Hogwarts: Neville's Insert Chapter 109
That he was just… someone else in the same place.
Augusta was silent for a moment. Then she said, "You're not the same boy you were three years ago."
Neville let out a small breath. "That's one way of putting it."
She studied him for a second longer. "People change, Neville," she said. "Especially at your age."
Neville didn't reply.
Her gaze softened, just slightly. "That doesn't make you any less my grandson."
Neville's grip on the cup tightened for a fraction of a second… then relaxed.
Another pause settled between them.
The fire crackled quietly in the background.
Then Augusta spoke again, her tone more measured now. "About Bellatrix."
Neville looked up.
"If this is about understanding her," she said slowly, "then I can see the logic in it."
Neville didn't interrupt.
"But logic doesn't make it any less dangerous," she continued. "Or any less… personal."
Neville nodded.
Augusta held his gaze for a moment longer. Then she sighed. A longer pause followed. "…If this is something you truly intend to do," she said at last, "then I will let you."
Neville blinked once.
"But—" Augusta's expression settled back into something firm. Controlled. "I will be there."
Neville studied her for a second, then nodded.
…
Thursday, 23rd December 1993 – Ministry Atrium
Neville stepped out of the green flames, boots landing solidly against the polished floor.
The heat of the Floo vanished instantly, replaced by the low hum of voices and movement. The Atrium was busy—witches and wizards crossing the marble floor, robes brushing past one another, conversations overlapping into a constant murmur.
Neville took a few steps forward, adjusting his coat slightly as he moved out of the row of fireplaces—
A hand settled firmly on his shoulder.
"Come, Neville. We'd best not be late."
He didn't need to turn to know it was her.
Augusta didn't wait for a response. She was already moving, guiding him away from the fireplaces and into the open floor of the Atrium, her pace steady and purposeful.
Neville fell into step beside her.
Harry wasn't with them today. He'd tried to come along—of course he had. This whole thing was about Sirius. There was no way Harry would willingly stay out of it.
But Augusta had shut that down immediately. And honestly… Neville agreed. As much as Harry would hate it.
Augusta had made it very clear—Harry wasn't her ward. He was a guest in her home. A friend to Neville. Nothing more. She had no authority to take responsibility for him. And even if she did… she wouldn't have brought him anywhere near Azkaban. Taking him would've been reckless and irresponsible. If anything went wrong, it would fall entirely on her. And that's not a risk she'd ever take.
Even for Neville, this was already pushing it. The only reason she'd agreed at all… was because he'd convinced her.
And honestly… the fact she'd agreed at all still surprised him.
They walked past the grand fountain at the centre of the Atrium, weaving through the crowd toward the lifts at the far side.
As they moved, Neville glanced around briefly—taking in the scale of the place again—before turning slightly toward her.
"Gran… can I ask you something?"
Augusta didn't slow. "What is it?"
Neville gave a small shrug. "Why is every department located here? I mean… all in one place."
She frowned slightly, glancing at him. "What do you mean?"
Neville gestured lightly around them as they walked. "Well… in the non-magical world, everything's spread out. Government buildings, courts, law enforcement—they're all in separate places."
He paused briefly, then added, "But here, it's all just… stacked together."
Another step forward.
"All except St Mungo's for some reason," he said. "That's separate."
He frowned faintly. "It just doesn't really make sense. Feels like someone just threw everything into one place and called it a day."
He'd always wondered why everything was located in the same place. It had never really made sense to him. If anything, he'd assumed it was just one of those things—something put together without much thought, like a lot of the oddities in the wizarding world.
Augusta hummed thoughtfully as they stepped into the queue for the lifts. "On the contrary, it makes perfect sense—once you stop thinking like a Muggle."
Neville blinked. "That's a bit harsh."
"It's accurate. Sometimes you think too much like one." She folded her hands neatly in front of her as the queue moved forward. "Consider the scale first," she continued. "The wizarding population in Britain is, at most, around ten thousand. Perhaps a little more. That is… insignificant compared to the Muggle population."
Neville nodded slowly.
"With numbers that small," Augusta went on, "scattering departments across the country would be inefficient. Difficult to manage. Even more difficult to conceal."
She glanced at him briefly. "Centralization allows for faster communication, tighter control, and easier oversight. If something happens, it can be addressed immediately—without delay, without confusion."
Neville nodded again. "Right… that makes sense." It did. More than he expected. "But then—" he hesitated slightly, "why is St Mungo's separate?"
Augusta gave him a flat, almost incredulous look.
"Because, Neville," she said, lowering her voice slightly, "a hospital is not an administrative body."
She continued, tone even, "It would be absolute chaos to house the sick and injured within the Ministry. Healing requires calm, not bureaucracy. Patients need quiet, space, and privacy."
She gestured faintly toward the Atrium behind them. "Imagine curse victims, spell damage, contagious magical maladies… all coming through the Floo in the main hall. It is already chaotic as it is."
Neville winced slightly at the image. "Right."
Augusta continued without pause. "The risks alone would be unacceptable. A newly emergent magical disease—something like dragon pox—poorly contained in a centralized location like this…" She shook her head once. "It could be catastrophic. It could wipe out the entire wizarding population of Britain."
She added, more quietly, "Not to mention accidental magic surges, unstable conditions, experimental treatments… such things are better contained well away from the heart of government. St Mungo's is placed separately for good reason—both for the safety of the public and the dignity of its patients."
Neville let out a small breath. "Huh… I hadn't thought of it like that." he thought to himself. 'I'm actually surprised. that Something are actually thought through… logically.'
Just then, a lift arrived.
The lattice gate slid open with a soft chime, and they stepped forward with the rest of the queue, squeezing in among a few others. The space tightened quickly as more people filed in beside them.
The gate clanged shut.
A second later, the lift jerked and began to move back.
…
The lift slowed with a soft jolt. A chime sounded, and the lattice gate slid open.
Neville and Augusta stepped out into a quieter corridor, the noise of the Atrium fading behind them. The air here felt different—more controlled, more serious. Fewer people. Conversations kept low.
Gold lettering along the wall marked the way:
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
"Come on, Neville."
Augusta didn't wait as She turned down the corridor, and Neville followed.
Entering the DMLE, they made their way toward the Auror Office.
It was busier than Neville expected—but not loud. Controlled chaos. Desks covered in parchment, files stacked in uneven piles, quills scratching quickly. People moving with purpose.
As they stepped into the Auror Office, Neville glanced around briefly before turning slightly toward her.
"Who are we here to meet, Gran?"
Augusta opened her mouth to answer—
"—excuse me, coming through—"
Neville stepped aside instinctively.
A witch rushed past them, arms full of files stacked far too high to be stable—and immediately tripped.
The stack went everywhere. Parchment scattered across the floor.
The witch hit the ground hard, then sat up almost instantly.
"…meant to do that," she said quickly. Her hair flickered—green to bright pink in a second.
Neville blinked. 'Smooth.'
He snapped his fingers lightly.
The scattered papers lifted from the floor in one smooth motion, gathering neatly into a stack in his hand.
He held them out. "Here. I think you dropped these."
The witch took them automatically. "Oh—thanks—"
Then she looked at him properly. Paused.
"…hang on."
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she tilted her head. "Aren't you that kid from Hogwarts?" she asked. "What was your name again…?"
A moment later, recognition dawned on her face. "Right, Longbottom, isn't it? You were part of that whole Lockhart fiasco, yeah?" she added quickly. "What are you—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
"…wait." Her gaze sharpened. "Did you just use magic outside school?"
Her eyes dropped to his hands.
Then snapped back up.
Augusta made a quiet, displeased sound under her breath.
Neville raised an eyebrow slightly, not bothered. "What? No." He lifted his hands slightly. "I don't even have my wand out."
Tonks frowned, clearly not convinced. "Then how did you—"
Augusta gave a soft, deliberate cough.
Both of them turned.
"It was my doing," Augusta said calmly. "Miss…?"
Neville opened his mouth slightly. "Gran, this is Nymph—"
"—Tonks," she interjected, shooting him a look.
Tonks turned to Augusta, her tone shifting to something more professional. "It's Tonks, ma'am," she said. "Just Tonks."
Neville just smiled faintly. "Right. Tonks."
Augusta gave a small nod, as if recognising something. "Ah. You must be Andromeda's daughter."
Tonks blinked, caught slightly off guard. "Uh—yeah." She tilted her head. "You know my mum?"
"I've met her," Augusta replied. "A few times."
Tonks shifted her weight, clearly reassessing them now. "…Right." Her gaze moved between the two of them, curiosity replacing the earlier suspicion. "So, do you need help with something?" she asked. "Are you here to file a complaint, or…?"
Augusta answered smoothly. "We have an appointment," she said. "Senior Auror Scrimgeour. Could you point us to his office, please?"
Neville blinked slightly at the name.
'Huh… wasn't he Minister at some point?'
'And Gran knows him… were they at Hogwarts together?'
Tonks nodded immediately. "Yeah, I know where he is. I was heading that way myself."
She adjusted the stack of files into one arm, tucking a loose sheet back into place.
"Come on," she said, already turning. "I'll take you."
…
There was a knock on the door to the office.
"Come in." The voice was firm. Direct.
The office door opened with a sharp click.
Rufus Scrimgeour looked up immediately, eyes narrowing slightly as Tonks' head appeared around the door.
"Sir—you've got visitors," she said quickly.
Scrimgeour gave a short nod. "Send them in."
The door opened fully. Augusta stepped in first. Neville followed just behind her.
"Augusta."
Scrimgeour rose from behind his desk and walked around it.
"What has it been… thirty years?" His tone carried the rough edge of someone unused to sentiment, but there was a flicker of something like respect beneath it.
Augusta inclined her head. "Closer to forty, I should think. You've not improved your counting with age, Rufus."
A brief, dry huff escaped him. "And you've not lost your bite."
His gaze shifted—sharp, assessing—as it landed on the boy beside her.
"And this must be—?"
Neville felt the weight of that look immediately. It wasn't unkind—but it was thorough, like being measured for something he wasn't sure he fit.
Augusta placed a hand on his shoulder. "My grandson. Neville."
Then, more formally, "Neville, this is an old acquaintance of mine. We attended Hogwarts together."
Scrimgeour stepped forward, offering a firm hand. "Rufus Scrimgeour. Head of the Auror Office."
Neville shook it. "It's nice to meet you, sir."
Scrimgeour's grip was firm, his gaze steady, lingering a moment longer before he released it and turned back to Augusta.
"I'll admit," he said, voice lowering slightly, "I was quite surprised to receive a letter from you."
A small pause.
"And even more surprised about the request. I didn't expect this to come from you of all people."
Augusta let out a quiet breath. "No. I imagine you didn't."
"You're quite certain?" he pressed. "It isn't a place for… closure."
agusta snorted and shook her head " thrust me im not looking for closure," she said evenly, "If it were up to me I wouldn't set foot anywhere near that woman."
Then she gestured briefly to Neville. "But this isn't my request."
Scrimgeour's eyes flicked to Neville again. "…I see."
There was a short pause. Then he looked at Neville properly this time. "You want to meet Bellatrix Lestrange, mr longbottom."
Not a question. A statement.
Neville met his gaze and nodded once. "Yes."
Augusta snorted softly and shook her head. "Trust me, I'm not looking for closure," she said evenly. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't set foot anywhere near that woman."
Then she gestured briefly to Neville. "But this isn't my request."
Scrimgeour's eyes flicked to Neville again. "…I see."
There was a short pause. Then he looked at Neville properly this time.
"You want to meet Bellatrix Lestrange, Mr Longbottom."
Not a question. A statement.
Neville met his gaze and nodded once. "Yes."
Scrimgeour's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened slightly.
"Why?" he asked. "Why do you want to meet the person responsible for your parents' condition?" A small pause. "What do you expect to gain from speaking to her?" His tone remained steady. "If it's closure, Mr Longbottom, I'll tell you now—you won't find any there."
Neville shook his head slightly. "I'm not looking for closure." His voice stayed level. "I've already come to terms with what happened." That part… was close enough to the truth. "I just want to talk."
Scrimgeour's brow lifted a fraction. "…You just want to talk."
There was a faint edge of disbelief there.
Neville didn't react to it. 'Partly.'
He wanted to understand Bellatrix. How someone became that. What kind of mind it took.
And… what he'd feel when he saw her.
Because that mattered more than he liked to admit.
He didn't know if he'd feel anger.
Or nothing at all.
And that… bothered him more than it should.
"I want to understand how she thinks," Neville said simply.
Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed slightly.
Silence stretched.
He watched Neville—evaluating, weighing, measuring.
Then—
"…Why?" he asked again, quieter this time. "Understanding her doesn't change anything that happened."
Neville answered without hesitation. "No. It doesn't."
A small pause.
"But not understanding her doesn't change anything either."
Another stretch of silence followed.
Scrimgeour studied him for a few seconds. "Do you understand where you're asking to go, Mr Longbottom?" His tone shifted slightly—more direct, more serious. "This is Azkaban," he said. "Not a place people visit out of interest. Not a tour. And certainly not a spectacle."
Neville nodded. "Yes, sir."
Augusta stood with her arms crossed, watching. She didn't intervene.
"Do you?" Scrimgeour pressed. There was no aggression in it. Just pressure. "People don't walk out of there the same as they went in," he continued. "Even visitors."
Neville held his gaze. "Yes, sir. I understand what I'm asking for." A brief pause. "And I still want to go."
That hung in the air for a moment.
Scrimgeour watched him closely.
Then he gave a short nod. "…Very well. If you are."
It wasn't approval.
But it wasn't dismissal either.
He turned slightly, already reaching for his coat.
"If you're ready," he said, glancing toward Augusta, "then we will leave now."
Neville exhaled slowly, only just realising he'd been holding his breath.
They moved out of the office together, footsteps echoing faintly in the corridor beyond.
For a moment, no one spoke.
"How are we getting there?" Neville asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice.
Scrimgeour didn't slow. "We'll be taking a Portkey to a fortified outpost on the northern coast. From there—" he continued without breaking stride, "—we take a Ministry boat."
Neville frowned slightly. "A boat?"
"Yes." Scrimgeour's tone was matter-of-fact. "Azkaban is warded against Apparition, Portkeys, and most forms of magical travel. The island is isolated for a reason."
He glanced back briefly. "The only way in or out… is by Ministry transport."
They stopped outside a heavy door.
Scrimgeour turned to face them. "If you're reconsidering," he said, almost casually, "now would be the time."
Neville met his gaze. "I'm not."
A pause.
Scrimgeour looked to Augusta.
She gave a single, decisive nod.
That was all.
Scrimgeour nodded once. "Very well."
He opened the door. "Then let's not waste any more time."
And stepped inside.
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