"Neville told me about you all. You've helped him through many difficulties; you're all good children."
The three of them smiled sheepishly.
"Minerva," Madam Longbottom turned to Professor McGonagall, speaking loudly, "I've brought Neville back. Thanks to those amazing Healers at St. Mungo's, Frank and Alice have finally regained their senses."
When she mentioned her son and daughter-in-law, a rare, almost imperceptible tremor touched her booming voice—quickly replaced by pride.
Professor McGonagall's face showed genuine relief. "That truly is good news, Augusta. I'm genuinely happy for Frank and Alice."
Her gaze then softened as it fell on Neville.
However, Madam Longbottom's next words were like a bucket of ice water poured over Neville's head, making him wish he could disappear on the spot.
"Yes, it's fortunate," Madam Longbottom puffed out her chest, her gaze snapping sharply to Neville with a hint of reproach. "It's just a pity Neville doesn't have his parents' talent. And I need to have a word with this boy," she said, poking Neville's arm with her cane. "Grandma thinks you're wrong."
Neville's face turned crimson. He could feel the confused and concerned gazes of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, as well as Professor Greengrass's calm yet penetrating stare.
He lowered his head, staring at the tips of his shoes.
"Frank and Alice, my son and daughter-in-law," Madam Longbottom's voice rang through the quiet office, "were very talented Aurors. They are heroes! They were tortured to madness by those Death Eaters while resisting the Dark Lord whose name cannot be spoken, to protect everyone. Their experience is a medal, an honor—not something to be hidden away in shame! And you, Neville—"
Her voice turned stern. "You've never told your friends and classmates the truth about your parents, have you? Are you ashamed of having parents who lost their health and sanity?"
Neville shook his head dejectedly.
The trio looked at him, sensing that he was sadder now than ever before. That deep pain left them helpless, and they couldn't think of any way to pull Neville out of his misery.
"I've never been ashamed of them losing their sanity, Grandma. Never," Neville said weakly, still staring at the floor, not meeting anyone's eyes.
"Then why have you never mentioned them to your friends?" Madam Longbottom asked sharply.
Silence fell over the office.
After a long pause, Neville finally took a deep breath, speaking with a slight choke in his voice, "I just felt that maybe I was the shame."
His voice dropped lower, as if those words had drained him. "You're right, Grandma... my memory isn't good... my magic is terrible, and my grades are a mess. I don't have any of their brilliance."
Madam Longbottom opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but Neville went on, "They're heroes. And I... I'm just pathetic. Almost a Squib..."
"Oh no, don't say that, Neville," Hermione interrupted him sadly.
"You're not a Squib!" Ron said seriously. "Don't you learn things really fast in Professor Greengrass's class?"
"Yeah, Neville, think about the good stuff. Aunt and uncle Longbottom are cured now," Harry added sincerely, though a faint heaviness lingered in his own chest.
They surrounded Neville, all speaking at once with concern and newfound understanding, trying to lift the cloud that hung over him.
Madam Longbottom stood quietly for a moment, watching her grandson surrounded by friends. She looked down at her cane, then let out a heavy sigh.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, her voice softer than usual. "Madam Longbottom, Neville may not be as lacking as you believe. From what I know, his Herbology grades are quite good. Pomona speaks very highly of him."
She walked over to Neville and gently patted his tense shoulder. "Welcome back, Neville. I imagine your friends are very happy to see you."
Neville felt a reassuring strength in the hand on his shoulder, and some of the tension in his body began to ease.
He still didn't dare to look at his grandmother's expression, but the weight that had nearly crushed him seemed to lighten a bit with his confession and Professor McGonagall's comforting words.
He knew the conversation about his parents wasn't over. But at least for now, in this small office, he had finally voiced the feelings buried deepest in his heart.
Most importantly, his parents had been cured. There was no joy greater than that, was there?
At that moment, Sagres, who had been silently observing, stood and broke the stillness in the room. "Professor McGonagall, I came to inform you that Peeves might be leaving Hogwarts for a while. But don't worry, he will eventually—"
"Leaving? That's even better!" Professor McGonagall interrupted, clearly pleased. A rare smile appeared on her face.
Seeing this, Sagres cut himself off appropriately and simply nodded. "It seems that's good news for you."
He then turned to the four young Wizards. "Mr. Longbottom, and the rest of you..."
The students looked at him.
"...it's time to return to class."
Saying this, he nodded to Madam Longbottom. "It was a pleasure to see you, Madam Longbottom."
With that, he gestured for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the still somewhat dazed Neville to leave Professor McGonagall's office with him.
In the corridor, the one adult and four students walked in silence, each lost in thought.
Sagres's calm gaze swept across Neville's dazed face. After a moment, he broke the silence.
"Mr. Longbottom," Sagres's voice was low, with a rhythm that calmed the mind, "do you believe your talent is abysmal?"
Neville looked up, startled from his thoughts, his eyes filled with a mix of surprise and shame.
"Uh, yes… Professor Greengrass, I… I always seem to mess things up after all. Professor Snape said… my Potions talent is nearly zero, and my Transfiguration is also…"
His voice trailed off, the last words barely audible.
Sagres nodded slightly. His slender fingers gently tapped Neville's wand pouch, and the wand flew into his hand.
"Talent…" He repeated the word thoughtfully, glancing at the trio. "An overly glorified term," he said calmly. "It's often portrayed as a spark, the fuse that ignites miracles. But people fall into the trap of thinking it's purely an innate gift."
The four students blinked, clearly unsure of where he was going.
Sagres's tone remained steady. "Just like a wand without a master—it's merely a piece of wood, with a core embedded inside. It has no will, no power, no… talent of its own. It's just a tool. A channel."
Neville opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no sound came out. Sagres didn't seem to expect a response; he continued speaking, as if stating the most natural truth.
"Failures in Potions, unstable spells—these are deficiencies in technique or misunderstandings in theory. They can be practiced, corrected. They have nothing to do with whether or not you possess 'talent.'"
"Magic," he said slowly, as if recalling something distant, "at its core, is the power of the mind. It doesn't simply flow through bloodlines; it's rooted in belief."
"Belief?" Neville echoed, still dazed.
"Belief," Sagres confirmed with a nod. "Are you steadfast enough to 'believe' it exists? Are you attentive enough to 'see' its flow? Are you resolute enough to 'direct' it into form? That is the essence of magic—the manifestation of mental force."
He slowly opened his palm, as if holding something unseen. "So, Mr. Longbottom, talent is a hollow metric. Rather than worrying whether you possess it, reflect on your heart."
At that, he glanced at the wand in his hand and calmly returned it to Neville.
"Get a new wand. Unicorn hair wands only wish to serve one master. Keeping this will only hinder you."
His eyes swept over the group again. There was no warmth in his gaze, only a cool clarity—like moonlight cutting through fog—quietly illuminating the tangled thoughts of the young Wizards.
Neville stared blankly at his retreating back, then lowered his head to look at the wand in his hand.
~~~~~~~
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