Neville (ndr_neville) wrote in newdarkrising, @ 2008-06-03 23:15:00 |
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Current music: | "The Endless Supply"- The Thermals |
Who: Terry Boot and Neville Longbottom
What: Terry and Neville catch up at a pub. There is alcohol and a fair bit of chatter.
Where: A pub in Helford, England
When: 3rd June, night
Rating: PG
The pub was near enough to Hogwarts that Neville had never once found himself feeling tired after Apparating there and back, but far enough away that it seemed like it belonged to a different world. Love his job though he might it was hard sometimes not to hold the slightest amount of resentment towards having to live within the same four walls, to work within them and to see the same people over and over. It was the reason that he and Meg sometimes travelled down to Wales just for a breakdown and the reason why he sometimes slipped away for a few hours to a familiar pub.
His palm pressed against the door and it swung open easily under his touch, the scent of sweat and smoke and alcohol invading his nostrils. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when he realised that it wasn't particularly cramped tonight, simply a few old regulars sitting at the bar or crowded around tables, a few of them playing pool. It was the kind of night he liked best; a relaxing lull in the evening. Judging from the face on the bartender it was the kind of night he liked best too.
It was only as he moved further into the bar, feet carrying him towards the bar that he picked out a face he recognised, not like he recognised the others but from actually knowing them, talking with them. Going to school with them. Blinking slightly in surprise, Neville hesitated for a brief second before turning and heading towards the other man, the smile on his face small but genuine.
"Hey Terry," he greeted.
Having recently met with one of his contacts for his latest assignment, Terry had wandered into the Fox and Firkin afterwards to round out his evening. Now, perched on a bar stool with what was apparently a "firkin large" pint of ale, he mulled over the new information he'd been given. A familiar voice roused him from his musings, though, and he quickly looked up, his wariness warming to friendliness when he realised who it was that had just greeted him.
"Neville!" He reached out to clap the other man on the shoulder. Neville Longbottom hadn't changed much in appearance in seven years, but there was an age and experience behind his eyes that hadn't been present since the last time they'd seen each other. Terry supposed they'd all gone through such changes in one way or another. Terry himself didn't look too different, other than having grown into his features, but his accent was distinctly different. Whereas before it was unique and unplaceable, it was much more generically Estuary now. "It's been years. How're you keeping?"
Neville was somewhat surprised at the warm welcome, though the smile on his face widened considerably with it as he said, "I've been doing all right." It was only after the words had left his mouth that he realised how generic the reply was and how aggravating it was too hear sometimes from people when he actually asked the question. Still, Neville supposed, it was miles better than spewing a jumble of words out instantly, filling Terry into every detail of his life, up to and including what brand of toothpaste he used. "Pixy Light's flouride toothpaste has considerably brightened up my life in the past few weeks," he said, though he wasn't entirely aware he had until after the words had already left his mouth.
Nose scrunching, he laughed lightly and then apologised. "Stupid thing to say. Especially after it's been...what, seven? Six? Something like that anyway." He shrugged. "What about you?"
Well, that was an update that Terry wasn't expecting. Then again, from what he remembered, Neville did have a tendency towards non sequiturs. "I use Avalanche's Clean Burst toothpaste myself," he said with a wry smile. "It works on your teeth all day."
Lifting his chin, he indicated the spot beside him. "Been all right. It's good to be back." Neville, like so many others, probably thought Terry had gone back to the muggle world after the war. "Got a position at the Ministry now. What're you up to?"
"All day?" Neville asked, with a hint of wariness in his voice. "So that annoying plaque build up doesn't actually happen? And your breath stays minty fresh throughout?"
Lifting his hand, he smacked it against his forehead and then sighed. "I am so sorry. I don't actually think about much anything that comes out of my mouth. It's a habit I'm trying to break, but I suppose it's like that Pringles thing the Muggles have: once you pop you can't stop." Neville looked almost nervously out of the corner of his eye at Terry and asked, "Is that right? I think that's right. I'm not sure."
Turning towards the barman as he approached, Neville ordered simply orange juice and then turned back towards the dark-haired man. "You're working with the Ministry?What as? I thought you were living with the Muggles." Subtlety was, unfortunately, not something Neville had ever got the hang of. "I've been working as a teacher, up at Hogwarts. Exciting it is not."
"Well, I've never had any complaints." Terry blew on his hand lifted it to his nose for an experimental sniff; it smelled like ale. With a shrug, he let it drop and returned to the topic at hand. "Yeah, I went back to the Muggles for a while, but thought I'd give it another try here. I'm with the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Aide to Daphne Greengrass; you remember her? Not much excitement there either. Hogwarts for you, though? Herbology?"
"Daphne Greengrass?" Neville said and he was quiet for a moment as he thought for a moment, trying to recall the woman's face. It came, but only after a moment and he had to really concentrate. "Yeah, I remember her. I didn't know she was with the Ministry." He never really paid much attention, though, to be fair.
Neville smiled sheepishly and nodded. "Aye. Kind of obvious, but if you're good at something, you're good at it, you know?"
The bartender placed his juice down in front and Neville pushed the money across the bar, lifting the glass and swirling the juice for a moment. The pulp floated to the top. "What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked. "Do you live near here?"
Terry shook his head. "Just met up with a friend." The lie came easily. "He's at the Ministry too. Decent bloke. But tell me about teaching at Hogwarts. What's it like from the other side?" He lifted his eyebrows conspiratorially. "Is it true that there are special herbs grown in that restricted section in Greenhouse 2?"
"No," Neville immediately responded with. A second later and he leaned forward, his voice dropped to just above a whisper as he said, "Well...yeah. But they're supposed to be kept for purely medicinal purposes. Sometimes I think half the teachers attack it during the night though; some of them look out of of it at breakfast." Neville could only imagine what the Prophet would think of that. Possibly stoned teachers at Hogwarts. Not that he was being serious--at least not completely.
"And it's...very odd from the other side. You know the way you used to complain about all the work and how teacher's were out to get you?" Neville took a sip of his drink. "It's amazing how truly apathetic about a queer few students teachers actually are. And then there's the homeworks. I hate homeworks more than students do, I'm sure."
"A-ha. Mike would be vindicated, I'm sure." Terry grinned. "He spent countless hours trying to break into that greenhouse." Which meant, of course, that he and Terry and Anthony had spent countless hours trying to break into that greenhouse.
He took a drink from his ale, then contemplated the rest of Neville's reply. "Makes you wonder why teachers don't just lighten up on the homework, then. Would go easier on everyone."
Neville laughed, slightly. "No students have ever got in. There's this spell that keeps nearly everybody but those who're authorised out of it." It only occurred to him, a moment later, that he probably should not have said that and he scowled slightly at himself. "But that's a secret. Of course.
"And you're right. It probably would be easier but then they're not learning by themselves, or something." Neville shrugged. "Someone explained it to me once but I honestly cannot remember. Who really cares, though? It's homework regardless."
Taking a sip of his drink he then asked, "How was living in the Muggle world?"
Yes, and homework was something Terry didn't have to worry about anymore, thank goodness. At least, not for marks. He grinned at the inadvertent revelation. "Don't worry, I can keep a secret." And could he ever.
"It was...different. I don't He took a moment to mull over Neville's question, although he'd already prepared his story of lies. "I don't think anyone could ever go back to being strictly Muggle after being in the wizarding world, but it's definitely a challenge not to be able to rely on a wand all the time."
"I couldn't do it," Neville said honestly. His fingers twitched slightly and he stuck his hand in his pocket as he said it, pushing his wand further down into it. "I was raised with magic. The idea that so many things can be done without them is almost bizarre to me." Almost, he said, though he really meant certainly.
Terry nodded easily. He'd heard the same sentiment before from many others, and he could understand it. For someone who'd never known how to operate without magic, the Muggle world would be foreign and hard to navigate. In many ways, going from the Muggle world to the wizarding one was much easier. "I was born in that world, so it wasn't that difficult to go back to it. It's certainly different, that's for sure."
"I like different," Neville said, his voice sounding slightly far away as if he was looking into something deep in his head--responding to it, even. "There's nothing more boring than the same thing day in and day out. There's a bit of an adventure with change, isn't there?"
Shaking his head, then, he said, "Don't pay any heed to me. I'm just restless."
"No, nothing wrong with different at all," Terry agreed, although he knew that there were plenty others who didn't feel that way. This new group of Death Eaters was proof of that. "Ever thought of doing something different, then?" he inquired of Neville. "School's got to be ending soon. What are you doing over the summer?"
"I'm not sure yet," he admitted. "It is not really something I've been thinking about, you know? I was thinking about going travelling with Meg. Maybe take my gran or, I don't know, someone. I don't like having to stay on my own with Meggie.
"But I think about doing something different a lot. Doesn't everybody?" He shrugged and took a sip of his drink. "I mean, people in England think of moving to, I dunno, Tibet or somewhere, depending on the person, and people from Tibet think about moving to somewhere like England--or maybe America. Isn't everybody supposed to want to move to America these days?"
"Land of opportunity?" Terry shrugged and continued to work on his ale. "Maybe, but yeah -- grass on the other side and all that." He lifted an eyebrow. "Who's Meg?"
Neville blinked at the question and then coloured, his ears burning slightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just launch into that. Meg's my daughter."
Terry's eyebrows rose. Neville Longbottom had a daughter? Well, good for him. Knowing how self-conscious and awkward Neville had been back at school, Terry could only surmise that things had changed since then. Neville's heroic feat at that final battle at Hogwarts couldn't have hurt, either. Terry was curious as to where the mother was, though; Neville hadn't mentioned a girlfriend or a wife in his considerations about moving.
"Good for you," Terry said, lifting his mug to tap Neville's glass. "A belated congratulations. How old is she?"
Neville did not miss the look on Terry's face and he could feel the colour becoming darker, cheeks flushing bright red and it made him scowl slightly. It was ridiculous how easily he blushed.
Annoyed at himself, he turned to the bartender, asking for a gin. When it was set down in front of him he took a sip, glad for the burn at the back of his throat. He took a deep drink of the alcohol before setting the glass down in front of him and tilting his head slightly, once again turning in his seat so that he could hear Terry better over the whoops from the men behind him who had decided to start an impromptu darts game.
"Thank you," Neville said, tone sincere. "And she's six, at the moment. Just about, though she seems older. Maybe just because kids are different these days, who knows?"
"Well, hopefully she won't have to grow up as fast as we did," Terry said quietly. Those last few years at Hogwarts had certainly made them all old beyond their years.
Carefully, because Terry had a sense that this was going to be a sensitive topic, he continued, "And her mother?"
"Yeah," Neville said, his thoughts turning solemn for a moment and his expression darkening just slightly. Fingers sliding against the glass in front of him he took a sip of it and then set it back down, just hard enough that the liquid inside quivered. Dark eyes remained on the gin that seemed almost to sway when he next spoke.
"Her mother--Lorna, her name was Lorna--is dead. Has been for a bit." Finally lifting his eyes he said firmly, "Don't say sorry. It was not your fault that she died. I hate that about people saying they're sorry after a death."
Terry held up his hands in surrender, because that was exactly what he had been about to say. "Can I give you my condolences?" he asked instead. "Raising a child on your own can't be easy."
Neville smiled, then, just a slight upward quirk of the lips as his eyes danced with amusement. "You can offer condolences. And they're accepted. Thank you. It was a while back, though." He shrugged. "I guess I don't think much about it because of that. And, well, no it's not easy. But my gran helped me for some of it. Besides, we all do what we can in situations like that, don't we?"
"We do indeed." Terry might not be bringing up a child on his own, but he full well understood the necessity of soldiering on, and he wasn't surprised that Neville would do all that he could to make sure to take care of his daughter as best he could. "What's she like, then, your Meg?"
"Do you have all night?" Neville asked, somewhat self-deprecatingly. He knew already that he had an awful habit to ramble; it generally got worse when talking about Meg.
"She's...a livewire. She's got a lot of energy, she's very talkative but she's so serious nowadays. It is rather disconcerting." He took a drink and then said, "And she's an adrenaline junkie. It's so sad how often I worry over that."
"You're a parent," Terry pointed out. "It's your job to worry too much about it." He'd almost finished his ale by now, and he signalled the bartender for another one. "Sounds like you've got another upcoming Gryffindor in the family, though."
Neville shot Terry a rather horrified look, his eyebrows lifting and almost disappearing into his hairline. "Circe, but I hope not. Reckon by the time she was old enough to be sorted she'd have figured out how to give me grey hairs." He reached up and tugged his fingers through curly hair, searching for one already. When he didn't find one, he sighed heavily and took a sip of his drink.
"I thought she might have already," he explained.
Terry chuckled at Neville's reaction. "She's young yet," he said with unsympathetic cheer. For all of Neville's complaints, it was clear that he adored his daughter. "Does she stay with you, or with your gran?" It was odd to think of Neville having a child in his quarters at Hogwarts. Back when he'd been a student, he and Mike and Tony had occasionally speculated on their professors' private lives, but those speculations had never gone too far because it'd been too weird to think of their professors as having families. He wondered what the current batch of students thought of their war hero of a professor.
Neville gave Terry a withering glance and said, wryly, "Thanks for helping to improve my mood drastically." Taking another sip from his drink, he beckoned the bartender over and ordered another, the alcohol making his tongue loose. "She stays with me. We've our own little quarters up near the Astronomy tower, bizarrely. It's as far away from dorms as you could probably get and it's odd. You don't know surreal it can be."
Neville took another ship of his drink and then said, "Merlin, if she stayed with my gran she'd probably end up suffering severe indoctrination."
"Any time," Terry said unrepentantly, not at all withered from Neville's glance. He lifted his glass to Neville in a cheerful salute. "What are old friends for?" He flashed a quick grin, then continued. "Odd, isn't it? We used practice for making families up there, and now there's a family living there. Best you don't let her get too close to the tower itself."
"You used to practice for making families near my place of residence?" Neville's face twisted and took on a rather shocked look and he forced his eyes to go wide and round. Maybe if he tried hard enough to look fully scandalised it would work. "I--I can never stay there again. I'm traumitised!" He turned his head away from the other man, to try and ensure that he did not see the smile that was tugging his lips upwards.
"I'm sure," said Terry, who'd had enough practice reading people to realise that Neville was putting him on. There was a time not so long ago that Neville Longbottom truly would have been shocked to think about that. But here he was, with a respectable job and a child, no less. Of course, if anyone deserved it, Neville did.
"The trick is," Terry continued in the same vein, "to not have Meg scandalised by it."
"I'm not sure anything scandalises Meg," Neville said after a moment, sounding slightly thoughtful. "She's probably going to grow up and tell dirty jokes and strut about on stage, being completely casual and relaxed about it all."
Neville blinked, then, and said, "I, er, don't actually mean it. Of course, my daughter will be a Healer. Extraordinarily gifted." He coughed quickly to try and cover the earlier suggestion for Meg's future career.
Well, Meg Longbottom wasn't going to grow up under a strict parent, that was for sure. Terry wondered how much of Neville's parenting strategy was a response to the restrictions and expectations he'd had to grow up with when he'd been a child.
"She's young yet," Terry said mildly. Safest not to comment on either of Neville's predictions for his daughter. "Plenty of time for her to decide what she wants to do after she finishes school."
"Yeah," Neville said and he nodded slightly. "She won't let me tell her what to do half the time."
He looked down at his glass, eyeing the liquid at the bottom and lifted it, draining the glass of the small bit of alcohol left there. When he finished he pushed it across the bar, towards the barman and then turned to Terry saying, "I'm sorry, I just realised I haven't shut up once tonight about myself, really. How horrid of me was that?" Neville did not wait for an answer though, instead choosing to charge ahead, "And I swear I'll make it up to you later by relentlessly--or, okay, my version of relentlessly--questioning you at some point." He slid off the stool he was sitting on and glanced apologetically at Terry. "I have to go, though. I've gotta get up earlier. I'll see you later, though, aye?"
Terry, who rather liked not being asked too many questions, merely smiled and lifted his ale. "Not a problem, Neville. It was fantastic to catch up; that little girl of yours sounds like a right gem. Good luck with the students, yeah?"
"Thanks, mate," Neville said and, with an ephemeral smile, grabbed his jacket and slipped out of the bar, turning his head up gratefully to the cool of the night air