Albus Dumbledore strolled through the Ministry of Magic without a care in the world after his impromptu meeting with Amelia Bones. It had been with some surprise that he had received an informal letter from her during breakfast that morning, sent in her capacity as a friend, and he had almost swallowed his fork upon learning that Hagrid was suspected of attempting to smuggle a Quintaped onto mainland Scotland from the Isle of Drear the previous week.

Which was ridiculous, of course. Hagrid may be a bit eccentric as far as his taste in pets was concerned, but even he wasn’t gullible enough to believe a Hairy McBoon could be domesticated; a fact which the headmaster had successfully impressed upon the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Amelia had been both pleased to hear that and rather irked too - for it meant the real culprit was still at large and still keen on his or her foolish endeavour.

As much as the genial wizard was sorry to cause her distress, he was rather relieved to have averted disaster from his loyal friend. Hagrid was very proud of his position at Hogwarts and would never do anything to jeopardise it, least of all introduce a flesh-eating spider into the immediate surroundings (he refused to allow his thoughts to dwell on Aragog and his numerous offspring). As it was, his gamekeeper had been at Hogwarts all summer, trying to cross a Manticore and a Fire-crab...

With the matter disposed of and no busy school to get back to thanks to the summer holidays, the very relieved headmaster decided to take a little jaunt to Muggle London and see if he couldn’t stock up on his dwindling supply of sherbet lemons. The prospect of an illicit visit to the little newsagent’s at the corner of Barnaby Street in his smart Muggle clothes (a purple velvet suit paired with a bright yellow pyjama shirt and a pair of spats) for an entire five pound jar of his favourite treat always had the power to make him smile. And Mrs Banerjee was always so happy to see him (usually because he left with several jars, though the old woman was ever curious as to how he managed to fit twenty pounds worth of dental destruction into his deceptively small carrier bag).

He strolled towards the elevator and pressed the button to call it to him, waiting patiently as the jangling and clattering racket which followed heralded the arrival of the lift. The golden grille slid back and he stepped inside with a smile and a nod at the various people within. Three men had their heads bowed in a whispered conversation; an old woman at the side was attempting to quieten a barking kneazle she held, something which had captured the fascinated gaze of a little boy at the rear who stood beside a man in a luminous green cloak; a young lady in blue had her nose stuck in a copy of Witch Weekly and was sighing dreamily, no doubt at the article about Gilderoy Lockhart, whose pearly white grin graced its cover. Two Aurors hurried in behind the headmaster and soon the lift was full to capacity.

Some present acknowledged him with a friendly ‘Afternoon, Professor Dumbledore’, while others stared blankly ahead, arms full of documents, impatiently waiting for the grille to slam shut so they could continue on their journeys. A few violet Interdepartmental Memos zoomed inside the elevator before their wishes were fulfilled and they floated above the occupants‘ heads as the rattling of a chain announced the lift‘s departure.

A few minutes later, it rattled to a halt at its next stop and an unseen voice from the ceiling announced their location.

“Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.”

A few memos whizzed out and Dumbledore moved aside to let two men and the lady with the extraordinary pet exit also. A very skinny woman wearing an enormous pink hat entered in their stead, flashing a toothy smile before both she and her hat commanded the entire space that the three former passengers had so recently vacated.

“Lovely day today, isn’t it?” she asked in a high-pitched, nasal voice of the little company in general, as the grille clattered shut and the elevator rattled into motion again. A few people scowled at her, unhappy at being forced into the corners by her impressive millinery. But Dumbledore, ever the gentleman, answered politely.

“Indeed it is. A very fine day. Just the right sort of weather for a nice stroll or a spot of jogging.”

Not that he ever went jogging, of course.

The woman’s smile slipped. “Are you calling me fat?”

There was a cough from behind as he gazed at the woman in surprise.

“I don’t believe I said anything of the kind. I merely suggested the weather was amenable to a little light activity.”

The woman’s face flushed and began to take on the exact colour of her pink hat.

“So you are calling me fat!”

“Madam, that is preposterous.”

“You sound just like my husband! If it's so preposterous, then why did you automatically suggest sporting activities as soon as you clapped eyes on me, hmm?” she demanded, glowering at the Supreme Mugwump in irritation.

He sighed, feeling a pang of sympathy for the neurotic woman's unknown spouse. “I assure you that I have never clapped eyes on you at any point in my life,” he replied calmly. “As a matter of fact, I have never clapped eyes on anyone in the whole course of my life. I may have laid eyes upon several people, but I usually reserve the clapping for my hands. Though, now that I think about it, I have never clapped hands on anyone either. I may have laid them upon a few people, but I usually reserve the actual clapping for when I’m when watching a nice game of Quidditch...do you see a pattern emerging, madam?”

There was a distinct chuckle from the other side of the elevator and the pink lady turned fuchsia. “Well, I never! How rude you are!”

Dumbledore sighed again. What a great pity that some people were so terribly insecure and quick to take offence. And she had seemed like such a chirpy, pleasant woman when she boarded the elevator in the first place.

“Then allow me to apologise for whatever slight you imagine I may have caused you,” he said in a conciliatory manner.

“Oh, so now you’re suggesting that I’m imagining things, are you? That I’m bonkers? Barking mad? Drooling at the chin? Completely insane?”

Several people muffled sniggers at her deliberate attempts to provoke him, but a sudden sharp intake of breath behind him indicated that her final words had not been amusing to all of them.

“You shouldn‘t...you shouldn’t say things like that!” stammered the indignant voice of a third party.

Dumbledore turned his head to get a better view of its owner, but the enormous hat of his bizarrely disgruntled companion made it quite difficult to do so, leaving him no choice but to abandon the attempt.

“I beg your pardon?” demanded the pink lady in affront.

“He never...never said you were making things up. He only said it was a nice day to...to go outside.”

At that, the pink lady (who was now scarlet) swivelled her head to glare at the second offender and her new position removed the majority of her millinery from his field of vision, giving him a better view of the voice’s owner.

It was the little boy. The brown-haired child was slightly overweight, round-faced, and his eyes glistened moistly as he stared in accusation at the headmaster’s interrogator.

The pink lady was glowering at him in affront. “That is no way to speak to your elders, little boy!” she chided, waggling a finger at him in remonstration. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners? Have you no respect?”

At first, it did not appear as if the child would reply. His little face tightened and he swallowed, but then, very softly, he did.

“Mum’s...sick,” he said. “But Gran says respect is earned; not served up like a black pudding to anyone who asks for it.”

All eyes swung to the skinny woman to see how she would respond. A few glowered at her in disapproval for causing the child distress and she shifted uncomfortably. Only Dumbledore was ignoring her, far too busy watching the boy carefully and wondering why he seemed so familiar. The child, imagining a reprimand in the look, flushed and looked away.

But the pink lady, who was very flustered at becoming the target of her fellow travellers‘ disdain, focussed on the green-caped man standing beside the youth.

“Can’t you keep the boy in check? What sort of a father are you, allowing him to speak to his elders in that manner?” she demanded in her reedy voice.

“’E’s not wiv me, love. ‘E was ‘ere when I got on the lift,” replied the man nonchalantly, too busy gazing at her ridiculous hat to be bothered by her tone and leaving her to glare once more at the boy.

“Where is your father then, hmm? Is he with you? Or does he always allow you to wander government buildings on your own?”

As much as Dumbledore hated to admit it, it was an excellent question. The boy should not be wandering the Ministry alone, with no one to look out for him and no one to stand next to him with their hand on his shoulder, ready to defend him from the ghastly woman screeching at him.

All eyes swivelled once more to the youth and he bit his lip, looking suddenly lost and lonely.

“Well? Where is he?” demanded the pink lady.

“There is no call for you to use such a tone when speaking to the boy,” he remarked in disapproval, seeing the child‘s distress when he flinched at her tone.

But the woman merely snapped out a speedy retort.

“He is obviously here without parental supervision. For all we know, he could be a runaway...or a werewolf!”

She clutched at her flat chest theatrically and a look of feigned horror covered her face as she attempted to gain sympathy from the small crowd. One or two glanced at the boy in some alarm and sidled away from him, but her outrageous accusation made the headmaster frown.

“Then it would be a foolish thing indeed for him to run straight into the Ministry of Magic and allow himself to be captured, don’t you think?”

“Well, perhaps he’s running away from the Ministry. In which case, we should take him into custody, march him straight back up to Level Four and hand him in to the appropriate authorities before he rips us all to pieces!”

Her ridiculous comments were enough to spur the boy into communicating further. “I’m...I’m a boy, not a werewolf,” he mumbled, staring at the floor. “And even if I was: it’s the middle of the day.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled at the response and most of his fellow passengers chuckled (apart from the pink lady, who continued to glower).

“But you don’t deny you’re running away, I see!”

“I’m not running away! I’m waiting.”

“Waiting? Waiting for what?” enquired the odious woman.

Seven pairs of eyes watched the boy expectantly and he shuffled nervously on his feet.

“I...I can’t tell you.”

The pink lady huffed in annoyance and Dumbledore readied himself to intervene if she alarmed the child further.

“Whyever not?”

“’Cos I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” He raised his head and eyed the woman sceptically. “And you’re definitely stranger than anyone I’ve ever met. Apart from Great Uncle Algie. But I like him. He gave me Trevor.”

With that, the boy stuck his hands in his trouser pocket and pulled out an ugly brown toad, thrusting it in the woman’s direction. She gasped in disgust and stumbled backwards towards the grille just as the elevator jarred to a halt. The grille slid open and before Dumbledore could prevent it, she tumbled back through the opening and fell on her rear as the cool voice of the elevator announced their new location. A few people chortled in amusement, but the boy did not. Neither did the aged headmaster. Gallantly, he stepped forward and offered her his hand, but she batted it away in mortification and picked herself up, before dashing down the corridor of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.

“Sorry,” mumbled the boy as she fled. The grille slammed shut, cutting off his apology and the elevator rattled into motion once more. He stared guiltily at the headmaster, who had turned to face him again. “I didn’t mean for her to fall. I just wanted to show her Trevor. But now she’s probably angry at me. What if she didn’t even want to get off at this floor? She might get lost.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m sure someone will escort her back to the elevators if that is the case. Now, my boy; perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me what you’re waiting for in this most unusual of places?”

He smiled kindly at the child to put him at ease, while a protesting Trevor was shoved back into the trouser pocket.

But his champion had obviously decided he’d said enough, for he broke eye contact to stare silently at the floor. Dumbledore tried again.

“Won’t you even tell me your name?”

“Sorry. But I’m not really supposed to talk to strangers, sir.”

Not the positive response he had hoped for, but at least it was a start and he took full advantage of it.

“And that is very good advice. You should never talk to strangers - especially if those strangers have seen your impressive toad. What if they wish to have it for themselves? Which could happen, you know. Because it really is the finest toad I have ever seen.”

“Do you really think so?” the child asked, unable to stop himself from glancing suspiciously at their companions, as if he expected one of them to make a grab for his pet. A couple of people glared at the headmaster for making such an outrageous suggestion but he blithely ignored them.

“But, of course. However, you need not fear about that happening today. I will make quite certain that you and your toad are not parted.”

“You will?”

“Certainly. You have the word of Albus Dumbledore on that. So, now that you know my name, perhaps you will tell me yours? That way, I’ll know who I’m speaking with.”

The boy frowned. “But you’re speaking with me. Don‘t you know that?”

He smiled affably, eyes twinkling at the child from over his half-moon spectacles.

“That is quite correct. But you don’t want me to address you as ’you’ or ’boy’, do you? It‘s not very polite.”

“No, sir. I s’pose not,” the boy answered reluctantly. “Gran doesn’t like it when people aren’t polite. She might turn you into a toilet roll and flush you down the loo if she thinks you‘re being rude. She can do that, you know.”

Dumbledore (and everyone else) chuckled heartily at the mental image his words presented.

“Then I would be indebted to you for your assistance in preventing that dreadful fate from befalling me,” he replied after his chuckles had stopped. “A simple introduction will suffice to hold it at bay.”

“Well...alright then. I’m Neville.”

Neville. Suddenly, Dumbledore knew exactly who the boy was - and why the pink lady‘s words had raised his objections.

“Neville Longbottom, isn’t it?” he asked kindly. Neville nodded, emboldened by his friendly face.

“Gran talks about you sometimes,” he offered shyly. “She says that you’re the headmaster of Hogwarts and that, if I’m lucky, I might go there one day. She says other things about you too - nice things, though, don’t worry. Like for instance: she says you and Bathilda Bagshot make her feel really young - even though she’s really old. So that must be good.”

There was a snort of laughter from the man in the luminous green cape.

“And she says that you have all your own teeth, as well. Uncle Algie doesn’t. He had to get new ones after Mrs Barraclough from the Deli Belly Bakers caught him going through her shopping bag when she was delivering my birthday cake. I don’t think she meant to hit him on the mouth with that rolling pin. He just didn’t duck fast enough. When he got his new teeth, he told us he thought it was Aunty Enid’s shopping, and that he’d only been looking for a teabag. Gran didn’t like that, though. She was angry because she thought he was saying her tea wasn’t good enough. It’s Earl Grey. An Earl is a royal Muggle, so it should’ve been good enough for Uncle Algie. I think after he said that, that he wished he hadn‘t gotten new teeth for a bit longer, because Gran hexed his hair off and it hasn‘t grown back since.”

By this time, everyone in the elevator was laughing in earnest, which made Neville blush. He clamped his mouth shut and scuffled at the floor of the lift in embarrassment as it moved towards the next stop. Dumbledore himself was at a bit of a loss for words, having been so thoroughly caught off-guard by Neville’s innocent ramblings, but he rallied enough at the unintended slight to his (very great) age to smile kindly at the boy.

“Well, I am certainly happy to hear that your grandmother has such a high opinion of me,” he said and was pleased to see the corner of Neville’s mouth turn up in a little smile of its own. “But, tell me, is she here with you today? Have you perhaps been separated from her?”

“No, sir. It was Trevor that got separated from me,” explained Neville, so softly that Dumbledore had to strain his ears. “I had to run after him when he jumped out of my pocket.”

“And where did he jump out of your pocket?”

“When me and Uncle Algie were at the Leaky Cauldron. He jumped out and hopped after an old man that was coming here. I couldn‘t get him out of the fireplace in time, so...”

Neville glanced briefly at the headmaster in shame, then dropped his eyes once more.

“...so I took some Floo powder from the bowl and followed after him. I didn’t have any money to pay for it, though, because I’d spent my last Sickle on Gran’s birthday present. She’s having another birthday, too, you know. But I will pay for the powder, I promise. Just as soon as I get my pocket money next week. Gran gives me five Sickles every Friday for weeding the garden. Sometimes I buy a Pumpkin Pasty with them on Saturdays. Or maybe a box of Bertie Botts’ Every Flavour Beans - except I don’t buy them any more after I got one stuck up my nose. That was horrible. Gran had to pull it out with her tweezers. Then Uncle Algie said I should eat it anyway, ’cos there’s always a Bogey-flavoured one in every box and I’d never be able to tell the difference. But Gran got angry and made him eat it instead for being daft. He was sick all over the carpet. It stank for weeks.”

The young lady in blue had abandoned the charms of Gilderoy Lockhart and was shaking with mirth, along with the other passengers. The loud guffaws of so many strangers had the unfortunate effect of intimidating the boy into silence and he once more dropped his head to scuffle at the floor of the elevator. Dumbledore was having a difficult job containing his own laughter, but it wouldn’t do to alarm the poor child any further.

“So, your uncle is on his way to collect you, I expect?” he enquired gently. Neville shrugged. The headmaster frowned in concern. “Don’t you know?”

Neville raised his head. “Dunno. Maybe. He might not have seen me leave because he was having dinner with Mr Moody. He’s an Auror, you know. My parents used to be Aurors too, but they‘re not anymore.”

Indeed they were not. Barty Crouch Jnr and the Lestranges had taken care of that and Dumbledore would not be surprised if everyone there was aware of it. The Aurors certainly would be. He was dismayed to witness that Neville was suffering too because of their wickedness. The boy looked so despondent that the lady in blue tickled his cheek, which cheered the youth up enough to add:

“But we met Mr Moody on the way back home from St Mungo's and he invited us out for lunch, except he didn’t eat anything in case Tom was trying to poison him. Mr Moody’s a bit scary, actually.”

The Aurors nodded in simultaneous agreement, and one of them clapped the boy heartily on the back. “Old Moody is a bit...eccentric, but he means no harm, lad.”

Dumbledore couldn’t agree more. Thankful that the men hadn’t risked upsetting Neville further by enquiring after his parents, he was nevertheless very annoyed at Algernon for not spotting that the boy had disappeared - and extremely surprised that Alastor had not exhibited some of that ‘constant vigilance’ of his own that he was always preaching to others.

“Uncle Algie always says that if I get lost, I should stay where I am until he finds me. So I’m waiting for him here, ’cos this is where I found Trevor. Anyway, I forgot how to get back to the fireplaces,” he added sheepishly.

Ah. Of course. Algernon should be able to locate him with the Trace - whenever he stopped stuffing his face long enough to notice that his nephew was missing. Even as a boy, Neville’s uncle had been fond of his food and the headmaster was extremely vexed to know he had placed the comfort of his stomach above that of his young relative.

The elevator came to a jarring halt and the voice from the ceiling announced their arrival at the Atrium. Deciding it was best not to leave the boy alone any longer in the lift, he held out his hand and beckoned to him.

“Well, then, young Neville. What do you say to you and I taking a little trip to the tearoom to wait for your uncle, hmm? I’ll send him a little note to let him know where you are and who you’re with; that should bring him along shortly and I’ll be able to have a few words with him when he gets here. We may have a nice cup of hot chocolate while we‘re waiting.”

Neville once again reverted to staring at the floor, so Dumbledore waved his wand at the grille to stop it slamming shut and stepped towards the boy.

“You don’t want to stay in here all day, do you? It’s a very pleasant elevator, to be sure, but not very comfortable for more than two minutes at a time.”

He watched the child wavering in decision.

“You’re not afraid of a cup of hot chocolate, are you?“ he teased. “That would be most unusual, if you were, you know.”

“No, I’m not afraid of chocolate,“ Neville answered seriously. “I’ve just not got any money for the tearoom, Mr Dumbledore.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I think I can manage to stretch to a couple of cups of hot chocolate without breaking the vault - especially for someone brave enough to defend my honour,” he replied in reassurance. Neville blushed at the compliment and deliberated for a few seconds before deciding it was probably alright. He allowed the headmaster to guide him out of the elevator to the Atrium.

“Here, love!” said a voice from behind them, and they looked back just in time to see the woman in blue thrust a coin into Neville‘s hand. “I had more fun listening to you than I had reading my magazine. That’ll help pay for your Floo powder. Bye, now!“

She rushed off, leaving Neville to stare in wide-eyed wonder at the gleaming coin. It was a whole Galleon.

“Well, wasn’t that nice of the lady?” commented Dumbledore, smiling in approval at the retreating woman’s back as she headed for the fireplaces. His young companion was still too stunned to speak, so the headmaster guided him across the Atrium to Reception where he borrowed a quill and parchment and wrote a quick note to Algernon. The receptionist kindly agreed to have it despatched by post-owl at the earliest convenience and, thanking her politely, he led Neville passed the fountain and down the hall to the left, where the little tearoom buzzed with the activity of visitors and Ministry employees enjoying a break in their shifts.

“Why don’t we sit here?” he suggested, indicating an empty table near the counter. “I’ll just pop over to collect our beverages and then we can have a nice chat. You must promise to tell me more about yourself, though. No more tongue-tied scufflings at the floor, young Neville.”

Neville nodded solemnly at his smiling benefactor.

“Excellent. I shall return presently.”

He hadn’t expected an answer to that and was just about to walk the few short steps to the counter, when Neville surprised him.

“I can pay, sir. I could buy us both a hot chocolate now, after that nice lady gave me this.” He displayed the fat coin proudly. “There might even be enough left over to pay for the Floo powder too!”

Pleased at the generous nature of the boy, Dumbledore smiled broadly. “That’s very kind of you, but let this be my treat. After all, you did rescue me from the lady with the pink hat and who knows what may have happened if you had not.”

His eyes twinkled merrily as the boy imagined what wrath the pink lady may have visited upon him without his timely assistance.

“So, I’ll go and get us something hot to drink and you keep that coin to buy yourself a treat with later. Or you could use it to buy your grandmother a birthday card to go with the gift you already have for her. I‘m sure she would be delighted.”

The thought had clearly not occurred to his young guest and Neville’s eyes shone at the possibility, so he left him for a minute or two to contemplate it while he queued patiently for their drinks. Before long, he was back at the table with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of Ginger Newts.

“There you go. That should be enough to keep us happy until dinner time. Be careful with your mug, now. It is a little hot. As it would be, of course. After all, you never hear of anyone asking for a cold chocolate, do you?”

“S’pose not,” agreed Neville. “Do you think it would taste funny? Like a cup of liquid Chocolate Frogs? I like Chocolate Frogs, but I don‘t think I‘d want to drink them. Well, not cold, anyway. I prefer to eat them.”

Dumbledore chuckled, delighted that his little guest was feeling brave enough to chat amiably. He let him blow and sip carefully on his hot chocolate, which gave the headmaster a chance to study him. Several years had passed since he had seen the dark-haired child. It had been with great sadness that he had learned of the attack on Frank and Alice over six years ago. They were two of the finest people he had known and it was the greatest of cruelties for them to have suffered in such a manner while the rest of the Wizarding World was happily getting on with their lives after the fall of Voldemort.

And how ironic that the other possible Chosen One should now suffer their loss in the same way that Harry Potter suffered that of his own parents. Strictly speaking, Neville was not an orphan; but could there be anything worse than having parents who would never again recognise their own child for who he was? It was a sobering thought. Still, the boy seemed to bearing up remarkably well and Dumbledore smiled as the lad offered him a biscuit before helping himself to one.

“Thank you, Neville. What a well-mannered young man you are.”

Which was, no doubt, due to the influence of the formidable Augusta Longbottom. Dumbledore was probably one of the few people in Wizarding Britain that wasn’t intimidated by her (or her extremely alarming, vulture-ridden hat).

“Gran always says 'the measure of a decent person is the measure of their good manners',” Neville informed him in a voice that told the headmaster he’d heard it a few (hundred) times previously, before adding: “You must be a good person, then.”

“Really? And what draws you to that happy conclusion?”

“Well, you said sorry to that pink lady in the lift, even though she was the one being daft. You could have just jinxed her hat to stuff itself into her mouth for being rude to you, but you didn’t.”

“I must admit that the thought had not occurred to me,” Dumbledore said seriously. “But now that you have made the excellent suggestion, perhaps I’ll save it for future reference.”

He winked conspiratorially at Neville, who sniggered.

“No, you won’t. Don’t forget, she’s stuck on Level Three. Or is it Level Five? I can’t remember. That happens sometimes. I don’t know why. But I’m not stupid, no matter what Draco Malfoy said at that party last Christmas.”

“You went to Draco Malfoy‘s Christmas party?” asked the headmaster, surprised. He had heard from a reliable source (a highly amused Mad-Eye) that Augusta Longbottom would sooner run naked through the streets of Hogsmeade, than allow her grandchild to socialise with the hated relations of two of the people who had cursed her son beyond recovery.

Neville pulled a face. “No! Gran would rather run through the streets without clothes on, than send me to Malfoy Manor...”

Ah, so Moody was correct.

“...he just happened to be invited to the same party I was. He laughed and called me a Squib; said I was too stupid for Hogwarts. But Uncle Algie showed him.”

“Is that so? And how did your uncle do that?” enquired Dumbledore curiously.

“Well...”

Neville faltered, obviously wondering if he should elaborate and Dumbledore gave him an encouraging smile.

“...he hung me out the bedroom window last week to see if I was magical...”

Anger enveloped the headmaster at the alarming revelation, but he didn’t betray his ire to his companion in the event it discouraged him from explaining further.

“...but he accidentally dropped me. It was okay, though, because I went all rubbery and bounced down the street, so that means I’m a wizard. Gran was very pleased. Not with Uncle Algie, though. She told him that if he ever did that again, she would happily share a cell in Azkaban with Bellatrix Lestrange, just for the sati...satif...”

“Satisfaction?” suggested the older wizard.

“Yes! Just for the...satifacshun...of ‘seeing him into the afterlife‘. What does that mean?”

“I believe it means she would like him to take a very long nap.”

“Oh.” Neville looked at him dubiously. “It didn’t sound like that when she said it,” he mumbled in confusion.

Dumbledore didn’t doubt it for a second.

“Perhaps your grandmother was merely relieved that you were not harmed?”

Understanding dawned across the boy’s face. “Oh, right. You’re probably right, Mr Dumbledore. Anyway, Uncle Algie didn’t mean it.”

“Which part did he not mean - the dangling or the dropping?” he asked quietly.

“The dropping.”

So, the idiot thought it was perfectly acceptable to endanger a child’s life by trying to scare the magic out of him, did he? And had then been foolish enough to let him go? Dumbledore’s ire rose as he watched the youngest Longbottom sipping innocently at his hot chocolate. If Neville hadn’t had the very great fortune of ‘bouncing down the street’, the boy would be dead. What on earth had the man been thinking of? Was he so ashamed at the thought of having a Squib for a relative, that he would risk killing him with his foolish endeavours?

It was immeasurably selfish.

“I am very happy to hear that you survived your little adventure,” he said to Neville, who gave him a bashful smile.

“Me too. ’Cos when I saw Draco Malfoy the next day at Florean Fortescue’s and he called me a Squib again, I told him I wasn’t. Not that it would be bad if I was. I wouldn’t mind. But I wouldn’t like to disappoint Gran or Uncle Algie. They want me to go to Hogwarts like Mum and Dad did.”

“And I am sure you shall, young Neville. In fact, I very much look forward to seeing you there,” Dumbledore assured him with such sincerity, that the boy beamed.

“Gran will be happy. Of course, she might not like the fact that I’ll have to see Draco Malfoy again, but it’s a big school, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“That’s good. Then he can stay at one side of it and I’ll stay at the other.”

“Ah, but what will you do if you have to share a classroom with him? Young Mr Malfoy is the same age as yourself, after all, so it is not so very unlikely.”

Sipping at his hot chocolate, Dumbledore waited patiently to see how the boy would respond.

Neville looked horrified. “I didn’t think about that. I hope it’s a big classroom. But even if it’s not, I still don’t have to sit next to him, do I?”

“I would imagine that you may sit wherever you like.”

“Well, that’s okay, then. Gran will be relieved. She’s not very friendly with the Malfoys. Mr Malfoy called her a hag last year. He thought we didn’t hear him because we were leaving the shop, but Gran can hear anything. She once heard Mrs Malfoy saying her taste in hats was terrible, even though Mrs Malfoy was ten people behind us in the queue at Gringotts. She went up to her and told her that at least her taste in hats was much better than Mrs Malfoy’s taste in husbands. Maybe that’s why Mr Malfoy called her a hag. But Gran told him that a hag was better than a Death Eater. She said it really loud too, so that everyone in the shop heard. Mr Malfoy was not happy, but there wasn’t much he could do without making a scene. Which was lucky for him. Gran would’ve wiped the floor with him. At least, that‘s what Uncle Algie said, and he should know - she‘s done it to him a lot.”

Dumbledore threw back his head and laughed heartily at Neville’s youthful honesty and the sound of it drew the curious gazes of several people. All the attention made his little guest flush and the boy picked up his mug and took a long sip of his hot chocolate to keep his runaway mouth otherwise occupied.

When his laughter had abated somewhat, he gazed at the boy with furiously twinkling eyes. “You are a very entertaining young man, Neville Longbottom. When the kneazle hasn’t caught your tongue, of course. I think you must get that from your father. He was a very amiable man and always quick to make friends.”

That caught the boy’s attention. “Really? No one’s ever told me I’m like my Dad before.”

“Well, rest assured that you are.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s nice. Though, I don’t make friends very easily like my Dad did, because I never know what to say to them. Gran says it’s because I’m reversed, but I don’t know why she says that. I’m not back-to-front at all. I’m the right way round.”

“I think your grandmother means reserved. It means quiet and thoughtful.”

“Oh. That makes sense. I’m usually thinking about what I forgot, though - to see if I can remember it - so maybe that’s why she thinks I’m quiet. Anyway, it’s good to think about what you need to say before you speak, so that’s not a bad thing, is it? Uncle Algie came over for a visit one day and the wireless was on. Celestina Warbeck was singing and he told Gran that in real life, she looked like a goat in a dress. Which was daft, because Gran likes Celestina Warbeck and she made him scrub the toilet with a toothbrush as punishment - after I had just been in it. I wasn’t feeling very well that day, you see and I had to go to the loo a lot. Uncle Algie was very unhappy. He said it smelled really bad, but that wasn’t my fault. He shouldn’t have made me eat all those Cockroach Clusters before lunch. Gran said it would teach him to think before he spoke from then on. And it has.”

Amusement enveloped Dumbledore again and he chuckled merrily. He was thoroughly enjoying the boy’s company and Neville’s youthful ramblings were giving him a keen insight into his character and family life. Frank and Alice would be proud of the boy Augusta was raising. He may be a little lacking in confidence (which was unsurprising given his formidable grandmother and eccentric uncle), but he was honest and brave and very amiable, given the right circumstances.

Just as that thought passed through his mind, there was a loud, gruff call.

“Neville! Where’ve you been, lad? Why did you run off like that?”

The lad in question sighed in acceptance of his fate. “That’s Uncle Algie. He sounds cross.”

“I think perhaps he is merely vexed at himself for losing sight of you. But let us wait for him to join us and hear what his thoughts on the matter are, shall we?” said Dumbledore calmly, watching the harried entrance of a man in his sixties into the tearoom. Neville’s uncle wore a red fedora hat over his bald head and his tweed jacket was stretched dangerously across his ample stomach. The man made a bee line for their table and mopped at his streaming forehead in relief with a polka dot hankie as he came to a breathless halt.

“Well? Why did you run off like that, lad?” he demanded for a second time between gasps.

“Sorry, Uncle Algie. Trevor jumped into the Floo with an old man and I had to follow or I’d have lost him.”

“Good heavens, boy! Didn’t you think to come and fetch me? Do you know how worried I’ve been? Couldn’t find you anywhere, could I? Even Mad-Eye couldn’t see you. He had to clean his eye three times because he thought it might be going wonky on him! Lucky for you that owl showed up when it did, because he was just about to alert his old friends at the Auror Department to check for your Trace. Think what your Gran would have said to that!”

Neville was clearly guilt-ridden. His face was flushed and he had abandoned his mug as he once more mumbled his apologies. But Dumbledore had heard more than enough.

“I think, perhaps, that we may count ourselves fortunate in young Neville’s choice of destinations. Or perhaps I should say Trevor’s choice, as it was he your nephew followed. Don’t you think so, Algernon?” he enquired of his former student pleasantly.

Algernon was momentarily thrown by his even tone and stared at him in slight confusion, as if wondering who he was. “Oh, Albus, yes. Yes, of course. Thank you very much for keeping the young rascal in one place ‘til I got here. Yes, you’re right I suppose. At least he didn’t end up in Borgin and Burkes or some place like that. Still...”

The man rounded on his nephew.

“...you had no right to run off without saying anything. I was extremely worried about you!”

“Is that so, Algernon? And was that before or after you finished your lunch? You do realise that, viewed from a certain perspective, this could all be construed as your fault.”

Dumbledore’s voice was still pleasantly calm, but his eyes pierced the new arrival with an intensity that he knew would be remembered from the man’s long gone school days.

“My fault? How’s it my fault?” Neville’s uncle asked in confusion.

“Because logic dictates it to be so. Had you not bought young Neville a toad that possesses such a strong desire for liberty, he may not have had to follow it in its bid for freedom. And had you not dangled him out a window and dropped him from it like a Muggle beach ball, you would not have had to buy him the toad as recompense in the first place. Don’t you agree?”

The question may have been couched in all the pleasant affability that the Hogwarts' headmaster was famed for, but his innocent tone did not fool Algernon, who betrayed his shame by flushing and shuffling on the spot.

“Oh, you heard about that, did you?” he croaked, throwing Neville a betrayed glance. The boy squirmed in his seat.

“Quite by accident, I assure you. Neville, would you be so kind as to return our mugs to the lady at the counter? There‘s a good boy.”

Neville sprang out his seat, grabbed the mugs and dutifully carried them (as slowly as possible) to the counter a few metres away, glad to postpone the telling-off he would receive from his uncle for a few moments longer. Once he was out of earshot, Dumbledore rose and addressed the red-faced man.

“You may count yourself very lucky that Neville is so fond of you, Algernon. If it weren’t for his declaration of such in the elevator where I found him twenty minutes ago, I would happily have you arrested for endangering his life in such a reckless manner. I am very disappointed in you. I had not thought you to be so foolish. But rest assured, now that I do, I will make it my business to see that you do not act in such a way again. From now on, I expect you to treat him with all the respect that the son of Frank and Alice Longbottom deserves. I expect you to do this for their sakes, and for his. If you do not, then I will act with all the authority that the position of Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot affords me and have you barred from ever seeing him again. Do I make myself clear?”

It was not often that Albus Dumbledore flaunted any of his titles so ruthlessly, but he was far too angry at his former student to bother with modesty. And it worked. The bald wizard paled and gulped audibly.

“I will take that as a ’yes’. I know that you love your nephew and did not intend him any harm, but many is the foolish mistake that leads to tragic consequences. Please remember this the next time you feel the urge to dangle someone from a window.”

“Of course, Professor Dumbledore. You’re quite right. It was a stupid thing to do. I’ve no idea what came over me, I was just so worried that he might not be a wizard,” confessed the mortified man.

“There is no shame in that except your own, Algernon, for admitting in the first place that it is of such importance to you,” replied Dumbledore sadly. “Neville is a delightful child, regardless of his magical prowess.”

Algernon mopped his forehead again, which was beginning to glisten anew. “You’re right, of course. I know my nephew’s qualities better than most and it shouldn’t have made a difference either way. But it did, and I’m sorry for it. I can’t change the past, but I can promise to be the uncle he needs in the future.”

“Then that is as much as anyone can expect, I think,” the headmaster said, lightening the mood with a smile.

“Uncle Algie, is everything alright?”

The two men turned to see the worried face of Neville staring at his uncle in concern.

“Yes, my lad, everything is ’simply wizard’, as our Muggle friends would say,” replied the portly wizard, and the genuine affection in his voice made Dumbledore's smile widen.

The boy rolled his eyes, put at ease by his relative‘s carefree tone. “You always say that. Even when Gran’s making you wash the dishes by hand. Or making you sit and listen to Celestina Warbeck after Sunday dinner. I told Mr Dumbledore that you don’t think she’s very pretty and he laughed.”

Algernon flushed in embarrassment again, this time courtesy of his nephew. “Yes, well, quite, quite. Well, my lad, I think Professor Dumbledore deserves your thanks and mine for coming to our collective rescue and finding you, don’t you?”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled merrily once again as his new friend - reconciled with the familiar presence of his eccentric uncle - offered a shy ’Thank you, sir’.

“You are quite welcome, Neville. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And thank you for rescuing me from the wrath of the pink lady.”

He winked at the round-faced boy, who so reminded him of his mother in appearance, and Neville sniggered as he remembered their common foe. Algernon was slightly confused by their little mystifications, but neither the headmaster nor his nephew elaborated, so he dismissed it as a private joke.

“And now, gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I have an urgent appointment with a very large jar of sherbet lemons. Until we meet again, young Neville. Please don’t forget to bring your wand with you when we do.”

With that, he departed the tearoom, happy in the knowledge that Algernon would take better care of his nephew in the future and pleased to have had the unexpected gift of spending some time with the very sweet boy of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

He would make a fine Gryffindor one day, of that Albus Dumbledore had no doubt.