Title: The Greater Snarled Fitterbloom
Author: purplefluffycat
Characters/Pairings: Professor Neville Longbottom/Madam Pomona Sprout
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: silence
Other Warnings: bondage, teacher/student roleplay, orgasm denial
Word Count: about 2350
Summary/Description: Professor Longbottom invites his Herbology ex-Professor back to Hogwarts.

...Indeed, he could still hardly believe it was true; that a drunken feast, an overheard conversation and an over-bold flurry of letter-writing could have lead to this... It was often said that Gryffindor bravery and recklessness were close bedfellows, was it not? This morning, he felt very Gryffindor indeed.


Author's Notes: I had great fun using a popular trope with less-popular characters, here. :-) Also, a big nod to the various DD authors/artists who have created work to include Professor!Neville's kinky plants.






Professor Neville Longbottom was feeling nervous.

Not bad-nervous, like being sent for detention with Professor Snape, or waiting for Gran to discover that he'd broken her favourite vase with misaimed apparation practice... but excited-nervous - twitchy, bubbly - like the final moments before Gryffindor win the Quidditch cup or opening a much-anticipated Christmas present. His palms were sweaty and no matter how many times he smoothed down his hair, it would not appear straight. His fingers twisted and his feet fidgeted; his professorial robes felt hot and itchy, despite the wateriness of the late October sun.

He was standing by the greenhouses - his greenhouses, Neville reminded himself, sternly - and no-one else was in sight. Unsurprising, perhaps, given the early Sunday hour; he, for one, would usually be still wrapped in duvets and doze. But this, with the sunlight blinking through the mist and dew, was a Very Special Occasion.

Indeed, he could still hardly believe it was true; that a drunken feast, an overheard conversation and an over-bold flurry of letter-writing could have lead to this. Perhaps he had fallen down a moving staircase and was lying in the hospital wing concussed and dreaming? Or perhaps he had fallen victim to one of Weasleys' ever-more-potent Happy Hallucinations, and people just past his gaze were pointing and laughing as he muttered and smiled. Well, if that is the case, thought Neville, I might as well enjoy it while I can. It was often said that Gryffindor bravery and recklessness were close bedfellows, was it not? This morning, he felt very Gryffindor indeed.

"Neville." The word came from behind, making him jump. "How lovely to see you."

She emerged from behind greenhouse five, gliding across the grass toward him; the hem of her robe caressed the dewdrops, and her smiling gaze sent shivers along each muscle fibre he possessed. Indeed, Professor Spr- - 'Pomona,' he thought; I have to call her, 'Pomona' - looked every bit as attractive in the flesh as in his fevered dreams.

A schoolboy crush, some would have called it - but now, a good year into his own teaching career, Neville would claim a passion as real as any other. And Merlin, did he feel passionate. Just the sound of his name on her capable lips, the glint of sun in her unruly curls, made him tingle and stiffen.

"Hello," he managed, biting through the urgency that was already upon him, "I'm really pleased you came." he flashed his best smile, hoping it didn't look too gawky.

"After such a conversation the other evening, how could I not?" Her tone was light, teasing, and affectionate. "You confessed some very interesting things, young man; very interesting indeed." As she spoke, Pomona whispered her fingers across Neville's cheek, coming to rest beneath his chin. When a strong thumb rubbed over his full bottom lip, Neville could not help but to flash out his tongue to touch her.

Pomona smiled, joy and mischief in her rosy cheeks and sharp eyes. "How about we go inside, then?"

He nodded, and led the way. The greenhouse was set up just-so, exactly as he had planned. It had taken a fair amount of preparation, actually; he had rearranged many things in the past year, not to mention made a bit of a mess.

"Just like being back at home!" Pomona perched on what looked once again exactly like her desk, and Neville scampered to what had been his seat in the front row, shrugging off his professorial robes in the process to reveal a somewhat tight but still-serviceable school uniform underneath. She eyed him there, tense and eager.

Then, Pomona began: "Good morning, class. We seem to have a rather small number, today, but we shall push on with the lesson, nonetheless." A slight pause, as Neville shuffled under her gaze. "Now, if you would be so good as to cast your minds back to the last lesson we had on the Greater Snarled Fitterbloom. Can anyone-"

Neville recognised his cue. "-Yes! I can!"

Pomona stood at that, and stared in exaggerated affrontedness. "Mr. Longbottom, it is most discourteous to interrupt so."

-Oh, she did it so beautifully. Neville squirmed, relishing the firm chastisement in Professor Sprout's soft, warm voice. So very like he had imagined.

"Now, as I was saying," Pomona continued, "I would like a volunteer to-"

"-Me! Me!" This time Neville waved his hand in the air and jumped a little in his chair, relishing the tug of too-snug old uniform trousers around his groin.

"Mr. Longbottom - be quiet! Do you not understand that we require silence in class?"

Neville blinked up at her with big, doe eyes, and shook his head.

"In which case, if I am not to be permitted to discourse on today's lesson, perhaps a practical demonstration is required." Her tone was all confidence and business. "Mr. Longbottom, as you seem so keen to involve yourself, would kindly stand..." Neville did so. "...and disrobe." Pomona dispensed the direction in the same matter-of-fact tone she would use for asking a student to bring some compost, or to hold a seed pod for a moment. It was perfect.

-And Neville could barely contain how excited he was; his knees began to melt and the hands on his buttons shook in anticipation as he discarded each garment: robes, tie, shirt, trousers, shoes - until he was standing in just his socks and underwear, the cold morning air licking over pale skin, and cheeks and chest flushing pink at being unclad and regarded, so.

Pomona summoned him to her desk, and dispensed a nod. "Fair effort, Mr. Longbottom, but I believe that you have not completed your task." With that, she whipped a wand from her pocket, and with a nonchalant swish caused his underwear to slither away, pooling around his ankles, and his socks to follow suit. "Now, as I was about to say, you will be aware that there is a fluid species-continuum from the harmless Fitterflore domesticus to the deadly Fitterflore mortifera, the latter more commonly known as-"

"-Devil's Snare!" Neville's flush deepened as he interrupted, and his bobbing erection grew harder.

"I shall remember your impudence, Mr. Longbottom ... Although you are indeed correct. The Greater Snarled Fitterbloom - the object of today's lesson - is certainly toward the aggressive end of that continuum, as we shall demonstrate. Come with me." She led Neville to a large glass panel which formed part of the greenhouse wall, and gestured for him to stand with his back to it. The glass, slightly steamed from their breath on this chilly morning, was cold and moist against his shoulders and bare buttocks, and he gasped at the shock of it.

"Now, spread your legs, and raise your arms above your head, you ill-behaved young man." Neville did as she bade him. Then, at the tiniest flick of Pomona's wand, the vines dashed toward him from above and below, snaking across the greenhouse until they snapped around his wrists and ankles, the creak of branch pulling tight - and with a satisfied moan, Neville gave in joyfully to their care.

He was strong and tall, and, although his body was far from buff, there was a lot of muscle beneath the surface. Neville now used the full force of that strength to pull against his bonds, happily knowing that particular vine could more than cope, and such struggles would only act to tighten its leafy grip. Oh, Merlin... he thought, so many late-night fantasies on their cusp of coming true, oh, Merlin...

Indeed, so immersed was he in the stretch and tug, that Pomona's next move caught him unawares: she levitated a thick tendril to wrap around the base of his cock; tight and controlling.

Smirking at his expression of surprise: "We wouldn't want any accidents before their time, now would we?"

"No, Professor," breathed Neville.

"Good. Now, as you will have observed, this subspecies of Fitterbloom has a pronounced grip - but, unlike the deadlier classes, that grip can be directed precisely by the skilled witch or wizard. As to the prefix 'Greater Snarled-"

"-I know what it means!"

"-And know-it-alls will be silenced." She delivered that with stoic calm - and directed a thick vine across his mouth. Neville bit down on the gag with glee. "As I was saying, the plant is known as 'Snarled,' owning to the slight roughness of the leaves." She produced one from her pocket, and then, with devilish lightness, drew it from one of Neville's bound ankles, along his calf to the sensitive skin at the back of his knee.

Oh, it was delightful. His eyes were squeezed shut in sensation and a million little fireworks seemed to go off in his skin at once; were it not for the vine, he could have climaxed right then. "Mmmmm... mmmm..." he hummed through the gag, wanting really to cry out.

"What was that?" Pomona instructed the plant away from his mouth - but simultaneously withdrew the leaf.

"Oh, please," Neville was almost beside himself: sensation provided, then taken away. "Please, touch me..."

He refocused his gaze to implore her and then they locked eyes - and if anything, that moment was even more wonderful than the last. Neville drank in the sight of his Professor - flushed, and gazing at him with slightly parted lips. There was a real fondness in her expression, and also, unmistakable arousal.

Pomona gave him the slightest of nods, and then slowly, hypnotically, she reached out a finger to one of his arms held aloft. She traced a feather-light path: across flexing tendons and around the outline of biceps hard with heavy lifting. Her touch came lower, fingers spreading to caress the junction of neck and shoulder and then to smooth over his broad chest, maddeningly circling a pert nipple, before settling to fondle his belly, round and soft with seconds of Hogwarts treacle pudding.

At that, Neville suddenly felt very naked indeed - being so gently studied and explored was somehow even more intimate than being scolded and bound. Had he been less brave or more prissy he might have felt abashed to be displayed so, imperfections and all, but somehow it just felt right. He craved this, worshipped her so; he could do nothing but exalt in being naked and open to her in every sense - completely in her thrall and at her sweet mercy.

"I do like an earthly man," Pomona purred, and Neville wriggled at her words, smiling.

Pomona then proved that although Herbology was her subject, she was none-too-shabby at Transfiguration, too: with a wave of her wand, she caused the pane of glass to which Neville was tied to swing horizontal and morph into a feather mattress; her young lover was still secured, but now comfortably spread on his back.

Then, with another workmanlike flick of her wand, she whispered a charm and disrobed - and any remark that Neville might have made about his sudden switch in orientation died on his lips as he was caught speechless by the sight; Merlin, she was beautiful.

...Perhaps even more beautiful than Neville had imagined - in those many, many hours of watching the drape of robes around her curves, the gentle purse of her lips when she concentrated hard, and the halo of wispy hairs about her brow. In life, Pomona was lush and smoothly rounded; the apples of her cheeks mirrored the fullness of her breasts, and everything about her conjured to Neville the glow of health and hearth and home.

With silent understanding she approached him, and settled on the bed, straddling his legs and stroking his torso. The sweet shock of her thighs about him was almost too much to bear, and Neville cried out in bliss and near-disbelief.

Pomona must have realised he would not last long; within moments of releasing the vine about his cock, she buried his erection deep within her.

"Oh, gods!" Neville nearly screamed - in honesty; any pretence of noisiness now forgotten.

Pomona smirked a little, and began to move - with grace and balance, alternating speed and creating a perfect angle for both of them. It was the most extraordinarily wonderful thing he had ever felt - and that, combined with the weight of years of fantasies really coming true, was nearly enough to make him loose his senses.

He felt he had to tell her: "You have absolutely no idea... how long... I've wanted you do this..." Neville's voice came in ragged gasps as he bucked up into the touch, wrists and ankles still secured tightly with Fitterbloom, plush form flushing pink and desperate for ever more contact.

"I think I have a pretty shrewd idea, actually, young man." Pomona replied, and sighed deeply in her own pleasure. Her curls were even more unruly now, like a swarm of butterflies, or the mist in Spring. Neville's field of view had narrowed to nothing but Pomona, and he was sure he could gaze at her, like this, forever.

A moment later, he came - harder than he had even thought possible; it was wrenched from every cell of his body in something tantamount to human sacrifice, giving himself, body and soul to this goddess. Pomona rode him forcefully through the waves of it, moaning deeply, taking for herself as well as bequeathing such riches to him. For Neville, it was beyond beauty; it felt like life itself.

Afterwards, they rested still, and, vines released, gently held hands. Pomona smiled, and helped Neville up as she stood, passing him his clothes as she replaced hers.

He dressed once more in his professorial robes, and when he was relatively neat, saw Pomona regarding her ex-student with pride. Everything apparently back to normal, Neville was, for the first time that morning, at a loss as to what to say.

Luckily, Pomona filled the gap. "Thank you, Neville, for such a splendid suggestion. We must meet again; yes? -And next time, I get to be the naughty schoolgirl."