Although Loren had gone to bed late, his body clock still pulled him up on time. He followed his usual routine—morning exercises, then cooking breakfast—and by the time the bustle settled it was half past seven.
They planned to visit Longbottom Manor today, but it was still early. Last night Loren had pushed a small upgrade to the magical notebook, and now he wanted to use the spare time to update Hermione's and both sets of parents' notebooks, and to assemble a few extra demo units to hand to Neville's grandmother. When you start a partnership, you need a product people can trust; Loren's name wasn't yet strong enough to win buy-in on words alone.
By the time he finished, it was nine o'clock. After pinging Neville on the magical notebook, he took Hermione to the Floo. She trained, yes—but the first hard run through the Floo Network still left her nearly retching, and she almost stumbled out of the fireplace. Thankfully, Loren had the foresight to arrive at Longbottom Manor a step ahead of her; when Hermione tumbled out, he caught her and flicked a thorough Scourgify to clear the soot.
The wandless, wordless casting made Mrs. Longbottom, waiting to greet them, blink. It nudged her to believe Neville's accounts all the more—even in his youth, not even the Dark Lord had reached the level Neville ascribed to Loren.
Once Hermione had recovered from her first rough Floo, Loren led her over to pay respects. Then he produced the improved Automatic Training Suit he'd prepared and handed it to Neville.
"Neville, put on the improved suit," he said. "Like I wrote, it will help you take control of your body."
"Thank you," Neville said, accepting the box.
"Hermione, you've used it before and know the drill. Go coach him—you'll keep him from hurting himself."
"Come on, Neville," Hermione said. "Show me your practice yard and I'll help you use the suit to harness your strength."
She knew exactly what Loren was doing.
"Gran, I'll take Hermione to the yard to test the new suit," Neville said politely.
"Go on, Neville. Be sure to treat our guests well," Mrs. Longbottom replied with a smile.
When they'd gone, she turned to Loren. "This isn't the place to talk. Come with me—we'll speak elsewhere." She didn't wait for an answer but swept ahead. Loren understood she'd read his intent in sending Neville off. He followed without another word.
They entered a lavish parlor. The faint magical auras woven into the decor made the family's wealth plain enough—a lean camel is still bigger than a horse. Though the younger Longbottoms were at St Mungo's, the house still held its old backbone; they weren't like the Potter family with no one left to steer.
A house-elf popped in with tea and sweets. That wasn't surprising for a pure-blood house. The tea's aroma, however, did surprise Loren: it was exactly the green tea he often drank in the Gryffindor common room.
Mrs. Longbottom tapped the teapot and it floated up to pour. Loren sipped and found it just so. "You're very thoughtful, Mrs. Longbottom," he said.
"Neville recommended it," she smiled. "It suits an old woman like me. I didn't expect someone your age to like it too."
"Let me be direct," Loren said, setting the cup down. "I'm not one for circling around. I imagine Neville told you that."
She paused, a little taken aback by a young man so out of step with the usual dance.
"I want to partner with the Longbottom family on a business venture," Loren continued. "Don't refuse yet—I can offer you terms you cannot refuse."
That truly wrong-footed her; in all her years she'd never seen someone open talks like this. But age brings steel. She heard the certainty in him and gestured for him to continue—curious to hear the irresistible terms.
"I can heal Frank Longbottom and Alice Longbottom—bring them back to normal."
Her hand shook; the fine cup slipped and shattered on the floor.
"You can truly do this?"
Without realizing, she'd shifted to honorifics.
"Of course," Loren said. "Neville is proof enough of my craft. And—" He flicked a finger; the cup knit itself whole and flew back to the table.
"If you can do this, the Longbottom family will give anything," she said, rising to her feet, hands gripping the chair.
"Please, don't be agitated," Loren said gently. "I don't want 'anything.' I want a serious commercial partnership—and for the Longbottoms to put their full weight behind it."
He refilled her tea and slid the cup to her. When her breathing steadied, Loren drew two vials from his coat and set them on the table. "These are formulated for your son and daughter-in-law. They soothe wounds of the soul. Try them first; once you see results, we'll discuss the partnership."
Mrs. Longbottom drew her wand and cast a battery of detection charms. Finding no poison nor malice, she put the vials away with careful hands.
"Go on, Mrs. Longbottom," Loren said, smiling over his cup. "Neville's grown. He can at least help receive guests."
"Neville's practice ground is on the back lawn," she said quickly. "A house-elf will take you. I'll be off." With that, she Apparated away.
Moments later, the same house-elf popped back. "Honored guest, please come. I will take you to the young master's training ground."
"Can you take me there directly?" Loren asked.
"Of course, honored guest!"
He took the elf's hand. A lurch, and he stood by Neville's training field. First time trying elf-side transport since learning Apparition himself—it had a peculiar feel.
Hermione and Neville barely glanced up; they were used to Loren being "elf-expressed." Hermione waved hello; Neville didn't even look, focused on his drills.
Back at Hogwarts, Loren often had house-elves blink him around, calling it "saving time." In moments, Neville's footwork had gone from clumsy steps to almost not bending the grass. His careful, cautious movements made it clear this was still carefully throttled control; true ease was a ways off.
"Sorted so quickly?" Hermione murmured.
"As needed," Loren murmured back. "How's his training?"
"His talent's good—better than mine, at least. I almost took a house down when I started," she said in the same low tone.
Neville, ears pricked, heard just enough to glow. "Good," Loren said in a normal voice. "If Neville's that gifted, I'm reassured. The Christmas present I sent won't go to waste."
"What present?" Hermione asked, curious. "What won't go to waste?"
"Nothing much. A training manual made just for him. If he completes it, then even with no wands allowed, he could take down any Dark wizard barehanded—including Lord Voldemort."
"Is it really that strong?" Hermione asked, skeptical.
"Of course. It's tuned for Neville—to help him control his power. Even now he could handle more than ten adult wizards who don't know physical arts. The regimen is the finishing touch—teaching him to use the least strength to drop the most people."
Neville threw himself into the routine with renewed fire. Out of his line of sight, Loren and Hermione hid their grins behind their hands. That little exchange had been for Neville's ears, to set his confidence. Judging by the results, it worked beautifully.
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