The gasp was audible, but Neville did not waver. Instead, he straightened and looked his Master right in the amused eyes. Reaching out, covering the tattoo with a warm hand, squeezing it slightly, Harry nodded, "The honour is mine, heir Longbottom. Have a Happy Birthday. May your flowers bloom and your tares wither." Harry laughed and pulled Neville into his arms after a traditional greeting, whispering into his ears, "Bastard!"