When they headed towards the garden, Neville claiming a position behind Harry's shoulder, Frank Longbottom stepped into their path. He looked stern, regal even. There had been times in the past when Harry had admired Lucius Malfoy for his poise and composure. But now he realised that the Malfoy patriarch had nothing on the Longbottom Lord. One year of recovery had not been enough to erase all traces of a decade in a coma, but the man effortless extruded an authority you had to recognise. Not because he was loud or demanding, but because he wasn't. Now a disapproving frown was directed towards Neville. "We will talk about this, young man. This may be your 17th birthday, but that does not give you a jester's license."