Archive of Our Own

Headmistress McGonagall was looking over the contract one last time, her quill hovering over the last line that needed her signature. 

"Everything seems in order," she mumbled to herself. She nodded one more time before scribbling down her signature. "Welcome aboard, Professor Longbottom," Headmistress McGonagall looked up and smiled proudly, her eyes crinkling warmly. 

Neville's heartbeat was hammering so excitedly, he wondered if the Professor could hear it. 

"Thank you, Headmistress." 

"I trust Professor Sprout has already given you a tour of the greenhouses, not that you needed it." 

"Yes, she has." Neville's smile spread on his cheeks. The last few years had seemed so incredibly bleak. Neville had worked arduously to finish his studies properly and set the world back on its axis. After very short work as an Auror, he turned back to Hogwarts, almost as if he was unable to stay away. He worked part of the semesters as Sprout's assistant, tutoring kids outside of class hours and occasionally leading the sessions that took place in the greenhouse. The residual damage from the Battle of Hogwarts was still present, it clung to the atmosphere, even well outside the bounds of Hogwarts. Things were far from feeling back to normal, but this small step--the title of professor--seemed to shed a small amount of light at the end of the tunnel. 

"Very well. The semester starts the 1st of September, but you'll need to be at the castle by the end of August. Cloggs will deliver the details during the summer," Headmistress McGonagall ran a gentle finger over Cloggs' head, the eurasian eagle owl tilting upward into the touch. 

"Understood," Neville put out his hand, trying to be as professional as possible. 

"Oh, stop with this nonsense," Minerva slapped his hand away and stepped around her desk, pulling him up into a surprisingly strong hug. "Welcome back, Neville." 

Neville felt a lump in his throat and held his professor tighter, trying to swallow against the wave of tears and relief that was hitting him. 

"You deserve this," McGonagall said firmly. "Now head home, celebrate." 

Something dislodged in his chest. You deserve this. He'd wanted to believe that for a long time, but hearing McGonagall say it so confidently made him think that it was maybe a little true. 

"Okay, I--I will," Neville said, voice wavering as he pulled away. 

"Good lad." 

*** 

His feet hit the hard cobstone hearth, ash scattering at his shoes. Neville ducked out of the firebox in Hannah's office, looking around but finding it empty. He stomped his feet on the doormat by the fireplace and wandered outside. 

The loud chattering of the Leaky Cauldron greeted him as he stepped into the corridor, the wooden floorboards creaking quietly at his feet. Neville made his way downstairs making the loud conversation and hardy laughter harder to ignore. 

The Leaky Cauldron had its seasonal increases in client traffic, the beginning of summer being one of them. It would later die down into their usual cycle of regulars. 

Neville moved through the shift naturally, being used to the flow of the Cauldron's demands. Folks came in and out, sometimes through to Diagon Alley, sometimes to warm a stool and nurse a bottle of Berry Ocky Rot. He thought he might miss the motions of serving the Leaky Cauldron's quirky customers, but the idea of being a Herbology professor was far too satisfying for him; he thought then that he might get over missing them quickly. 

The sun came down and the pub had mostly cleared out, except for the guests that were having dinner and the usual lurkers. Hannah was wiping down the bar as Neville walked over, having finished clearing the tables. He sat down with a satisfied huff and rested his chin on his palm. 

"Hey," he smiled. 

Hannah sighed. "Hello, stranger. What can I get for you?" This was they're little routine, the little game they played as they locked up for the night. Neville could already see the tension leaving Hannah's shoulders. 

"Just a Butterbeer, I think. Professors shouldn't be drinking heavily; sets a bad example, y'know." 

Hannah blinked, processing. Neville was going off script. Her eyes lit up in recognition, like she just remembered why he had been away in the morning. "You got it?" Her tone was hopeful, yet knowing. 

"Sure did," Neville's smile widened. "I'm next year's new Herbology professor." 

"Neville! That's great news!" Hannah threw her arms around his neck across the bar. "Oh, dear, I'm so proud of you!" 

"Thank you, love," Neville sighed into her hair, his chest warming at her words. 

"You've gotta write to Luna," Hannah pulled away, holding his shoulders. "And the Potters and the Granger-Weasleys. Or have you done it already?" 

"No, I wanted you to be the first to know." 

"Well, now I am. So! First thing in the morning you're sending out those letters." 

"Yes, ma'am," Neville said in a playfully mocking tone. Hannah gave him a look and gently smacked him with the rag she was using. 

"Are you done with your side of the pub?" 

"Yes," Neville said, stepping around the bar, picking up the remaining pints and bottles on its surface. He waved the pints over to the dishwasher and threw out the bottles. "Just waiting on you, my dear." 

"Efficient, aren't you?" Hannah teased, taking her time with the counter. Neville stepped behind her with a smile he couldn't help. 

"You can use magic, y'know," he wrapped his arms around her waist. 

"There's a thought," she pretended to ponder. "Any particular reason you're in a hurry?" 

"I can think of one." 

"That's too bad." 

Neville chuckled, nuzzling Hannah's cheek. He gave her a quick peck before asking: "Should I wait up for you or are you going to stay late in your office?" 

"I won't be long tonight, I promise," Hannah leaned on him for a second before pulling away. "I'll see you in a bit." 

Neville went up to their room, fully expecting to see his wife again in the morning down at the pub or passed out over her desk in her office, but was more than pleasantly surprised when she slipped into their room just half an hour later. They found themselves in each other's arms, in a dance they both knew well by now. Sharing smiles that came from fondness and not an awkward stumble, gentle touches that soothed, kisses that were like new air in their lungs. They fell asleep tangled together, a peaceful feeling settling in the room, the future looking promising for once in a long time. 

*** 

As Headmistress McGonagall had promised, her eagle owl had arrived with further details by the end of June, Neville had boarded the Hogwarts Express in mid August, and was now settling his nerves as the students began to arrive at the castle. He couldn't have imagined how extremely unsettling it would be to sit beside his former professors as one of their own. 

There were only a few new faces, himself included. McGonagall had introduced him to a nervous man named Abraham Black (who quickly mumbled "no relation" after the Headmistress said his name) who would be teaching D.A.D.A.; a girl--woman, he corrected--he recognized from Ginny's year, Agatha Snowy-Owl, who'd be teaching Muggle Studies; and a strict looking lady named Rosemund Pitch, who had taken over the Transfiguration course in an, apparently, unorthodox manner. Neville found a small comfort in knowing he wasn't going to be the only recent addition to Hogwarts' long-standing roster of professors. 

Professor Slughorn was in charge of sortings this year, holding the list closer to his face reading over the last names he could mispronounce. He paced a small distance behind the stool where the Sorting Hat sat. The Hat had always seemed like a beat up old thing, Neville remembered every year it looked dirtier with a new split stitch or an added patch. This year the hat seemed like it had been washed, but it's cloth appeared to be as worn as it ever had been.

It was bizarre, getting to watch this whole process from its bare bones to the enchanted glamour every start-of-term feast had. It felt like forbidden information, like pulling back the curtain to reveal the secrets of a neat trick.

"I'm still getting used to it," Agatha said, leaning over and making Neville jump in his seat. "Sorry." 

"No, it's fine," he waved dismissively. "I never thought I'd be back here for an entire school year. I mean, I always hoped, but replacing Professor Sprout always seemed rather daunting. Insanely daunting, really."

"I know what you mean," Agatha smiled before straightening in her seat. Neville looked up to find the older students filing in. 

The Sorting Ceremony flowed with ease, the singular Hatstall being Anthony Puckle who ended up sorted into Gryffindor. With the Sorting Ceremony settled, Headmistress McGonagall gave some announcements before the feast.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts," McGonagall began warmly. "We hope you settle in nicely tonight and get a good rest for classes tomorrow." A few students groaned and Minerva laughed. "A few announcements while I still have your attention: we have new charms in place at the library to make check out easier, but Madam Pince would like me to remind you to still run by her the books that are taken out; the Forbidden Forest is still forbidden without supervision--no surprise there; and finally, we have a new addition to our staff! Students, meet your new Herbology instructor, Professor Longbottom."

At that, some students began to mutter and others were craning their necks to get a better look at him. Neville waved sheepishly, unprepared for the sudden wave of attention.

"As most of you know, Professor Sprout went into retirement and after many years of apprenticeship, Professor Longbottom has stepped up to fill her shoes. Let's give him an official welcome and wish him best of luck in his first semester teaching."

The room applauded politely, almost as if on cue, the more excited ones from older students he had tutored before. 

With one final, solid clap, Headmistress McGonagall announced: "Let the feast begin!"

***

The good thing, if it could be called that, about living in a castle without the aid of an alarm clock was that one tended to rise with the sun. In Neville's case, his chambers' windows let in the light from the grounds, the early morning's shine reaching him before most of his students were even up and about. The room was far too bright to even consider prolonging his sleep, so Neville slipped out of his bed and went through his morning routine. 

He shuffled out of his bedroom into his office, grabbing the robe hung on his chair. He walked out into the brisk morning air and checked the vegetable patches. He made sure all the student projects were accounted for, the greenhouses in order, tools and supplies in place. All he had left to do was give today's plan a once-over and head to breakfast. 

Neville walked the Eastern Halls of the castle and remembered how excited he always used to be to head over to the greenhouses, now he lived in them. He'd had time to take it in, but it still felt surreal, it felt like it would all go away the next day. It had taken him some time to think of his office and bedroom as his. They had always been Professor Sprout's. Her office, her tools, her vegetable patch, her Department. He knew he had worked for this position, he knew that Sprout wouldn't want anyone else to replace her, she had told him as much, but there was still a nagging voice in the back of his head. 

He shook it away then, keeping his eyes focused on the way the hall was lit by the morning beams that came through. The self doubt that plagued him had stopped having a foundation many years ago, all that remained was unjustified imposter syndrome. His students made sure to remind him of that. 

"G-good morning, Professor Longbottom," greeted a first year, Rory Gage. He seemed to have a fidgeting nature, always nervous to be addressed by Neville, but he had proved to have a sharp wit appropriate for a Ravenclaw. 

Neville smiled warmly. "Good morning, Mr. Gage." Neville pushed one the Great Hall door for him. Rory slipped inside with a quiet thank you and hurried over to his house table. 

Neville made his way over to the staff table, taking his seat beside Agatha. It was nice to have someone close to his age to talk to, the other professors had a tendency to be condescending, still seeing him as their student. 

"Good morning, Agatha," he said inspecting his cup as it filled with Earl Grey. 

"Morning, Nev," she said leaning back on her chair. "Have you heard the rumours?"

"Which ones?"

"Administration reassignment," she whispered. 

"I thought those were settled before term began," Neville said, taking a sip of his tea.

"Apparently McGonagall is making a second round of evaluations," she shrugged. "The Heads of Houses and Deputy Headmaster positions are being reconsidered."

"Heads of Houses?"

"I think just Gryffindor and Hufflepuff; the other two are institutions. With Sprout gone and Hagrid being on the more careless side of things, the positions seem to be seasonal."

"Who's replaced Sprout?"

"For now, Binns."

Neville laughed at that. "Binns? He was Hufflepuff?"

"I don't think he remembers what House he was from. Like I said, seasonal." 

"Right, right," Neville shook his head. "Where'd you hear all this?"

"I have my means," she stretched her arms out and wiggled her fingers. "I trust that if you were to come across information that could pertain to me, you'll share it."

"I see how it is," Neville chuckled. "And how do administration reassignments pertain to me?"

"You're a notable Gryffindor, you tell me."

Right, that he was. 

They ate their breakfast, exchanging small talk and the headaches that came with teaching a pack of magical children. The Owl Post was nearing its delivery time. Soon enough, quiet flaps created a gentle echo as the owls descended on the tables with their parcels. 

A school owl landed in front of Neville, holding a letter in its beak. As soon as it was pinched between his fingers, the owl flew away. Soon after, a copy of the Daily Prophet and The Quibbler were dropped beside his plate. Neville sighed contently and leaned back, tucking the periodicals closer with his elbow.

"I must admit, I missed this," he commented, opening his letter. It was from Hannah. 

It read:

Love,

I know term only started a few weeks ago, but you've been away for longer, so I can't help but miss you. I can't help but envy how busy you sounded in your last letter. I wish I didn't have time to think or let my mind wander as much as it does. It's too easy to be bored without you, chores are chores, finances are unbearable. Everything is in order, don't misunderstand. Things aren't going to fall apart as long as I'm here, but...it's just easier with you. 

Not everything is insufferable, though. Ginny stopped by with the boys the other day. She needed someone to look after them and her parents are over in Romania, so she reached out. She was going to St. Mungo's for her routine check-up, making sure the baby is okay and all. 

James wanted to help around as much as he could, bringing over all the plates he could carry. Albus was a delight, but he kept asking where 'Nel' was. James kept showing Albus around, pulling him by the hand and telling him everything he knew about the Leaky Cauldron (which isn't much, but Merlin, was it cute). 

I took them to Fortescue's after lunch. James was adamant about trying the Dragon Ride flavour, I'll owe Ginny the biggest apology in the world if that turns into something; Al seemed more interested in the Muggle flavours section, wound up getting Mint flavour.

I got a picture of them trying their first bite. I left you a copy enclosed in the envelope. 

Other than that, it's business as usual over here. Hope to see you during the holiday break. 

Love you,

Hannah

Neville picked up the envelope from the table and pulled the picture out of it. Sure enough, it was James and Albus outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour showing their spoonfuls to the camera and taking a bite. James's eyes widen and he shakes his head, flashing a big grin; Al scrunches his nose and squeezes his eyes shut, his breath coming out cold. 

Agatha leaned over to get a look at the photograph and smiled. "They look awfully familiar."

"Yeah, they're Ginny's boys," Neville said, pointing. "This is James, he's four already, and Albus is two, he's my godson."

"She named her youngest Albus?"

"No, I'm pretty sure Harry was behind that one," Neville gave a dry chuckle. "She's thinking of naming the youngest either Fabian or Luna."

"She's having another?" Agatha sounded delighted.

Neville nodded. "Due by the end of next month."

"That's great to hear," she said. Then after a moment, "We're going to be flooded by Weasleys, aren't we?"

"Let's enjoy the time we have."

That made her laugh. "Yes, let's."

***

The day was bright, which made up for the shadows that darken the Forbidden Forest. Neville was a little antsy watching over his students. Only a small portion of them had decided to look for their sample at the edge of the forest, but he didn't want to lose sight of any of them.

"Remember, any fungi with fruiting bodies will do for this exercise," he called again. "Ms. Brown, please don't go too far."

"Yes, sir."

He quickly looked over to the rest of his students, scattered across the yard. Some were in small groups of three or four, huddled over the same patch of grass; others appeared to be done, leaning back in the warm sun, waiting for their classmates. Everything seemed in order and Hagrid was just a shout away. Neville's nerves calmed a little. 

"Alright guys, let's start wrapping up," he called over. "We still have to walk back to the greenhouses."

He noticed the hurried pace his students began working in and smiled. He knew what it was like to be hurried by a teacher, to fear reprimand or point deduction, and he felt relieved. Maybe he was still too new or maybe he was granted a different temperament as a teacher, but for now he knew that he wouldn't be the professor to put his students through that anxiety. 

He watched his kids file out of the forest one by one until only Idabelle Brown remained. Neville watched her, debating if he should help her or not. It wasn't a terribly complicated assignment, he wasn't sure what was delaying her. But then Idabelle screamed and Neville stopped thinking.

Idabelle fell back and started kicking away from something as Neville raced to her side. He noticed a small patch of something green crawling away.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" Neville asked quickly. He inspected her hands, but found nothing. He looked up and saw some of the kids getting closer. "Nope! Stay outside of the Forest, please!"

The group stopped in their tracks, still craning their necks to get a look. 

"It h-hissed and t-then it mo-oved," Idabelle said shakily. "What fungus does that?"

"It's okay, don't worry," Neville chuckled, helping her up. "No fungus does that. Notice the smell? Rather rotten, innit? That was a Bundimun. It's not very common to see them in the wild, they're mostly house pests. But they do have a fungal appearance."

Idabelle took a steadying breath. "Okay. I just thought it looked funny."

"Do you need help looking for the fungus you'll inspect?"

"No, I've got it, professor. Thank you."

Neville didn't have to wait too long before Idabelle announced: "All done, professor!" He was relieved to leave the forest behind and take his students back to Greenhouse 1.

The kids settled into their stations and followed the instructions on the blackboard, scribbling away in they're lab notebooks their observations and prepping the fruit bodies. 

"Remember to make a partial print on the microscope slide," Neville said walking the length of the room. "We'll examine them next lesson. The view through the scope will help you have a more solid grasp of what you're identifying and in telling if they have magical properties or not. Sometimes the spore print colour isn't enough for us to tell."

His students worked quietly, sometimes looking over to their classmates to peek at their process. Neville settled into his makeshift desk, a crate he had pushed into the corner of the room and a stool he had found in a storage closet. He got a headstart on grading the fifth-years' essays, not wanting to start on them later into the night. He quickly got wrapped up with the task, forgetting to check the hour every now and then.

"Er--Professor?" 

Neville looked up, startled. "Yes? Who said that?"

Tighe Fenwick raised his hand. "The bell tolled."

"Did it?" Neville blushed. "You'll have to forgive me, then. If you've properly stored your spore prints, you may leave for your next class. I apologise for keeping you."

Most of the kids stood to leave immediately, wishing him a good day. Even then, he was enchanted by their efficiency and politeness. As they filed out, he saw that their stations were neat and cleared out for the next group of students. He thought himself lucky to have such a good group of kids. 

***

Neville had dealt with difficult students before, but Cecilia Coquelot was proving to be an exceptional case. He had overheard Filch describe her as the second coming of the Wealey twins rolled into one person. 

She had charmed the knight armors in the Armoury to challenge anyone that crossed their line of vision, had jinxed doors to be more difficult to open, had tampered with the flying candles in the Great Hall, making them hover far lower than they should, and crossed the line when she tried to tamper with the Gargoyle at McGonagall's office.

No-one had been sure she was behind these incidents until she tried her luck against the gargoyle and it reported her attempt to Minerva. The Headmistress deducted 15 points from Ravenclaw and assigned her a week of detention with each professor.

"Minerva, that's almost the rest of term," Professor Slughorn said at the staff meeting. 

"That is the rest of term, and the beginning of next term," McGonagall said.

"Why such a harsh sentence?"

"Because she's full of potential, Horace. Point deduction would only harm her house and she wouldn't really be reprimanded." She went on to explain, "We're only calling it detention. I believe Ms. Coquelot needs a few more hours of structure, discipline. A space to hone her abilities in a constructive manner, instead of creating major inconveniences throughout the castle. I believe it will be good for her in the long run, even if she won't appreciate it at the moment."

It was Cecilia's third year at Hogwarts. It had been three years of incidents of this nature and this was the sentence. Neville thought McGonagall had either gone soft or saw immense potential among the mischief. Just like the twins. 

McGonagall had given them free range on Cecilia's assignments, trusting them to be able to discern what would be constructive for her. Neville had probably chosen the most unorthodox approach:

"What do you consider a good use of your time?" Neville had asked at the beginning. He quickly regretted the question. 

"Not being here."

"Right, but--"

"Oh! Being at Hogsmeade with my mates."

"That's--"

"Trying to figure out the eagle's riddle."

"Yes, that's fair. I've heard--"

"Or--"

"Ms. Coquelot."

She appeared to hold her tongue. 

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Because I failed to get away with it." She sounded certain. She sounded like she was determined to get away with it next time. 

Neville tried a different angle. "The charms you cast on the knight armors were very impressive, I heard Professor Flitwick found them an entertaining challenge."

"Thank you."

"How did you come across them?"

"I made 'em up," Cecilia shrugged. She swung her feet, taking in the long glass windows behind Neville. 

He was certain he heard her correctly. She made them up. At the age of thirteen. 

"And how did you manage that?"

"I just figured--spells come from somewhere," she scrunched her eyebrows together, like this was the first time she verbalised her idea. "And they sure sound like other words. So I tried different sounds that kind of sounded like what I wanted. A lot of them didn't work."

It was certainly crude, but she had managed it nonetheless. 

"Do you think you can do it again?"

She squinted her eyes at him, like she didn't trust this line of conversation. "You're weird, Professor Longbottom."

Neville laughed. "You can't get into any more trouble by answering, if that's any consolation."

Cecilia considered this. "I can definitely do it again."

Neville stood from his desk and searched the line of sunbleached books that stood on the shelves beside his desk. He pulled the least damaged one, a loan from Hermione. It was titled Latin: Prefixes, Suffixes, and Everything In-Between for Spell Fixes. He had inquired about it with the purpose of modifying some charms to be more efficient for herbcare. This seemed like a better use for it, or so he hoped. 

He placed the book on his desk and pushed it toward Cecilia. She leaned forward, getting a look at the cover. 

"For your week of detention with me, we will be going over some of the chapters in this book. You'll need to handle it very carefully or Hermione will have my head."

Cecilia stiffened at the name. "Granger? Head of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"Deputy Head, but yes," Neville nodded. "If it were my own copy, you could have taken it with you."

"Why are you doing this, sir?"

"Fair question--deserves a fair answer," and how Neville wished he had one. "I--er--hmm. I believe your ingenuity deserves a chance at thriving. And I believe it stands a much better chance of doing that with a foundation."

"Professor, this is--" she was looking at him like he'd gone mad. "It's like handing me a Dungbomb and pointing me in the right direction."

A remarkable point. But still-- "This is me putting my trust in you, with the hope that you'll be able to use this information productively. Is that something you can do? I could just assign you chores around the greenhouses," he waved his hand in their direction, behind him.

Cecilia took her time with the proposal and in true Ravenclaw fashion said, "I'd very much appreciate the opportunity, sir."

He really hoped he wouldn't wind up regretting this. 

***

The light coming from Hagrid's cabin was warm and welcoming in the cold evening air. Neville had just finished a rather unpleasant patrol on the first floor of the castle. In making sure there were no students out of bed, wandering the halls, he came across the Tapestry Corridor. He hadn't needed to use the corridor, with most of his time being spent in the greenhouses or the Great Hall. And he had been able to avoid him when visiting McGonagall in her office, his portrait always having been empty. Now he knew where Professor Snape spent most of his time, or so he assumed. 

The portrait had an uncanny resemblance to the man, his scowl and hooked nose still the same. He spoke with the same distaste and his voice still sent a chill down Neville's spine. He almost couldn't quite believe it when he heard that voice again. His heart hammered and he nearly jumped to a sprint. Snape's portrait had berated him and had been rather disappointed to learn that Neville was part of the school staff. 

Neville shook his head, dismissing the feeling, as he raised his hand to Hagrid's door. The knock on the dense door was muffled by his mittens. He heard heavy footsteps and the metal clattering of what was probably a kettle before the door swung open, letting out a pleasant wave of warmth. 

"Neville! Happy Christmas! How're ya, lad?"

"Happy Christmas, Hagrid. Infinitely better now," Neville said, stomping the light snow off his boots. 

"Well, c'mon in, then. Make yerself at home an' all," Hagrid stepped aside.

Hagrid's hut was just like Neville remembered it, with its pelts draped over large armchairs, cobblestone walls, a warm fireplace, the wooden dining table and its mismatched chairs, and the massive bed in the corner with its patchwork quilt. Hagrid gestured to the armchair and even after all this time, Neville felt a tad small on the cushion. He relaxed into the armchair, the pain in his legs and the soles of his feet bleeding out.

"Yer a sight fer sore eyes, yeh are," Hagrid said, sitting across from Neville.

"So are you, believe me," Neville leaned back, taking in the smell of smoke and the humid hints of stone. "Have you anything to drink?"

"Just some Firewhisky, s'all," Hagrid reached over to the fireplace, pulling the kettle out of the flame. "Hadda rough night?"

"Rough night, holiday, you name it," Neville rubbed at his temple, his worries settling over his shoulders, stress running tightly over his back. 

"Go on, then," Hagrid handed him a glass of amber liquid. "Name 'em. We've got the night."

"I was on patrol on the first floor tonight, right?" He took a sip as Hagrid nodded. "Of all the bloody portraits in the whole castle, I run into Snape's. He was as nasty as ever, even more so knowing that I'm a professor now. Just when I thought 'I'm free of him,' there he is, oil and canvas. Just my bloody luck."

He sighed, feeling the burn of the Firewhisky spread to his chest. Hagrid waited for him to continue. 

 "This is the first Christmas I'm spending away from Hannah. I didn't think I'd miss her this much… I can't imagine what it's like for her. And I didn't go tree-pickin' this year. I know it sounds silly, but I wanted to bring little Al with me this time. Show him all the wonderful things that surround 'im."

"I can't imagine why'd ya feel silly fer feelin' all those things, Nev. Missin' yer wife sounds perfectly sane t'me an' wantin' ter spend time with yer godson is sweet. Don' let it weigh yeh down, you'll be back home inna week. Plen'y t'look forward to."

"I feel like'm stuck here, missin' out," Neville lifted his glass to his nose, the sharp burn in his nostrils waking him up. 

"Comin' from a man who's life revolves around this school an' it's residents, I know it don' sound like much," Hagrid began, making Neville look up. "But it's better ter look at the things that're right in front o' yeh, yeh might just miss somethin' incredible."

With the way Hagrid was looking at him, Neville knew he was talking about him. The tension in his back released, the whisky coursing through him freely. Neville couldn't be sure if he was blushing or if it was the drink, but he smiled nonetheless. 

The years had been kind to Hagrid, something the man very much deserved. Aside from a few grey streaks of hair in his shaggy mane and along his beard, Hagrid remained exactly like Neville remembered him in his school days. Jolly and loyal and clumsy. And every bit of right when it came to witnessing incredible things. 

Neville was just grateful that he wasn't drunk enough to not take his advice. 

***

The arrival of Edward Lupin created a buzz among the students of Hogwarts. Much to the Gryffindors disappointment, he was sorted into Hufflepuff, like his mother. He carried a shy smile and hair that would vary in different tones of blue. 

For the first few weeks of term, Neville overheard his students talking about werewolves. He wasn't sure in what light they were being discussed, much less if it was affecting Teddy. His nerves were put at ease when Hagrid and Professor Black got ahead of the situation, giving a joint class on bigotry against and myths about lycanthropy. 

Soon the murmurs Neville overheard were about-- 

"Meta-something he called it."

"Metamorphmagus," Neville supplied. "Don't get too distracted, Ms. Altman."

"Have you seen him do it?" Sang Weiss asked. 

The kids remained silent and Neville looked up from his makeshift desk to find them staring at him.

"Shouldn't you two be repotting the shrivelfig saplings?" 

"You've seen him do it, haven't you?" Orla asked enthusiastically.

Neville sighed. "I have--but! Don't go asking him to do it for you. It's incredibly rude."

Sang and Orla deflated a little, but they continued they're detention assignments discussing what they would do if they were metamorphmagi. 

Neville realised he didn't need to worry about Teddy not fitting in with his peers. Much like Harry had, Teddy managed to find a group of friends that didn't much care that his parents were martyrs nor were they morbidly curious about his abilities.  

In the first weeks he often found Teddy's eyes seeking him out, but as term progressed Ted's head stopped being turned toward the staff table and started focusing on his classmates around him. Neville found relief in the fact that Teddy lacked the need to seek comfort in him.

"I hear there are great expectations for the boy," Rosemund said, taking a sip of Butterbeer. 

"His name carries some weight, eyes are going to be on him for a while," Flitwick said. "His father received the First Order of Merlin, first werewolf to do so as well."

"And his mother was an exemplary Hufflepuff, a notable Auror, loyal member of the Order," Sinistra said. "They're celebrities, really."

"At least he doesn't have a big head about it," Agatha said beside Neville. 

"He wouldn't," Neville said. "That's not something his family would applaud."

The crowd at the Three Broomsticks was as lively as ever. There was something about it that made him miss home and another part that stressed him out. Hearing the demands of rude clients poked at his nerves. 

Madam Rosmerta came around with another round of Butterbeer for their table. 

"Here we are," she set the bottles on the table. "What are we talking about?"

"The Lupin boy," Flitwick provided. 

"Lupin," Madam Rosmerta's eyes warmed over. "I haven't heard that name in quite a few years. Quite a bit of pressure the lad must have."

"Quite unjust for there to be any pressure at all," Rosemund said. "Soon enough there's going to be an influx of kids whose parents either did great things or horrible things. They deserve a clean slate. They're just children after all. It's bollocks."

"Aye," Agatha raised her Butterbeer in a short toast, taking a swing. 

"As his professors and confidants, we should be the last people to exert any pressure regarding any legacy his parents might've left behind," Neville said, leaning back on the booth. "We can't expect these kids to be their parents, especially the Golden Trio kids. These next few years at Hogwarts are going to bring well-known names, Mr. Lupin is only the first."

"I think we’re in agreement, then," Flitwick said. "No special treatment or prejudice."

The professors at the table voiced their agreement, Madam Rosmerta nodding along. War crimes or honoured heroes, the backgrounds the following kids came from were incredibly burdened. The events being in recent memory for most of the staff, staying unbiased was easier said than done. Neville hoped he could hold himself accountable if he ever slipped. 

***

Neville always found amusement in the questions his students would ask him or what they thought was cool about his life. It resulted in being a good exercise for him, learning to look at things he took for granted with new eyes.

With this term's group of first years he had earned himself a little shadow. Holly Owen seemed to have equal interest in Herbology and its professor, asking the most bizarre array of questions. She usually came looking for him in his office hours, first having questions about that day's lesson then spiralling like a toddler that had just learned the word why.

There was a knock at his door. He didn't need to look up to know who it was.

"Yes, Ms. Owen?"

"Professor, tell Michel what you told me," Holly said. 

Straight to the point today. Neville looked up from his notes to find Holly striding into the office, leaving Michel Spinks hanging back by the door.

"What exactly did I tell you?"

"About the Sword of Gryffindor!"

"Oh, that," Neville chuckled. "Isn't that in Bagshot's The Last Few Wars?"

"But not like you say it," she insisted. 

"Well, it was quite the moment," Neville said, recalling that day. "It had been months of torture, endurance, and very little comfort. Hope and a sense of responsibility were the only things that kept me going, but it felt like I wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. Then, Harry showed up, and it was like a million tonnes were lifted off my shoulders. Things were looking up. And then he died. Despair is the most fitting word for what we felt when we saw his body, but it was something more, something heavier. It was the crushing reality that we lost. 

"But somehow, I found the strength to refuse to give in. I don't know where it came from, but it was like a new wave of energy, a burning rage that fueled me. Like the last few months had been a warm up. I didn't feel like I could take on the world, but in that moment I could definitely take on Voldemort. I still had a mission to carry out. They had strapped the Sorting Hat onto my head and set it on fire when I refused to join the Death Eaters; they put me in a Full Body-Bind curse, but it didn't hold. I pulled the Sword of Godric Gryffindor from the burning hat and swung at that bloody snake."

Michel was still at the door, but he was slack-jawed. "Wicked."

"Right?" Holly told Michel.

"And what did you do after?" Michel asked.

"After I killed Nagini?"

"No, after the war," Michel ventured to sit next to Holly.

"Er--well, it only felt natural at that point for me to become an Auror, like my parents, but it didn't last. It wasn't the kind of lifestyle I could keep up with. For a long time I worked between helping the Leaky Cauldron's landlady and being Professor Sprout's assistant teacher. Then I took over Sprout's position when she retired."

"Why the Leaky Cauldron?" Holly asked.

"I live there--when I'm not here. My wife owns it."

"You're Hannah's husband?" Michel asked.

"You live there?" Holly said over him.

Then they chorused: "That's so cool!"

That made Neville laugh; Hannah was going to hear about this one. His students were certainly unapologetic in their enthusiasm for their professor's personal life. At least he agreed with them, it was cool that he had married Hannah, how lucky.

***

Neville loved his students, he even missed them over break, but he enjoyed his holidays far more. His holidays included Hannah after all.

The Hogwarts Express had arrived at 23:50. He was just glad he didn't have to Apparate very far from the station. He stumbled into the pub, up to their room and dropped his luggage as quietly as possible.

"Hello, dear," Hannah mumbled from their bed.

"Hi, darling," he grinned. "Sorry to wake you."

"No, s'fine," she shifted, making the blankets rustle. Neville moved around the room as quietly as possible. He stripped off most of his clothes, leaving his underwear, and slipped into bed. Hannah shifted again, curling into his side.

"Hi," he whispered. Hannah hummed as her hand slid up to his neck, her thumb brushing his cheek. He pulled her closer, nestling her comfortably against him. 

"I missed you," Hannah whispered back. Neville tightened his arms around her and kissed her cheek, her forehead, her nose, her closed eyes, her lips. She giggled but held him there and for a moment it was all they could do. When Hannah broke away she appeared far more awake. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him over her, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Neville’s heart rate picked up as he leaned forward to kiss her neck. Her hands travelled up his back, across his chest, into his hair. Neville sighed, relaxing over her. But still no green light, so he stayed perfectly still. 

"Hannah?" He tugged at her earlobe gently.

"Hm?" 

"What's wrong, dear?"

"Wh--nothing," she said, bumping her nose with his. "I just--something feels weird in my back just now, maybe something pulled when I rolled over."

Neville barked a laugh at that. "Oh, bloody--sweetheart." He gently rolled onto his side again. "You could've said that. We can do this tomorrow. I'm beat from the train anyway."

"We're old, aren't we?" Hannah asked, stretching her legs out.

"We're just more worn than others," Neville tucked a loose hair behind her ear. "You've been standing all day, haven't you?"

"I have," Hannah nodded, closing her eyes.

"I think we just need some rest, dear," Neville said. "We'll be in proper shape tomorrow,  hopefully."

Hannah giggled softly. "Sure thing, love. Good night."

Neville kissed the top of her head as she curled up. "I love you. Good night, darling."

The other good thing about his holiday was getting to see his friends more often. They would either drop by the Leaky Cauldron or ask him to visit. He knew these requests came because he had no children of his own, so during the summer he became the Potters' nanny. 

"There you are," Neville said to Hannah. He had been looking for her down at the pub, but instead found her in her office. "Look at you, delegating."

Hannah smiled, looking a little tired. "I can't do it all alone, my right hand man became a scholar."

"You alright?" Neville asked, walking over to her desk. "You look like you could use some rest."

"You're probably right," she sighed. "Did you need something? Sounded like you were looking for me."

"Yeah, I was," Neville leaned on the edge of the desk beside her, facing the fireplace. "Gin asked me to come over, look after Al and Lily. I wanted to let you know… Unless you need me around here? I can bring the kids over instead."

"No, you're fine," Hannah stood from her chair. "I'm gonna lie down for a bit."

She planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth, which made him wrap his arms around her waist.

"You missed," Neville said. Hannah smirked before kissing him properly.

"You're very clingy this time around," she noted.

"I don't think it'll get any better," he said with a smile. 

"Alright you sap, get moving," Hannah pushed him to the fireplace.  

"Yes, dear," he chuckled.

The moment Neville ducked out of the fireplace and into the Potters living room he heard the soft thumping of small feet.

"NEV! Mummy, look! Nev's here!" Albus said, hugging Neville's legs.

"Hello, Al," Neville said, picking him up. "How're ya, bud?"

"I got a new dragon scale from Uncle Charlie! Y'wanna see it?" Albus's green eyes sparkled with excitement. 

"'Course I do, let me just say hi to you mum real quick," Neville said, setting him down. "You can go fetch it if you like."

"Okay!" Albus dashed up stairs, taking the steps as quickly as he could without tumbling over. 

"I'm in the kitchen!" Ginny called. 

"Hello, hello," Neville said leaning on the doorway to the kitchen.

"Right back atcha," Ginny said, peering over some papers. "Neville Longbottom, do you cook, perchance? Maybe you can explain to me how my husband manages this nonsense."

"I think I just heard your mother have a stroke," Neville said. "No, by the way. I don't usually cook."

"Then what good are you to me?"

"Looking after your kids, apparently."

"Right. Right," Ginny stood up. "I'm sure you can figure out lunch anyway. I've got to get going, I've got a deadline to meet. James is staying at Georgie's this weekend, so one less headache for you. Lily is taking her nap, she's usually an angel. And Albus, you know Albus, you'll be fine."

"Yes, I will. You should get going."

"Yes--"

"Lookit," Albus said, tugging at Neville’s sleeve. "Uncle said it was a Romain Longhorn."

"Romanian," Ginny said gently.

"Roh-mah-nian," Albus repeated slowly. 

"Wow, that's a nice green," Neville ran a gentle finger over the scale appreciatively. 

Albus nodded as Ginny picked him up. "I've got to go to work, Al. But Neville is here to look after you until Daddy gets home."

"Okay," Albus wrapped his arms around her neck. Ginny gave him a squeeze.  

"Love you. Be good." She kissed his cheek and put him down.

"I will, Mummy."

"Alright, good. Bye, Nev. Thank you for this."

"No problem, Gin."

Ginny stepped into the green flames and waved to Albus one last time before speaking clearly: "South Side, Diagon Alley."

Albus wandered over to where his mum had been sitting, not paying attention to the papers on the table, turning the scale over in his hand and watching how the sun got caught in it. Neville pulled one of the papers towards him. He recognized Harry's hand writing immediately. They were recipes titled When I'm not home.

Some of them had parentheses like (James's favourite) or (Albus refuses to eat) or (for when they've argued). They didn't seem too complicated to make at first glance, but Harry's notes were thorough.

"It wouldn't kill him to just say slice or dice," Neville mumbled. 

Neville began to rummage through the kitchen, looking for everything he needed. He briefly wondered if the Potters had everything in stock. 

"Albus?" Neville called.

"Yeah," Albus said right behind him, making Neville jump.

"Do you know where your dad keeps fresh tomatoes?"

Albus scrunched up his nose. "Mum's garden. Outside."

"Could you show me?"

Albus shrugged a shoulder and walked to the kitchen's backdoor. Ginny had a small garden to the side of the house. Neville inspected each plant, all in surprisingly good health. He found the tomatoes and plucked two, as per Harry's instructions. 

They went back inside and Neville pulled out a few pots and a cutting board. 

"What're you doing?" Albus asked.

"I'm making lunch for us," Neville said, grinding some herbs together. 

"Like Daddy makes it?"

"I'll sure try," Neville smiled, rolling up his sleeves. As he progressed, Neville had the feeling he was making a particularly tedious potion. 

"Hey, Nev?" Albus asked, his chin resting on the counter, watching the stove's fire.  "Did you always wanna be a professor?"

"Not always, for a while I wasn't really sure what I wanted," Neville said, turning down  the flames. "I just knew I loved herbology."

Albus nodded like he understood, dragging the skin under his chin forward. "What did you do before herbology?"

"Well, I used to be an Auror, like your dad."

Albus frowned. "Not like Daddy. You're always around."

Merlin, he wasn't expecting that.

"Er--well, I'm always around now. I couldn't keep up with the job," Neville said a little hurriedly. "It's very demanding."

"Oh," Albus said. He let the quiet stretch out, maybe distracted with the fire.

"But--erm--what about you?" Neville asked, leaning on the other side of the stove. "What do you want to be?"

"Hmm," Albus thought for a minute. Neville watched Albus's eyes focus on a point on the counter, the freckles littered on his nose dancing as he considered the question; he was a very expressive boy, furrowing his eyebrows and moving his mouth.  "Well--Quidditch is boring and Daddy is always getting hurt at work...and the joke shop is always too loud. I dunno, dragons are cool but really scary, too."

"It's okay not to know," Neville said, ruffling Al's hair. "You must like something, though."

Some colour reached his cheeks. "Er--yeah. It's just--I dunno."

"You can tell me," Neville prodded gently. Albus played nervously with the helm of his shirt.

"Just--don't tell James, he'll make fun," Albus said.

"Promise."

"Gran's knitting," Albus said, watching Neville's face carefully. "I like how the yarn knots; how they make something."

"Do you want to learn how to knit?"

"I don't think so..." Albus said slowly. "I think I just want to make something useful."

"That's a great start, Al," Neville smiled. "You don't have to worry about the rest now, it'll come."

Albus pushed away from the counter and stepped towards Neville. Neville met him halfway, picking him up for a hug. 

"There's nothing silly about the things you want," Neville told him. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Albus's arms tightened around his neck. "Okay."

"Okay, good." Neville set him down. 

After they ate, Neville cleaned up and went upstairs to check on Lily. She was just beginning to stir. 

"Hi, Lilybug," Neville said. "There's lunch downstairs if you're hungry or snacks if lunch is too heavy."

"Where's Mummy?"

"She left for work, but your dad should be home soon."

Lily slid off her bed, shuffling out of her room in her socks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Where's Al?"

"In the sitting room, last I checked," Neville followed her out the room, down the stairs. 

The rest of the afternoon was easy. Indulge them in silly conversation, considering hypotheticals like what would it be like to live in a house made of biscuits or what kind of creature could survive in space, let them play in the yard, bring them inside and clean them up, play Gobstones, clean up again, and start preparing dinner. 

Neville heard a sort of warping sound outside the kitchen and some stomping by the door. He peeked around and found Harry walking through. His clothes were splattered with blood and he looked like he had been in a scuffle. Yet he lit up when he saw Neville.

"Neville!" Harry whispered. "How've you been?"

"Better than you, I reckon," Neville whispered back.

"Oh, this? I just need to clean up a bit," he waved dismissively. "The clothes are probably ruined, though. Nothing to be done there."

"Do you need me to stay for longer?"

"What? No, no. I don't want to keep you," Harry said, taking off his shoes. "Just don't let the kids see me. Once I'm off the shower you can go."

"If you say so."

Harry sneaked off and when he returned he was looking more like himself. Except for the nasty cut under his eye.

"You're lucky that missed," Neville tapped his own face, gesturing.

"I'm lucky a lot of it missed," Harry sighed. He stretched his back until something popped, then relaxed. "I'm just glad to be home."

"Daddy?"

Harry's eyes softened, turning toward the voices of his kids. "That's me."

Albus and Lily rushed him, bombarding him with questions about his eye and what monster did he fight that day.

"Daddy, Daddy," Albus persisted over Lily's voice. "I showed Nev my new dragon scale today!"

"Did you now?"

Albus nodded enthusiastically. 

"A very cool scale," Neville confirmed.

Harry chuckled. "Yes it is," he ruffled Al's hair.

"You've got this?" Neville asked him.

"Yeah, I do."

"Alright, I'll see you later, Al, Lily."

"Bye!"

"Bye, Nev!"

***

This was the year they were dreading. This would be the first year Hogwarts received a Weasley in over a decade. The professors' nervous energy was practically bouncing off the walls of the Great Hall.  

Neville had reassured them that Victoire was of the better mannered kids, Roxanne and James were still a few years away, but there was still a great wave of anticipation. The name Weasley carried a different weight now. It wasn't just the dread of impending mischief, it was the expectation of something great--even if no-one wanted to say it aloud.

Watching the Sorting Ceremony unfold after a few years became more commonplace for Neville, less disorienting. He had even taken to playing a game with Agatha, trying to guess the sorting outcome, if groups would be in odd or even pairs, the boy to girl ratio on each group. They usually took bets on which Houses the first-years would be sorted into as soon as they filed into the room. 

"You'll owe me a shot of Ocky Rot if Mr. Blond-Brown Eyes gets into Gryffindor," Agatha whispered.

"You'll owe me a week of night patrols if Victoire gets into any House but Gryffindor," Neville whispered back.

"Betting against yourself, bold," Agatha nodded. "Deal."

They shook on it and continued to pass a paper being them, adjusting the group outcomes they expected.

The Sorting Ceremony dragged out, everyone holding their breath until the name was called out. 

"Victoire Weasley," Rosemund called.

Before Victoire could step up to the Sorting Hat, the staff table began to shake lightly. It could've been mistaken for someone shaking their leg a little too hard, but the vibrations got stronger. Neville pushed away from the table startled, as he saw a silvery head emerge from his plate. It was a ghost.

The ghost's silhouette was extremely familiar and Neville felt his stomach drop. An echo of murmurs erupted from the student tables.

"Am I mistaken?" The ghost said, a wide grin in his voice. "Did I hear that correctly? Weasley?"

Victoire had a spooked expression, taking a step back from the stool. Most of the professors just stared in horror. 

"Bloody fucking hell," Neville muttered.

"Go on," the ghost sat on the table, crossing his legs. "Don't stop on my behalf."

Rosemund gestured for Victoire to step up. Victoire walked slowly up to the stool and Rosemund placed the hat on her head. It sat quiet for a second and decidedly called out: "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The Hufflepuff table clapped excitedly, but it was the ghost of Fred Weasley who made the most noise.

Rosemund looked back to McGonagall, looking for any sign to stop the ceremony. McGonagall seemed to be blinking back tears, her face torn between elation and considering retirement. Rosemund took this as her go-ahead and read off the last few names on the list. 

The newly corporeal ghost had spent his time hovering over the Great Hall, weaving through the candles, watching the ceremony unfold with glee. 

During the feast, Neville watched Fred's ghost, as young as the last time anyone had seen him, talk to Victoire. His expression was gentle as he nodded to what his niece was telling him, his eyes widening a few times. He was probably learning about what had become of his family, his brothers and sister. His twin's children. Neville didn't envy Fred, but he knew the years at Hogwarts were going to become a lot more interesting.

***

No matter how accustomed he became to his long stays at Hogwarts, getting to see Hannah again always put him over the moon. He never bored of her welcoming aura or the comfort of her presence which signalled being home. They spent their nights tangled together, speaking idly of the future and their plans. 

Recently, Hannah had mentioned taking on Healer training. He remembered that she had mentioned it before, when they had started dating, but it had seemed life had other plans. Hannah had never complained about their life at the Leaky Cauldron, but Neville had always wondered if she had felt any sort of regret.

Hannah always managed to take Neville by surprise, as full of wonder as she was, because what she felt was never regret, but a sense of unfinished business. She was revisiting the idea now at thirty-one, but there was no hint in her voice to indicate she felt behind on her goals. Neville admired her for her tenacity.

But there was one thing they failed to talk about.

Neville knew this conversation was coming. He knew they had been putting it off for a while, maybe because they kept forgetting to have it, maybe because they both wanted to avoid it. But nonetheless, it had arrived. 

"So," Hannah said, sitting on the bed.

"So," Neville closed his notebook and turned towards her. 

"I think we're ready," Hannah as casually as she could manage. "As ready as we can be, anyway."

"I'd be inclined to agree with you."

"But?"

"We're stable enough to have a child, but I don't want to leave you alone with the responsibility of taking care of a newborn," Neville took her hand. "I'm away for almost two-thirds of the year. It wouldn't be fair to you."

"So you want to wait?"

"I'm not sure what we'd be waiting for, dear."

Hannah gave him a look. "Do you…not want to have a child?"

"I--" Neville took a breath. "I'm not sure. I don't know if I'd be any kind of decent father."

"What are you talking about? You'd be wonderful! You're already great with kids."

"But they're not my own. What if--what if it's different when it's our own? What if I'd be more like my grandmother? Without even noticing? I don't even know what kind of father I had, how could I be a proper one?"

Hannah held his face, pressing her forehead against his. "You are not your grandmother, Neville. You're a wonderful man who's empathetic and patient and kind. You'd be a great dad because you'd never put your child through what you went through."

Neville released a breath. "What about what you were saying before? About Healer training? You sounded really excited about it."

"I can still do that," Hannah said, pulling away. "This isn't a decision we have to make immediately, we can wait until after. If we still want a child by then."

"We wait, then. See how we feel about it?" 

"Yes," Hannah leaned forward, kissing him. "Sounds like a plan."

Neville pulled Hannah to his side, holding her close. His chest felt lighter, but he worried. He was usually so good about giving Hannah the things she wanted. He wanted this to be one of those things. 

Not yet, my dear. But someday, I promise.

He kissed the top of her head as she curled into him, reassuring himself of that promise.

***

The years that Neville had spent as a professor had been many things. They had been an adjustment, a sacrifice, a compromise; they had been the most gratifying years of his life, his students being curious and odd and eager to learn new things. 

Some of them had graduated from Hogwarts but still kept in touch, writing to him about their progress and projects. 

Mr. Puckle had regretted not being able to have him as Head of House for longer. Ms. Coquelot told him of new developments in her linguistics projects, older vowel sounds that could give a spell the right push. Ms. Brown remained curious about their natural world and wrote him excited letters about what it was like to work with Rolf.

The students that were still under his tutelage showed great promise, even if it wasn't in the field of Herbology. Neville saw their potential and did his very best to help them develop it. 

Being responsible for the education of their next generation gave him hope. It gave him a new perspective. He knew the great people that the Wizarding World awaited. And he couldn't wait to meet the rest.