Zoey had once heard a legend about something called 'will o the wisp' or… some Latin word she couldn't remember that meant 'fool's fire.' Some people would chase it, this magical marvel that occurred on the surface of bogs and other bodies of water, and they ended up drowning or something, because they were chasing something that was just a trick of light, that wasn't really there. Of course the way it had been told, it sounded a lot better and it had almost made Zoey want to quit her job and spend some time in Ireland so she could find this magical thing. She didn't remember how she'd eventually been talked out of it, but it was such that she was sitting in the laundry room at the basement of her flat when she found her own will o the wisp. It really was a chance sighting, considering Zoey only really did laundry once a month, maybe. She separated her clothes into two categories: dirty and smelly. The dirty ones, she could wear again, until they were smelly. Once all of her clothes were smelly, then… well then, she borrowed clothes from her roommate, when she had one. Then once those clothes went from dirty to smelly, it was time to do laundry.

It was on one such rare occasion that a blue-eyed Adonis had walked into the laundry room. He was clean and precise and measured his detergent by sight. Not because he was lazy, but because it looked as if he did it often enough to know just the right amount. He was muscular and bearded and… she knew she was staring. He even caught her and just smiled politely, greeting her with a nod. Zoey had blinked, and then he was gone again. Part of her wanted to wait there until his load was done so she could see him again when he came back to get it. Maybe she'd even fold it for him. She never folded her own laundry. No, the clean clothes stayed in the laundry basket and the dirty ones littered the floor. She wasn't a slob, there was a method to her madness… it just meant that she had to shove everything under her bed before anyone visited. Not that that happened very often at all, anymore. At least not anyone worth cleaning for, friends and family knew her too well to expect a tidy living space when they came for dinner.

Maybe if she wasn't so used to muggleness, then things like cleaning and washing wouldn't be such a hassle. As it was, Zoey actually enjoyed doing dishes and laundry, once she started them. They were trivial activities where her mind was allowed to wander, and where she felt like she was actually doing something. Much as she loved magic, there were some things that were meant to be done by hand, without magical aid. Sure, she'd aguamente boiling water into a pot for pasta, but she wouldn't conjure fully cooked and ready-to-eat pasta. Not only was that more difficult than it sounded, but Zoey would much rather know she'd put something together on her own, and that it wasn't the magic that people enjoyed when they ate her cooking. It was the same thing with laundry. Yeah, it sucked, it was a mindless, tedious task. But in the end, you had clean clothes, and you'd done it on your own. Besides, the machines vibrated when they were in use.

Zoey sat atop the washing machine, knitting. It was her new thing. Yeah, so what if it was practically spring time? She could crochet a really swanky bikini, and pot holders and a poncho and… booties for her brother because his feet got cold at night. So what if she didn't really have anything to wash? If she was lucky, she would catch her will o the wisp today, and this time, she would ask his name. And maybe if she batted her eyelashes and offered to make him a tarzan-inspired butt-flap… he'd model it for her.

Nevv was out on one of his errands today. One of his old students had heard about the recent tragedy in his life, and had dropped him an Owl inviting him to drop by and have a chat. When he arrived at her building he realized that she had forgotten one piece of information that could be vital ..... what was the number of the apartment. He shrugged his shoulders and convinced himself that this was simply going to be an adventure of exploration. Upon entering the building he saw a sign pointing downstairs to a laundry.

Now Nevv was a pure-blood and did not have a lot of experience directly with the Muggle world, but he did realize that such an establishment was an important place in an apartment building like this, where there might be a group of people. He decided that it would be a good place to start his search. When he followed the sign into the laundry room, he found only one person there, who was dutifully measuring some type of liquid into what he thought must be a washing machine. Her back was to him .... she appeared to be a relatively young as well as quite pretty he thought .... but she seemed to be having some problem with deciding how much of the substance to pour. "Excuse me Miss, you seem to be having some difficulty in making up your mind. If I could provide some assistance, could you answer me a question about this building, in exchange," he asked.

She was singing the knit and purl song she'd just made up in her head when he came in. Ok, so she hadn't really made it up, it was the tune to "Shake Your Booty," but with knit and purl instead. Knitknitknit (dodo doot d'doot doo doo)… knitknitknit (dodo doot d'doot doo doo)… purlpurl purl puuuuuurl, she nodded to herself, shaking her ass a little as switched laundry loads, though not exactly on beat. Zoey would never be a dancer. When she'd been younger, she'd danced to the microwave. How do you dance to something with no beat, you ask? Like Zoey, that's how. If anyone came in during her alone time, they would just think it was the washing machine making her move that way, or something. Blue eyes only glanced up slightly, to see whether or not there was anyone coming. She had heard footsteps, maybe catching the will 'o the wisp would be much easier than she'd thought. But no, she didn't want to be looking when he came in, did she? That would seem suspicious and she suspected that there was some sort of strange rule regarding whether or not a hunter of supernatural abnormalities was too obvious about it. Like sneaking in on your toys to see if they were having conversations when you were away from them. If they knew you were coming, they would just keep faking like they weren't alive. No, better to look natural.

It was only when a throat was cleared behind her that Zoey realized how she must have looked. Paused in mid-pour, brows knit as if she were some kind of simpleton that couldn't figure out how to do laundry. Of course her outsides were much calmer than her insides, which had just exploded. Right behind her was the beautiful Adonis of a man that she had been waiting for, she could just feel it. Her gut feelings were usually right when it came to handsome men, it was one of the reasons she had been chosen as one of the trusted few to find blind dates for her friends. They hadn't taken into consideration the fact that Zoey was more likely to try the goods before shoving them off onto her friends. But something was off.

"Excuse me Miss, you seem to be having some difficulty in making up your mind. If I could provide some assistance, could you answer me a question about this building, in exchange," That voice, it didn't match at all with what she'd imagined the muscular, blue-eyed wonder would sound like. A smile lifting the sides of her lips (just in case), Zoey turned around.

In the process of turning she happened to spill the half-measured detergent all over the front of her shirt, and even splash some on her new arrival, who was notably not the man for which she had been waiting. Of course she would do that. Looking down at the sticky blue stain that, oddly enough, matched her eyes, she offered a small smile to the man who had snuck up on her. "Well. That'll be extra clean, won't it?" she laughed, and debated for a split second whether or not it would be entirely inappropriate to take off her shirt and throw it in the wash. She was pulling the t-shirt over her head before her mind had answered with the affirmative yes, it probably would be inappropriate. Oh well, already done. Unceremoniously, she turned halfway to throw the shirt into the wash and then looked back to her guest, standing now in a white tank top and her red and white checkered pajama bottoms.

"You're gonna help me do my laundry? In exchange for… information about the building? Are you looking for blueprints or something? Or are you an architectural spy?" her brows raised, and it might have been difficult to tell whether or not she was kidding.

Nevv couldn't help but smile. She was nearly as clumsy as I was back at her age he thought to himself. "Well. That'll be extra clean, won't it?"He looked down at the splatter marks on his cloak, and then on her shirt. "I suppose you are right, as long as the mixture is water soluble. If it doesn't wash out of your shirt at least the stain will go with your eyes," he laughed.

Then to his surprise she ripped off her shirt to throw in the wash, and he was sure that he went to at least a light shade of red as she was now just dwn to her tank top and PJs. "You certainly don't have difficulty making snap decisions I see," he smiled. "All right, let's have a look at your container and see what the directions say." He read them quickly, looked at the size of the load, quickly poured a certain amount out and threw his cloak in as well, and closed the door on the washer. "There you go."

"You're gonna help me do my laundry? In exchange for… information about the building? Are you looking for blueprints or something? Or are you an architectural spy?" He had no idea what she was talking about. "I've gone through some hard times recently and an old student of mine invited me over for a talk, but neglected to tell me the number of her flat. The visit can wait until another day, though. I think the laundry is much more important than giving me a pep talk, don't you think? So, no, I'm not a spy these days."

Again, it was very much worth noting that Zoey did not do laundry often. As much as she enjoyed it once she'd started, part of the enjoyment stemmed from the fact that in the interim, she had forgotten what had made it fun the first time. That included exactly how it was done. This outing hadn't been entirely innocent, not even as innocent as laundry could be. There had been some higher purpose, some temptation of fate, she had hoped. Instead of the 'Laundry Hottie,' as she had endearingly named him, she had been come upon by someone else entirely. Tilting her head, though, she couldn't argue that the man in front of her wasn't easy to look at. "I suppose you are right, as long as the mixture is water soluble. If it doesn't wash out of your shirt at least the stain will go with your eyes," he laughed. And polite, too. Unwittingly, she batted her eyelashes.

"I always thought laundry detergent had to be water soluble. If I'm remembering what 'water soluble' means…" her brows furrowed and she narrowed her eyes a bit, as if she really was thinking about it. "Sounds like more science than I've ever been inclined to learn. It think it'll be okay, though. I'll just tie-dye the rest and it'll be groovetastic," she said with a shrug and another smile. No, he was no will 'o the wisp but, well… what was that again? What had she been doing? "All right, let's have a look at your container and see what the directions say." Oh! Laundry. Zoey took up a casual position leaned against the dryer as she watched the man seemingly take charge of the situation. Directions. Why hadn't she thought of that? There was probably good reason, who followed directions? She was fairly sure she'd never read the side of the box and somehow she was still wearing clean clothes, in the end. Wasn't she? A little self-consciously, and probably not at all inconspicuously, she sniffed her tank top. Maybe there was a hint of cinnamon or something, she'd baked that morning (just in case she ended up inviting her laundry buddy up to her place), but yes, she was pretty sure she was clean.

A moment later, with no thought whatsoever, he had finished, throwing his cloak in there on top of everything else. There, he'd helped her. There had been mention of a trade off, laundering for… blueprints? No, that didn't seem right. "I've gone through some hard times recently and an old student of mine invited me over for a talk, but neglected to tell me the number of her flat. The visit can wait until another day, though. I think the laundry is much more important than giving me a pep talk, don't you think? So, no, I'm not a spy these days."

Oh. That had been a fairly more serious answer than she'd expected and for a moment she wasn't sure what to do. Her hands, which were in danger of going every which-way, reached again for whatever she'd been knitting and she held the needles in her hands as a means of filling the silence that had fallen between them. Her lips twisted to the side and studied him. "An old student of yours. You don't look old enough to be a teacher, especially not one with an old student," she said, though she wasn't criticizing. She may or may not have been sizing him up. A wide smile spread on her face, though, at the prospect of him staying put. "Yes, I think laundry as a joint-effort is much more uplifting than any pep talk. And maybe by the end of it, I'll have knit you a funny hat," she offered, holding up what only resembled a pot-holder between her knitting needles. "What is it that you teach?

Nevv wondered just how often that she did her laundry herself. He expected that she might have some roommate or some other friend that might normally help her out. A pretty young thing like her would have very little trouble in getting assistance he thought. He was right about those eyes though. It wasn’t just the color …. It was the way they seemed to sparkle that pulled you in as well. He expected that she could really turn on the charm when she had to. Hmmm ….. was he mistaken …. Or did she just bat her eyes at him? It was just his imagination he thought to himself.

"I always thought laundry detergent had to be water soluble. If I'm remembering what 'water soluble' means… Sounds like more science than I've ever been inclined to learn. It think it'll be okay, though. I'll just tie-dye the rest and it'll be groovetastic,", and she smiled at him again. “Yes, soluble means that it dissolves in water, and it probably wouldn’t much good as a cleaner if it didn’t do that. I’m just used to talking in scientific notation, and I often fall back into that way of talking from time-to-time. It sounds like you are prepared for any result,” he laughed again. I think, at least the way she sniffed her tank top, that several days often passes between washings. I expect that she gets diverted with other activities that shove cleaning back in priority list. For a moment she seemed to lose a lot of her self-confidence, but in a few seconds it was apparently restored as we moved on to other subjects.

She seemed to have a little self-conscious streak in her, the way that she fiddled with those needles, he thought. “What are you making with those needles,” he asked. She didn’t answer right away …. Another sure sign he thought.

"An old student of yours. You don't look old enough to be a teacher, especially not one with an old student." Should he tell her where he teaches he wondered to himself. Is she a witch or a Muggle? Oh well, if she hasn’t heard of it …. No harm done. “I’ve taught the last 15 years as a Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts. I held some other non-teaching positions before that that probably wouldn’t interest you.” She sure could project a great smile he thought, a lot like Hannah used to he thought to himself. “What kind of hat do you have in mind,” he asked as he leaned back against the washer. By the way …. you can call me Nevv if you want …. its short for Neville.”

“I’ve taught the last 15 years as a Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts…"

The plot thickens… she thought, and then had to laugh at herself for thinking in stereotypical film noir voice-overs. That didn't mean that the plot wasn't thickening, just that she had to find a better metaphor with which to refer to said plot and said thickening. And then, things got much more interesting… she tried again, mentally rolling her eyes as she heard the rough detective voice in her head. Next thing she knew they would be in black and white and wearing trench coats and fedoras and smoking cigarettes and standing in perfect silhouette next to windows, which was impossible since they were in the basement and there weren't any. That train of thought crashed straight into a brick wall and Zoey was brought back to herself and the polite older man who had just revealed himself to be a professor at—Hogwarts?! Right, that was how the plot had thickened!

"…I held some other non-teaching positions before that that probably wouldn’t interest you.”

"They might," she said discerningly, watching him as if she was debating whether or not this conversation was worth pursuing. That look didn't last long, of course. Nothing did, with Zoey. "My interests vary, and I'm curious as to what could have possibly been so boring that you'd give it up to teach at Hogwarts, instead," she spoke teasingly. She shouldn't have jumped to conclusions so readily, or spoken out of turn like that. He had just admitted he'd come onto hard times and maybe that had something to do with why he had quit his first job and moved on to education. "You certainly don't have the looks of any of the professors I had at Hogwarts. I'd never have taken off my shirt in front of any of them, house points notwithstanding," she confided, though there was still a teasing tone in her voice, to steer away from her glaring insensitivity, if nothing else.

"I lost enough of them as it was, always late for class." That was a habit she still held to, in spite of the fact that she now owned her very own clock. Really, it was just for show. She liked the way the numbers looked, but she never read them. If he taught Herbology, though, that explained enough of why she hadn't known him. After second year she had avoided getting her fingers dirty, much preferring transfiguration and potions. Making herself comfortable, she pushed herself up onto the washing machine as it worked and crossed her legs, her fingers still busy at the knitting. Somehow her mind, and therefore her mouth, seemed to work better if her hands were doing something. It explained why she did so much cooking, at least.

“What kind of hat do you have in mind? By the way … you can call me Nevv if you want …its short for Neville.”

Zoey leaned back on the washing machine and shook her head. "You sure I shouldn't call you 'Professor?'" she asked, giggling. "I'm Zoey. I don't have any attractive nicknames, though I am occasionally referred to as 'Mouth in the Morning,' if you ever listen to the Wireless," she spoke casually, though there was a certain amount of pride in saying she was on the Wireless, even though she'd been on air for some years now. Still a thrill.

"And a funny hat, like I said. Something with ear flaps."

For several moments Nevv internally debated whether she would really have much of an interest. He thought he would tell her at least a small bit of the truth. "Very well. My full name is Neville Longbottom. I was in my 7th year at Hogwarts during the final battle with Lord Voldemort that took place at the school. I was challenged by the Dark Lord at the beginning of the battle, and was the one who destroyed his evil serpent. A group of us, at the end of the battle, including Harry Potter, Rom Weasley, and myself were asked by the Interim Minister of Magic to become Aurors and to work to reform the Ministry and the Department of Magical law Enforcement. I was an Auror for about 5 years, in which I basically hunted down and arrested or eliminated the Death Eaters that remained. I found I was enjoying my work a bit too much, and a position opened up at Hogwarts, so to keep my sanity, I left the Ministry to teach you wonderful students."

"The hard times that I referred to was the fact that my wife of the past 12 years developed complications at the end of her pregnancy, and she did not survive. So, of course, several of my friends have been concerned about my mental outlook." Nevv then smiled warmly. "Exactly what did you professors look like then? What exactly about me would have made you feel comfortable about taking your shirt off in front of me I wonder? Do you think you could have made it to mine on time, do you think," he laughed.

Nevv watched her as she got up on the washing machine. She was doing some knitting, but when she crossed her legs it did make it difficult for him to keep his concentration. "What were you knitting again?," he asked. "Since you aren't a student at Hogwarts anymore, I think it is fine if you call me Nevv. Zoey .... Zoey is a very pretty name. When exactly your show on during the morning? Hmmm ..... why ear flaps?"

As soon as he said the name Longbottom, Zoey knew who he was. She didn't need to hear the story that she had heard—that all magic folk had heard. That didn't stop her from listening to every word. Even her hands stopped their movement, her eyes slightly widened, the blue of them clear as fresh water. It was almost like meeting a piece of history, though she wasn't sure how exactly that would work. Well… they could involve a time turner of some kind and—no, it was probably better if she didn't let her mind go off on that tangent. Because, for a very rare few minutes in Zoey's life, she was completely attentive. Still, she couldn't really believe it. He'd been friendly with the Harry Potter, the Ron Weasley. He had worked as an auror. He had been fighting the Dark Lord when she had been… what had she been doing at age eight? Trying to convince her classmates that magic was real. All at once Zoey felt very young, very inexperienced, and very silly.

But it didn't stop there. He went on. Part of Zoey wanted to ask him to stop, that they had only just met and she didn't need to know all this. That this was far too much information, that she didn't know this much about most of the men she'd slept with, there was no reason for her to suddenly know the tragedy of the man who had helped her read the directions on the laundry detergent. The part of Zoey's mind that was flailing in helplessness was strangely silent, though. All of her, really, had taken on a strange (for Zoey) sort of seriousness that not even her closest friends might have recognized. Somehow, she couldn't ask him to stop. It had happened before, though never in this capacity, that Zoey had been approached and spoken to at length by people she barely knew, and left the conversation knowing much more than she had ever wished to. Maybe she had that sort of 'talk to me' face. But it had never been like this.

And then he was smiling. He had just told her about his wife of twelve years dying in childbirth, and now he was smiling. As if he had told this story hundreds of times and it was just an anecdote, something from someone else's life, told to pass the time. Zoey carefully set down her knitting needles and hopped down from her perch atop the washing machine. Without warning or hesitation, she wrapped her arms around the man who had so easily told his life tale to a blonde girl who had only been waiting around in the laundry room in hopes that a cute guy would choose to the wash. Her hug was warm and firm and expressed every single sympathy, shock and awe that her lips were afraid to do. After a good moment, and after Zoey, at least, felt better, she let go and took a step away, unapologetic and offering a small smile. "Nice to meet you."

Just like that, she resumed her spot atop the washing machine, crossing her legs again, Indian-style this time. Her knitting needles finding their comfort in her hands once more, she kept right on knitting. "My professors," she began, successfully changing the subject, "were really all the same professor, the way I saw it. They all wanted to teach me something and when I wanted to learn it, I saw their faces. But as I said before, my interests vary," was her easy comment, accompanied by an easier smile. She held up a finger as she remembered his other question, about which of his qualities might have made it so that she would be willing to take off her shirt in his class. "In all fairness, however, I didn't know you were a professor before I took off my shirt. If I had, I may have hesitated a bit longer. But I also might have made it to your class on time. It all depends, though, I never knew what was so interesting about herbology."

Uncrossing her legs, she began to kick her feet back and forth, wiggling her toes as if in tune to a song only she could hear. Her head nodded to the beat as well. "Zoey is a pretty name, thank you. It means 'life.'" Yes, she had had a slight obsession with name origins and meanings. She even remembered a few. Her brow furrowed. "Neville means 'new village.' Strange thing to call someone, still nice, though. I'd go by Nevv, too," she commented with a nod and a kind smile. "My show is early early in the morning, from 4am to 9am. Sometimes in evenings, too, on the weekends. Mostly American muggle music, but sometimes I do interviews, talk. You know, whatever comes to mind. Hey!" she said, as if just realizing her brilliance. "Maybe I could interview you."

He'd asked about something else, hadn't he? Earflaps! "I'm making… well… right now it looks kind of like a pot holder. But it's now turning into a funny hat for you, to make you feel better even though you're not getting the pep talk from your student. Earflaps, because it gets cold in winter time and they look silly, but also serve a purpose. I may have to measure your head, though…" was her somewhat teasing threat.

Suddenly several different things struck him. First, that he had told way too much .... more than any normal person would want to know, both about his past and his present. Second, he could see on her face that sudden flash of recognition. That is, a recognition of his name and the history and story associated with it, while not necessarily the real person. "I'm sorry .... I've probably told you too much, more than you would choose to know, especially from someone you meet on a chance encounter .... a laundry encounter," and he gave her a small smile. "I don't really want or expect sympathy, but since I mentioned something about my difficulties, I thought it best to relay the facts of the matter. So, then, I guess by your reaction that you have heard something of the Longbottoms, then?"

In some ways he wished he knew what she was thinking ..... about what he had told her of the events and about him as a person. She had asked what he had done before he taught and what could drive him from those forms of work to teaching. She seemed to indicate some level of boredom that had to be associated with each. He was sure that either his story would repel her or she would want to know more. If he was a betting wizard he would have gambled on the repel, but they had met pretty much by chance, and it had been relatively pleasant so far. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they used to say. She had not asked him to stop talking and she was acting as if she was at least somewhat interested. However, women had always been almost impossible to figure out ... what they wanted ... and what they accepted, but she had not cut him off yet , anyway. He had always understood that it was often easier to talk to total strangers about these sorts of things than people he was more familiar with.

He had just told the story about his wife, and he noted the first movement that she had given him so far. Ah, he said to himself, she has had enough, and is about to beat a hasty retreat. However, much to his surprise she had wrapped him up in a big 'I'm sorry for you' kind of hug, which was something he had not expected at all. "Why, thank you, but it wasn't necessary," he said, as he blushed slightly. "I do appreciate the thought behind it." He had not been so close to a female since well before Hannah's death. People seemed to be afraid to get too close, and this one had fine and comforting scent to her he thought. "It is nice to meet you as well, but I do doubt you greet new acquaintances in quite this way every day," he chuckled.

As she resumed her place he sensed that she felt a need to change the subject. "I have found that is how it is with many students .... when they have an interest in the subject they would connect, and when they didn't connect, there was no remembrance. You know what happened to me in my first Herbology class? I fainted straight away," he said, for the first time laughing almost without control. "Ah ... those were the days .... the days before we were famous, and we were allowed to be 'normal'. If you had known I was a professor how many more seconds would you have hesitated in taking your shirt off, I wonder," he smiled broadly again. "Well, its good to know that you would have made the effort to be on time to my class."

"Well, then, I will do my best to catch your show then. I think its always important to try and experience new things. Interview me? You don't think that anybody would actually be interested in me do you? I could see Harry or Ron, but I just don't think I'm that interesting. If you would want to though, I'm game. Measurements? Do you have the proper tools and experience to measure as swelled a head as mine?", he laughed.

Had she heard of the Longbottoms? Who hadn't heard of the Longbottoms. Zoey did make it her business to know… well, everybody's business, but someone would have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to know about the name Longbottom. Even if they weren't near as famous as Potter, or Weasley, there was still a good piece of fame reserved for the hero Longbottom. Nobody should have had to do what those kids had done when they were just that, kids. Zoey certainly couldn't have mustered enough courage to fight such a war, even if she excelled at a few key subjects at school. There was something to be said for knowing everything, and for having an overactive imagination. And apparently nothing she could even begin to imagine compared to what had actually happened during those dark times. There was admiration in Zoey's eyes as she studied the man in front of her. Somehow, she'd expected him to be taller.

"Yes. I've heard something of the Longbottoms. I'd imagined you, and the others, to be ten feet tall with lightening bolts for eyes, or something," she joked. Yes, she'd hugged him, so what? Everyone needed a hug sometimes, and after having told his life story to a complete stranger, she thought he was in dire need. He thanked her, but told her it hadn't been necessary. "It was. Hugs heal the world," she said very simply, matter-of-factly as she took her seat again. "And I do sometimes greet new acquaintances that way. Sometimes I even sign my name across their chests in lipstick. Be glad you weren't one of those," she said with a small smile and a raise of her brows. She was not at all ashamed to admit that she'd given more signatures in lipstick than hugs as greetings.

He reminisced, and she realized that it must have been strange to have gone from being just some normal ho-hum guy to being famous. She imagined Harry Potter was an expert in normal-to-famous. But it probably wasn't very comfortable, either, even if you were used to it. "You're still allowed to be normal, you know. But what's the fun in that? I'm not normal," she admitted with no shame. "And I dunno. Three-to-five seconds of hesitation is all anyone really gets," she said in response to another of his questions, though she wouldn't be able to repeat the question if you'd asked her. A conversation with Zoey was guaranteed to be rife with connections no one else could make, and she would often pick up on a subject that had been dropped long ago.

Looking down at the knitting in her hand, she saw something that may have resembled a pot holder with an earflap. Her lips twisted and she undid a few purls, or whatever those little loops were called. "I think a lot of people would be at least half as interested in you as I am, and that's saying a lot. As far as measuring tools go…" she trailed off. There were all sorts of ways she could measure something, but every single one of them seemed quite inappropriate. The best of limited choices, this is what came out of her mouth: "I've got a tape measure up at my place. And cinnamon rolls!

Nevv wondered exactly what she and the general world knew and understood about him and his family. He imagined, given the line of work that she was in, basically a form of public communications … that she knew a lot more about the history of his family, and related items than the average ‘Joe’ would. How could he explain what his life had been like pre-Hogwarts, to all of the events that had happened at Hogwarts, and how it had all changed him?

He had changed a lot of he left Hogwarts to become an Auror, but nothing had changed him so much as the event that had happened when he was about one, and therefore was something that he didn’t directly remember. He only had known of it through the eyes of other. Had she heard what had happened to his parents? How much was that a part of the public knowledge? “What do you know about the rest of the Longbottoms …. like my parents, for example?”

"Yes. I've heard something of the Longbottoms. I'd imagined you, and the others, to be ten feet tall with lightening bolts for eyes, or something."

He laughed at her last remark. “Actually I started out as being short and dumpy …. eventually I became the tall and lanky fellow you see before you now …. just without much of an improvement in looks.”

"It was. Hugs heal the world. And I do sometimes greet new acquaintances that way. Sometimes I even sign my name across their chests in lipstick. Be glad you weren't one of those."

He nodded his head in general agreement. “Many people are not very comfortable with open expressions of emotions and support. The house I was raised in, my grandmother’s, wasn’t especially open in that way. That’s one reason why my comfort level might not be as high as some. What is the determining factor for such a person to receive that kind of signature,” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “Why would I look at that being a negative thing, exactly?”

"You're still allowed to be normal, you know. But what's the fun in that? I'm not normal …. and I dunno …. three-to-five seconds of hesitation is all anyone really gets."

“I’m afraid I never really knew what ‘normal’ was. I just knew it didn’t describe my life. Boy, she sure seemed to change subjects with ease. Nevv thought was a very useful skill for a interviewer to have. I’m surprised you hesitate even that much,” he laughed once again.

"I think a lot of people would be at least half as interested in you as I am, and that's saying a lot.”

“Well if you really think there would be some interest and it won’t put Hogwarts in a bad light, I would like to do it. In fact it might be a bit of fun.”

As far as measuring tools go … I've got a tape measure up at my place. And cinnamon rolls!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a range of different types of ‘tools’ at your disposal,” he winked. “And the Cinnamon rolls sound brilliant. I haven’t had a thing to eat all day, and most of the time I don’t have much of a limit on my appetite. But … will we have to wait until the wash is done.?”