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Who: Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott
Where: The greenhouses
When: May 3 1998, afternoon
Why: Assessing the damage
Rating/Status: TBD, Incomplete
Neville tried not to look at the remains of the covered bridge as he made his way out onto the bridge in the dusty afternoon light. It was warm, for May, and he couldn't help wondering if it was the smoke lifting from the low fires still being put out around the grounds and the Forbidden Forest that were spreading heat into the air.
He hadn't meant to sleep so late. His Gran had wanted him to come home with her, but he had insisted on going up to Gryffindor Tower. But there were things to do, not the least of which was helping Professor McGonagall move the bodies into adjoining chambers. By the time he got back to the dormitory at four AM, Harry and Ron had been out cold on their respective beds - that hadn't even been touched all year, out of respect - and Hermione was lying next to Ron with her arm across his waist. That had made him smile. It was about time. He had collapsed on his bed and hadn't woken until two.
People kept trying to talk to him as he moved through the castle. No one had seen Harry all day - Neville could guess why, the guy had scared the crap out of him last night when he appeared literally out of nowhere - and they wanted to know what was going to happen now. He didn't know what to tell them.
He went to the chamber where Colin was. He wondered who was going to tell Dennis, or their dad. He walked over to the still, cold body, and touched his fingertips to the back of the boy's sleeve. It seemed like a morbid thing to do, so he brought his hand back almost immediately.
He really needed some air.
Out on the grounds, everything he saw was a reminder. From here, he could even see the gap where one of the Quidditch goalposts had been blasted away. The bridge was too horrible to think about. He didn't even want to think about how many people had died on that thing. It only made him feel a little better to remind himself that they had all been evil murdering Death Eaters. He'd still killed all of them. And it still hadn't saved Colin.
His feet found the path automatically that led down to the greenhouses. There was very little left, he realised as soon as the jagged remains of the glass walls came into view. Most of the plants were gone, sacrificed to the cause or blown away in the deluge that had destroyed the buildings. Suddenly he felt a wave of something quite like grief come over him. But that was stupid. They were just plants.
He stepped gingerly over to the remains of the Venomous Tentacular that had occupied the west corner of Greenhouse Three since as long as he could remember. It seemed wrong, somehow, that it was just left here, crushed and alone. This one wasn't just a plant. It had had a personality. He still remembered the time it had eaten Professor Sprout's hat.
Sighing, he pulled out his wand and cleared a space around it. "Incendio," he whispered then, and flames lit in the browning green flesh. He was about to turn and check to see if any Mandrakes had survived the pillage he himself had initiated, when he heard a crunch of glass only just behind him. Someone must have followed him down here. He whirled round, wand still in hand, ready to duel, but he had to pull his wand up quickly.
"Bloody hell," he muttered. "I almost cursed you."
Where: The greenhouses
When: May 3 1998, afternoon
Why: Assessing the damage
Rating/Status: TBD, Incomplete
Neville tried not to look at the remains of the covered bridge as he made his way out onto the bridge in the dusty afternoon light. It was warm, for May, and he couldn't help wondering if it was the smoke lifting from the low fires still being put out around the grounds and the Forbidden Forest that were spreading heat into the air.
He hadn't meant to sleep so late. His Gran had wanted him to come home with her, but he had insisted on going up to Gryffindor Tower. But there were things to do, not the least of which was helping Professor McGonagall move the bodies into adjoining chambers. By the time he got back to the dormitory at four AM, Harry and Ron had been out cold on their respective beds - that hadn't even been touched all year, out of respect - and Hermione was lying next to Ron with her arm across his waist. That had made him smile. It was about time. He had collapsed on his bed and hadn't woken until two.
People kept trying to talk to him as he moved through the castle. No one had seen Harry all day - Neville could guess why, the guy had scared the crap out of him last night when he appeared literally out of nowhere - and they wanted to know what was going to happen now. He didn't know what to tell them.
He went to the chamber where Colin was. He wondered who was going to tell Dennis, or their dad. He walked over to the still, cold body, and touched his fingertips to the back of the boy's sleeve. It seemed like a morbid thing to do, so he brought his hand back almost immediately.
He really needed some air.
Out on the grounds, everything he saw was a reminder. From here, he could even see the gap where one of the Quidditch goalposts had been blasted away. The bridge was too horrible to think about. He didn't even want to think about how many people had died on that thing. It only made him feel a little better to remind himself that they had all been evil murdering Death Eaters. He'd still killed all of them. And it still hadn't saved Colin.
His feet found the path automatically that led down to the greenhouses. There was very little left, he realised as soon as the jagged remains of the glass walls came into view. Most of the plants were gone, sacrificed to the cause or blown away in the deluge that had destroyed the buildings. Suddenly he felt a wave of something quite like grief come over him. But that was stupid. They were just plants.
He stepped gingerly over to the remains of the Venomous Tentacular that had occupied the west corner of Greenhouse Three since as long as he could remember. It seemed wrong, somehow, that it was just left here, crushed and alone. This one wasn't just a plant. It had had a personality. He still remembered the time it had eaten Professor Sprout's hat.
Sighing, he pulled out his wand and cleared a space around it. "Incendio," he whispered then, and flames lit in the browning green flesh. He was about to turn and check to see if any Mandrakes had survived the pillage he himself had initiated, when he heard a crunch of glass only just behind him. Someone must have followed him down here. He whirled round, wand still in hand, ready to duel, but he had to pull his wand up quickly.
"Bloody hell," he muttered. "I almost cursed you."