Chapter 3

I was right – Neville did hate it.

I was wrong – Neville didn't hate me.

But it was close.

=[O]=

That summer, Neville pushed. Not his magic. Not his body. He pushed … his heart. To break the chains of hesitation, doubt, fear, self-consciousness. To see a future and stride toward it, on purpose, with power.

Power that Neville was rather surprised to find he had.

I had let Neville spend his mornings on his own, but his afternoons were spent dancing attendance on my social engagements; in the privacy of my own thoughts I can admit that I deliberately arranged for Neville's future, and present to be denigrated. After only one week, he began to be visibly irritated when the subject of cutting wit; after four more days, he braced me after my latest guest (Madame Marchbanks) had departed.

"I refuse to be a laughingstock within my own home. You will instruct your guests as to proper comportment," he ordered.

This was well before I had calculated that he would rebel, so I had to provide a modicum of resistance to gauge the depth of his commitment. "Your home? I believe that I am the adult in residence," I responded. A tad archly, now that I think about it.

"You are the Regent. I am The Longbottom. You can be replaced – and will be, if my home is not respected." He held up his hand to forestall any response I might have offered. "You should be very aware of your position, Gran. You have the name. I have the name … and the bloodline. You will offer me all the respect that my position, and that my actions, are due. I can ask no more than that," he finished quietly. "But I will have that."

My heart wanted to sing. At his eleventh birthday, I had thought to offer his father's wand – a wand that was well used to the flow of magic, one that would offer a subtle guidance to a young lad just beginning to tap his own power. Neville had been so desperate for a connection to the father he could only visit in his dreams, I had foolishly assumed that an affinity could be forged over time. Separating him from his father's wand – his wand – now would be a feat worthy of Merlin; his gifts ran more towards his mother's heritage, so abandoning a link to his absent father would never happen.

But now, amidst all of Neville's fears, he was demanding his own from the authority figure that had ruled since before he could remember. There was that fire I sought! Yet … while I longed to capitulate and celebrate his assumption of command, I dared not. The battle must be earned, not given, lest I taint his burgeoning self-confidence and undermine his future, forever.

So I quietly murmured, "Yes, Neville," and strode to my study to attend to my now-urgent correspondence. No more need to provoke the boy – no, young man – and I was eager to see what the coming year would bring.

Confidence, determination, VICTORY!

If only I could express my support rather than serving as an ersatz foe …

A/N: Now the story's done.