quiet fury

Chapter 2: A Quiet Fury

Hannah paused by the door and whispered, 'I'll see you soon. We'll talk, alright?' Tears still streaked her face.

Neville gave a nod—his response carrying an unexpected chill.

As the Floo fire carried her away, only the soft crackle of the flames filled the silence.

Neville didn't look up from the Daily Prophet. He had stopped paying attention to everything around him a long time ago.

Augusta's eyes stayed on Neville as he kept reading the paper. After a long moment of silence, she finally spoke, her voice sharp.

"Do you really think that's the best choice, Neville?" she asked, the question hanging in the air.

Neville didn't look up. He turned the page of the Daily Prophet, taking in every tragedy the war had brought upon the wizarding world, on his loved ones, on him.

Augusta's voice softened as she continued. "This is a time to heal, Nevi. This is the time to rebuild connections, good ones that will bring back the stability we had before HIS era. And we are at the forefront of it. We have power, Neville. Power that will be key to securing our future. More power will always help."

Her words were carefully measured, "Its not just about duty, Neville, its also opportunity. Both requires some sacrifices Neville, being a Lord is more than just-"

Augusta's jaw tightened, but she didn't give up. "The Abbott family, Neville," she said, her voice lowering, as though she was speaking carefully. "They're not quite good enough for the Longbottom name, are they? You know this."

Neville's eyes flicked to the paper for a moment before returning to the headlines. He felt the heat of her gaze but didn't care. He didn't care about anything she said anymore. He didn't care about anything anymore.

Once he would have followed any authority figure presented, once he would have never even imagined questioning his grandmother, forget ignoring her, once he would have been just a boy, respecting his elders, following the lordly courtesies and what not, following rules as if they were absolutes.

"Gran," he said, still reading, his voice quiet. "You don't get it."

Augusta's eyes narrowed, but she kept pushing. "The Longbottoms have a legacy, Neville. A legacy you're a part of. A legacy you contributed to and have the duty to—"

Neville's voice was calm as he interrupted her, almost like he wasn't angry at all. "I'll get a giantess pregnant one of these days just to be odds with you, Gran."

Augusta froze. She stared at him, unable to find words. She was shocked, her mouth opening and closing without saying anything.

Neville didn't look up from the paper. He folded it neatly and put it down on the table, his movements slow and calm.

Augusta didn't say a word as they made their way out of the house.

They arrived at the Ministry of Magic, where the air was thick with the buzz of reporters and cameras. The atrium was filled with whispers and flashes as they passed through, the black marble floors gleaming beneath their feet.

Neville Longbottom, the hero of the war.

He didn't feel like a hero. He didn't want to be a hero.

The cameras flashed relentlessly, and reporters called out to him from all sides. The words they shouted were the same ones he'd heard a thousand times—Killed Bellatrix Lestrange, fought Death Eaters, stood against the Dark Lord, alone, said his name without fear, fought when everyone thought the Boy-who-lived to be dead, when everyone knew they had lost the war, when everyone knew they would die, He had made a stand against the one who must not be named. He could almost hear the shouts of Lord Gryffindor somewhere.

Neville didn't respond.

He simply kept walking, his eyes fixed ahead, his face a mask of indifference. Augusta stayed a step behind, a shadow that never quite left his side.

As they neared the main corridor, a familiar face caught Neville's eye. Through the crowd of people and flashing cameras, he saw Ron Weasley stepping through one of the Floo networks.

Ron was wearing what looked like a formal outfit, but it wasn't quite right—a bit too stiff, too polished. It wasn't a tuxedo, but it was the closest he could manage for an event like this.

The moment their eyes met, a small smile tugged at Neville's lips. It was brief, but it was there. Ron grinned back, a kind of relief in his expression, as though they were two friends who had just found a moment of peace in a world that was still trying to find its balance.

Augusta stopped behind them. "I'll meet you both in the Wizengamot chamber later," she said.

Neville gave her a nod without breaking his stride.

Ron walked up to him, his steps awkward as he adjusted the suit he clearly wasn't comfortable in.

"Not sure what the dress code is, mate," Ron said, "I just picked whatever looked fancy enough."

Neville chuckled, shaking his head. "You look like a kid in his dad's clothes

Ron smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, well, I don't exactly have the hang of this whole 'formal' thing."

They walked together in silence for a moment, but the heavy weight of grief hung in the air between them. Finally, Ron broke the quiet.

"I miss her, you know," he muttered, his voice cracking. "Hermione... I still can't believe she's gone. In my dreams, I kill Antonin Dolohov every night."

Neville's expression softened, though his heart wasn't in the words. "I know, mate. I know. We all lost."

Ron's face was lined with sadness,"I never really got to say goodbye. It's not fair, Nev."

More reporters came running toward them, their cameras flashing again. This time, Ron sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I get it now. All the attention... all the questions, how Harry must have felt when Creevey shoved his camera in his face, all those times I was a jealous bit*h"

Neville gave a small nod. "Yeah, well, it gets old real quick."

Ron's gaze darkened for a moment as he looked away, his thoughts seemingly drifting. Then, with a rueful smile, he added, "You know, when I first met Harry, I was a right git. I asked him to show me his bloody scar."

Neville raised an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "You were not a git, Ron. You were the git."

Ron laughed softly, the sound bittersweet. "Yeah, I suppose I was."

Neville raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips as he glanced sideways at Ron. "So, Lord Weasley, eh?"

Ron let out a deep sigh, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, well... Dad relinquished, Bill's gone, and the day the twins get any kind of official ministry connections, that'll be the day I'll need a good lawyer. Charlie, he always liked dragons more than men anyway."

Neville chuckled softly, the sound just short of genuine amusement.

"I can relate to that," Neville looked up just in time to see Hannah Abbott entering the Ministry, joining the two. She caught their eyes and gave a small nod of recognition. "I always said dragons were a bit more interesting than most men anyway."

As the three of them made their way toward the Wizengamot chamber, Neville noticed Hannah giving looks to them having wands. Most Ministry officials would've put their wands away once they entered a place like the Wizengamot chamber.

Hannah raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. "You can keep those with you in the Ministry?"

Neville shrugged. "Courtesy of the 'Lord' in Lord Longbottom,"

"The Minister wants all of us to be on our best behavior today," she said, her voice steady but there was an undercurrent of tension. "It's all about the image these days."

Ron gave a half-smile. "Best behavior, eh? Sounds like fun."

Hannah raised a brow at him but didn't respond. Instead, she turned her attention back to Neville.

They enter the Wizengamot chambers.

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