A New Beginning

Please note, this is not the story I originally planned and outlined.  While checking on some spelling, I discovered Ms. Rowling had Hanah Abbott and Neville Longbottom marry, and Hannah was running the Leaky Caldron.  So, I had to do a bit of creative manipulating of my own.  I hope there is another contest after this, so I can write my real story.  JoAnne

A New Beginning

         Bryony ffolkes scrambled down the sliding ladder, stepped back and admired the shelves that lined the large circular store cupboard.  She had straightened every crock, bottle and jar, to make sure they were clearly marked, in alphabetical order, with every label facing forward.  She had checked through everything at least four times.  She took one long, last look and then with a satisfied sigh, she lifted up her lantern and left the storeroom.

         She fussed with the things on her desk, rearranged the shelf of texts and unpacked the last of her personal library of reference books.  Then she moved on to her living quarters.  She finished storing her robes and personal items away before she climbed into the ancient four-poster bed and tried to rest. 

         She was exhausted, but still too excited to sleep.  She felt as though tomorrow would never come.  Tomorrow the students would arrive.  Tomorrow would be her first day as a Hogwarts’ professor. 

                                       * * * * *

         She had been sitting at one of the far ends of the head table, talking with Professor Flitwick for at least an hour.  This was a bit difficult, since he was now even shorter then he had been when she had been in school and had grown extremely hard of hearing. 

         He was just telling her, in a surprisingly booming voice for such a tiny man, about his first term as a professor, when she heard the rising chatter of approaching children.  She was surprised by the flock of hummingbirds growing in her stomach, in proportion to the increasing sound of the voices of students.  Her fellow professors barely seemed to notice them.

         Girls and boys of varying shapes and sizes clambered into the great hall, and found seats at their appropriate house tables.  Once everyone had settled down, Professor Longbottom, head of Gryffindor House, entered, carrying a stool and the Sorting Hat.  The First Years’ followed solemnly behind him.  Bryony knew just how they felt!

         Once the sorting was finished, Professor McGonagall rose and moved from her seat at the table to stand behind the podium.  “Now, now…I’m sure we’re all hungry and anxious to enjoy the start of term feast, but there are a few matters of business that need to be taken care of first.”  She waved her hand, and the students went still.  “First, I want you all to welcome our newest member of staff, Professor ffolkes,” Bryony stood up and did her best to smile, before sitting back down again, as the headmistress resumed her speech, “who’ll be teaching Potions.  Now, I’m to remind you that no one is allowed…”

         Bryony’s mind drifted.  After all, she had attended Hogwarts, and had heard it all before.  She was examining the sea of shining faces filling the Great Hall; wondering which would be her students.  And then again worrying if she would be a good teacher. 

         Professor McGonagall has assured her she was ready.  She had finished her formal education with exceptionally high scores, six years before.  Then she had traveled to other wizarding communities, studying their techniques for potion making and collecting an immense library of reference books.  Now she was back at Hogwarts to share her learning with eager young minds.

         Professor McGonagall’s speech had ended and the tables were miraculously filled with platters of every food imaginable.  Everywhere, children were scrambling for their favorite and talking—often with full mouths.  The laughter and clatter grew and grew. 

         After he removed the stool and Sorting Hat, Professor Longbottom returned and took the empty seat beside her.  She looked at him in awe.  She knew the stories—everyone in the wizarding world did.  Stories of how his parents were still in St. Mongos Hospital; the victims of Bellatrix Lastrange, during Lord Voldemorte’s first reign of terror.  Of how he had fought along side Harry Potter at the Ministry of Magic—a battle that had unmasked Voldemorte’s return.  And how it had been he who had slain the Dark Lord’s pet snake, and remaining horchrux, Nagini.  But when he smiled at her, she blushed and turned away.

         Food also appeared on the staff tables, and they too, began helping themselves to food and conversation.  Bryony took a small helping of shepherds’ pie and ate it slowly, observing everything she could.  Professor Longbottom turned and chatted to Professor Sinistra as they ate.  Before very long, platters of food and used utensils disappeared, and yawning but still chattering children filed out of the Great Hall and up the main staircase.

         The professors remained for a few minutes, as the headmistress spoke to each one in turn.  She presented herself to Bryony last, moving around the table and occupying the seat Professor Longbottom had vacated.  “I know,” she said, as she reached for Bryony’s hand, “you’re still a bit unsure of yourself.  But you’ll be starting out tomorrow morning with First Years.  They’ll be just as nervous as you are.  By lunchtime you’ll be fine.”  She patted her hand again, and added, “Now, get some sleep.”

                                       * * * * *

         Bryony was the first one to enter the Great Hall.  She fixed herself a strong cup of Scotch breakfast tea and drank it down so quickly she almost scalded her throat.  But she felt wide-awake and ready for anything by the time staff and students began drifting in twos and threes.  She had another cup of tea, smiled at students and teachers alike, and sailed from the hall towards the Potions classroom. 

         By the time the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff First Years made their way to the classroom she was ready for them.

         “Good morning.  Come along everyone, take your seats.”  She smiled out at a sea of young faces.  “I’m Professor ffolkes,” she waved her wand over her shoulder and the words Professor ffolkes appeared on the black board, in a feminine hand, before she continued, “that’s two small ‘f’s.  And I’m going to be leading you through the complicated but fascinating world of potions.”  She lifted up a flask of honey colored liquid.

         “Today I thought we would begin working on a basic ‘Calming Draught’.  I could use a bit of calming, even if you all don’t need any.”  She beamed at them, and even the several students who had been wearing that ‘deer caught in the headlights’ look, giggled. 

         “I’m going to be setting up my work area, and I want you to do the same at your lab tables.  Now, I know we’re all excited, but I’d like you to keep the talking to a minimum.  So, as long as things don’t get rowdy and you all listen when I’m speaking, I won’t forbid talking.”

         She brought out a small pewter caldron, a spirit lamp and several vials.  Students mirrored her actions, and by the end of class every student had successfully prepared a very mild ‘Calming Draught’.  Perhaps she was going to be fine—just as Professor McGonagall had insisted.

         Professor Longbottom was just entering the exterior doors as she passed through the foyer on her way to the Great Hall.  He fell into an easy walk beside her, smiled at her again and began, “I didn’t get a chance to talk with you last night.”  He stopped, took her elbow in a light hold and said, “I know how it is when you’re the new one on the block.  That’s why I didn’t press you last night.”  He dropped his voice, and added, “But since we’re are about the only professors under the age of sixty, I had hoped we could be friends.” 

         She turned and faced him, smiling.  “I guess I never thought about it, but we are, aren’t we?” 

         “I was so glad when Professor McGonagall told us you had accepted the position.  I…  I love teaching, but it can be lonely.”  He looked away for a moment, and Bryony was sure there was something else—something he couldn’t, or wouldn’t say. 

         But, before she could ask, the moment was gone.  She just smiled and answered, “I’ve spent most of my time since I left Hogwarts traveling, so I understand feeling lonely.”

         They acknowledged the other instructors and took their places at the table.  She helped herself to some lamb chops and turned to him.  “How was your morning?”

He finished his mouthful of steak and kidney pudding before he answered, “Oh excellent!  I had Sixth Years this morning.  They needed to get Outstanding in their Herbology O.W.L.  And we’re working on propagating some very rare plants I found this summer.” 

         She smiled and listened to him for the rest of the lunch.  It was only as she walked back down to her dungeon classroom that she realized he hadn’t gotten to eat very much.  But she knew she’d found a friend. 

         Somehow knowing that she had someone at least remotely near her own age to talk with was wonderful.  She really hadn’t had a friend since she had left school.  Traveling as she had, she was never in any one place long enough to do more than question elderly witches and wizards for information, gleaning tricks where ever she could. 

                                       * * * * *

         The term moved along—crisp fall mornings gave way to frosty ones.  Her students seemed to be progressing nicely.  There had been a few that gotten off to a slow start, but by Halloween they were all mixing potions like old hands. Several of her older, more advanced students had even discovered how interesting old potion books could be. 

         Eventually, the time came when Neville’s greenhouses, once coated in a rime, gave way to being blanketed in snow.  Christmas approached, and Bryony noticed a change in Neville.  He had gone away for a weekend and come back very quiet.  One afternoon, soon after returning from the Christmas break, she was curled up in a warm corner of the staff room, sipping on a large mug of cocoa and reading through one of her older volumes of potion recipes, when Professor McGonagall entered, followed by a flustered Professor Longbottom.   

         “Neville,” the Headmistress began, “I’m sorry about the two of you.  I know you were against her taking over the Leaky Caldron.  I know that you tried to talk her out of it.”

         “She promised that she’d give it up if I wasn’t happy.  She knew all along I didn’t want to be away from Hogwarts and my students.”  His voice was thick with emotion but Bryony heard more—there was anger there too.

         “I know, dear, but Hannah always was headstrong.”  She paused, and looked as though she was about to say more when Bryony cleared her throat.  Both turned to her corner.  Professor McGonagall gave a strained smile, but Neville blanched white and bolted from the room.

         “I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner,” Bryony said.  She flushed scarlet and continued, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…”

         “I know you didn’t dear,” the headmistress shushed, “I should have seen you sitting there.”  She seemed to be thinking about something as she looked towards the door.  It was a minute before she spoke again, “Neville is going through some personal problems.  So, if he seems, ah…  if he shies away from you for a time, know that it’s nothing you did.” 

         Professor McGonagall reached out for her hand, and patted it.  “I know it’s a lot to expect of you, but if he should talk to you, you’ll give him a sympathetic ear, won’t you?  It’s been a rather difficult year for him.”

         “Of course I will,” she said in a low voice.  She pursed her lips and added, “I like him.  He can be a bit shy, but then so can I.  And we are the youngest teachers,” she laughed, “so we should probably stick together.”

         “Well, yes…,” the professor began, “just don’t…”  She went mute and shook her head. 

         Bryony leaned in, questioning, “What…?”

         But the headmistress merely shook her head again and said, “It was nothing.  Never mind.” 

* * * *                    

         It was several weeks before Bryony found herself alone in the teachers’ room with Neville.  She was again curled on the window seat, reading, when he entered the room.  He looked around, as if he wanted to make sure they were alone, before he spoke, “Is there any tea left?”

         She stretched like a cat and answered, “Anything that’s left will be bitter and cold.  I’ll make some more.  You go by the fire—you look cold.”  She went to tea tray and busied herself at her task.  If he wanted to talk, this would be a good time.  Conversations were always easier over a pot of tea, in front of a crackling hearth.  She turned and asked, “Do you like cake or scones?  We have both.”

         His answer surprised her, “I’d prefer buttered toast with marmalade, please.

         She called to no one, ‘Hot buttered toast, please.’  And an ancient house elf appeared with a plate stacked high.  She placed it and a pot of marmalade onto the already laden tray.  When she started to lift it, she found Neville standing beside her, ready to take the tray. 

         They moved to two chairs facing the fire and each other at an angle.  Neville set the tray on a low table between them and then watched as she poured their tea.  He crunched his way through a piece of toast before he took the cup from her.

         “Light or dark?  And do you take sugar?” she asked as she held out the cream pitcher and sugar bowl.

         He swallowed and said, “Light, please and a little sugar.  Thank you.”  He sprayed a few crumbs when he spoke, and then flushed.  “I’m so sorry.”

         “Don’t be silly.  You didn’t do it on purpose.  Now, drink your tea.  Have you been in the greenhouses all afternoon?  You must be frozen.”  Without asking, she topped off his cup, added a drop more cream and a bit of sugar.  “Go on, drink it down,” she urged.

         His drained his cup and then set it down.  But when she reached for the teapot again, he stopped her.  “No, thank you.  No more right now.”  He looked towards the door, and hesitated—as if he was trying thinking about something.  He must have decided, for he gave a gulp and began, “Would you mind it I asked your opinion about something?”

         “Of course, not, Neville.”

         “Well,” he said, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper, “If someone close to—someone you cared about, and supposedly cared about you—made you a promise, and then chose not to honor that promise, would you forgive them?  Should you forgive them?”

         She turned to look him in the eye.  “My Auntie always told me that you should only make a promise, if you intended to keep it.  To vow something, knowing that you have no intention of keeping it, or if you feel you won’t be able to abide by it is tantamount to lying.  In the end, we are only as good as our integrity.”  She smiled before she continued, “But, you need to understand, she was very old-fashioned.”

         “I would have to say I agree with your aunt.  But, does that mean I should forgive the person?”

         Bryony pursed her lips and answered, “Auntie Grace always told me that there was a difference between forgiving someone—and giving them absolution.  It is in ‘our’ own best interest to forgive, but we are not obligated to absolve someone who makes a promise and reneges on it.  They need to do their own soul-searching and ask a higher being for absolution.”

         Longbottom stared at her for moment before he shook his head.  “So, we are under no obligation to just accept it—to allow it to pass?”

         “I can’t tell you what you should do.  Only you can decide whether you can hold faith with someone who’s willfully breached your trust.”  She stared into the fire and sipped on her tea, giving him a chance to absorb all she said.

         Neville poured himself another cup of tea, and then also stared into the blazing fire as he  drank.  After what seemed to Bryony a long time, he began muttering to himself and nodding.  But he stopped when she turned to him, and gulped the rest of his tea, and asked, “You mentioned your aunt.  Did she raise you?”

         “Yes, my parents…ah…  My parents were victims of one of Voldemorte’s followers.  My dad owned an apothecary.  He refused to sell ingredients to known Death Eaters.  Mum would take his lunch to him, and had the bad luck of being there when the man returned.  When my father again told him he would not sell him what he wanted, he left.  Five minutes later the shop exploded, and the ‘Dark Mark’ hovered over the smoldering hole.”

         “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have asked.”

         “No.  I know you’ve had your own share of misfortune.  You, of all people, should understand how I feel.”

         “Believe me, I do.”  He looked at her.  “We’re a lot alike, aren’t we?”

         “It appears so.  I think it takes a certain temperament to teach, so we most probably are more alike than we realize.”

         He suddenly jumped up, headed to the door and yanked it open.  “Thank you, Bryony.  You really have helped me.”  Then he disappeared down the hallway, leaving her to sit there wondering what it was she had done.

                                                 * * * * *

         Time past.  Neville and Bryony chatted over their meals or over tea, but never about anything more personal than the occasional problem student or different teaching methods.  The winter languished, and professors and students alike wondered if winter would ever end.  But one morning, snowdrops forced their way through the lingering cover of snow and announced spring’s arrival.

         She had found a plant mentioned in one of her books, which she hadn’t heard of before.  It was suppose to be incredibly potent and minute amounts of it could be substituted for great amounts of another ingredient,  She had spent her free time searching through old texts in the library and even obtained permission to look through some ‘Dark Magic’ books held in Professor McGonagall’s office. Still she could find nothing and the headmistress had suggested she take the book in question down and ask Neville if he knew of it.  After a winter in the castle, Bryony was eager to walk out onto the grounds.

         So on the first warm, sunny Saturday, she finished her breakfast, retrieved the book in question and headed out to the greenhouses.  Even though is was warm—in fact, almost hot—in the sun, sagging piles of dingy snow remained against the shady sides of trees and buildings.  She made her way down the hill and knocked on the door of the little office attached to the far end of Greenhouse One. 

         “Yes, enter,” a gruff voice coughed out.  She recognized it as Neville’s, but there was something in the tone that put her on her guard.

         She opened the door slowly and felt a chill in the air of the office.  A woman that looked to be a few years older than herself, lounged in a well-worn arm chair, wearing glaringly brilliant fushia robes and a scowl.  “Professor Longbottom…,” she began speaking, but remained in the doorway.

         Neville jumped up from where he’d been sitting on the edge of his desk, “Ah, Professor ffolkes, how can I help you?”

         “I was going through this book and came across a plant that I don’t know.  In fact, I can’t find any information about it.  And, Professor McGonagall suggested I ask you about it.  It’s…”

         The woman cleared her throat, making it obvious she was annoyed at the interruption.  Neville faced her, frowned and cleared his own throat.  “Professor ffolkes, I’d like you to meet Hannah Longbottom—my wife.” 

         Bryony was stunned.  She could feel the blood draining from her face but she rallied.  She thrust out her hand, smiled and answered, “Mrs. Longbottom, what a surprise.  But how very nice to meet you.”

         Hannah Longbottom remained in her chair, eyed Bryony with evident suspicion and spoke, in a cold, brittle voice, “I’m sure it is.”  She looked at Neville and then back to Bryony and continued, “could you two do this later.  I have a business to get back to.”

         Neville flushed purple, and growled at his wife, “Please, Hannah, that is no way to speak to my colleague.”  He went to the door and added, “Perhaps we could discuss this after dinner this evening.”

         “Of course,” Bryony answered.  She could feel color creeping back up her neck.  “I hope to see you again, Mrs. Longbottom.”  Then she bolted, out the door, up the hill and back into the castle.  She was halfway down the staircase to her dungeon lair, when she ran smack into the headmistress.

         “Bryony, my dear,” Professor McGonagall steadied them both and continued, “is something wrong?  You look flushed—no, flustered—and you’re breathing very oddly.  Let me take you up to Madame Pomfrey.”  She held tight onto Bryony’s elbow.

         “I’m fine.  Honestly, there’s nothing wrong.  I ran up the hill and am just winded, that’s all.  I’ll go rest before dinner.  I’ll be fine.”

         She stared the young woman for a long minute before she released her and answered, “Well, if you’re sure.  But, if you don’t feel better by dinner, you’re gonna to the infirmary, all right?”

         Bryony managed a forced smile.  “I promise that if I don’t feel better by then I will.”  When the headmistress nodded, she walked as quickly as she was able to her quarters, threw herself on her bed and broke out into uncontrollable sobs.

         He was married!  Why hadn’t he told her he was married?  She cried herself out and then considered things over.  Why was she so upset over finding out Neville was married?  She had never thought of him romantically.  He had never given her any indication that he thought of her that way either.  So, why on earth, was she so very distressed with this news?

         She finally sat up on the edge of the bed and thought, ‘Well, it could be, that he’s the only male over seventeen and under sixty.’  She loved teaching, loved her life at Hogwarts, but still…  She didn’t want to find herself in sixty years, teaching—or even being headmistress and still a spinster.

         She got up, washed her face and combed her hair.  That was all she usually did before going into the Great Hall for a meal.  But she stopped, walked to her closet and pulled out a clean robe of pale purple velvet and changed into it.  If she was forced to see ‘Mrs. Longbottom’, she was going to look her best.

         But neither Neville nor his wife appeared at dinner.  She could feel Professor McGonagall’s eye on her throughout the meal.  When dinner was over a small boy appeared before her, bearing a roll of parchment tied with a ribbon.

Bryony,

If you are free this evening, I’d like you to come to

my office for a night cap and some talk.

                                                           Minerva McGonagall

         She smiled and waved at the headmistress and then returned to her rooms.  She waited for about half an hour and then made her way to the spiral stairway that led to Professor McGonagall’s office.  Once a the top, she knocked on the door and waited.

         “Come in.” 

         Bryony opened the door slowly and peeped in.  Halfway up the moving staircase, the idea that Neville would be inside flooded over her.  But, with the exception of the headmistress seated at her desk, the room was empty.  She entered and presented herself in front of the desk.  “You wished to speak to me, Headmistress?”

         “Come in,” she said, waving her towards the inner room.  She rose and led the way into her private parlor.  “Don’t be so stiff, dear.  I invited you for a drink and a chat.  Anyone looking in would think I was giving you detention.”  She motioned to a little loveseat as she poured small glasses of sherry for them and sat across from her.  “Cheers,” she said and she lifted her glass.

         Bryony took a sip of the amber liquid and waited, sure there was a shoe about to drop.  It didn’t take long.

         “I had a message from Neville earlier.  He told me what happened and hoped that I could make his apologies for missing you this evening.  He said that you have a problem you wanted his help with.”

         “I wouldn’t call it a problem.”  She shifted in her seat.  “You know that I’ve been trying to find information on that plant I told you about.  I’ve searched everywhere, but still found nothing.  I thought he might either know of it, or point me in a new direction.”  There, she thought.  That was the truth.

         “I thought it was that.  But he told me he introduced you to Hannah, and she was…ah…less than polite.  He was embarrassed by her rudeness.  I won’t make excuses, she has changed since she’s taken over the Leaky Caldron.  She was never the smartest or most pleasant girl—but from what Neville told me, her behavior this morning was a new low, even for her.”

         Bryony didn’t quite know how to respond.  After a moment she answered, “Well, in her defense, I think I must have interrupted something.  So, while she might not have greeted me cordially, I did burst in on them rather unceremoniously.”

         The ancient woman smiled over at the younger.  “You, on the other hand, always were polite—even when people didn’t deserve it.  I think I should explain some things.” 

         She poured herself some more sherry and began, “You know, I’m sure, that he was raised by his grandmother and why.  He and Hannah were in the same year, although he was a Gryffindor and she was in Hufflepuff.  She was never an ambitious child, and somehow she never left Hogsmeade after finishing school.  After studying abroad, Neville returned here to take over for Professor Sprout.  They ran into each other in town and began ‘keeping company’.  Neville came back from Christmas break and announced that he and Hannah were going to get married at the end of the school year.”

         Bryony took the last swallow of her sherry and leaned forward for more.  Professor McGonagall filled both glasses and sat back, in her chair, ramrod straight and waited for the young woman to comment.

         “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this, Professor.”

         “Neville felt that there were some things you needed to hear, and since he isn’t here, telling you falls on me.  The first several years, Neville and Hannah lived in a small house at this end of the village.  But, she was never happy.  She seemed restless.  I admit, Neville’s grandmother and I both hoped for a baby.  We thought that a child would give her focus, a purpose.  Then about a eighteen months ago, she inherited the Leaky Caldron, and instead of hiring someone—she decided she wanted to run it.”

         “So that’s why she hasn’t been around the school.”

         “Well, yes and no.  She knew that Neville would never agree to moving to London—that his place was here.  He also expected his wife to live with him.  She convinced him to let her try running it for the summer.  He spent that summer living with her there.  He wrote and told me how much fun it was, but I knew it was a lie.  Hagrid, for one, had stopped by and spoken to him.  And I’m in touch with others.  They all told me the same thing—Neville was miserable.” 

         “That’s awful.”

         “There’s more.  September first was fast approaching and he wanted to return to their home in Hogsmeade.  Hannah refused.  She promised him that if he still insisted, she would come back here at the end of the school year.” 

         “And he agreed to that?”  Bryony asked in horror.

         “Yes.  You see, Neville has always been a most honorable person.  He didn’t believe she could lie, because he couldn’t.  He expected her to follow through with what she’d promised.  But lately he’s been afraid she wasn’t going to abide by their agreement. Of course, he’d hoped he was wrong.  She told him over the Christmas break that there no way she was leaving London for Hogsmeade.”

         “Ah, that explains a conversation we had just after Christmas.”

         “There’s more.  As you know, we, in the wizarding world do not usually divorce. Neville, however, has taken the extreme step of telling Hannah that unless she keeps her promise and gives up the personal running of the Leaky Caldron and returns here, he will petition the Wizengamot.”

         “What?” she said, in a whisper.  She had never heard of a witch and wizard being divorced.  “I still don’t see why you are telling me all this.”

         “Neville values your opinion.  He is afraid that this might lead you to think less of him—that he was dishonoring marriage and our traditions.  I know it seems a bit extreme, but he has been agonizing over this decision.  He hoped he would be able to tell you about this, in his own way and time.”

         “I never thought about it before, but I don’t see why we should be forced to stay married to people we can’t trust.  And it’s none of my business anyway.”

         “Well, I promised I would speak to you.  He also said that when he gets back to the school, he would talk to you about your mystery plant.”

         Bryony finished her drink and stood up.  “If you communicate with Neville, please assure him that I do not think less of him.  In fact, I admire his honesty and values.  And, I’ve waited months for information on that plant.  A while longer won’t make any difference.  Now, if you excuse me, I’m tired.  I think I’ll go to bed and sleep late in the morning.  Thank you for taking this time for me.”  She headed towards the door back into the office.  When the headmistress stood, she shook her head, “No, please.  I can find my way out.  You stay in front of your fire.  Good night, Professor.” 

         She walked back down to her quarters.  She had a lot to think about.  She felt that Professor McGonagall had been telling her much more than she was saying.  She wanted to make sure that Bryony understood what Neville was planning and how it could possibly affect her in the future.

         Earlier, as she had cried into her pillow, she had admitted she had feelings for Neville.  How strange that she had never realized that before.  Maybe she had found more than a job when she’d returned to Hogwarts, perhaps she’d found her destiny.



Word Count 5147