Chapter Three: Seven
Hermione Granger sat in the parlor of the house she had grown up in, having put her baby into the bassinet that she had once slept in. It was amazing all the stuff that her mother had pulled out of the attic that she had once used. Only Jimmy's crib hadn't once been hers.
Hermione had great hopes that Jimmy would remain quiet. He was freshly changed, freshly fed, and freshly burped. She figured she had maybe an hour before he demanded attention again. She knew that she wasn't going to be able to leave the room he was in. Madam Pomfrey had warned her that magical babies were on a short leash from their mothers at first.
Her hopes ended the moment Headmaster Albus Dumbledore apparated into the room. The crack of his arrival immediately caused Jimmy to start crying. Hermione reached down into the bassinet and picked up her son. "No need to cry, Jimmy baby. Mummy's here to hold you tight and protect you," Hermione said holding her baby close. She raised him instinctively against her breast, and Jimmy's little hand found its way under the loose crop top that she'd put on in lieu of a bra. It took too long to remove that when Jimmy wanted to nurse, and she didn't own a nursing bra, yet. She glared at the headmaster.
"My apologies, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said.
Hermione looked back down at Jimmy. It looked like the baby had accepted the apology. Hermione did not.
"I just came from talking with the Governors, and I thought I might stop in to see how you and your new baby were doing," Dumbledore said. "Seeing such a young one is balm after discussing Hogwart's equipment and curricula."
"Are we going to have some class changes next year?" Hermione asked, finding that she didn't want to put Jimmy back down.
"Professor Snape's proposal for ability grouped classes for first and second years, and a paid Student Assistant has been approved, and so has Professor McGonagall's," Dumbledore said. "And thanks to a suggestion from Mr. Longbottom, new brooms have been purchased for Flying Class. Approval has also been given to assign all young mothers attending Hogwarts a house elf to help them take care of their babies."
"House elf?" Hermione asked. She'd never heard of them before. "What are house elves?"
"House elves are a species of magical elves which bind themselves to serve a magical family or place," Dumbledore explained. "In exchange for living off the natural magical emanations from witches, wizards, or the places where witches and wizards live, they serve as housekeepers, nannies, and cooks for the magical world. They remain bound to the witch or wizard, or the place that witch or wizard is master of, until they die or the master gives them clothes. If they do not find a new source of emanations within a year, most of them die.
"Hogwarts provides a refuge and a place for them to find meaning by working to maintain the school, but I'm afraid that most of our house elves feel that they are drastically underworked, especially in the summer. And of course, some of them prefer a family and never quite connect with the school."
"What happens when they don't," Hermione asked after a minute's silence.
"I'm afraid that a number of them drank their lives away when they were unable to find families to bind with," Dumbledore replied, pushing his spectacles back up his nose. "I'm hopeful that with a few young mothers attending Hogwarts, we won't lose so many."
"How can I help?" Hermione asked, the idea of anyone feeling so worthless that they turned to drink pulling on her heart strings.
"I'd like you to interview a few elves, but be careful not to accept any of them, yet," Dumbledore said. "Give them hope that you might choose them, of course, but say you're looking for someone to watch your son while you're in class, and possibly next summer. I intend to have Mrs. Penny Weasley do the same."
"I'll have to talk to Mum about it. I've only been a mother for a week, after all, but I think I can do that," Hermione said, as the door chime rang.
Since Hermione had Jimmy to take care of she'd been told not to go answer the door. So Harry clambered down the stairs, and answered the door. "Good Afternoon, Father," Harry said as he opened the door.
"You must be Harry Potter," the Irish lit of Hermione's parish priest filtered into the room. "I'm Father O'Grady of the Friary Church, the Grangers' pastor. I heard from Pastor Ingqvist that Hermione gave birth last week, and thought I'd stop by and talk about Baptism and the like."
"Hermione's in the parlor with Headmaster Dumbledore," Harry said. "Please come in and join us."
Harry was preceded into the parlor by Hermione's favorite of the priests of Crawley Parish. Father Francis O'Grady had bright red hair, brighter than any Weasley that Hermione knew. He was a bit gray around the temples, and a bit round around the belly, though not as much as Father Robert Green, who had been transferred right before last Summer.
"Hermoine, I missed you at Mass this past Sunday," Father O'Grady said. "So I just had to come and see you and your new baby."
Hermione smiled, as little Jimmy turned his head slightly towards the approaching priest. "I'm afraid I was a bit tethered to the house Sunday," Hermione said. "My little Jimmy Anthony was occupying me a bit."
"It is understood, and shall not require a confession, as you were only a couple days past giving birth," Father O'Grady said. "Though, I have long missed your fascinating questions on my homily."
"Miss Granger does tend to come up with the most interesting questions," Dumbledore interjected.
"Oh certainly," Father O'Grady said. "You must be the Headmaster at the boarding school that Hermione goes to?" Dumbledore nodded before the priest continued. "And it is a rare question that does not make me think more deeply on Sunday's readings. We are much better for encountering such inquisitive minds."
"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, with his usual twinkle in his eyes.
"Mister Potter, would you have by any chance been born in Godric's Hallow?" Father O'Grady asked.
"He was," Dumbledore interjected. "I grew up there myself, though I didn't think many know of the town."
"I was having lunch with Father Ed, he replaced Father Rob, Hermione, when Pastor Ingqvist reminded us of little Jimmy. Father Edward came to us from Saint Clementine in Godric's Hollow. He'd wondered if Harry was the baby that had been the first baby he'd baptized."
"I didn't know where I was born," Harry mumbled, looking down. He was the only one still standing, having not moved much at all since Father O'Grady had entered the parlor. Hermione could see his gaze locked on the baby she held.
"You still haven't read any of the books?" Hermione said exasperated. Every book she'd read about Harry as the Boy-Who-Lived said he was of Godric's Hallow.
"I was going to, but someone gave me their copy of Murder at the Vicarage, and I couldn't put it down," Harry said.
"Most excellent novel," Dumbledore said. "I never quite was able to solve an Agatha Christie mystery before the book ended."
"Same," O'Grady replied. "Though I have one left to read."
"Which one?" Hermione asked.
"Murder on the Orient Express," O'Grady said. "It's been checked out every time I have time to visit the Library."
Neville Longbottom did not get to visit Diagon Alley often. In fact he could only recall the trip to be fitted for his Hogwarts robes in the last couple years. He'd never had the opportunity to go with his father before. Of course, going with his father hadn't exactly been possible before last week.
"Good morning, Tom," Frank Longbottom said as he walked past the proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron, with Neville at his side.
"Good morning, Frank," Tom said, before he realized that it was Frank Longbottom who was striding through his inn, as if he hadn't been in Saint Mungo's for a decade. Tom's mouth dropped open, but Neville and his father were through the place and opening the entrance to the Alley before Tom recovered enough to ask a question.
Neville found himself standing beside his father, looking up at the man's expression of wonder.
"Diagon Alley ... I thought I'd never see it again," Frank said, then looking down at Neville. "Come on, son. Ollivander's should be open by now. It shouldn't take too long to find a new wand or two."
Son ... there was a word that Neville couldn't hear enough of. Of course, there was a word that he couldn't say enough either. "Okay, Dad, but if either of us are like Harry, we'll barely have enough time to get ice cream."
"Nonsense," Frank replied. "Ollivander only took three tries to find mine, and your mother picked up hers on her first try. Harry has to be an outlier."
Neville noticed a few startled looks as they headed towards the wandmaker's store. He wasn't surprised. As far as he could tell the news of his parents' recovery hadn't hit the British magical press yet. He was also sure that was about to end. Especially since he'd just spotted one of the paper's photographers taking a picture.
Ollivander was standing at the counter waiting. "Frank Longbottom, eleven and two thirds inches, black walnut, unicorn hair. Quite a good first wand, though not one that usually is shared well. Impressive that it now accepts your son."
"It does?" Neville said. "It always seemed to be harder to use than other wands. Harry let me use his wand once, and it was so much easier to use. Though it got easier after Christmas, for some reason."
"Did you visit your father with the wand in your possession?" Ollivander asked.
"Yes, I had it in my wand holster," Neville said, as he remembered the day. He had hated seeing his unresponsive father last Christmas. He was sure this Christmas would be a lot better. "Dad, I'm going to need a new one of those."
"Quite," Frank said. "Moody always said you shouldn't carry your wand in your back pocket. Of course, I'd never have grabbed it if you hadn't. Has Healer Rudolf from Saint Mungo's contacted you yet, Master Ollivander?"
"Joseph has," Ollivander replied. "I believe that my study of wandlore has provided a few clues as to your restoration. The case of Margot in Belsen in particular bears notice. Would you allow me to examine the wand?"
Neville's father placed the wand on the counter, and as Neville watched, the wandmaker ran his own wand over the wand he and his father shared. It began to glow in a soft orange hue, and a couple blobs shot the wand, first forming into his father's face, then Neville's. Finally the two blobs, already starting to fade, changed to his mother's and grandmother's faces."
"Interesting," Ollivander said. "Julian was right. I would say that this wand is now a true family wand. I would recommend that both of you be fitted for new wands, though this wand should now work equally well for either of you.
"I intend to go back to work as an Auror once I'm cleared to do so," Frank said, looking down at Neville. "So, I think it would be best that both of us get new wands."
"I'll have my own wand?" Neville said. The idea of having his own wand seemed to be something that had always been out of his reach. Gran had always insisted that he use his father's wand, no others were necessary. Even though his father said they were going for new wands, he couldn't believe he would have his own. As he'd always used an heirloom wand, that was what he expected to always have, at least while he was at Hogwarts.
"Yes, and you get to go first," Frank said, pushing Neville forward to stand in front.
Neville had been told of Ollivander's tape measure, so he was not surprised when it rose and began measuring him. He was surprised at the fact that almost immediately, Ollivander began to pull out wand boxes and place them on the counter. There seemed to be no pattern to his movement, pulling one box from one area, and one from another.
"Julian!" Ollivander cried out through the curtain in the doorway that separated the front and back of the shop. "Box up last Tuesday's work ... and that one from last night with the twist ... and bring them up here."
The tape measure dropped as Ollivander turned back to Neville. He pulled a wand out of a box and said, "Cherry and unicorn hair, fourteen inches..."
Neville barely closed his hand around it when it was jerked from him.
"No," Ollivander said, providing another wand. "Birch and kelpie mane, seven and nine elevenths, rather stiff."
The wand felt a bit hot in Neville's hand, and when Ollivander took it from him, it looked like it had acquired a burn where he'd held it.
"Certainly not," Ollivander. "Chestnut and dragon heart string, ten and a seventh."
A gout of fire shot out of the wand as soon as Neville's hand closed around it, lighting the fixture above their heads.
"... rather whippy," Ollivander trailed off as a boy that Neville thought he'd seen at Hogwarts with Victoria Malfoy entered the room with an impressive stack of wand boxes. "Definitely not. I wonder ... Pardon me for interrupting your fitting, but I need to quiz my journeyman."
Ollivander turned to his assistant, who Neville was sure was the soon to be fifth year who was the eldest Malfoy girl's potions tutor. "Julian, observe young Mister Longbottom, and what you see before you. I believe you carry his next wand. Which one do you think he should try?"
There was a moment's silence, before Julian began his reasoning. "It will have to be a strong wand, with a hard wood, most likely of the fagales order. I don't believe the proper core has been tried yet. I know that Neville has used Harry Potter's wand some, and since I don't think he's suited for holly, perhaps this one?"
Julian pulled a wand out of one of the boxes he had deposited on the counter. It was made of a dark wood, and seemed to be carved with a twist. Ollivander took it from him and handed it to Neville. "Well, give it a wave."
Harry had described to Neville what it felt like when he'd first held his holly and phoenix feather wand. Neville had thought he'd felt a similar feeling when his father and mother had been revived by his father's wand. It was nothing compared to the feeling that he got the moment he moved this wand. A wind with a nutty scent coupled with warmed soil swirled around him, and a swirl of song gently filled his ears. It felt like this wand belonged in his hand. It felt like with this wand, Neville could do anything.
"Black walnut, phoenix tail feather, eleven inches, very solid," Ollivander said. "Rather curious though."
"How so?" Frank asked.
"It took me decades to get a third feather from that phoenix," Ollivander said. "The only other feathers were in wands given to your son's classmate, Mister Potter, and the wizard who gave him his scar. I expect great things from you, young Longbottom."
Neville shook his head, then looked at the floor. He wasn't a great wizard. Harry was a great wizard. Harry could defeat the wizard with whom he now shared a brother wand.
"The wand chooses the wizard, young Longbottom," Ollivander said, raising Neville's chin. "Great wands choose great wizards, so they may do great things. True greatness comes from within, and the wand sees that, young Longbottom. I assure you, that you will accomplish many great things."
"Now, Frank, I believe that Julian has another wand that might just be for you..."
Harry wasn't quite sure what had possessed him to decide to walk to the Friary Church. Hermione and Jimmy were at the Doctor's Office for an examination, and he'd managed to lock himself out, but walking the six blocks to the church, including part of High Street, had to be the definition of insanity.
The church was cool inside though. He took a seat on one of the pews in the back of the church, bent down, and pulled out the kneeler. Then he knelt. He didn't really know how to pray, at least not the words. He'd gone with Seamus once to Mass, but really hadn't paid attention. Seamus had been trying to distract him while Hermione was in the hospital wing.
So he knelt in the pew, placed his hands together, and bowed his head. He didn't say a word. He just knelt there and let the quiet of the sanctuary wash out every thought. As he did so a great calm filled him, and a warmth possessed him. He did not know how much time had passed when he looked back up, but the choir had apparently arrived some time before.
Harry imitated what he'd seen, performing the sign of the cross before sitting back in the pew. Only then did he realize that a priest had joined him in the back pew.
"In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen," the priest said, finishing his own prayers. "I'm Father Ed, what brings you to the friary, Harry."
"How did you know who I am?" Harry asked, surprised.
"You look a lot like your father," Father Ed said. "At least to my memory, and it has been quite a few years since I baptized you, Harry."
"You really baptized me?" Harry asked.
"Yes, on the Feast of Saint Hedwig, October sixteenth," Father Ed said. "A little bit long after your birth, perhaps, but your mother liked the Saint."
"I named my owl, Hedwig," Harry said, looking down at his feet.
"Not one of my favorite saints, personally, but a rather fascinating lady," Father Ed replied. "But I don't think you're here about a canonized Polish Duchess."
"No, not really," Harry said tentatively. It was never easy for him to ask about his family. He was always afraid that whatever he was told would be worse than what he'd heard before. It always seemed to when Aunt Petunia said something. "Father O'Grady said you knew a bit about my parents?"
"A bit," Father Ed began. "Bear in mind that I am just a humble parish priest, and my contact is limited to such affairs as that does involve. Still, I encountered them quite a bit. Saint Clementine was my first solo parish assignment. It's a small village church, taken back to its Catholic roots in the fifties, located just barely across the border in Wales. In fact, I could easily walk to England, and did so on my morning walk. That's where I first encountered your father.
"James Potter was about average height, certainly not any taller than I am, but it did not stop him from having to duck under the branch of an old oak as he walked the dog. I think he called him Padfoot. I introduced myself as the new priest, and discovered that he was soon to be a new father. I asked him if he was in need of the church's services for baptism. Sadly, the sacraments are not universally performed. We live in a very secular world.
"James said he wanted his son, and was sure that it was a son, no matter how much Lily thought otherwise, baptized, just like his recently deceased parents had baptized him. I would say that he was still quite in mourning for his parents. Thereafter I saw him at every Sunday Mass. He had a regular seat, a seat that the parish seems to leave vacant for him even today. Right side, third from the back, next to the wall.
"I discovered him to be somewhat of an irrepressible soul, even in mourning his parents, he could not resist a good joke. He often engaged in long punning contests with his three friends from school, Sirius, Remus, and Peter ... I never got the names of the last two, but the first was your godfather, Sirius Black. Now there was a young man who knew his catechism.
"I met your mother the next Sunday. I was actually a bit surprised to see her waddling in, with perhaps a month to go. According to the widow Bagshot, she hadn't attended Mass in a couple months. Lily had to be helped up the church's steps, actually.
"Lily was a forceful presence for the first year I was in the parish. She may have been a young mother through most of that period, but when Lily knew something, especially when she had text to back it up, she was unstoppable. I'm not sure what caused her to push Mrs. Morganhall into the baptismal font, and Mrs. Morganhall still won't tell me to this day, but when her ire was up, the flaming red hair of hers seemed to crackle with energy.
"James might have been the only one to be able to stop her when that occurred. Certainly Sirius couldn't. She once chased him through the town about apparently turning you green. I think he put something in your bath water. You still had a slight tint the next Sunday. It was better times, I think."
"Father," Harry said after a moment's silence, "What's involved in getting a baby baptized? What would Hermione and I have to do?"
"So little Jimmy is yours," Father Ed stated. "We ask that you do a bit of preparatory study, to help bring up your son in the church. You should choose at least two godparents, usually a man and a woman, not necessarily a couple, who will promise to see to your son is brought up properly in the church. Then, usually on a Sunday, but not always, you come to church, publically ask for the baptism, and we bless him with water, welcoming him into the body of the church.
"Of course, that's just a brief outline. Do you want to have Jimmy baptized?"
Harry thought about it a bit more. It was what his parents had done to him, and there was little he knew about his parents. The idea that he could do something, to continue something that his parents, and his parents' parents had done really appealed to him. "Yes ... but I probably should ask Hermione first."
"Probably wise."