and unfolded the long parchment.
As expected, it was several pages. The first few paragraphs were full of brisk updates about her summer, her parents, and her revision schedule. Then came the sharper lines—her annoyance that Neville hadn't written to her yet.
Neville chuckled, shaking his head as he read her complaint. 'Alright, alright, Hermione. I get it.'
Just then, Tilly popped into the dining room with a soft crack, holding out another envelope. "Letter for Madam Longbottom," the elf squeaked.
Augusta took it with a curt nod. "Thank you, Tilly," while Neville went back to Hermione's letter, still amused at her fussing tone.
"Mm," Augusta murmured, scanning the letters. "Oh, there seems to be another letter here—addressed to you, Neville." She peered over her spectacles at him. "From the Ministry."
Neville looked up from Hermione's long letter, confused. "Huh? The Ministry? What would they want with me?"
Augusta unfolded the parchment carefully, adjusting her glasses as her eyes swept over the neat script. "Well, it seems we've been invited to attend a ball at the Ministry. It's for the Order of Merlin."
Neville groaned, dropping his fork onto the plate. "Do we really have to go?"
Augusta's gaze fixed firmly on him. "Neville, this is a great honour. Do you understand how big of an achievement this is? Families have been wiped out for generations because of blood curses. Unless you know precisely who cast them and force that person to break it, they have never been treatable. And yet you—my grandson—managed to give those afflicted a chance. That is no small thing."
Neville let out a sigh as he nodded. He understood her reasoning. "Yeah… I get it. But if anything, Lumina deserves the Order of Merlin more than me. She was there when we faced the basilisk, and treating Astoria with phoenix tears—well, that was partly her idea as well."
At once, Lumina puffed out her feathers proudly, wings flapping once in delight. She let out a long, triumphant trill, as if declaring her agreement to the entire room.
Augusta stared at them both, deadpan. "They don't give awards to birds, Neville."
Lumina froze mid-flap, before she let out a sharp, indignant cry, her tail feathers twitching in clear offence.
Neville smothered a laugh, stroking her wing gently. "Don't mind her, Lumina. Gran just doesn't get it."
Augusta sniffed and set the parchment back down, folding it neatly. "Regardless of whether you think you deserve it, you'll accept the recognition. Intentionally or not, you did discover a treatment for malediction. And if you refuse, you risk offending the Greengrass family—remember, they were the ones who nominated you to the committee. Magical families do not make public acknowledgements lightly, Neville. Their support carries weight."
Neville sighed, leaning back in his chair.
Augusta rose smoothly, dusting crumbs from her lap. "Now then—if you're quite finished with your breakfast, we should get going."
Neville pushed to his feet at once, scooping his letters into his sling bag. "Yeah, alright. Just let me wash my hands first."
Lumina gave a happy trill, feathers gleaming in the morning light.
Neville arched a brow at her as he moved toward the door. "Don't give me that look. You're not coming with us."
Lumina squawked indignantly, hopping back and forth across the table, her wings flaring in protest. This would be her first time visiting Neville's parents at St. Mungo's—and she was determined not to be left behind again like last time.
Neville gave her a look. "We can't take you through the Floo. It's dangerous. But—I'll call for you when we get there. You can flame straight to me then."
Lumina let out one last huff of a trill as if to remind him she didn't like being told no.
Neville shook his head and turned toward the washroom. 'Merlin help me, I've got a phoenix with more attitude than most wizards.'
…
Neville stumbled out of the Floo, coughing. he then brushed soot from his shoulder. "Really have to find a better way of travelling," he muttered, grimacing at the soot on his sleeve.
Augusta, already waiting, dusted his shoulder and said, "Come along, Neville, " as she ushered him forward. Together they passed through the corridors, greeting familiar staff and nurses along the way.
Reaching the fourth floor, they moved to the heavy door marked Janus Thickey Ward. Augusta drew her wand. "Alohomora," she murmured, and the lock clicked.
They stepped inside, moving past the help desk with a polite nod to the medi-witch on duty. Further down the corridor,
A door creaked open up ahead. Out stepped a man with perfect golden curls and a dazzling smile plastered across his face.
"Visitors!" cried Gilderoy Lockhart, as though announcing them to a crowd. "Oh, splendid, splendid—I do so enjoy visitors. Would you like an autograph?"
He fumbled briefly with his pockets as though searching for a quill, then froze mid-gesture. His eyes narrowed in vague puzzlement at Neville.
"Now—have we met before?" he asked brightly, head tilting like a confused bird.
Neville stopped short, eyebrows rising. "Lockhart?" he said in disbelief, "What are you doing here…"
Lockhart beamed, taking this as recognition. "Ah, so we have met! Knew it. Can't forget a face, not me. Although…" He trailed off.
"Mr Lockhart." Miriam Strout hurried out behind him, flustered. She touched his arm lightly, steering him back. "Please—let's not trouble the visitors. Back to your room, if you would."
Lockhart allowed himself to be guided, but not without a final grin. "Of course, of course. Do enjoy your day!" He gave an extravagant wave as though bidding farewell to a theatre audience.
Miriam offered Augusta and Neville an apologetic smile. "Madam Longbottom. Always good to see you. And this must be your grandson—come to visit Frank and Alice?"
"Yes," Augusta said with a polite incline of her head. "As always."
Lockhart, however, perked up again at the names. "Frank and Alice? Oh, marvellous! Are they famous? Should I know them? Authors, perhaps?"
Miriam's smile tightened. "They are patients here, like yourself, Mr Lockhart." She turned quickly to Neville and Augusta, lowering her voice just slightly. "I'm sorry. He's… lost his memories."
Neville's mouth set in a grim line. "Yeah, I know. He tried to Obliviate my friend. I'm surprised he isn't in Azkaban."
Miriam blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. "Well… as he no longer has his memories, the Ministry decided there was no point. Even dark wizards are treated here, Mr Longbottom."
She quickly guided Lockhart away. "Come along, Mr. Lockhart. Let's leave them to their visit."
Lockhart waved cheerfully. "Do enjoy your day!"
Neville watched him go, while thinking, 'I really thought he'd be in Azkaban. Made sense in the book why he wasn't sent to Azkaban but here.' Neville exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "Unbelievable," he muttered.
"Come, Neville. Your parents are waiting," Augusta called from farther down the hall
Neville quickly followed after her with his arms crossed and ranted, "I can't believe they're letting that fraud stay here. He should be in Azkaban for what he did. If Hermione hadn't known the Shield Charm—a fifth-year spell, no less—she'd have had her memories wiped, just like Ron, and that's not even counting all the other witches and wizards. Looking at the state Ron was in, those poor people Lockhart Obliviated probably don't even remember who they are."
Augusta sighed. "It's how the law works, Neville. Treatment comes before punishment in cases like his."
Neville muttered darkly under his breath but didn't argue. Soon they reached the final room at the end of the ward. Augusta opened the door and stepped inside.
Inside, Alice sat propped on her bed, gazing out at the ward's window, while Frank sat stiffly in a chair, eyes fixed on the wall.
"Hello, my dears," Augusta said softly as she crossed the room. Her stern presence softened as she moved to sit beside her son, smoothing the wrinkles from her robes before resting a hand gently on the chair's arm.
Neville stepped forward, voice quiet. "Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad." He lowered himself into the chair beside Alice's bed, giving her a small, hopeful smile. She turned her head slightly at the sound, her lips twitching as if she might smile back, but her eyes drifted away again.
Augusta cleared her throat as she settled into the chair beside Frank, smoothing her robes as though preparing for a formal report. "Well, I've quite a lot to tell you both—especially about Neville. He's been a handful these last two years," she began, her tone dry but not without warmth. "Especially this past one. You wouldn't believe what he and his friends manage to get up to in that castle."
Neville winced and muttered, "Gran…"
But she pressed on, lips thinning. "He went and fought a basilisk. A basilisk of all things." She looked from Frank to Alice, her expression a mixture of disbelief and long-suffering exasperation. "I don't think anyone in Britain's seen one alive in generations. Yet your son apparently killed it—with a sword, no less."
Her eyes flicked to Neville, sharp. "Now, I know what you're thinking—it sounds like children exaggerating, doesn't it? I hoped it was just a story myself when I first heard. But no. He dragged back the carcass and sold it off for money."
Neville rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks colouring. "Well… we didn't really have a choice, Gran. Astoria and Daphne would've died if me and Harry hadn't gone down there. And Lumina did most of the work." He gave a sheepish grin. "Plus, the basilisk was just going to rot down there otherwise, so… why not sell it?"
Augusta closed her eyes briefly, letting out a long sigh. "Why not, he says. As if hauling back the carcass of a thousand-year-old monster were the most natural thing in the world." She shook her head, though her tone had softened just enough to betray her pride beneath the exasperation. "Honestly, Neville… sometimes I wonder if you were born with an ounce of self-preservation at all."
Neville leaned forward, protesting, "Hey, it's not like I'm keeping the money to myself—I'm only taking twenty percent. The rest is going back to the school and to everyone who helped. Sheesh, you make me sound like some money-hungry person."
Augusta fixed him with one of her long, unimpressed looks—the kind that always managed to make him feel about three inches tall—then shook her head. "Typical." Her gaze softened, just faintly, as she turned to Frank. She reached out, resting her gloved hand lightly on her son's arm.
"But knowing you, Frank," she said in a quieter voice, "you'd be proud of him. Charging off to rescue damsels in distress, reckless as ever… acting the true Gryffindor.
Neville's eyes twitched. 'Gran makes it sound like I was playing knight in shining armour…'
She sniffed and drew a folded letter from her robes. "Well, you'll be glad to hear something good's come of all that nonsense. Just this morning, we received a letter from the ministry. Neville's been nominated for the Order of Merlin. For discovering a treatment for blood malediction."
She held the parchment up for Frank as though expecting him to read it. Frank's eyes didn't move, but Alice's mouth twitched faintly, a subtle ripple across her otherwise still features.
Neville scratched the back of his head, cheeks warming. "Well… I just thought it might work. Lumina thought so too, so I injected Astoria with phoenix tears. I don't really get why I'm being nominated for an award over it. I wish they hadn't, really."
Augusta gave him a sharp look, though her eyes softened. "You're being modest as always. It's a breakthrough in magical medicine. Of course you'd be nominated for the award."
Neville muttered, "Right… Lumina wanted to meet you both, anyway."
He lifted his head and called softly, "Lumina?"
With a sudden flare of fire and light, Lumina flamed into the room, brilliant blue flame. She landed neatly on Neville's shoulder, letting out a proud, ringing trill, chest puffed high.
Neville smiled faintly, stroking her wing. "Mum, Dad… this is Lumina. She's a phoenix. I found her as an egg, and she bonded to me when she hatched."
Augusta shook her head, half exasperated, half incredulous. "Can you believe it? He stumbles across a phoenix egg of all things, and now she's bonded to him. I swear, that boy's going to age me faster than any curse." She muttered, but the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her pride.
Lumina turned her bright, intelligent eyes on Frank and Alice. She tilted her head, feathers ruffling, and let out a questioning trill. Her gaze sharpened, noting their stillness. She looked back at Neville, chirping again, the sound soft and puzzled.
Neville's shoulders sagged. He reached up and stroked her neck gently. "They were tortured, Lumina. By one of the Unforgivable Curses… for a long time. They were under it so long their minds just… shut down to protect themselves. They can hear and see us, but they can't react or talk back. They're… stuck inside their heads."
Lumina gave a low, sorrowful trill and then, as though in response to the pain in the room, began to sing. Her voice rose in a clear, soothing melody, the notes shimmering through the ward like warm sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
Neville closed his eyes for a moment, the sound washing over him, then patted her head. "Heh… It's alright, girl. I've been working on a way to help them."
He slid his sling bag off his shoulder and pulled out a sheaf of parchment, a battered book, and loose sketches. He laid them carefully on the small table beside Alice's bed, spreading them out. Diagrams of runes, potion formulae scrawled in the margins, rough anatomical sketches of the human brain.
Augusta leaned forward slightly, wanting to hear what Neville had been working on.
Neville glanced at his parents, speaking as if he were explaining directly to them. "I've been making progress. Through studying non-magical books on the brain and how each part functions, I managed to locate what's wrong with you."
He went on to explain his plan in detail. The Cruciatus Curse hadn't destroyed their minds completely—it had forced one part of the brain, the amygdala, to shut down as a kind of defence. That small cluster controlled memory, fear, emotions, and pain—everything his parents no longer displayed. Neville explained how he'd been learning the basics of healing magic, borrowing a book on magical healing from Madam Pomfrey, and filling page after page with his research. His goal was to create a potion designed to isolate the amygdala and rebuild what had been damaged. If he could combine magical theory with what he'd read from Muggle science—and perhaps blend phoenix tears into the brew—it might be enough to restart their brains again.
He laid out sketches of brain diagrams, potion matrices, and messy notations across the table, his voice steady though his hands shook. "So yeah… if I can make this potion…"
His words trailed off as a single drop of water fell onto the parchment. He blinked, staring.
Then his head snapped up. Alice's eyes looked distant as ever, but her lashes glistened—and her cheek bore the faintest trace of moisture.
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