After her week of strategic planning at Grimmauld Place, Ariana fulfilled her next promise. She sent an owl to Longbottom Manor, and the reply from a delighted Augusta was immediate. A Portkey was enclosed, set to activate the following afternoon.
Longbottom Manor was nothing like the gloomy grandeur of Grimmauld Place or the aristocratic elegance of the Greengrass estate. It was a sprawling, comfortable country home, built of warm, honey-colored stone and surrounded by the most magnificent, chaotic, and magical gardens Ariana had ever seen. Greenhouses shimmered with magical heat, strange, beautiful plants with pulsating leaves grew alongside perfectly ordinary roses, and the air was thick with the rich, loamy scent of a hundred different magical pollens. It was a Herbologist's paradise, a home that felt deeply, fundamentally connected to the earth.
Neville met her at the gate. The usual anxious slump of his shoulders was long gone, a distant memory. He stood taller, his face alight with a quiet, steady joy that seemed to emanate from his very core.
"Ariana!" he said, his voice full of a warmth and confidence she was now familiar with recently.
"Thank you for coming. They're… they're waiting in the solarium."
He led her through the comfortable, sunlit house to a large, glass-walled room that overlooked the gardens. Augusta Longbottom was there, her usual stern expression softened by an undeniable, radiant happiness. And sitting in comfortable armchairs, holding hands, were Alice and Frank Longbottom.
The change was breathtaking.
Frank was still quiet, his recovery a slower, more difficult path. But his eyes were no longer showing any traces of being vacant. They were clear, and they followed Neville's movements with a look of dawning, proud recognition. He was still recovering, but he could smile, a real, genuine smile, and he had greeted his son that morning with a clear, single word: "Neville."
Alice, however, was a miracle. The physical therapy had been arduous, but she was regaining her strength. The frail, haunted woman from St. Mungo's was gone. In her place was a woman with kind, intelligent eyes, her face still holding the shadows of her ordeal, but now filled with a quiet, determined light. She stood up as Ariana entered, her movements a little unsteady but full of grace.
"Miss Dumbledore," she said, her voice soft but clear. She walked over and, to Ariana's surprise, took both of her hands. "The words 'thank you' feel so small for what you have given us. You have given us back our lives. You have given our son back us, his parents."
"I am pleased to see you recovering so well, Mrs. Longbottom," Ariana replied, her own voice touched with a genuine warmth.
"Please," she insisted. "Call me Alice."
They spent the afternoon in the solarium, talking. Augusta, for the first time, spoke not of duty and honor, but of her joy, her relief. Neville, with his parents listening intently, spoke with passion and expertise about the magical properties of the Mimbulus Mimbletonia he was cultivating.
Later, while Frank rested and Neville was showing Hermione's gift of a rare Herbology encyclopedia to his grandmother, Ariana found herself alone with Alice, sipping tea and looking out at the gardens.
"Neville told me about his friends," Alice said, her gaze thoughtful. "About Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger… and about Harry." She looked at Ariana, her eyes full of a soft, sad curiosity. "My godson. I see his picture in the papers sometimes. He looks so much like James, but he has her eyes, Lily's eyes."
The memory bubbled to the surface. She had been one of Lily Potter's closest friends.
"It must be… difficult for him," Alice continued. "Growing up without them. And now, with Sirius back in his life… it is a joy, but a complicated one."
Ariana saw her opening, the logical next step in her plan to reinforce Harry's support structure. "He is navigating it well," Ariana said. "Sirius and Remus provide a connection to his father. They are a great source of strength for him." She paused, choosing her words with care. "But he has no one left who can truly speak to him of his mother. Not just of her bravery, but of her kindness, her humor, her heart."
Alice looked at her, understanding dawning in her eyes.
"You are his godmother, Alice," Ariana stated gently. "That is a bond of magic and love. A bond that was stolen from you both for thirteen years. Now that you are… back… that bond can be reforged."
"But what could I offer him?" Alice whispered, a flicker of her old insecurity showing. "I am still so… fragile. I barely know myself, let alone how to be a godmother to the most famous boy in the world."
"You do not need to offer him fame or grand adventures," Ariana countered. "You need only offer him your memories. Tell him about the girl you went to school with. Tell him about the fun you had, the way she chewed her quill when she was concentrating, the sound of her laugh. You can give him the piece of his mother that no one else can. You can give him the small, quiet, real moments that build a life."
She let the idea settle, a seed of purpose planted in the newly fertile ground of Alice's healed mind. "He needs you," Ariana said simply. "Not as a legend from the past, but as a family for the future. And perhaps… you need him, too."
Alice looked out at the garden, at a vibrant, singing lily that seemed to turn its face towards the sun. A slow, determined smile spread across her face. The path to her own full recovery had been a daunting, unknown road. But now, Ariana had just given her a destination. A purpose beyond her own healing.
"When I am stronger," Alice said, her voice full of a new, quiet resolve, "I would like to see him. I would like to tell my godson all about his mother."
Ariana nodded, a sense of quiet satisfaction settling over her.