the boy who lived
THE darkest of nights have the brightest dawns. It's a quote Augusta Longbottom had never cared much for, thinking it to be only for the faint hearted and naive to think twice on. Being born into a proud family of the Sacred Twenty-eight, the elderly woman couldn't help but find the words a tad too optimistic to ponder so closely in a world as dark as there's. Yet, on the first morning of November, she couldn't help but sit on the parlour of her home and ponder such a phrase.
She was an older witch, having surpassed her late husband in life, with greying hair and thin skin slowly starting to wrinkle and crease along her lips and eyes. That being said her age did nothing to her mind, still praised by both men and woman within the Ministry of Magic as a quick witted witch. Often described with a tongue forged from silver, that cut deeper than any cutting curse. Augusta had not been married long when the darkest of days began to turn in the wizarding world— shortly after the birth of her first and only child did the darkness come to light at all. With her son now settled and with his own family in hiding, it seemed unnatural how quickly the darkness was forced from her sights. In just as little time it had arrived, it had disappeared— the supposed Dark Lord vanquished from a world once bright and carefree
She sat in a housecoat the colour teal, with her lap draped with a hand knit blanket pooling around her old and bony figure. The woman of such a proud and Noble House would normally never been seen outside her bed chambers so unpresentable yet she couldn't find it in herself to care about appearances at such a time. A house elf had brought her a tray of tea nearly an hour ago, made specifically to her liking yet it sat untouched at her right hand side. Next to the long since cold tea in a porcelain set of China, sat the letter that had her mind stirring with many anxieties that early morning.
With her only son in hiding, and her husband dead for many years now, Augusta was alone in her home. It was only through short letters with the former of her closest family did she ever feel the loneliness within her chest dissipate. Unlike all the previous letters from her beloved son Frank however, the letter she had received was not a happy one. Not one of her grandson saying his first words, or first laughs. Not one of her son getting a promotion or his wife buying yet another house plant.
Hours before he had written to her, his wife Alice and four months old son, Neville had been attacked by the darkness that shrouded most of the Wizarding World. Deatheater's is what they fancied themselves to be called, using dark spells and arts to achieve the most wickedest of things magic could do. The Longbottom family had always shied away from such dabblers, yet in a war of light and dark they had found themselves on the receiving end of such curses. It was by the mercy of Merlin and Magic itself that the three were alive at all. Augusta didn't know how to take the news of nearly becoming the last of her family name, and so she sat and pondered. Pondered of faint hearted and naive quotes while trying to come to terms with such horrible deeds happening in one night.
The torture of her son and his wife were nothing compared to the disaster struck within the Potter household however. The Cruiciatus Curse was nothing in comparison to its more horrid unforgivable counterparts, such as the killing curse. Pain was nothing in comparison to death, especially to such powerful and cherished members of the Wizarding World. Lily and James Potter had died not even three hours ago, leaving an orphaned boy not much younger than her grandson himself at the worlds mercy.
Hadrian James Potter— not even four months old and celebrated throughout all the Wizarding world as the-boy-who-lived, the one who killed the Dark Lord. Augusta exhaled through thin and unpainted lips, as she stared at the beginnings of daylight hitting the Longbottom Manors porch. The sight was truly a spectacle of hope after such a long time of hidden tragedies, with paled oranges, hues of pink and violet lighting up the horizon and once darkened skies. She watched the first lights of dawn with a painful smile, and a heavy heart. Perhaps just this once she could be optimistic to such a quote after all.
With the letter opened on the table next to her untouched porcelain cup, she pondered the contents in her cynical mind a good while longer. She knew that Alice and Frank were well and fine, as they recovered in the beds of St. Mungo's with their son Neville—the letters had stated that much at least. The deatheaters, loyal followers of the now vanquished Dark Lord, had definitely left their mark on her remaining family but nothing that a few days in the Wizarding Hospital couldn't fix. The terror of what could have happened will likely never fade, but their was little Augusta could do with horrible actions of the past.
Instead of her grandson, and his parents plaguing her mind as they laid in white cots and received many spells and potions to combat the effects of the pain inducing curse, Augusta thought of Hadrian. She had never met the boy herself, as she had never been close with the Potter family, but her son had been in James Potter's house at Hogwarts in the year above. Frank had spoken nothing but praise for the young boy's now deceased father and for that reason Augusta pitied young Hadrian.
He wasn't even a year old and already he was subjected to the cruelty of the world, with no home and no parents. No magical living family at all, with Euphemia and Fleamont having passed not even half a year prior. If the gossiping and rumours was to be true, Hadrian was protected by his mother's love and sacrifice— the magic that ended the Dark Lord once and for all. At a price of course, as magic always had one.
Augusta sincerely hoped that Albus Dumbledore knew what he was doing when tasked as his magical guardian for the time being. With the boy's godfather, Sirius Black labelled a traitor to the Order and likewise for the Potter's, he had no one left to care for him. Perhaps, Dumbledore would care for the boy himself but Augusta hardly doubted such a thing would happen. Albus was many things but a parent was not one of them. She had known him all her life, having grown up playing gobstones together in Godric's Hallow. It was almost ironic how a man who didn't even remotely like children ended up the Headmaster of a proud and distinguished school such as Hogwarts.
That being said, she feared for what would become of the boy. Hadrian Potter was not going to be an ordinary wizard, no, even she was not so naive to hope for such a thing. If Albus truly wanted what's best for the boy he would keep the child out of the spotlight, but not ignorant to their way of life. Magic had it's own culture, it's own rules of right and wrong. Should the Headmaster be so foolish as to overlook his lineage to an Ancient and Noble House it would only spell trouble for them all later in life.
Augusta, in the one meeting she had with the late Lily Potter, knew her to have a muggle sister— a horrible one at that. Though the auburn haired girl hadn't given many details, Augusta knew from simply the way she spoke of her elder sibling that it was not a loving relationship between the two. With the blood magic that Lily Potter evoked in her last moments, Augusta would assume Albus to try and station the young child with his last living relatives in the safety of blood wards.
The saviour of the Wizarding World stationed with magic hating Muggles, oh what a horrible thought and truth it was.
She huffed out a low breath as her fingers pulled and plucked at the knitted blanket on top of her lap. She didn't know Euphemia and Fleamont well but she knew them enough that they would never condone such a thing. They may not follow the old and traditional practices of being a pureblood, with betrothals and celebrations like Sabbath and Yule, but they would never allow their grandchild to not know magic. Even on the rare and off chance that he was born a squib, the now deceased Potter Matriarch and Patriarchs would refuse the boy to live in a house absent of magic.
Augusta admittedly wasn't as traditional with her practices in the Sacred Twenty-eight as some but even she couldn't allow such a disgrace to fall on the Potter name, in respect to Euphemia and Fleamont. Should Hadrian grow up in a world without magic who was to say he wouldn't grow into darkness and spite for their world like so many? They had just purged the world of the darkness that clung so heavily to their world, and it seemed idiotic to let it fall once more. So with a belated sigh and a plan forming rapidly through her clever mind, the Head of the Longbottom mantle called for her house elf to bring her a ink bottle, quill and parchment.
With a swift snap she took the contents from her personal house elf and began to draft a letter, one to which she knew Albus couldn't afford to refuse. The man may have been be dressed in red and gold like herself many years ago, but he was as power hungry and manipulative as the snakes he so despised. A true snake dressed in a lions clothes, though it only made sense with the company he kept when he was a child. All Augusta could hope was that Alice and Frank would understand her reasoning behind her blatant blackmail of such an established man, they had often placed him on a pedestal he did not deserve. Besides, they had told her not even three months ago that they wished to give Neville a sibling anyway.
She wrote in practiced calligraphy, carefully wording each and every phrase in black ink. There could be no loopholes to bargain or ponder— especially for a man like him. She was of a Noble and Ancient House and held many alliances of support that even Dumbledore could not hope to make his enemies. Augusta Longbottom stated her offer, written as a prettily wrapped warning that should he refuse that he would be loosing much backing in the coming days— both political and financial. Perhaps the Sorting Hat had been correct when saying she would do well in the house of snakes.
As the ink dried, and she signed off with her usual flourish, she had the parchment quickly placed in an enchanted envelope and sealed with the Longbottom familial crest. She had her house elf send it off at once with the family owl and released a sigh she didn't know she was holding as she watched the elf scurry away. It was for the first time in many years that the matriarch of house Longbottom truly felt her age, with the sense of worry filling her abdomen. She prayed for a reply to return swiftly, as the eagle owl was seen flying off in the distance, but she knew better than to hold her breath for such an event.
If worst came to worse, and Hadrian was placed with Muggles she could always gently persuade her son to take the man to court. She was out of practice with lawyers but not in politics or in blackmailing blood purist old men. If Albus truly wanted to keep Hadrian Potter oblivious and outcasted until he was eleven he would have to fight off the entire Wizengamot once she entered the courtroom.
'Labor Omnia Vincit' as her husband often told her in the beginnings of their marriage—, hard work conquers all. Augusta was not going to back down or give up should the man refuse her requests. She was placed in Gryffindor house for her determination, not her bravery after all, and she was nothing if not stubborn and set in her ways.
With the owl now out of sight, and her tea long since cold, Augusta let a small smile grace her thin lips as she raised her cup ever so slightly in the air.
"To Hadrian Potter," she hushed in a toast like all the other wizards and witches in the world praising his name on that terrible and tragic day, "–the boy who lived."