Who: Nev and Susan What: Talking in the greenhouse When: (backdated) Tuesday November 25, 1997 Where: The greenhouses How bad? Some angst and dark themes-ish-ness, but nothing dirty
The potting bench Neville stood at in Greenhouse 5 was in disarray. Empty pots tossed on their sides, soil spread unevenly across the surface, stacked trays of seedlings on the verge of collapse. Neville leaned against the table, rubbing his temples with dirt-encrusted fingers and breathing heavily. He'd calmed a great deal since his arrival in the greenhouse, but .. the anger was still there. Pulling one of the sprouts from its hole a nearby tray, Neville sighed, scooping soil into a pot and getting back to work.
Susan hadn't waited for Neville to acknowledge her response to his journal entry; she'd written it more as a warning really, and then dropped her quill to the table, leaving the castle for the greenhouse. It was chilly out, and she shivered into her cloak. It was misting - some uncomfortable compromise between rain and fog, and the dampness seeped through her clothes, through her skin. The greenhouse was so close, and bound to be warmer... with a hurried step, she looked for fresh, muddy footprints. Past greenhouse 1, 3, aha. Five. With a tentative nudge of the door, she crept inward. "Neville?"
With a start, Neville dropped the pot he had been setting up and turned quickly towards the door. "Susan..er..hi." He rubbed his eyes, still rimmed red from earlier and now smudged with soil. Brushing off the bench, he forced a smile. "Come..to get some work done?"
Abandoning her cloak at the post by the door, Susan approached and then knelt to collect the pot, which rolled away from him and toward her feet. "Yep," she said simply, promptly taking the seat beside him. "All done with mine, though... mind if I help?"
"If you'd like.." Neville frowned, looking down at his dusty gardening shoes. "But, really.. I'm not getting much done anyway. It's.." A sigh, frown deepening. "I uh.. should get something done, though, you know. The daffodils are being droopy, they need to be moved to a warmer place in the greenhouse. And..and someone overwatered the magpie bush on the north side, it needs to be repotted before its roots start to rot and.. I mean, there's so much to do and I just can't .. focus."
A pause, and then Susan stretched out a hand over Neville's dirtier one; she relieved him of the sprout, and cradled it delicately in her hand while she wrapped her other around his back. "We have plenty of time to do all of that," came her soft voice from his shoulder. "Tell me what's going on."
At Susan's touch, Neville relaxed visibly, leaning closer to her. "I just.. I got so upset and.. I don't know how to ... That woman, she.. my parents, she did it. She tortured them and she doesn't even feel guilty or anything and she just rubs it in my face I hate her. How could she do that, Susan?" Neville inhaled quickly, shutting his eyes tightly and feeling his hands clench into fists.
Horror twisted through Susan at his bluntness; she hadn't known - how could she? - and it made her feel sick to think of it. Her parents had only briefly mentioned Neville's parents before, and impressed upon her firmly that she wasn't to speak of it to others. Now, with the information resurfacing, the anger and bitterness was palpable in her lungs, in her mouth; she was so angry, and yet some mechanical, understanding sweetness took over.
"Because they're miserable, -bad- people." The softness in her tones belied the hatred welling up inside her, and she set the plant in its new pot, wrapped both arms around him, and gave him a firm squeeze. "They're full of hate and ignorance." And a trickle of fear - she felt awfully full of hatred right now. What did that make her?
Neville took a deep breath, nodding his head and trying to force his eyelids to hold back threatening tears. "She's out there. Free. She doesn't deserve to be, not for.. what she did. And," he swallowed, "I want to kill her. I've wanted to kill her since she.. escaped. But now.. I really.. really want.. I hate her so much, Susan."
She wanted to tell him he was a better person than Bellatrix Lestrange, that she would get her comeuppance, that they had to be better than hatred; but the words were strangled in her throat, held down by anger and the vicious, boiling hatred of her own. As she nodded, a tear of anger (not so forcibly held back as Neville's) spattered hot down her cheek and shirt. "She's a bad, bad person." The words, robotic, spilled out again, as Susan pressed her face into his shoulder, choked. How could they be good people with so much badness around them?
Neville's own tears escaped with Susan's, spilling down his cheek as he failed to hold back a quiet sob. "What kind of a person says things like that after.. after what she's done? About my mother..about.." Another sob, and he rested his head against Susan's. "She's evil."
Susan curled up into his side. She didn't know what to say; anger collapsed into a miserable resignation, and she held Neville in her arms, feeling terribly uncertain. "I just. I don't know."
Sighing, Neville felt his head begin to clear. The realization of his confession gave him a strange sense of relief. He'd been reluctant to talk about his parents to anyone. Lifting his head, he wiped at his eyes and looked at Susan. "Thank you."
Susan squeezed at him again before releasing him and regathering up the sprout. "We'll get through this mess. Promise." She managed a smile and handed him the small plant.
Neville nodded, taking the plant and twirling it between his fingers gently. He felt drained after all of the heavy emotion, yet at ease. "It's amazing.. I planted this as a seed and now its on its way to growing up into a strong, healthy plant." He stood, scooping up the pot Susan had rescued earlier and filling it again with soil. Once the sprout's roots were freshly buried in the soil, he turned back to Susan and smiled, warmth filling him at the sight of her face.
Susan watched him work, marvelling at how much care he put into the plants. When finished, she paused for an appropriate moment, then scooped up his fingers into hers. Silence, then, between them, as anger, exhaustion, and a strong, flailing sense of adoration vied for her attention.