The next morning—Saturday—Harry woke up in a good mood. Asha and Kavi, his snakes, were curled up near him, providing warmth. Hedwig was still asleep in her cage. Suddenly, he heard a tapping at the window. Looking over, he saw a brown owl with bright yellow eyes, gently pecking at the glass with a letter tied to its leg. Harry quickly got up, opened the window, and stroked the small owl as he took the letter. It was from Neville.
He fed the owl some treats before sitting back down to read:
---
Dear Harry,
Thanks for the invitation! I'd love to join you, Hermione, and Theodore to shop for our school supplies. Monday sounds perfect.
By the way, I spoke with Gran, like I said I would, and she told me something interesting about our parents. Apparently, my dad, Frank, was really close to your dad. He was a couple of years older than James, but they were like brothers. And my mum, Alice, was also very good friends with your mum, Lily. That why When we were born, they decided to make each other godparents!
Gran got all emotional and pulled out a bunch of old photo albums. She's really eager to meet you and show you some pictures. Actually, she wanted me to invite you over for brunch tomorrow. If you're free, just let me know. One of our house-elves will pick you up. So send me a adresse where she can come take you
Looking forward to hearing from you!
Your friend,
Neville
---
Harry smiled as he finished reading the letter. Learning more about his parents' connections always gave him a thrill, and the idea of seeing pictures of them with Neville's family made him eager. He quickly penned a response, giving the address of a nearby café, not wanting to involve the Dursleys.
---
Dear Neville,
I'm so glad you're up for going shopping with us! It'll be great to hang out together again. I can't wait to see what new supplies we'll need for our second year.
Thank you for asking your Gran about my parents. It's amazing to hear how close they were. I'd love to see the photo albums—I'm sure it'll be incredible to see them as young parents.
As for brunch, I'd love to join you and your Gran! That the address were your elf can come take me : 123 Maple Street,Little Whinging, Surrey
Thanks again for everything, Neville! Looking forward to seeing you soon.
Best,
Harry
---
After writing the letter, Harry carefully folded it and attached it to the owl's leg, watching as it took off into the bright morning sky. He felt a rush of excitement at the thought of connecting with Neville's family and learning more about his parents.
After finishing the letters for Neville, Harry now knew that two people had confirmed their outing. Hermione had confirmed yesterday by attaching her letter to Hedwig
---
Dear Harry,
I hope this letter finds you well! I just wanted to confirm that I'll definitely be able to join you next Monday to go shopping for our school supplies. It'll be so much fun to go with you, Neville, and Theodore! I'm really looking forward to it.
Also, I've been thinking… I'll probably need to buy an owl of my own this year. It's been a bit tricky always borrowing the school's owls to send letters to my parents. It would be nice to have one of my own so we can write to each other whenever we like, without having to rely on the school's owls all the time!
Anyway, I can't wait to see you all. Please let me know if anything changes!
Warm regards,
Hermione
Only Theodore was left to confirm. Harry had the whole day to himself, and he wondered what he should do. He had finished all his studies, and his thoughts drifted to his grandparents.
Chhavi had told him that his grandparents were waiting for him, that they missed him. It was the first time anyone had ever said Harry was missed, even if it was by people who existed only in memories rather than the living. Harry took a few moments to question whether it was healthy to become attached to the dead—especially to the dead he had never known in life.
Asha immediately sensed that something was off with Harry, gently coiling around his hand, and hissed softly, "What troubles you, little one?"
Harry sighed, glancing at her. "I've been thinking… about my grandparents. Chhavi said they miss me, and I think I do too but… can you really miss people you've never met? People who aren't even alive anymore?"
Asha flicked her tongue thoughtfully before responding, "The dead may not walk, but their love lingers in memories. You are bound to them, whether alive or not. Do not fear attachment, little one."
Harry looked down at her, her words soothing some of the unease in his chest. "You really think it's okay?"
Asha tightened her coil slightly, almost as if giving him a comforting squeeze. "It is not the living or dead that matters, little one. It is the love you carry in your heart. That is what truly binds you."
---
Harry looked down at Asha and asked, "Would you like to come with me to the Potter house?"
Asha's tongue flicked, and she responded, "Of course, little one."
Harry smiled, then glanced over at Kavi, who was lazily curled up nearby. "What about you, Kavi? Fancy exploring new territory?"
Kavi lifted his head and hissed softly, "A new place? I'm in."
Feeling a bit more confident, Harry got up and began preparing for the visit. He called for Chhavi, and within moments, she appeared before him with a bright smile. "Mister Harry!" she chirped, her small figure bouncing with excitement.
"Chhavi, can you take me to the Potter house,please ?" Harry asked.
Chhavi nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, Mister Harry! I will take you and your snakes right away!"
Before they left, Harry turned to Hedwig, who was perched in her cage. "See you later, Hedwig," he said softly, stroking her feathers. She hooted in response, her eyes half-closed, content.
With everything in place, Harry, Asha, and Kavi gathered around Chhavi. She gave him a reassuring smile before snapping her fingers. In an instant, the world around them blurred and twisted as they were whisked away through the sensation of being squeezed through a narrow tube. Moments later, they landed softly on the ground in front of the Potter house.
As they stepped into the house, Harry felt the familiar warmth envelop him, a comforting embrace that never failed to amaze him, even though this was only his second visit. He made his way straight to the room where he had first discovered the portraits of his grandparents, hoping to find them there again. Though he wasn't entirely sure they would be in that particular spot—after all, they could travel between the paintings in the house—he felt a pull toward that room, eager to see if he could connect with them once more.
Fortunately, they were there, and they welcomed him warmly, their faces lighting up with joy at the sight of their grandson. They showered him with questions about what he had been up to since their last meeting, their genuine interest making Harry feel a sense of belonging that he hadn't quite experienced before.
He realized, with a mix of gratitude and melancholy, that aside from Margaret, no one had really cared about his day-to-day life. Sure, his friends showed concern, but it felt different to be cared for by adults—by people who had lived and experienced so much. Their attention wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, reminding him of the warmth and love he had always longed for.
Harry smiled as he shared, "I've done so many things this summer." Euphemia, visibly eager, urged him, "Come on, tell us everything!"
"Well, I took exams for my Muggle school," he began, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "I want to be able to juggle between both schools, magical and Muggle."
Fleamont nodded with pride and encouraged him, "That's an excellent idea, Harry! You should always have multiple strings to your bow."
Euphemia smiled warmly. "I'm sure your mother would be proud of you. She wanted to finish her Muggle studies, but with the war, she couldn't, and there were other reasons she never told us ."
These words struck a deep chord within Harry. The thought of making his mother proud, even after her death, filled him with strength and hope. "Thank you," he said softly, feeling a warmth in his heart.
He continued, "I also met Andromeda's husband, and we talked about strategies for helping Sirius—whether he's guilty or not. It's been a lot to take in."
Fleamont and Euphemia exchanged glances, relief washing over their faces.
"We're so glad to hear there's a chance to know the truth about our son," Fleamont said earnestly. "We hope so much that he's not guilty."
Euphemia nodded, her expression filled with concern. "It's been such a long time since we've had any news about him. Just the possibility of finding out what really happened gives us hope."
Harry felt comforted by their concern, the warmth of family surrounding him like a protective shield.
---
Harry spent the entire afternoon talking to his grandparents, feeling a warmth he had never experienced before. Chhavi, his grandmother, was delighted to have someone to care for, bringing him snacks and drinks every hour. Harry felt so loved, his heart swelling with happiness. He learned so much about his family; for instance, he discovered that he was also of Desi heritage from his grandmother's side. His grandma had grown up in Calcutta before moving to London with her family for business when she was ten.
"Harry, dear," Euphemia began, her eyes sparkling with warmth, "let me share a bit about my past with you. I attended Hogwarts, and I was a proud Slytherin. You know, my name, Kundalinî, has a special meaning. In Sanskrit, it signifies 'the one who is coiled upon herself.' It symbolizes the divine feminine energy, much like a serpent, representing strength and transformation."
She paused for a moment, looking fondly at Harry. "I had several sisters who stayed in India when we moved here, but your grandfather has always lived in London. It's such a rich history we share, don't you think? And knowing that you're part of it fills my heart with joy."
"Harry, let me share something important with you," Fleamont said gently, looking at Harry with warmth. "my mother, was Dorea Black, and my father is charlus Potter they had only me ,My mother was of French origin like all the Blacks, my father, on the other hand, has always lived, like all his ancestors, in London. I myself lived here and enrolled at Hogwarts at the age of 11, and I was reported as a proud Gryffindor."
Euphemia and Fleamont exchanged glances, their faces lighting up with pride. "You know, we had James very late in life," Fleamont added, reminiscing about his son with fondness.
Harry felt a sense of belonging and connection, and he couldn't help but cherish every moment spent with them.
As the afternoon wore on, Chhavi, his elf, kept bringing him food and drinks, her eyes sparkling with happiness at finally having someone to care for after all those years.
"Here's some more tea, Harry. I thought you might like it with biscuits," she said, placing the tray on the table.
"Thanks, Chhavi! You're the best," Harry replied, feeling a warmth in his heart he hadn't experienced in a long time. He savored the biscuits, grateful for her kindness.
Soon, the sun began to set, casting a warm glow in the room.
"I can't believe I have to leave already," Harry said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.
Euphemia smiled at him. "You can always come back, dear. You're family now. Just remember that."
Fleamont added, "Yes, and we'll always be here for you. Never hesitate to reach out."
Harry nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. "I will. Thank you for everything. I've learned so much today."
After heartfelt goodbyes, with promises to keep in touch, Harry stepped outside, where Chhavi waited.
"Ready to go back?" she asked.
"Yeah, I guess so," he replied, taking one last look at the warm, inviting home of his grandparents.
With a gentle wave of her hand, Chhavi transplotted him directly into his room at the Dursleys. As he landed softly on his bed, he sighed, missing the love and acceptance he had just experienced.
"Just a few more years," he whispered to himself, determined to make the most of his time at Hogwarts and beyond.
It was already late, around seven in the evening, when Harry realized how much time had passed. He quickly changed into his pajamas, feeling the weariness of the day settle in his bones. Chhavi had ensured he was well-fed throughout the afternoon, so he wasn't even hungry.
As he slipped under the covers, he thought about how wonderful it had been to spend time with his grandparents.
"I wish I could stay longer," he murmured to himself, the warmth of their kindness lingering in his heart. But tomorrow, he would be visiting Neville and his grandmother early, and he needed to rest.
"Goodnight, asha ,kavi and Hedwige ," he called out, knowing she was still around, ready to assist him.
"Goodnight, little one !" kavi and asha hiss together.
Hedwig hooted in response, a gentle and soothing sound that felt like a warm hug. She ruffled her feathers and settled down, her bright eyes blinking slowly as if to say, "Rest well, Harry."
With a contented sigh, Harry closed his eyes, allowing the exhaustion to wash over him. The events of the day played in his mind like a pleasant dream—his grandparents' laughter, their warm smiles, and the love that enveloped him. He hoped tomorrow would bring more joyful moments.
As he drifted off to sleep, he felt a sense of peace that had been missing for far too long.
---
The next morning, Harry woke up feeling a bit anxious. He had always struggled with anxiety when meeting new adults—thanks to the Dursleys, he thought sarcastically. It was six o'clock in the morning, and he was exhausted, but he was eager to see Neville and hear all the information he had about a part of his parents' past.
After several minutes of staring at the ceiling, Harry finally got out of bed and glanced at Asha, who was the only one awake.
"What should I wear for this brunch?" he asked her, seeking her advice.
Asha slithered closer, flicking her tongue as if considering his wardrobe choices. After trying on several outfits, Harry settled on a black shirt, a pair of jeans, and some comfortable sneakers. He decided it would be nice to take Asha and Kavi with him for a walk around the neighborhood before he left. They could stretch their scales and enjoy some fresh air.
Once he was ready, Harry opened Hedwige cage so she could go to chase , and Asha eagerly slithered out, followed closely by Kavi. The three of them set off together, Harry feeling a bit more relaxed with his companions by his side. They wandered the familiar streets.
As he approached the small alley where he was supposed to meet the elf, Harry noticed that the street was empty, with no one around to see him or his snakes. Just as he reached the designated spot, a small figure appeared, wearing a slightly oversized jacket that seemed to swallow him whole.
"Hello, Master potter! I I am Lozy, and I is here to take you to the Longbottoms," the elf said with a cheerful grin.
Harry smiled back, grateful for the friendly greeting. "Thanks, Lozy. I'm ready to go."
Lozy nodded eagerly and gestured for Harry to follow him. They walked through the quiet alleyway, and after a moment, the elf snapped his fingers. With a sudden rush of wind and a pop, they found themselves standing at the entrance of the sprawling Longbottom estate.
The estate was impressive, with manicured gardens and grand architecture that hinted at its rich history. Harry felt a mix of awe and anticipation as he prepared to meet Neville and learn more about his parents' past.
Harry followed Lozy as they approached the grand door of the Longbottom estate. The door swung open gracefully, revealing a stately woman standing in the doorway. She exuded an air of strength and elegance that instantly captured Harry's attention.
The woman was of average height, with a dignified posture that suggested both authority and warmth. Her silver hair was pulled back into a neat bun, with a few wisps framing her face, highlighting her sharp yet kind features. Her deep-set blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and a hint of mischief, and they scrutinized Harry with a mixture of curiosity and recognition.
Dressed in a tailored emerald green robe that accentuated her refined figure, she radiated a sense of timeless beauty and confidence. A pair of reading glasses perched on her nose, and she held a stack of papers in one hand, as if she had just paused from her important work to welcome him.
"Harry, dear!" she exclaimed, her voice warm and inviting. "Welcome to the Longbottom estate. I've heard so much about you."
Harry felt a wave of comfort wash over him at her welcoming demeanor, easing some of the anxiety that had built up within him.
The lady stepped aside to let Harry in, a warm smile on her lips.
"My name is Augusta Longbottom," she said in a gentle yet authoritative voice. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry. Come, I'll take you to the sitting room."
She led him down a hallway filled with old portraits and grand decorations, eventually guiding him to a cozy sitting room.
"Please, have a seat," she offered, gesturing to a plush armchair. A few moments later, Neville walked in, greeting Harry cheerfully before sitting down beside him.
Lozy, the house-elf who had brought Harry here, soon returned with a tray of tea and biscuits, setting it on the table in front of them.
Lady Longbottom stared at Harry for several minutes, her sharp eyes seeming to study him carefully, as if analyzing every detail.
Finally, she spoke, "You truly do resemble both of your parents, Harry. It's remarkable."
Harry, curious, asked, "Did you know them?"
She took a deep breath, as though gathering courage to revisit the past.
"Yes," she replied, her voice softening slightly. "I knew James far better, though. The Potters and the Longbottoms have been allies for generations, you see. My late husband was very close to Fleamont Potter."
Augusta paused, looking at Harry for a few more seconds before asking, "Do you know who Fleamont Potter was?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, he was my grandfather."
A look of relief passed over her face. "Good, I'm glad you know about your family," she said, her expression softening. "My dear Frank, my precious son, treated James as if he were his little brother. They knew each other since they were children."
She paused for a moment, then continued, "As for my Alice, my daughter-in-law, she knew James well too, but she was also friends with your mother, Lily. Alice helped Lily understand wizarding history and the values and traditions of our world. She took Lily under her wing, you could say."
Lady Longbottom's expression grew somber as she spoke, her voice tinged with regret.
"I never wanted Frank, Alice, or even James and Lily to get involved in that war," she admitted, her gaze distant as if reliving the past. "I warned them all. I told them it was dangerous, but they wanted to stand up against Voldemort, to defend what was right."
She paused, looking at Harry for a moment, then added quietly, "I even considered keeping Neville away from Hogwarts, afraid of what might happen. But... I wanted him to know the same joy his parents had known there, to experience that life."
Harry glanced at Neville, who sat quietly beside him, visibly moved by his grandmother's words, his emotions clear in his eyes.
Harry bit his lip, unsure whether it was the right time to ask about Frank and Alice's fate. He hesitated, his heart heavy with uncertainty. Augusta Longbottom, however, caught the flicker of confusion and doubt in his eyes. She gave him a sad, understanding smile before speaking softly.
"I see you're wondering, dear," she said, her voice calm but laced with sorrow. "Frank and Alice... their fate is just as tragic as that of James and Lily."
Neville let out a soft, heartbroken whimper, the sound so small but filled with deep pain. His face crumpled slightly, and Harry instinctively reached out, squeezing his friend's hand. Neville accepted it, his grip tight, as if seeking comfort in the shared grief. Augusta watched them for a moment, the bond between the two boys perhaps reminding her of the bond their parents once shared.
With a deep sigh, Augusta's eyes glistened with the weight of the memories she was about to share. "Frank and Alice were remarkable, brave beyond words. They were Aurors, fighting valiantly against Voldemort and his followers. But one night... one terrible night, they were captured by Bellatrix Lestrange and her lot." Her voice faltered slightly, and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap, as if gathering strength to continue.
"They were tortured," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Tortured until their minds broke, until they could no longer recognize the world around them... or even their own son."
Neville stiffened next to Harry, his breath catching as he struggled to hold back tears. Harry's heart clenched painfully. He couldn't imagine what it was like to grow up knowing this, to feel so close yet so far from his parents.
"They didn't die," Augusta continued, her voice hollow now, "but they're no longer... themselves. They live in St. Mungo's, but they're gone in every way that matters."
Tears shimmered in Neville's eyes, but he kept silent, his lips pressed tightly together as he tried to maintain some sense of composure. Harry squeezed his hand again, offering all the silent support he could.
"I wish... I wish I could say they would recover," Augusta said, her voice barely a whisper now. "But the truth is, they won't. They're lost to us. To Neville."
Harry felt his own chest tighten, a mix of grief and anger welling up inside him. How could the world be so cruel? To rob someone of their parents in this way, leaving them alive but shattered beyond recognition?
"I'm sorry, Neville," Harry murmured, his throat tight with emotion, knowing how inadequate those words were but unable to say anything more.
Neville finally let out a shaky breath, his voice thick with emotion as he said, "It's... it's alright. I've known for a long time. But... it still hurts." His eyes, full of quiet pain, met Harry's, and for the first time, Harry realized just how deeply they shared the weight of loss.
Neville, with tears still glistening in his eyes, looked at Harry and said softly, "I'm going to see my parents today at the hospital. Would you... would you like to come with us?"
Harry didn't hesitate. "Of course," he replied immediately, his voice full of warmth and understanding.
Neville gave him a grateful nod, wiping his eyes. "I'll go get ready," he said, glancing down at his pyjamas with a small, sad smile before heading off to change.
As soon as Neville left the room, Augusta Longbottom motioned for Harry to come closer. "Harry, dear, I'd like to show you something," she said gently, her voice filled with tenderness. Harry moved closer, curiosity and respect filling his heart.
Augusta carefully opened a large, worn album that looked as though it had been well-loved and handled many times over the years. The pages creaked as she opened it, and the first photograph to greet them was of a handsome man standing proudly in a field. His dark, tousled hair fell naturally over his forehead, and his brown eyes were full of life and warmth. His face had a rugged charm, with a gentle smile that seemed both kind and mischievous at the same time. The man looked strikingly , his youthful energy and strength emanating from the picture.
"That," Augusta said softly, her voice filled with affection, "is Frank, Neville's father. He was so full of life, always smiling, always making others feel at ease."
Beside Frank in the photograph stood a woman with delicate features and a soft, radiant smile. Her short blonde hair framed her face beautifully, and her expressive blue eyes sparkled with happiness. She had the gentle grace of someone who moved through life with purpose and kindness , with an aura of quiet strength and warmth surrounding her. In her arms was a tiny baby, Neville, his chubby little face peeking out from a blanket.
"And this," Augusta continued, pointing to the woman, "is Alice, Neville's mother. She was such a bright light in all of our lives. So brave, so caring. And there in her arms, that's Neville. He was so small back then." She smiled wistfully at the memory, her eyes lingering on the photograph as if lost in the past.
The family in the photo radiated joy. Frank and Alice were beaming, full of hope and love, holding their precious baby boy in their arms. Their smiles seemed to light up the entire picture, capturing a moment of pure happiness before the darkness of the war had cast its shadow over them. Harry's heart swelled with emotion as he looked at the image. He could almost feel the warmth and love in the room as though it had crossed time to reach them.
She looked at him, her eyes softening as she placed a hand gently on his cheek. "I hope," she said, her voice carrying a mix of fondness and sternness, "that you and my grandson won't be as foolish as the previous generation. Always trying to save everyone, risking your lives... all because of two old men who want to play their games."
Harry couldn't help but smile a little at her bluntness. "Let me guess," he said, his tone light, "one of those old men is Dumbledore?"
Augusta let out a dry, sharp laugh, a sound that was both amused and bitter. "Of course! That old goat, sitting up in his tower, bored out of his mind, treating people's lives like pieces on a chessboard," she said with a scathing edge. "And naturally, the other one is Voldemort."
Harry chuckled at the fierceness in her tone. He hadn't expected her to be so bold and unapologetic about her views. She was unlike anyone else he'd met.
"You're quite fierce, aren't you?" Harry said, his smile widening.
Augusta looked at him, a gleam in her eyes. "Of course I am," she said, her voice full of pride. "I was a Rosier before I became a Longbottom. We don't just sit by quietly and let the world walk over us."
At that moment, Neville entered the room, now dressed in outdoor clothes, a determined look on his face. Augusta, with a brisk nod, turned to them both and said, "We're going by Portkey."
Harry, a bit puzzled, raised an eyebrow. "What's a Portkey?"
Augusta gave him a patient look. "It's a magical object used for transportation. Once you touch it, you'll be transported instantly to a designated place. Neville will go first, then you, and I'll follow."
Neville, clearly familiar with the process, picked up what looked like an old, worn shoe from the table. He held it out and, with a slight tug, vanished in an instant, leaving Harry staring wide-eyed at the spot where his friend had stood.
Harry hesitated for a second before doing the same, feeling the uncomfortable pull at his navel as he was yanked through time and space. In the blink of an eye, he arrived at their destination. Augusta appeared just seconds after him, with a graceful and controlled arrival.
They now stood in front of a towering, old-fashioned building with large arched windows and a high, pointed roof. The hospital had an ancient, almost cathedral-like appearance, its stone walls covered with ivy, giving it a sense of both history and mystery. It was bustling with witches and wizards in traditional robes moving in and out, and magical lanterns floated near the entrance, casting a soft, warm glow over the scene. A large sign at the entrance read: St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Harry held Neville's hand tightly, offering him a semblance of courage. As he did, he couldn't help but reflect on his own upbringing, a childhood devoid of affection from the Dursleys. The warmth of physical contact with a friend felt both foreign and comforting. For a brief moment, he wondered if his own parents had shared the same appreciation for touch. But he quickly brushed that thought aside, focusing on the moment at hand.
Following Augusta down the corridor, they made their way to the first floor. Neville seemed to know the way instinctively, leading them confidently despite the tension in the air. When they reached a door, Harry's heart raced as he read the names on the plaque: Frank Longbottom and Alice Longbottom.
Augusta opened the door slowly, and Neville's grip on Harry's hand tightened. Inside the room, the stark reality of their situation hit Harry like a wave. There lay the two people he had seen in Augusta's photo, but the vibrant joy that had filled their faces was now replaced by the signs of age, fatigue, and suffering.
Frank Longbottom sat propped up against the wall, his gaze lost in the distance, as if trapped in another realm entirely. The joy that once radiated from him had vanished, replaced by a deep, unsettling sorrow etched across his features.
Alice, on the other hand, was sitting at the edge of the bed, absorbed in her drawing, seemingly unaware of the world around her. Her hands moved gently, pencil in hand, as if she were trying to capture something precious.
Feeling the heaviness in the air, Neville stepped closer to his mother, and since Harry was still holding his hand, he followed suit, moving forward with him, ready to support his friend in this emotionally charged moment.