Read 20+ Chapter's Ahead in Patreon
"Neville has told me about you three. You helped him through so many trials. Good children, every one of you."
The trio exchanged shy, awkward smiles.
"Minerva," Mrs. Longbottom said, turning toward Professor McGonagall with a voice that carried like a bell, "I've brought Neville back. Thanks to those remarkable healers at St. Mungo's, Frank and Alice have at last regained their senses."
When she spoke of her son and daughter-in-law, a faint tremor slipped into that proud, commanding tone. It vanished almost at once, replaced by the steel of triumph.
Professor McGonagall's face softened with genuine delight. "That is truly wonderful news, Augusta. I am sincerely happy for Frank and Alice."
Her gaze then grew warmer still as she turned to Neville.
Yet Mrs. Longbottom's next words struck him like a bucket of icy water, and he wished with all his heart that he could sink into the floor and vanish from sight.
"Yes, it is something to celebrate," she declared, straightening her back as her sharp gaze settled on Neville, a note of reproach in it. "But it is a pity that Neville lacks the natural talent of his parents. And another thing—" she tapped his arm with the end of her cane, her eyes narrowing "—your grandmother believes you have acted wrongly."
Neville's cheeks flamed scarlet at once. He felt the puzzled, worried eyes of Harry, Ron, and Hermione upon him, and he was equally aware of Professor Greengrass's calm, penetrating stare that seemed to strip away every hidden thought.
He lowered his head and fixed his eyes on the tips of his shoes.
"Frank and Alice, my son and my daughter-in-law," Mrs. Longbottom's voice rang through the quiet office, steady and unyielding. "They were Aurors of the highest order, true heroes. They stood against the Dark Lord whose name most dare not speak, and for that defiance they were tortured into madness by Death Eaters, all to protect others. Their suffering is a badge of honor, not a shameful secret to be hidden away. And you, Neville—"
Her voice sharpened. "You have never told your friends or classmates the truth about your parents, have you? Do you feel ashamed of having a mother and father who sacrificed their health and their minds?"
Neville shook his head, the movement heavy with sorrow.
The trio watched him and felt their hearts tighten. Neville looked more crushed than they had ever seen, the weight of his sorrow so heavy that none of them could think of a single way to lift it. They longed to help but stood helpless in the silence.
"I have never felt ashamed because they lost their minds, Gran. Never," Neville said at last, his voice low and drained of strength. He kept his head bowed and still refused to meet anyone's eyes.
"Then why have you never spoken of them to your friends?" Augusta Longbottom pressed, her tone still stern.
The office fell completely still.
A long moment passed before Neville drew in a shaky breath. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a quiet tremor. "I only thought… maybe I am the one who is the disgrace."
His words sank almost to a whisper, each one seeming to cost him strength. "You are right, Gran. My memory is poor… my magical talent is weak, and my marks are a mess. I have none of the brilliance they had."
Mrs. Longbottom opened her mouth to speak, but Neville went on before she could answer. "They are heroes. And I… I am a failure. Almost a Squib…"
"Oh, don't say that, Neville," Hermione burst out, her voice raw with sympathy.
"You're no Squib, Neville." Ron also spoke with quiet certainty. "Don't you pick things up quickly in Professor Greengrass's class, even faster than most of us?"
"Yeah, Neville, think of something good," Harry added, his words warm and earnest, though a flicker of sadness lingered in his own eyes. "Your mum and dad are well again. That's what matters."
They closed in around him, each of them speaking at once, their concern and late-blooming understanding wrapping him in a small circle of comfort. They tried with their words and presence to chase away the dark cloud that clung to him.
Mrs. Longbottom stood where she was. She watched her grandson surrounded by friends, then lowered her gaze to the cane in her hand. At last she let out a long, heavy sigh.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, her voice softer than it had been all evening. "Mrs. Longbottom, this boy of yours may not be as lacking as you think. From what I know, he does remarkably well in Herbology. Pomona speaks very highly of him."
She stepped closer to Neville and laid a gentle hand on his tense shoulder. "Welcome back, Neville. I am certain your friends are every bit as glad to see you as I am."
The quiet pressure of that hand steadied him. The stiffness in his body eased just a little, enough for him to draw a careful breath.
He still did not dare to meet his grandmother's eyes. Yet the crushing weight that had threatened to bury him seemed to slip away, a slow uncoiling brought on by his own confession and by Professor McGonagall's calm, reassuring words.
He understood that the talk about his parents was far from over. Still, for this single moment in the small, warm office, he had spoken the truth he had hidden deepest in his heart.
And most important of all, his parents had recovered. What could possibly be more worth rejoicing than that?
At that moment, Professor Sargeras, who had remained silent until now, rose to his feet and broke the stillness. "Professor McGonagall, I came to inform you that Peeves may be leaving Hogwarts for a time. There is no need for concern. In the end, he will…"
"Leave?" McGonagall interrupted, her face brightening with rare delight. "That is excellent news."
Seeing her reaction, Sargeras appropriately stopped there with a slight, knowing nod. "It seems that is welcome news indeed."
He then turned his gaze toward the four young witches and wizards. "Mr. Longbottom, and the three of you as well…"
The students looked up at him.
"…should be getting back to class."
With that he inclined his head politely to Mrs. Longbottom. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Madam Longbottom."
Then he signaled to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the still somewhat dazed Neville to follow him as he left Professor McGonagall's office.
They walked the corridor in silence, one adult and four students, each wrapped in private thoughts while their footsteps echoed against the stone floor.
Sargeras cast a calm glance at Neville, whose face still carried a trace of bewilderment. After a short pause he broke the quiet.
"Mr. Longbottom," he said, his voice low and even, carrying a rhythm that seemed to settle the very air around them, "do you truly believe you have so little talent?"
Neville looked up as though startled from his thoughts, his eyes a mixture of surprise and shame.
"Uh… yes, Professor Greengrass. I… I always seem to make a mess of things. Professor Snape says my gift for Potions is nearly nonexistent, and my Transfiguration is…"
His voice faltered, the last words falling into a whisper.
Sargeras inclined his head in a slow nod. He extended one long, graceful finger and tapped the pocket of Neville's robes. Neville's wand slipped free at once, as though summoned, and sailed neatly into the professor's waiting hand.
"Talent," he said, tasting the word as though weighing its meaning. His calm eyes drifted briefly toward Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "An overly glorified word. People speak of it as if it were a spark, the fuse that sets off miracles. Yet they forget how deceptive that idea can be. They treat talent as something you are simply born with."
The four young wizards blinked at him, puzzled, clearly not yet grasping what Sargeras was trying to convey.
Sargeras's voice remained steady and deliberate. "Just like this wand, it is only a piece of wood wrapped around a single magical core. It has no will of its own, no power, no… talent. It is merely a tool, nothing more than a channel."
Neville opened his mouth, searching for an answer, but no sound came. Sargeras seemed not to expect one. He spoke on as if describing a truth so obvious it needed no debate.
"Failed potions, unsteady spells — these are not proof of lacking talent. They are flaws in practice or slips in understanding. Such things can be studied, corrected, and learned. None of them have anything to do with whether you were born with some mysterious gift people like to call talent."
He paused, as though listening to a distant memory, before continuing more softly. "Magic, at its heart, is the strength of the mind. It does not simply flow through bloodlines. It takes root far deeper, in belief itself."
"Belief?" Neville repeated, his voice distant and unsure.
"Belief," Sargeras affirmed, the single word carrying a quiet force. "You must be steadfast enough to believe that it exists. You must be attentive enough to see the path where it flows. You must be pure enough in heart to drive it until thought becomes reality. That is the true nature of magic, the strength of the mind made tangible."
He opened his palm as though holding something invisible. "So, Mr. Longbottom, talent is nothing but a phantom measure. Instead of troubling yourself over whether you were born with it, look inward and look at your own heart. That is where the real power lies."
He studied the wand in his hand for a long moment before placing it back into Neville's grasp without a flicker of hesitation.
"Get a new wand. A core of unicorn hair pledges loyalty to one master only. Holding on to this one will only hold you back."
His eyes swept across the group once more. There was no warmth in that look, no easy comfort, only a clear, almost cold insight that sliced through their unsettled thoughts like moonlight spilling through a high window.
Neville stood frozen, watching as the professor's figure receded down the corridor. Then he lowered his gaze to the wand in his hand, the wood suddenly feeling heavier and more alien than ever before.
**
**
[IMAGE]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Chapter End's]
🖤 Night_FrOst/ Patreon 🤍
Visit my Patreon for Early Chapter:
https://www.patreon.com/Night_FrOst
Extra Content Already Available