Neville Longbottom (nevforthewin) wrote in plagued_logs, @ 2015-09-06 06:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | 1998 september, justin finch-fletchley, neville longbottom, rating pg |
WHO: Neville & Justin
WHAT: Taking a Breath
WHEN: Sunday morning
WHERE: Greenhouse 3
RATING: PG, mentions of death
STATUS: wip
He rakes and trims the grass
He loves to mow and weed
In the Pine-Sol scented air, somewhere that's green
Neville had managed to keep himself busy all week, with classes, catching up with old friends, and being involved in the new year's reforming of the DA. The news about Carrow had shaken him, yes, but he didn't want to let it show. Maybe it made him look uncaring. That wasn't what he wanted, either. But he refused to panic, publically. Not where people could see and get more worried. No, he had to play the hero still, and get people organised and ready and prepared... prepared to fight battles that could get them killed. It was happening all over again but there was nothing else he could think of to do. Sunday morning dawned foggy and quiet. Today was memorial day. He was going to have to face Colin's grave, and Fred's, and Lupin's. He woke up early and stared up at the canopy of his four-poster for ten minutes before getting up. The others were still; they'd either already left or were, more likely, still sleeping. He dressed quietly and went out of Gryffindor Tower. He went to the new Owlery first, to visit Friendly. The young owl seemed to get on well with the other owls, although he had a feeling the school owls looked down their beaks at him. He was overjoyed to see Neville, and his spirits lifted a little as he fed him treats and stroked his feathers. He still had several hours to kill. Hands in his pockets he went down to the Entrance Hall. Looking in on the Great Hall, some people were having breakfast, but he wasn't hungry. As he continued out towards the Grounds, he ran a hand absent-mindedly along the pockmarked and scorched wall. A memory hit him like a hammer; him and Ron fighting Greyback, forcing him back and taking him out. Later, seeing Lavender torn almost to pieces, he'd felt good about that. Now something twisted in his stomach and bile rose in his throat. He forced it back and hurried out into the fresh air of the morning. It was only a short walk to the Greenhouses, but once he was inside he felt a little calmer. Though it was completely silent, empty, the warm, humid atmosphere felt like home. He took off his jumper and slung it around his waist as he walked around the outside, looking at the plants. Professor Sprout had worked hard over the summer, but there was a great deal to do, which had only become clearer during their first Herbology classes of the year. Neville was determined to get the school plants back to their former glory. Some might take years to find, or to regrow from seedlings. But they would get there. Things would regrow, life would go on. Things would get better. Unless Carrow, or Lestrange, or someone else who hated him, got in the way. He found a corner between an adolescent Flutterby bush, and a new species Professor Sprout had introduced as Creeper Amicatia, a kind of sentient vine that behaved almost like a pet. When he sat down on the ground and leaned back against the warm, slightly damp glass wall, it curled one long tendril comfortingly around his wrist. He closed his eyes. He just needed this, for a while, just to not think about Carrow or the memorial or how lost Dennis was now, and how it was mostly his fault and there wasn't anything he could do about it. The Flutterby bush quivered beside him, and he started pruning it absent-mindedly with his fingers. He probably looked like some kind of overgrown wood gnome, sitting tangled in the plants, but he was safe here. Safe, and free from any responsibilities except for making sure they were taken care of. |