Neville Longbottom
24 August, 1994
Wednesday
Harry stopped in at the embassy, receiving a pile of mail. The letter from Hermione was fairly bland, and the high point was that she was going to the Quidditch World Cup with the Weaselys.
A letter from Dumbledore in his role as Supreme Mugwump informed Harry that he would be setting up the official acceptance of Yamatai in the ICW, and to expect to present his case to them sometime in December. A second letter, in his role as Headmaster, told Harry that Dumbledore understood his current circumstances, and that he was pleased to hear that Harry was keeping up on his education. He also included an international order form for Harry's textbooks.
A combined letter from Sam and Lara let him know that the entire surviving crew of the Endurance had received therapy as part of the employment contract, and everyone was doing well. Lara's letter included the fact that she was taking up official management of the Croft Estate, something that her uncle Atlas DeMornay was against. Sam's portion let him know that everyone was pretty happy with matters, as well as their pay, and that she and Lara had moved back into their flat in London. Also, they were attending the Quidditch World Cup with Bill Weasely, and after they'd be going to Gringotts for the Heritage Testing.
Lastly was the letter from Neville.
Dear Harry,
Hopefully you're doing okay. Dobby filled me on on some of what's been going on with you, and it sounds rough. Hopefully you're doing better than me.
As for me, rough times, mate. Thanks for sending Healer Morgan around. Gran wasn't happy to see her, didn't want to hear her out. I ended up meeting with her later. I... had to do some stuff to get things done. But I got my parents back!
Boy, are they angry. But that's not something I want to put in a letter. You and I really need to sit down and talk when you get back. Or over the 'phone' thing that Dobby has.
Write soon, mate. I have a long list of crap to deal with.
Always,
Neville
Harry reread that very short missive, wondering just what the hell was going on with his god-brother that he couldn't put in a letter.
-----
7 July, 1994
Longbottom Estate, Blackpool
Neville wandered into the house after working most of the morning on a new variant of a weed killer potion. He stunk of fumes, but at least he hadn't been knee deep in fertilizer again.
Hearing his grandmother's angry shouts, Neville gripped his wand and strode forward, only to see a slight, tiny woman emerge from the study. She was devastatingly attractive, but Neville felt just a little frisson of fear at her presence.
"Excuse me, miss?" Neville called out, pausing the woman's motion towards the main door. "Who are you?"
"Healer Djhara Morgan," she replied cooly, just a trace of irritation in her voice. "My patient Harry Potter sent me here to examine Frank and Alice Longbottom's case."
"And Gran was shouting, why?"
"Because," she replied, her amethyst eyes glittering dangerously, "apparently savage muggle medicine could never be a match for 'the very finest that St. Mungo's can offer. Your grandmother was quite upset that I had dared offer an alternative means of treatment, or at least a fresh analysis."
"That doesn't make any sense," Neville murmured. "But if Harry sent you, you must be qualified to do something."
"I am registered as a General Healer, whereas my husband specializes in cases involving the nerves and brain."
"That... the hell?" Neville frowned out. "That would be the perfect thing!"
"At any rate," she calmly stated, "I was bade to leave the property. Here is my card; please notify me if there is a change of heart."
Morgan fairly hovered (angrily) out, and Neville could not help but notice her grace in motion. Then he went to his gran's study.
"Gran, what was that all about?"
Augusta's head snapped up, anger still on her face. "That jumped up healer tried to claim that St. Mungo's might not be doing everything in their power for your parents," she ground out. "That 'new muggle methods' could assist where magic couldn't. Bah! As if the muggles could do anything that magicals can't!"
"But... if there's a chance that something new could be found, shouldn't we at least look into it?" Neville asked in confusion.
"Enough!" Augusta barked out, slashing her hand to the side. "I won't hear it, Neville! St. Mungo's is exactly where Frank and Alice need to be!"
"Alright, Gran," Neville said soothingly. "You made your decision, and that's fine. And she left."
"At least she could do that," Augusta grumbled.
Neville left the study, his mind whirling. The conversation he'd had with Harry bothered him more than he'd knew at the time, and Neville working with Dobby over estate management had been exposing him to all manner of new concepts. Like stereo systems, television, and electronic calculators.
Looking at the card, he saw that it read:
Djhara Morgan, PhD
Healer, Medical Doctor
Below that was a series of telephone numbers, two in another country, and one in Britain. Going to his room, he sent an owl to Dobby. Dobby popped in ten minutes later, and Neville asked, "Dobby, what do you know about Healer Morgan?"
Dobby's head tilted before he said, "Healer Morgan is scary as anything, but a great healer. Dobby remembers hearing of an accident at the bank, and she tended to them all perfectly. Other healers were too scared to get in her way after she threw one out bodily when he tried something with one of her patients. She is also the healer for the Great Harry Potter Sir, and made a potion to heal old injuries."
"Right, that makes sense," Neville stated. "The reason I ask is because Harry sent her here to get permission to look at my parents."
Dobby's ears flapped as he nodded. "Oh, yes. Healer Morgan is amazing at unconventional treatments. Dobby met her husband once. A very nice, kind man. Dobby wonders how the two came together."
Considering all of this, Neville came to a decision. "Dobby, would you mind if I used your phone to call her? I think I have part of a plan, but I'll need to talk with her first."
"Certainly sir! Dobby can pop you to the townhouse."
A few minutes later, Neville was sitting in the kitchen of Harry's house, staring at the device on the wall in abject confusion. Dobby sighed, and then dialed the number.
"Fulsom residence," came the cool voice over the receiver.
"Hello, I'm Neville Longbottom. I was hoping to speak with Healer Morgan?"
There was a pause before, "I see. I am Healer Morgan. I go by my maiden name when working. How might I assist you, Mr. Longbottom?"
"I wanted to know what your plan for my parents' treatment was."
"First, I would need permission to go through their current medical records. After that, I would take them to a local hospital for a... hm. Basically, a scan of their brains to see if there's a physical cause for their current state. That is as much of a plan as I can possess, given the lack of information on their conditions. But without Dame Longbottom's permission, I can do nothing."
"And if someone else was in charge of the house?"
"Then they could grant legal permission."
"Alright, got it," Neville replied. "Let me see what I can do, and I'll call you back with what I can find."
"Understood, Mr. Longbottom. Please be aware; I sense that there are deep undercurrents happening here. This may well become very dangerous for you."
Neville blinked at that. "I see. Thank you for the warning, ma'am."
An hour later, Neville stood before a set of double doors deep beneath Longbottom Manor. Made of ancient wood recovered from the ancestral longships (the Longbottoms were among the clans that had raided the Monastery of Lindisfarne in the Eighth Century), banded in ancient steel from reforged blades, the doors were massive, forbidding things to a fourteen year old boy.
Calming his breath, Neville threw open the doors and entered the Seat of Power of the Longbottom Clan for the first time. The doors boomed closed behind him.
Four hours later, Neville staggered out. Blood covered the left half of his face, and his right leg didn't seem to work entirely correctly. But he held a sword in one hand, a shield in the other, and a large medallion of beaten gold set with a bone in the center hung on his chest.
Slumping against the wall, he called for Dobby to take him back to the townhouse.
Dobby was in the middle of resetting Neville's leg as he asked, "What happened, sir?"
"Worthiness battle," Neville admitted as he washed the blood off his face with a burst of water from his wand. "I had to prove to my ancient Viking magics that I was worthy. But I got it," he continued, tired but proud as he held up the medallion. "Gold looted from Byzantium, a chain made of silver looted from Santiago de Compostela, all set with the knuckle bone of St. Cuthbert. The Longbottom Symbol of Headship."
"Excellent work, sir," Dobby commented as he lashed a pair of broken table legs to the sides of Neville's leg. "Sir, why did you ask Dobby to help? Why not one of your house elves?"
"Because," Neville replied with a grunt as he adjusted his leg, "they'd grass me out to Gran. I didn't need her coming down and interfering. Now I need to hit the Ministry to get the Regency changed."
"No sir," Dobby replied, frowning. "First you bes calling Healer Morgan for your leg and head. Then you floo to Ministry."
Neville sighed, his leg's pain down to a hefty throb. "Right, right. Would you please get her here? I don't think I can make it to the phone."
The next day, Augusta Longbottom was frowning. Neville hadn't come home the night before, and none of the elves knew where he was. The house felt off to her, almost like it wasn't quite her home anymore. Nothing made any sense, and she was getting annoyed. And going to a meeting of the Wizengamot while annoyed was never a healthy proposition.
The floo alert went off, so she groaned as she got herself to her feet. There, stepping out of the fireplace, was her grandson. He was dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt with heavy boots, the ancient (and original) Sword of Saints Cosmas and Damian on his belt, and the Medallion of The Conquerer on his chest. He limped slightly, as if he'd just had his leg healed.
"Neville, what is the meaning of this?" Augusta asked in a dangerous tone.
"Augusta Longbottom," Neville intoned officially, "you are hereby removed as Regent of the Ancient House of Longbottom. I have taken up the mantle as Head."
Her eyes grew wide at that. "Neville, no!" she whispered. "You're too young! You can't-"
"Already did, Gran," Neville interrupted. "I already got the House Magics yesterday, and the paperwork at the Ministry is all filled out. And Healer Morgan is at St. Mungo's now to see to my parents."
"Foolish boy," Augusta snarled out. "You have no idea of what's out there! Of what I've done to keep us safe!"
Neville frowned at that. "What do you mean by that, Gran?"
"Bah. You'll find out soon enough, grandson," Augusta snarled as she turned to leave.
Only to be stopped by a firm hand on her shoulder. "You Will Tell Me Now," Neville stated, the House Magics resonating in his voice.
Shuddering, Augusta found that she couldn't resist the compulsion. "Your father was too weak to handle the house, and your mother was worse. They were great in the Auror Corps, but they were completely incapable of handling the house affairs. It came down to me to keep us going, Neville. And now you'll have to handle the waters of politics. They will eat you, grandson."
Neville let go of her shoulder, saying, "I see. We'll revisit this later, Gran."
-----
Two days later, the staff at St. Mungo's stared at the very angry asian woman who had finished going through the medical files of the Longbottoms. The air around her fairly crackled with heavy electricity as she turned to the Chief Healer. "Is this all of it?" she demanded.
"It is," Chief Healer Dunbury replied, steel in his voice.
"So let me see if I have this correct," Morgan began, menace lacing her voice, "since their admittance, you have done little more than feed them nutrient potions. In the first month, I can see that several methods of stimulation were used, but nothing after that."
"That was before I was Chief Healer, but it sounds about right. My specialty is respiratory illnesses, so the treatment came down to the specialists in the Janus Thickey Ward."
"Deplorable," Morgan spat. Then she pulled out paperwork, saying, "I am now their personal physician, in accordance with the Head of the House of Longbottom. I will have a vehicle waiting outside. You will bring them there on gurneys."
"How can you expect me to just let you take our patients?" Dunbury demanded.
"Because," Morgan began, having nearly teleported directly in front of the man as she pulled herself up to his eye level by his lapel, "if you do not, I will demand that the International Healer's Guild come in and perform a systematic audit! By the time they are done, you won't be qualified to pick nits out of a homeless man's beard! I will destroy your reputation, your credentials, and your life. Now do as I tell you!" she ended, dropping to the floor as Dunbury massaged his lightly scorched collar bone.
An hour later, the van driven by Djhara pulled up to a small clinic on the outskirts of London. A slender, swarthy man came out, giving her a loving hug. "How'd it go?"
Djhara sighed as she snuggled into her husband's embrace. "Hidebound bastards, all of them. But I have the Longbottoms, and their wands. Young Neville was kind enough to retrieve them for us."
"Glad to hear it," Fred Fulsom replied, rubbing his wife's back. "That magical link will be useful. Did you help him get a new wand?"
"Of course. After I patched him up, I took him to the wand store personally. He will repay me for the money later. For now, help me get them inside."
Two hours later, Fred was waving his hands over the now unconscious married couple as a screen lit up with the results of the magical MRI. "Huh. No outright nerve damage, but the dopamine transmitters aren't working right. Lizard brain functions are normal, higher functions are... Now that's odd. It's like they're dreaming. I'm reading elevated levels of brainwaves consistent with REM sleep."
"A permanent dream state?" Djhara asked, taking blood samples.
"Maybe," Fred hedged out. "Like I said, the dopamine transmitters aren't receiving right. Extended Cruciatus exposure shouldn't cause this."
"Odd. What do you think should be done?"
"I'm not sure yet," Fred admitted, leaning back as he considered the pair. "I mean, they shouldn't even be in this state with the level of unconsciousness we induced. They should be as close to brain flat-lined as can be done without damaging them."
"Hm. Test their magical flows," Djhara recommended. "I'll get the blood work done while you do that."
Fred waved his hands once more, as more data flowed across the screen. "Enhanced magical flows on a subconscious level," he murmured. "Flows consistent with brain wave fluctuations. Internal organs all functioning at higher levels than expected for decade-plus coma patients. Wait..."
Fred turned, snatching up the two wands. Slipping the wands into the hands of the Longbottoms, he watched as the hands gripped them firmly, even in a comatose state.
"Gloom Cookie?" Fred called out to Djhara. "I got a theory." Djhara stepped into the room as Fred said, "It looks like their brain state is linked to their magical flow. My best guess is that it's a self-sustaining spell linked directly to their magic causing this."
"I see," Djhara replied, casting her own spells from her rod. "Seems to bear out." Djhara chewed on her lips for a few moments before saying, "So to break the pattern, we need to temporarily halt their flow of magic."
"Or we find the breakage point," Fred pointed out. "If we can find the edge of where their magic feeds the spell, we should be able to shunt off the power feed."
Six hours (and a great deal of swearing in several demonic tongues by Djhara) later, and Fred released the Longbottoms from the magically induced coma.
Alice was the first to flutter her eyes open. "Mm. Where-" she asked,m her voice hoarse from disuse.
"Steady, Mrs. Longbottom," Djhara said in a soft voice. "You and your husband have been asleep for quite some time. Take a moment, let yourself get used to being awake again."
"Argh," she whispered, slowly sitting up. "D-death eaters. Where is my son?" she scratchily demanded.
"He's most likely at home," Djhara soothed out. "Neville is safe."
"Good, good," Alice replied, her voice slowly gaining strength. "And Frank?"
"To your right. We expect him to wake soon."
As if on cue, Frank's eyes fluttered open. Moving fast, he almost instantly hauled himself off the bed, trying to tuck into a roll that ended with him face-down on the floor. Fred leaned down, asking, "You okay, buddy?"
"Ow," came the mumbled response. Slowly, Frank rolled himself over, looking up into the brown eyes of Fred. "Who are you, where am I, and where's my son?"
"Doctor Fred Fulsom, you and your wife are in a clinic run by a friend of my wife's, and your son should be at home right now."
Blinking rapidly, Frank's left hand grasped at his chest. When his closed hand came up empty, he raspily snarled, "And what retard took my House from me?"
14 July, 1994
Djhara had finally cleared the Longbottoms for release. Of course, the two were quite the handful. Alice wanted to go to her son immediately, especially after she learned that they'd been in a coma for more than a decade. Frank, on the other hand, was positively livid that Neville had taken up the Headship (Frank kept using the word 'Stolen'), and kept demanding to see Augusta.
Djhara finally drove them to Diagon Alley, where she flood them to Longbottom Manor.
Frank strode out of the fireplace first, shouting, "Mum! Where are you?!"
"I am here, Frank," Augusta spoke, shuffling into the room with her cane. Frank stared at how old his mother looked, the fact of the decade-long coma finally sinking in.
"Mum, what's happened? How did Neville get the Headship?"
Augusta sighed as Alice came through the floo and immediately headed up the stairs. "That Healer, Morgan was here. Apparently Neville heard me shouting for her to leave, and got curious. A little while later, he underwent the challenge in the catacombs. I didn't learn of it until the next day.
"Now he has total Headship. The property wards are his, the elves answer to him, the Gringotts accounts are all in his name. And it's all legal, Frank."
"And why did it take so long to get qualified medical people to look at Alice and me?" Frank asked darkly.
"That shouldn't concern you, Frank. You and Alice were being cared for at St. Mungo's. Everyone know that they have the best medical care."
"And yet it took two independents a day to wake us up," Frank spat out. Then he slumped, asking, "What the bloody hell is happening, Mum?"
"The short answer? We are now reliant on a boy who isn't even fourteen. He bypassed us both, and is now in charge. And there's not a damn thing we can do about it."
"Damn. And since he passed the old challenge, rather than having the Headship passed to him by me, there's no way to change it."
Meanwhile, Alice was upstairs, hugging her son and crying tears of joy over how well he'd grown.
"Gran and I visited you two several times a year," Neville admitted, finally having gotten his mother to sit down. "But there was never any change in your condition. Then Harry sent Healer Morgan here, and Gran refused her. So I did what I had to do, and now I have my parents."
"Who is Harry?"
"Harry Potter. He and I are dorm-mates at school. Gran finally let me tell him that we're god-brothers."
Alice frowned at that admission. "Tell me everything about that, son."
Two hours later, Frank finally made his way upstairs, his gait unsteady as his legs looked like they could barely support him. He'd tried to make the challenge for Headship in the catacombs, but was beaten with clubs and openly mocked for his mental weakness by the spirits of his ancestors.
"Dad?" Neville asked, coming out of one of the bedrooms. "What happened to you?"
"Don't wanna talk about it," Frank grumbled out. "So, congratulations, Neville. You're the Head of House. What do you have to say?"
Neville blinked at the oddity of the question. "Welcome home?"
Frank sighed, shaking his head as he slowly hit the floor, his aching legs no longer able to support him. "You don't understand, Neville. Nobody will take you seriously. Nobody will want to do business with you. You'll run this great house into the ground, and there's nothing we can do to stop that."
"Really?" Neville asked incredulously. "You mean, apart from the fact that I took the Headship because thatwas the only way to help you? Because Gran certainly wasn't doing anything. And now I have to go through the records to figure out why so little was being done for you.
"As for me 'running this house into the ground'," Nevile spat out, "it wasn't like you were in much of a position to do anything. Hell, Dumbledore didn't do anything, and wasn't he your leader during the war? So that's two people that should have been moving Heaven and Earth to diagnose you and mum. Instead, I had to step up.
"So, Dad," Neville wrapped up as he turned away, "maybe you need to count the good things that you have instead of whinging like a toddler who isn't getting a second slice of cake."