Augusta Longbottom: Every Garden Needs Sunshine
Without Dumbledore’s guiding hand, they fell into an uneasy vacuum. There was still no announcement from the Ministry concerning their investigation into the former headmaster’s death. Surely those bumbling bureaucrats wouldn’t just sweep the matter aside by ruling it an unfortunate accident!
Despite Fudge’s inadequacies, Augusta wasn’t certain she wholly trusted his successor, either. Rufus Scrimgeour’s clenched jaw and cold eyes did not speak to a generosity of spirit. To think that shameless politician had attempted to recruit Harry as a Ministry propaganda tool -- at a funeral, no less! Weeks later, the incident still irked her.
Determined not to surrender her last bits of happiness to forces outside her control, Augusta announced, –Neville, you’ll be coming of age soon and we haven’t long to plan your party.â€
Neville’s slack-jawed expression showed this was the last thing he’d expected to hear. –It hardly seems appropriate,†he stammered.
–Rubbish! No wizard worth his salt fails to mark his coming of age! Such a selfish show of austerity won’t endear you to anyone.†Couldn’t he see the importance of maintaining normalcy in the face of uncertainty?
Neville relented with a cowed expression, but insisted on paring down the guest list to only those he trusted wholeheartedly.
Augusta reviewed his choices with a critical eye. –What about Hermione? And your other roommate, Harry? Omit him and you might as well declare him a nutter like the Daily Prophet tried to do!â€
–They have other plans,†Neville confided in a bare whisper. –Ron, too, but I can’t see sending Ginny an invitation and leaving him out.â€
–Taking a gap year, perhaps?â€
–No one does that anymore. This is serious.â€
–Is it secret, too?â€
Neville returned a curt nod. –Ginny overheard the trio talking about finishing the task Dumbledore had begun.â€
–That could be anything. Up to and including the defeat of the Death Eaters.â€
–Right. Clammed up when they saw Ginny was nearby. Seemed determined to keep her out of it, probably because she’s still underage.â€
–That’s bound to chafe,†Augusta commiserated, recalling how Ginny took pride in ferreting out the truth.
–I don’t want to shine an unwelcome light on anyone,†Neville declared. –Not for the sake of having an owl deliver a party invitation.â€
She conceded that her grandson’s reasoning was sound. Owls were nearly impossible to track, but there was no point in putting anyone at risk.
Despite her words, Augusta’s mood was somber as she dispatched the owls. Mostly regrets filtered back, coupled with a few notes filled with false cheer. Ginny sent a truly ingenious message which folded and refolded itself into numerous animal shapes before unfurling before their eyes.
P.S. All those Howlers inspired the twins to create something more cheerful.
–Harry and Hermione are there,†Neville pronounced as he traced the writing with his finger.
–You can’t possibly know that for certain,†Augusta returned matter-of-factly.
–Sure I can. It’s right there in the word ‘everyone.’ Hermione makes her y’s just like that.â€
Augusta suspected he was just seeing what he wanted to see, but she didn’t press him. Anything that lifted Neville’s spirits was welcome indeed.
A few days shy of the celebration, an unfamiliar post owl glided past the window sash to deposit a small package in Neville’s lap. With a single flap of its wings it veered right out again, swooping inches from the top of Augusta’s head.
–Don’t touch it!†she warned. –It could be dangerous.†With uncertain fingers, she directed her wand to Levitate the parcel to the middle of the dining table.
–It’s a birthday present,†Neville insisted. –Just like the one from Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid which arrived two days ago.â€
–An assumption on your part. Make certain first.â€
–No return address,†Neville muttered as he peered at it from all angles.
–Reveal your secrets!†Augusta commanded from a safe distance. Nothing happened until her wandtip made contact with the knotted string, causing the brown wrappings to unwind of their own accord.
–Ooooh!†Neville gasped at the bright foil package before him. –I heard about these!â€
Once again, Augusta stayed his hand. –The tag is blank,†she hissed.
–Perhaps it just needs a bit of encouragement. Like before.â€
Despite her misgivings, Augusta allowed her wand to hover over the Special Commemorative Edition Chocolate Frog. The foil shivered for a moment and then a smoky shape eased itself from beneath the tag. No larger than her thumb, the tiny wolf loped in circles around the box, coming to stand directly in Neville’s line of sight.
–Just so you know it’s from us!†a woman’s voice rang out. –A few days early, I know, but it was too tempting to keep around the house.â€
–That’s Tonks!†Neville cried, reminding Augusta where she’d encountered that particular Patronus.
Its task complete, the diminutive wolf disappeared with a last shake of its tail. Spreading from the same spot which had swallowed the Patronus, squiggles writhed to form the words: Happy Seventeen, Neville! Best wishes from Remus and Tonks. Augusta recognized Remus’ neat hand from the thoughtful note he’d sent as Neville’s teacher.
–I’m convinced,†she relented. –Just don’t eat it all in one day.â€
–I won’t,†Neville mumbled through his first blissful bite. –It’s absolutely heavenly! Fizzles on your tongue.â€
Augusta examined the package more carefully. A new flavor combination, it extolled. Dark chocolate with sherbet lemon filling. Available in limited release only.
–I was certain Honeydukes would sell out by the time I got there,†Neville rhapsodized as he carefully closed the package with Spellotape. It rattled as the half-eaten frog protested weakly. –I’ll have to send a thank you note right away!â€
–Better that you wait until you see them in person,†Augusta counseled. –Privacy is in short supply these days.â€
–Just so long as the professor doesn’t think I’m ungrateful.â€
–He won’t, I promise.â€
Allowing her fingers to linger over the tag, she concluded that Neville wasn’t the only one who could delve between the lines. Without a doubt, Remus and Tonks had become an official couple. Whether that signaled a wedding or engagement was impossible to tell; perhaps they were just cohabitating as the younger generation often did. Speaking of which, now that she’d gotten a better look at Tonks’ Patronus, Augusta was fully certain that its distinctive hindquarters were that of a werewolf!
–Say Neville, have you learned to conjure a Patronus?â€
–Harry guided us at the final meeting of Dumbledore’s Army.â€
–Did you manage it?â€
–Mostly. The smoke was just congealing into a pair of sinewy legs when Luna’s jackrabbit burst right through it.â€
–Did you try again?â€
–Dobby the house-elf popped in to announce we’d been betrayed to Umbridge. Barely had time to flee to our dormitories.â€
–Understandable. No reason why you can’t practice by yourself, though.â€
Neville raised his wand to comply, only to have Augusta’s hand clamp down on his wrist. –Not now! Last thing you need to is a citation for under-aged magic!â€
–Just a few more days.â€
–Promise me you’ll practice once you get to Hogwarts. Conjuring happy thoughts at home is a snap. Practice when you’re sleepy, frustrated or feeling out-of-sorts in anyway -- otherwise you won’t have a chance against a dementor.â€
–I won’t let Harry down,†Neville concurred.
Clearing the last of the discarded wrappings, Augusta’s attention was drawn to accompanying collector card.
Dumbledore’s auburn mane cascading over robes of red and gold transported Augusta to her own school days. At the shoulder, his pet phoenix periodically burst into flames then poked a downy pink head from among the ashes to start the process anew. Viewed at just the proper angle, the photo gave the illusion of a bird in full plumage, Dumbledore’s tightly clasped hands resembling claws. Yet there was no mistaking the vibrant blue eyes that followed her every motion; so much so, that Augusta self-consciously patted her buttons to make certain she was presentable.
In the end, it was only Luna who accepted Neville’s birthday invitation. The timing couldn’t be more fortuitous, her reply read. Father has been itching to visit that rare book store nearby. He’ll drop me off en route.
Luna was the embodiment of summer with her buttercup hair and a sleeveless, flowery frock. Though at first Augusta was uncertain how to respond to her quixotic personality. Any given moment, the girl would make the most outrageous pronouncements in a factual tone; Neville would either gloss over it, or more often than not, laugh merrily as if she’d made a hilarious joke. Luna didn’t join in, Augusta noted, not even smiling in return. Yet the laughter didn’t seem to offend her, either.
There was no point in fretting about it, she concluded. Children had their own way of communicating -- always had, always would.
After lunch, they settled to open presents. By mutual agreement, the cake was saved until teatime so Luna’s father could also partake. Neville opened the largest present first: a genuine Herbologist’s robe with 27 ½ pockets.
–It’s just like the one your grandfather wore,†Augusta added proudly as Neville demonstrated the fit. –Professor Sprout assured me that it was acceptable attire as long as it wasn’t so pale in color that it spent all its days in the laundry.â€
–I think the navy’s dashing,†Luna remarked in an ethereal tone.
–What’s the half-pocket for, Gran?†Neville posed.
Before Augusta could respond, Luna interceded, –Why for the map, of course! To keep track of what’s in all the other pockets.â€
Everyone laughed this time, Augusta silently admitting that Luna’s unconventional reply was actually superior to her own. After all, the long narrow wand sleeve -- or half-pocket -- was virtually standard on modern wizarding attire.
Enid and Algie sent a bountiful box of the saltwater taffy that was a right sensation among Muggles who frequented the seaside promenade. The confections were passed around as Neville settled to open Luna’s gift.
His eyes opened wide at the antique volume with its embossed leather cover. –This must be a collector’s item,†he whispered in awe.
–It was a favorite of mine when I was little,†Luna acknowledged. –Lots of worn pages held together with Spellotape, I’m afraid. But the hero reminded me of you, so it only seems fitting I should pass it on.â€
From the nearby armchair, Augusta could just make out the faded gold lettering: Hapless Jack and the Magic Beans. –A cautionary tale for Muggles who sought to harness magic for their own use,†she volunteered.
–I’ve heard of that version,†Luna allowed. –But this one’s different. Father always believed it was the original tale from which all others were spun.â€
Then it truly was a valuable first edition, warts and all. A sentiment that was underscored by the vividly colored pen and ink illustrations which accompanied every page.
–So who’s the gnarly giant in my life?†Neville teased. –Hagrid?â€
–Too good-natured. Filch seems more on the mark. I was terrified of him my first year,†Luna confessed. –That is until I realized a sensible cat wouldn’t keep him company if he were truly an ogre.â€
Neville nodded sagely. –Hollow threats.â€
–Wishful thinking,†Luna amended.
Augusta left them to it, retiring to the kitchen. She applied herself to the supper preparations: a marinated pork dish that had to be prepared without magical shortcuts. The comfortable porch swing was just outside the open window, allowing her to distinguish the two heads, one dark and one golden, bent over the book illustrations.
Luna’s voice took on the lilting cadence of a born storyteller, drawing Augusta into the tale.
Jack was a late baby, born to wizarding parents who had long despaired of having any children of their own. To his mother, he was perfect in every way, a singular miracle to be cherished every day. His father was more ambitious, declaring that his son would be the mightiest wizard in all the land.
Jack had other ideas. He cooed over the magical spells that filled his everyday life but showed no inclination to learn them himself.
The father blamed himself, then his wife, for producing a Squib. He might’ve been better served to blame Fate herself -- but then he wouldn’t have had anyone to argue with.
Augusta couldn’t help suppressing a smile at the last observation, wondering whether it was an aside that had been added by Luna herself. If so, the girl had a keen, discerning eye.
The discord grew in Jack’s household, fueled in part by the dismissive attitudes of the neighboring wizards. In disgrace, the father moved them to the countryside where they could reside peacefully among Muggles. The tiny farmstead was isolated enough to allow for strategic bits of household magic and the few neighbors accepted Jack as a normal little boy rather than an object of pity.
–You’ll straddle both worlds,†the mother told Jack at a young age. –The magical realm won’t have to be hidden from you. Benefits abound in both; you’ll see. Especially for a self-sufficient farm lad like yourself.â€
Despite their new beginnings, the father soon grew resentful and restless once more. Very few employment opportunities existed among Muggles, so he traveled to seek his fortune elsewhere. As Jack grew older so the father’s absences grew longer. Weeks turned into months and then years.
In moments alone, the mother reflected that her husband had succumbed to wanderlust. But she didn’t share this with little Jack. Better that he think his father as an intrepid explorer, seeking discoveries for the betterment of all. He so looked forward to the tall tales his father would spin after consuming a few pints.
It was hard work but Jack and his mother managed to eke out enough to feed themselves from their bit of land. They traded eggs and goat cheese at the local farmers market, returning with freshly butchered meat and the occasional string of silvery sardines.
In a few years time, Jack was able to take their wares into market himself. The mother had taught him to barter fairly, always bearing in mind that both parties should gain from the transaction. More often than not, Jack got the short end of the bargain; but she never chastised her son, accepting that he had a generous nature.
That is until one day when he set out to buy a new rooster and returned home empty-handed. Jack claimed that a traveling merchant had given him some magical seeds, holding up an oddly glowing handkerchief.
–He said that with a bit of application, we could get ourselves a goose!â€
–And just how do your propose to do that?†the mother seethed. –Geese grow from eggs, not seeds!â€
–You’ll see,†he returned with an enigmatic air. –Besides the Traveler said he’d met Father.â€
–Did he happen to say where?â€
Jack nodded happily. –On his way to seek a dragon’s treasure beyond the Celestial Mountains. I didn’t think anyone could survive a journey to the heavens, but I didn’t contradict the man to his face.â€
Oh, her lad had swallowed the man’s lies. That charlatan must’ve marked him as a Squib from the start. –Even the mightiest wizard would suffocate with no air to breathe,†she replied. Then she explained that the mountain range was located far to the north, the mountains so named because their sheer, grey faces rose like pinnacles into the very clouds. But there was no dragon’s lair; that part was a myth, nothing but a story to scare rowdy youngsters to bed.
–If any withstand the treacherous ice and constant snow storms, they find a volcanic spring so hot that it will burn the flesh right off their bones!†She scowled at the bundled handkerchief. –As for these beans…â€
There was no need for the mother to finish the sentence. One angry swipe of her wand scattered the beans out the open window.
–Now drink your tea and off to bed. There’ll be no dinner for either of us tonight,†she grumbled.
–But --â€
–We’ll talk about it in the light of day!†she shot over her shoulder.
From the top of the ladder leading to the sleeping loft, Jack’s luminous eyes caught hers. –I understand. It’s a lot to digest all at once.â€
After a restless night, Jack awoke before dawn, immediately noticing something was amiss in his cramped bedchamber. To his wonderment, the window was blocked by a gigantic beanstalk that snaked into the sky.
Knowing his mother would surely disapprove, he dressed silently and left a hasty note: I have decided to believe in the impossible. But I am not Father; I will return -- likely before you’ve had time to read this note. Love, Jack.
After many hours of climbing, Jack arrived in a forest valley dominated by the crenellated towers of a mighty stronghold. It was only as he approached the drawbridge that he realized it must belong to a giant.
But rather than bemoaning his small stature, Jack used it to his advantage to squeeze effortlessly through the iron slats of the garden gate. By lucky chance, the livestock enclosure was located at the rear of the walled garden.
He watched a young giantess unlock the cage where the magic goose was kept, then waited silently while she finished her rounds. When she was gone, he brandished the key like a mighty broadsword before him and let himself into the cage.
The goose was of normal size, if a bit heavier than most. Jack easily tucked her into his sack and worked his way back down the beanstalk.
The mother was overjoyed. Goose eggs fetched much more at market. She patiently listened to Jack’s tale over tea, then reminded him that clouds were nothing but water vapor. They couldn’t support a grasshopper, let alone a robust lad -- and a giantess to boot!
The next morning, she was awed into silence as two shimmering eggs appeared underneath the ordinary-looking goose. She insisted that Jack sell them immediately, not in that provincial farm town, but at a proper wizarding establishment.
With a flick of her wand, she caused an empty wooden spool to glow brightly as she intoned, –Portus!â€
Jack had barely touched its surface when he felt the slow pull in the pit of his stomach. –Aren’t you coming? How will I get back?†he cried as his surroundings began to blur.
–One way only,†the mother laughed as she slowly slipped from view. –Buy a horse and saddle; you’re a rich man now!â€
With those words echoing in his ears, Jack tumbled into a heap on the outskirts of a festive marketplace. He scooped the eggs back into his basket then fastened the lid. All around him, people were wearing the most outrageously colored outfits.
But despite their obvious prosperity, none of the merchants would agree to buy the golden eggs. As he was leaving the last establishment, Jack overhead, –Gold paint on rocks, what will these Muggles think of next?â€
Remembering his father’s tales of magical creatures, Jack made a few discreet inquiries and located a quarry nearby. The goblins were more than happy to buy his golden eggs, minus a small percentage to offset the cost of minting the gold into coins. Their parsimonious smiles increased as they gladly agreed to exchange the unfamiliar galleons in Jack’s hand for Muggle coinage, minus a small convenience fee, of course.
But Jack didn’t quibble. For the first time in his life, his pockets were overflowing with money!
His detour through goblin territory had taken him so far afield that it was closer to make his way home on foot than to return to the village. Besides, he thought happily as his steps fell into the familiar rhythm, buying a horse was a serious undertaking for one such as himself. Better that he get his mother’s advice the next day.
The first stars were dotting the horizon when he caught sight of the cottage. Its white stucco walls glowed in the last rays of the sun, but the dark windows made Jack’s heart clench with alarm. Breaking into a trot, he found the front room and upstairs deserted. He was about to check the hen house when a muffled noise directed him to the earthen storeroom at the rear.
–Mother, is that you?†he cried in a bare whisper.
The scratching noise came again, followed by the sound of heavy flour sacks falling to the ground.
In one stride, Jack wrenched the wooden door open to find his poor mother leaning against the back wall, her arms and legs bound with ropes. As he hastened to work the knots free, the Full-Body Bind slowly faded, allowing the mother to piece together the events.
Intent on her chores, she hadn’t realized the golden eggs would reflect so in the sunlight. The thieves had simply barred her way from the garden to the cottage door, making off with the three she’d been clutching in her apron. Her descriptions matched that of the unscrupulous shopkeepers who’d turned Jack away empty-handed.
The mother insisted on ringing their property with protective charms, claiming that neither of them would be able to sleep a wink otherwise. Jack acknowledged the truth in that, but was more worried about the tremor in his mother’s wand arm. It was all he could do to dissuade her from using the Fidelius Charm -- although it would’ve granted more long-term security.
–How will Father find his way home?†he argued, all the while thinking that such a powerful spell would entirely sap his poor mother’s strength.
Despite a few days of bed rest, the mother did not recover sufficiently to resume her regular chores. Instead, she spent hours pouring over the cracked pages of potions manuals, seeking an antidote.
In the meanwhile, Jack added tending to his mother’s small vegetable patch to his other chores. Not that he could do much to alleviate the drought that had the land in a stranglehold that summer.
Although his duties gave him ample opportunity to survey the surrounding countryside, Jack couldn’t shake his unease. There were entirely too many travelers on the lane -- and far too many carts coming from the direction of the washed out bridge, a site uncannily similar to where the Peverells of legend had encountered Death.
There was only one explanation: they were searching for him. Or rather: for the pockmarked yard where he’d been digging the well when he happened upon the golden eggs. Jack had presented the same lie to the shopkeepers as well as the goblins.
Jack took to rising before dawn so he could transport the golden eggs from the hen house while it was still dark. Repeating the process by moonlight, it wasn’t long before the bins which had once housed potatoes and onions were overflowing with gold.
How could having a small amount of wealth amount to such a monumental headache? Jack groused to himself. Even with magic to hide the beanstalk from sight, they would never truly feel safe until those eggs were stashed inside a proper bank vault. But without a Portkey or his mother’s skill at Apparition, he would likely be robbed en route.
The whole ruddy world was stacked against pathetic Squibs like him, Jack bemoaned silently. Oh, he knew the word all right. It might not be used in his house, but his mother had educated him thoroughly about the wizarding world even at they turned their backs on it.
To make matters worse, the mother had finally isolated the herb she needed -- only to find it bloomed only at high mountain altitudes.
Jack studied the book illustration, committing the narrow leaves and feathery blooms to memory. Dragon’s Breath, it was called due to its fiery orange color.
Recalling the cooler temperatures in the Cloud Kingdom, Jack decided on a bold plan. At daybreak, he tucked the goose into his satchel and climbed the beanstalk once more.
He was just latching shut the goose’s cage when the bird let out a loud honk. Jack froze at the sound of the castle’s back door grinding open. Desperate for a place to hide, he dashed around the cage and ducked behind the bird’s nest.
A giantess with long golden plaits clapped her hands with delight at seeing the goose. –Carmelina, you’re back! I knew you’d find your way home!â€
Again the goose honked, causing the young girl to laugh in reply. In her joy, she lifted the cage closer to her face.
Jack’s terror multiplied as his hands clutched the bars of the cage, his body dangling a dozen yards or more above the rustic ledge.
Green eyes like saucers filled his entire field of vision. –What have we here?†Despite her size, the giantess’ voice was a mere whisper. –Are you the brave knight who rescued my Carmelina?â€
–Knights have mighty swords and armor,†Jack protested. –I’m but a mere farmer.â€
With surprising gentleness, she cupped her other hand and lowered Jack to safety.
–Then you must have a magical touch with animals.†The goose gave a joyful honk of affirmation. –Carmelina is often distraught after she escapes from her captors.â€
–So she’s been stolen before?â€
–Many times. Borrowed, more like. Carmelina always finds her way back, even if her adventures leave telltale marks. But not this time,†she cooed as she stroked a finger the size of a boat oar across the goose’s back. –Not a feather out of place.â€
–She fit right in with my chickens.â€
The giantess nodded sagely. –I’ve always thought she might be lonely. Last of her kind, you know.â€
–Don’t you have any ganders? Or is the other livestock too large?â€
–That’s the least of it. How are goslings to hatch from solid gold?â€
Jack scratched his head at the unexpected conundrum. –Then how did she come to be?â€
–Hatched in a mighty wizard’s imagination. Once all the great estates had a goose of their own. Little by little, though, old age and sickness claimed them… How can I thank you for your kindness?â€
At those words, the pang of guilt felt doubly heavy in Jack’s gullet. –But, I didn’t…†he sputtered.
–Of course you did!†the giantess insisted. –No one else has ever brought her back. That makes you a hero in my book.â€
–Or a fool,†Jack countered.
–The fools were those who preceded you, though they claimed to be crafty wizards. Each intent on acquiring treasure that would only make him unhappy.â€
Jack nodded. It had been the same for him, he acknowledged inwardly. His simple farm life had been idyllic before the quest for gold had marred it. –I want to make things right,†he proclaimed aloud. –Both for you and for me.â€
–Then you must let me reward you. Surely there’s something in my father’s kingdom that will please you.â€
–Your father?â€
–My father’s the lord of the estate. What you would call a king in your realm.â€
–Then you’re a princess!â€
–I’m his daughter,†she corrected. –But I’m hardly a scullery maid despite my pinnie.â€
Jack blushed, suddenly embarrassed that he had jumped to that very conclusion.
–It can’t be gold you seek…â€
–No, that’s brought its own set of complications. My poor mother was attacked by those whose greed overcame their scruples.â€
–Oh my, is she all right?â€
–Time will tell. Truth be told, I traveled here in search of a special herb that only grows at high altitudes.â€
–But how did you arrive? Astride a hippogriff? Or in the beak of a great eagle?â€
–Nothing as spectacular as that. I climbed a magical beanstalk that reached into the heavens.â€
–Only a great wizard could sow those simple seeds.â€
Her words made Jack feel like even more of a fraud, knowing that it had been his mother’s hand that had tossed the seeds out the window.
–Can you describe the plant you seek?†the princess urged.
Jack did better than that, using a spare nail to draw a crude representation in the sawdust.
–Did you say it was called ‘dragon’s breath’? Here, its larger cousin is called by a different name: Dragon’s Bane.â€
–Are the blooms bright orange?â€
Jack’s heart plummeted when the princess replied, –Deep purple, almost black. It’s poisonous to us, likely to you as well. It’s used to drug dragons who wander onto our lands. It’s unlawful to harm them so we relocate them to the wilds for their own protection.â€
–I should’ve realized it was a long shot…â€
–Don’t give up yet. I have another idea: pluck the pink blossoms from the beanstalk before they close their petals at night. A tea from that will cure just about any ailment.â€
–Thank you, thank you!†Jack cried effusively, placing a sloppy kiss on the princess’ giant thumb.
–Shhhh!†she warned with sudden alarm filling her eyes. –It’s dangerous if you’re caught. Others have not been so lucky.†She nodded towards a thimble as large as an upturned drum. –I saved the toothpicks the others left behind. So intricately carved they must have some special meaning.â€
Jack’s eyes opened wide at the collection of valuable wands that had been separated from their owners. –I can’t steal from wizards,†he hissed.
–They’re past needing them, I assure you. Return them to the land where they originated. Father would be enraged if he saw I’d kept souvenirs from his pets.â€
–Pets? These are men you’re talking about!â€
–And women, too. But keep your voice down! They’ll be no --â€
A voice like a thunderclap made the princess jump. Jack covered his ears to keep them from ringing.
–Run! Now!†she mouthed, stuffing the ‘toothpicks’ into Jack’s satchel. –Chop the beanstalk down as soon as you alight. Salt the stump so it can’t grow back. Any bridge between our worlds can be traveled in both directions.â€
Jack didn’t have to ask what she meant.
Try as the princess might to distract her father with the news that the goose had returned, the giant’s booming voice seemed to fill the very sky as he rumbled, –Wizard, wizard, show thy face! The stench of your magic fogs this place!â€
With the giant’s footsteps pounding in his wake, Jack was propelled by sheer terror. He half-slid down the beanstalk, using his other hand to sweep as many blossoms as possible into his satchel.
With taunts still reverberating from above, Jack chopped through the beanstalk with a few whacks of his axe. But instead of collapsing, the severed stalk disappeared into the heavens, much like an errant weed being plucked. The cloudbank turned an angry grey, shutting out the last of the afternoon sun. By the time Jack had finished pouring coarse salt over the stump, drops as large as raisins had begun to fall in earnest.
Jack fully expected his mother to upbraid him for his muddy boots and ripped trousers, but she was too weak to take notice.
–Come, let me tuck you into bed,†he offered, guiding her upstairs.
–Fee, fie, foe, fum...†the giant’s voice rumbled before a sharp whip of lightning cut it off.
Jack turned to ask his mother if she’d heard, but she was already half asleep. He raked the embers into a cheery fire before applying himself to making tea.
He strained the crushed petals over a ceramic bowl, recalling that metal often reacted unpredictably. The tea was a vibrant pink, not grayish blue as expected. Jack grabbed a wooden utensil to stir it as he’d often watched his mother do. Much to his surprise, the tea darkened to a deep violet as it cooled, then faded into the murky blue of a winter’s dawn.
He had to prop his mother up among the pillows so she could take tiny sips, but little by little the color returned to her face, her skin losing that papery look of an old crone.
A few days of the tea regimen had the mother back to her spry self. Ignoring Jack’s protests, she was anxious to see to her garden now that the drought had ended.
A loud gasp from the yard made Jack drop his tools and come running.
–It’s incredible!†the mother cried, dancing with joy among the tangle of vines that crisscrossed the small enclosure. –See there, strawberries! Over here, cucumbers and Hubbard squash. Pole beans are in the next row and, if I’m not mistaken, those tiny buds will soon swell into pumpkins twice the size of your head!â€
–Don’t remember you planting so much at the start of summer,†Jack mused.
–I didn’t,†the mother concurred. –But it all seems to have grown into a marvelous muddle!â€
With meticulous care, Jack traced the vines to their source: the severed beanstalk. Unable to sprout above ground, it had sent underground tendrils into their parched vegetable patch.
–Magical seeds,†Jack whispered in awe.
The mother shook her head, –No, son. It’s the hand that spread the salt crystals that redirected the magic.â€
–But that can’t be!â€
–Can’t it?†she posed. –How did you manage to make the tea without my guidance?â€
–Any idiot can brew tea, especially if he’s watched his mother do it since he was knee high!â€
–Blossom tea is pink. How did you coax forth the medicinal properties?â€
–Stirred it like you do,†Jack supplied.
–I use my wand. That’s how the magic is released. How did you do it?â€
Jack gave an indulgent sigh as he pulled a stirring rod from the drawer. –Why I just --"
This time there was no mistaking the mother’s sharp intake of breath. –Where did you get… that… that thing?â€
–From the same drawer as always,†he dismissed, only then looking down at the wooden implement in his hand. It wasn’t a spoon at all, but one of the wands which he’d brought back from the Cloud Kingdom.
The mother held out a trembling hand, then ran her fingers over the corkscrew curves that separated the handle from the shaft. –I never thought I’d see the likes of this. So again, I ask, where did you get this?â€
With the wand pointed directly at Jack’s heart, his tiny mother had become a fearsome witch before his eyes. Unable to look away, Jack relayed the tale of his latest adventures beyond the beanstalk.
The mother finally lowered the wand when he’d run out of breath. –Do you know who this wand belonged to?†she hissed. –Your father!â€
–Well, I didn’t disarm him, if that’s what you’re thinking,†Jack blurted. –That was the giant’s doing.â€
–I suspect so,†the mother relented. –Your father was always getting into scrapes. This time, he came out the loser, I’m afraid.â€
–I wish it could’ve been otherwise,†Jack muttered, giving her hand a tender squeeze.
–Still, I have to thank him for finally awakening the magic in you!â€
–Me? I’m nothing but a ruddy Squib. You’re too kind-hearted to say so to my face is all.â€
–I would’ve been wrong if I had,†the mother smiled. –No one but a wizard could’ve charmed a magical vegetable vine from a dying stump. And Father’s wand would’ve corroded the tea had it not recognized your potential.â€
–You can’t be serious!†Jack exclaimed, uncertain how to feel about the unexpected turn of events.
But as the days turned into weeks and months and then years, Jack came to accept that his was a more subtle, less flashy form of magic: spells that were crafted in the heart and then transferred to his fingertips.
The mother’s colorful vegetable bushels were such a hit at the market that the customers started coming to their door. The small herb garden which Jack planted flourished into a thriving business that had wizards traveling from far and wide to obtain the special ingredients.
And every time it rained, Jack gave a silent thanks to the surly giant and his kindly daughter who’d turned his life around.
The end.
–Wait there’s a moral,†Neville insisted, breaking the spell that Luna’s tale had cast over the summer afternoon.
–You read it,†she offered, placing the book solidly into his lap.
–‘Next time you go searching for happiness, remember that it’s often found in your own back yard.’â€
–A bit trite,†Luna opined in an airy tone. –Mother always claimed that the true moral was never spelled out, but left for the reader to work out for himself.â€
–Something tells me you have an alternate interpretation,†Neville laughed.
–Everyone’s different; so don’t let someone else tell you what you can and cannot be.â€
Augusta’s lips curled into a smile of her own. No doubt about it, Luna was indeed a rare treasure.
–Two can play that game,†Neville shot back. –I can tell you what happened to the wands.â€
–An unwritten epilogue,†Luna approved. –Excellent!â€
Assuming the role of the storyteller, Neville proposed, –Jack searched far and wide until he located the families of all the witches and wizards who’d met their untimely ends in the Cloud Kingdom. To each, he returned their loved ones’ wands and a golden egg so they could start anew.â€
Having met the daughter, Augusta found it easier to accept Xenophilius Lovegood’s eccentricities. Even when he arrived two hours late for tea, balancing a jumble of books in a child’s red wagon that floated in mid-air behind him.
Augusta had so enjoyed Luna’s tale that she’d lingered in the kitchen until the very end. As a result of which she’d prepared pear and stilton tarts, tomato and toadstool salad as well as peppered blackberry scones to round out the repast. With the summer sunset upon them, they tucked into the tender pork ragout which had been simmering in the stewpot for hours.
The conversation never lagged, though it often digressed in unexpected directions. Xenophilius had a theory about everything. Sometimes, it bordered on the fantastical -- but weren’t new species being discovered all the time? Wishful thinking for some, escapist entertainment for others; The Quibbler wisely didn’t judge. It was a philosophy that served the Lovegoods as well.
The more she thought about it, the more Augusta concluded that it was marketing genius. Plain and simple: The Quibbler was what you wanted to make of it.
–I read your ground-breaking interview with Harry Potter,†she allowed. –Took a lot of courage to butt public opinion like that.â€
–Hogwash!†Xenophilius replied. –The truth is simple. Facing down that red-clawed gorgon again took guts: Harry was the real hero.†The Quibbler generally didn’t buy other journalists’ work, he elaborated, but in this case it was essential that the revised story come from the same despicable Rita Skeeter who’d tarred the lad in the first place.
–It was my highest grossing issue ever!†he confided lowly. –Seven printings all told. Had the foresight to print some extras for archival purposes; still get the occasional owl requesting a copy from the morgue.â€
There was no mistaking the sharp intellect which flavored Xenophilius’ fair features. The man could cut through political rhetoric like butter, never shying away from printing an alternate version of the facts when it was the Daily Prophet which had, ironically, ventured into the realm of fiction.
Before he and Luna departed for the evening, Augusta insisted that she would like to be a regular Quibbler subscriber.
–Irregular subscriber, you mean!†Xenopilius laughed. –We don’t offer a subscription service as such. It’s just me and a rather mangy owl, I’m afraid. It’s all I can manage is to dispatch the issues to the news agents.â€
–I’ll try to remember to owl you a copy,†Luna promised as she hugged everyone goodbye. –At least until school starts; then I’ll have to owl Father to remember.â€
–Oooh, a Rememberowl,†her father joked as he escorted Luna down the front path. –Reckon that’s a new species?â€
–Sounds more like something Fred and George would market,†Luna replied airily. –I’ll send them the suggestion with your compliments, Father.â€
As they gave a final wave from the footpath, Augusta concluded that the Lovegood’s presence had been a balm to the loneliness and isolation that neither she nor Neville had wanted to acknowledge.
With the delay in the Hogwarts letter, the same questions still hung in the air. Would Neville be able to finish his schooling? Or more importantly, would the school survive being betrayed from within?
The last thing anyone expected was for that very traitor to be annointed as the new headmaster! Augusta nearly cried out in dismay when the Prophet’s banner headline caught her eye at the herbalist’s shop. Out of long distrust, she waited until the dire news was confirmed on the wireless. The WWN also announced that Hogwarts attendance would now be compulsory for all pureblood and half-blood witches and wizards of school age.
She didn’t have to ask about the Muggle-borns in their midst. They had become the next stain to be expunged.
As if reading her very thoughts, Neville supplied, –We can’t relocate to the continent. Not like Muggle-borns who have no real choice.†He shook his head sadly, looking so much like her late husband that Augusta’s chest ached. –Can’t abandon the fight now. Who will be left to stand against the tyranny? Remember how much disruption Umbridge caused -- and she was just a prima donna! The Death Eaters are truly evil. Those naïve first and second years need Dumbledore’s Army more than ever!â€
That settled the question of Neville returning the Hogwarts, Augusta’s pragmatic thoughts registered. Even though he would only be sharing his dorm room with one other. Aloud, she tendered, –Are you certain the Weasley boy won’t return? His is an old, pureblood family.†She didn’t mention that Arthur’s political leanings had them in disfavor at the moment.
–Ron will find a way to stay at Harry’s side, just you see,†Neville predicted.
Too late, her doubts about Scrimgeour were put to rest when the man was removed as Minister for Magic. Not for one minute did she believe he’d resigned his post for health reasons! He and his family were likely languishing in a prison cell somewhere -- or worse. She forcibly stopped herself from pondering the grimmer alternatives.
Like a monstrous serpent shedding its skin, the entire tenor of the wizarding world was transformed overnight. No longer was it safe to look askance at those who espoused intolerance. Quite the contrary, long-buried prejudices were dusted off and proudly displayed for all to see.
Augusta couldn’t help wondering how many of Voldemort’s collaborators had been entrenched in the Ministry’s bureaucracy for years on end. Not to mention those poor sods who had no choice but to be swept away with the dark tide for fear that their resignations would trigger unpleasant reprisals.
Puis Thicknesse’s administration wasted no time in issuing a proclamation insinuating that it was Harry Potter himself who’d murdered Dumbledore, their assertions bolstered by a string of lies concocted by dubious sources who’d seen the boy fleeing the scene. Added to that was the fact that the lad could not be reached for ‘questioning.’
Dragon smoke and mirrors, Augusta huffed. Harry had given a perfunctory statement to the authorities; Minerva had seen to that. Also omitted were mentions of the other, equally suspicious accomplices which had fled the castle that night: Death Eaters who had infiltrated Hogwarts’ hallowed halls and left with a disgraced professor and a student saboteur in tow.
Not two days after Snape’s promotion to headmaster, Neville’s list of school supplies finally arrived. It bore Minerva’s usual signature, but this year it was strongly suggested that parents save time and effort by using the handy owl order service.
If only it could be that uncomplicated, Augusta sighed inwardly. Unfortunately, Neville had grown so much over the summer months that he needed to be fitted for new robes.
Gamboling families were a thing of the past in Diagon Alley. The scattered shoppers went about their business in silence, fearing to make eye contact with those around them. It was the same furtive atmosphere Augusta had always attributed to the dodgy establishments in Knockturn Alley -- not that she’d ever witnessed it firsthand.
Only Gringotts Bank seemed oblivious to the changes in the air; but then it had endured upheavals more far-reaching in the hundreds of years it had stood on that site. Even the exuberance of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes seemed out of place, yet it was the sole establishment that breathed with life. Parents were still being dragged there by excited children, only releasing them reluctantly at the door. Peering anxiously through the front windows, the adults mourned their lost innocence amid the dark tenor of political upheaval.
–First stop, Madam Malkin’s,†Augusta announced in a no-nonsense manner.
The seamstress took Neville’s measurements with a few practiced swipes of her wand. Fifteen minutes later, Neville emerged from the fitting room with trousers to accommodate his new elongated torso.
–I’ll be a few more minutes,†Augusta explained. –Why don’t you go on to the joke shop and then find me at the booksellers? I know you’re anxious to meet up with your classmates.â€
Neville didn’t have to be told twice. With a small smile crumbling his dismal mood, his legs made short work of the distance.
–He’ll be fine,†Madam Malkin assured Augusta’s worried frown. –Strapping lad like that.â€
Augusta doubted that anyone was truly safe these days, but opted to keep her worries to herself. Instead, she motioned towards the stack of Frank’s old shirts she had placed on the counter.
–Most have only been worn once or twice. Could I impose upon you to re-stitch the pocket monogram with a small Gryffindor lion?â€
Madam Malkin fingered the pinpoint oxford shirts that were an accepted part of the Auror uniform. –These are rather nicer than the standard Hogwarts version, but they’ll do. Sleeve length seems adequate. Would you like me to taper the shape to better conform to your grandson’s body?â€
–He prefers them loose.†Less chance of having to let them out later.
–I could simply replace the ‘F’ with an ‘N.’ School guidelines allow for discrete monograms.â€
–Neville has his heart set on the Gryffindor lion,†Augusta maintained, not adding that she herself had nixed the lad’s idea for a new monogram of ‘D.A.’
–Very smart,†the seamstress concurred. –Would you like to retrieve these in an hour’s time? Owl service is very popular this year.â€
Augusta assured her that they would stop by after completing the rest of their purchases.
Instinctively, she wrapped her jacket more tightly around her body as she took to the sidewalk once more. The dreariness of the surroundings made the very air seem heavy.
No wonder Minerva recommended ordering by owl post; it wasn’t so much an innovation as a means of self-preservation!
The soulless eyes of Ollivanders Wand Shop loomed over the derelict storefronts. The window bore its cracked glass like a proud lightning bolt, affording glimpses of tumbled shelves and dusty boxes littering the floor within. Did the inventory of wands languish unsold or had they been appropriated by the authorities? It was impossible to tell. Only the bright yellow caution tape warned the curious to stand clear as the premises were still under investigation of Magical Law Enforcement.
Yet despite the many months since the man’s disappearance, no rumors or suppositions had surfaced. –Still no word of Ollivander’s whereabouts,†the WWN would report periodically -- if they even bothered. That, more than anything, disturbed Augusta. With Muggle-borns being systematically stripped of their status, one would expect the incumbent administration to herald the fabled wandmaker as an outlaw, one who’d fled the country rather than face the consequences of selling wands to those who could not possibly possess magical abilities.
If instead Ollivander was in custody, where were the smug proclamations that the flagrant lawbreaker had been apprehended? Granted, any worthwhile barrister would argue that a man could not be prosecuted for breaking laws that were not in effect at the time of the alleged transgressions. Of course, that assumed that there would be a trial. The new Minister was a great believer in tribunals, but that hardly guaranteed equal justice for everyone.
Watching a harried mother of twins reminded Augusta of a bigger problem: where were first-years to buy their wands? Surely those of modest means couldn’t be expected to visit one of Gregorovich’s shops on the continent. She grimaced at yet another example of the new administration’s blatant disregard for anyone other than the well-to-do.
Her curiosity was soon satisfied when she ventured into Flourish and Blotts to purchase Neville’s schoolbooks.
–…not in Diagon Alley,†the weary shopkeeper counseled.
Brandishing his child’s Hogwarts letter, the father’s response was but an unintelligible growl.
–No nearby branch, I’m afraid,†the shopkeeper sighed. –Dervish and Banges has premises in Hogsmeade village… But their supply of wands is very limited; replacements for those which might suffer an accident, mostly. As the letter advises, sir, hand-me-down wands are considered perfectly acceptable for beginning wandwork. No need to spend the extra…â€
Augusta scowled deeply as she turned away. The youngest wizards and witches treated as the most expendable, she couldn’t help thinking as she wandered amid stacks of books that reached to the rafters. Second-hand wands were notoriously fickle, having been forced into the indignity of choosing an alternate owner; some never recovered. Or was that just what the Death Eaters hoped: school children unable to rightly defend themselves?
The tinkle of the shop’s bell signaled a new arrival. She sighed with relief to see it was Neville returning from the joke shop.
–Didn’t you buy anything?†she posed, noticing that he had both hands buried in his pockets.
–Naw. Filch would just confiscate it at the door. The man’s just waiting to whip out his Probity Probe.â€
–See any of your friends?†Augusta posed, adding to the stack that Levitated before her.
–Most everyone stayed home. Only Lavender Brown was there. Likely hoping to catch a glimpse of Ron.â€
–I thought you said he was otherwise occupied.â€
–Lavender wouldn’t know and I wasn’t about to say anything. Fred already whispered that ‘the less you know, the better.’†Neville took a moment to page through a thick tome, then added, –Lavender was hoping I’d had word of the new Quidditch captain.â€
–How? Clairvoyance is hardly your strong suit.â€
Neville shrugged self-consciously. –Somehow Lavender already knew the names of the new Prefects. But no one’s heard a word about Quidditch.â€
Purchases completed, Augusta suggested, –Leaky Cauldron for lunch?â€
Much to her surprise, Neville declined. –Can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched.â€
Augusta waited until they were safely back home before responding, –Of course you feel like you’re being watched! Wanted posters all over the place…â€
–Like when Sirius Black was on the loose. Or rather, when we were convinced he was a deranged criminal headed for Hogwarts, Even then, I didn’t feel the same sort of danger pouring out of every doorway.â€
–It’s the sinister taint. I remember it in my bones.â€
–From when the Death Eaters tried to take over before?â€
Augusta gave an involuntary shiver. –Before that. When Grindelwald threatened to subjugate Muggles for the greater good. Everyone knew he wouldn’t stop until the last bit of freedom was squeezed from any wizard who opposed him.â€
–Well, I’m not about to stand idly by,†Neville decried as he cast an Incendio Charm towards a stack of placards he’d removed from beneath his jacket. –No one who knows Harry will believe such tripe!â€
Augusta’s eyes bulged at the sheer audacity of her quiet, unassuming grandson. –Don’t go making yourself a target,†she warned.
–Don’t worry, Gran, no one saw me take these down.â€
–Are you so certain everyone at Hogwarts knows the truth? Was there an announcement made to the students like in Cedric’s case?â€
–No, but…â€
–Don’t assume anything, Neville. That’s the only way to survive these dark times. No announcement was made because too many questions remained, issues that hadn’t been resolved at the time of Dumbledore’s funeral. It’s much easier for the faculty to admit it was duped by a fake Moody in Polyjuice than to concede to nigh on twenty years of duplicity by Severus Snape!â€
–There are those who believe Dumbledore wasn’t fooled,†Neville returned the familiar strain of their on-going debate. –That he was aware of all the plots swirling about and was waiting for his enemies to make their move.â€
–Then it was an ill-thought out plan. Infallible and immortal, he was not!†She pointed to the letter outlining next year’s staff appointments. –Some of those very Death Eaters will be your new teachers.â€
–Muggle-Hating for Amateurs. The indoctrination of the innocent youth begins.â€
–You’re too smart to fall for such lies.†She recounted what she’d heard about the first-year’s wands, only to watch the last bit of boyishness fade from Neville’s features.
–I’m counting on the others from the D.A. as well,†he noted with grim determination. –We’ll be the only shield the younger ones have, though.â€
There had been no point in arguing with Frank either when he’d been dead set on something, so Augusta settled for, –Just promise you’ll be careful.†You won’t always have Liquid Luck on hand, she added silently.
It was a bleak journey to Kings Cross Station that year, the students boarding the cherry-red train looking more like they were heading off to reform school than anything else. So, too, Neville’s letters home contained nothing more than a perfunctory recitation of facts -- a clear indication that they were being reviewed by strict stewards.
Augusta didn’t comment on her grandson’s scrapes and bruises when he disembarked from the train at Yuletide, though she knew he’d long outgrown his clumsiness. It was more difficult to ignore the nervous glances over his shoulder, however.
Without having to ask, he blurted, –They abducted Luna from the train! Swooped in like a bunch of vultures and then Disapparated with her held between them!â€
Augusta’s eyes widened in shock. –Did they say anything?â€
Neville shook his head dejectedly.
–It’s because her father’s tabloid has dared to support Harry openly,†she confided in whispers. –They’re going to show him the price of defiance.â€
–Does that mean Luna’s in danger?â€
–We all are. These maniacs know no limits.†She knew enough to not call Voldemort by name then. Like many others, she settled on referring to him simply as the Dark Usurper. It was a poor sort of resistance, but the best she could muster under the circumstances.
Little by little, Neville filled her in on the events which had been judiciously omitted from his owls. With Ginny and Luna as his able lieutenants, they had mounted a series of rebellious pranks guaranteed to unsettle the faculty.
On the one hand, Augusta applauded his acts of juvenile insurrection. On the other, she feared it would only be a matter of time before they’d hold her hostage as a way to keep Neville in line. With stoic forethought, she used every foray into Gringotts to secret family heirlooms in her vault as she removed galleons for her ‘household expenses.’ No one would question why she converted the coins to pound notes; she wasn’t the only witch who found it thriftier to shop at the Muggle markets.
After seeing Neville off on the train once more, Augusta made the most of the bitter January day. She was just one more old lady carrying a carpetbag past the lockers lining the Muggle areas of Kings Cross Station. Lost amid the throng which had just spewed from the sleek silver coaches, she stowed a month’s worth of clothing and pocketed the small silver key.
It was nigh on April when they sought to spring the trap on Augusta. From the uppermost gable, the sleek vulture watched the lone Auror make his way to the front door.
Clearly, they didn’t think a grandmother would put up much of a struggle. It was a conclusion that rankled Augusta so much that she flapped into the back garden and assumed human shape once more.
She didn’t have long to wait for the enforcer to decide that no one was going to answer the door. She greeted the man with a sharp shovel to the ribs as he rounded the side of the house. As he doubled over in pain, she transformed and took to the skies once more.
As a parting shot, the vulture allowed its claws to rake over the loose roof tiles. Like embittered dominoes, they rained down upon the hapless stooge.