Day 20: FIC: Five Ways Neville's Life Changed Before He Turned 20 (And One Way It Didn't)
Title: Five Ways Neville’s Life Changed Before He Turned 20 (And One Way It Didn’t) Author: KateKintail Rating: R overall (though mostly PG throughout) Pairing(s): Neville/Harry (Harry/Ginny mentioned and sort of Neville/Hannah implied) Word Count: 4,607 Disclaimer: These characters and their magical world are not mine. I am only playing for fun. Please don’t sue me. I work for a non-profit and the very little I earn goes to rent, food, and Harry Potter goodies :-) Summary: Neville grows up quite a lot in the series. But as Neville approaches 20 years of age, he goes through a few more life changes… and remains just about the same at the end.
* 1.
‘It’s strange,’ thought Neville, as he dropped a handful of dirt on the coffin. ‘It’s strange that the war was the only time I ever felt like I had a place. It’s strange that peace only brought confusion. It’s strange that I cried more today than I did at Fred’s or Collin’s funerals.’
After a strangled sob escaped him, Neville took a deep breath. He had been putting this off for too long, but now that he’d started, he’d have to finish whether he were ready to say goodbye or not. He rubbed two dirty hands at his eyes then pushed the pile of dirt he’d dug back into the hole. “Cheers, Trevor.” His voice broke and he buried his face in the crook of his arm. He shook for a few moments then a few moments more, before he finally took several deep breaths to steady himself. Trevor wouldn’t want to see him lose it like this.
Neville scrubbed his face against his sleeve and lifted his head. He smiled down at the mound of fresh dirt and the tiny, little, white tombstone. Neville had been through so many changes already, and grown so much from that day when he’d received Trevor. He’d killed that snake, for Merlin’s sake. There was much more he could be doing with his life than lurking about at home, scared about what the real world held. ‘It’s time to move on,’ he told himself. ‘Time to make something of myself.’ And this time, staring down at the grave of his childhood friend and familiar, he believed himself. Suddenly there seemed like too much to do and not enough time to do it. He pushed off from the ground and trudged up the stairs to the back porch and inside the house. “Gran?” he called out. “May I speak with you a second?”
* 2.
A long, exhausting day at work found Neville returning home and collapsing onto his couch. He touched toe to heel and pried off one boot, then the other. He kicked them onto the floor and stretched out against the beige cushions. He wiggled his toes in his sweaty, stocking feet and folded his hands against the back of his head. There was quiet and peace and for once he could do exactly what he liked since this was his own pace.
After the war, Neville was part of the crew that helped rebuild Hogwarts. Though many of the students went on to other jobs after the battle, Neville could not fathom doing such a thing until the school was restored. It felt too special to him to abandon it in its ruined state. But even with magic, the task had been arduous. The work teams slept in tents on the grounds, well away from the castle. Their meals were quick and simple. They worked steadily from sunup to sundown and sometimes well into the night with help from charms to light their ways. But most nights they sat around makeshift campfires, sharing stories and memories, singing songs, and telling jokes. The comradely and sense of accomplishment had been addictive.
After all that, he just couldn’t bring himself to live alone. Not right away. But now… now he was ready to give it a shot. And though living with Gran had been great, it was even greater to have his own place, his own things, his own life. ‘I’ve earned this.’
Neville had a new job in the field—literally— working for a herbologist. He wasn’t high enough up on the pecking order to actually collect the samples. He was in charge of identifying and distinguishing, which was a complex way of saying he got to wade around amongst plants in a stuffy, white suit. When he found the right specimen, he had to yell out to the people in charge and point until the collectors found it. It sounded better than it was, really. Last week Neville came home every night with a terrible rash from ankle to thigh and had to soak his legs in a tub of lotion. The week before, which had been his first week on the job, he couldn’t stop laughing because he’d stumbled into a patch of Katanay Tickling Grass.
He planned to work his way up in the ranks… unless he found something better. This wasn’t a bad choice for starting out, though. It was steady job in a subject he enjoyed which paid for a flat that was all his. Plus it gave him time to start volunteering on the weekends. He put in a few hours every Sunday at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries on Ward 49.
Neville stared up at the ceiling, a smile on his face. This was a great start. His own place. He could spread out—even keep his shoes on the floor. He could listen to whatever he wanted on the wireless—even the Quidditch box scores. He could eat whatever he liked—even junk food for dinner. He could do whatever he liked—even stay up all night. ‘This is my flat.’ His first flat. Neville Longbottom’s flat.
And, boy, he was lonely.
* 3.
At first, Neville considered getting another toad. He’d gotten used to having Trevor around. The weight on his pillow. The evening croaks. The jumping around on the desk, knocking over ink bottles, and generally getting in the way of everything. Perhaps a toad wasn’t exactly what Neville was looking for after all.
Besides, it was more about getting a pet than replacing Trevor. He walked up and down the halls, feeling indecisive, which wasn’t exactly new for Neville. A dog would be nice and loyal. He could take it out on walks and play fetch and let it sleep at the foot of his bed. A small dog or a crup would even fit on his lap if he liked. But with a dog he’d have to worry about leaving it at home all day while he worked. Cats were a lot easier, really, and they fit on your lap just as easily. They liked attention but just as much they liked their independence. And that was nice but it could also get a bit frustrating. He couldn’t have an animal chewing on his plants, after all.
There were many more choices at the Magical Menagerie than just dogs and cats, however. Neville considered buying a pair of gorgeous, shiny salamanders, but remembered just in time about salamanders living in a fire only as long as the fire burned hot with flame. That might be nice at first, but that wouldn’t do as he headed into the summer. There was a small cage of pixies and the shop keeper swore to him that they were well trained and would play only harmless jokes if any. Neville rubbed his ears in reminder of the last pixies he had had the pleasure of meeting. These wouldn’t do at all.
There was a nest of puffskeins which were tempting. Gran had never let him have one, and they made great pets to cuddle. They were scavengers and quite low maintenance, as well, which was definitely a plus. But if he was going to get one, he would have to get a Pygmy Puff from George and Lee’s Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes shop. Not that the business needed an extra few galleons, considering that they were getting ready to expand to a second location. But he’d feel better about it on principle. Except that he didn’t really want a puffskein either.
Being indecisive wasn’t exactly new for Neville, but he was coming up on twenty years old in a few months and he’d been in the shop for hours now. ‘All right, Neville. Just choose something already!’ Neville walked over to the counter, plopped down some coins and made a decision.
Back at home, he sat with his feet up on his table. He had a quill in his hand, a piece of parchment against a hardcover book resting on his thighs, and a large brown and cream masked owl perched on his knees. He’d named the owl Hellebore, after the plant. Neville reached up and patted the owl’s head. It blinked at him affectionately and hooted softly.
Neville smiled and turned back to his letter: Sorry I haven’t written in a while but I wanted to catch up. How are you? How’s Ginny? How’s the Ministry going? He almost wrote ‘Write back if you have time’ but he hoped that Harry would probably write back no matter what. He thought of ending the letter there, with a nice signature.
But suddenly he found himself spilling his guts about everything—leaving home, getting a job, seeing his parents more often, getting an owl, losing Trevor for good—knowing Harry would never trivialize any of it. And it felt damn good to share. And once he was done with the letter to Harry, he pulled out another piece of parchment and started another. He didn’t stop writing until his stomach rumbled with hunger hours later.
* 4.
How strange it was to be almost twenty and just now attending one’s first professional Quidditch match. Of course he’d attended every match held at Hogwarts during his time there, but he’d never seen professional players play. Gran had never had much time for Quidditch, though she hadn’t minded Neville listening to the games and scores on the wireless. It was quite different to see in person. It was intense, fast-paced, and exciting. It was even more exciting considering Harry was sitting beside him, holding his hand.
Gripping his hand was probably a better way of putting it. Harry was squeezing so tightly Neville worried he might not get circulation back for days at this rate. But it was worth it.
Over the past month, Neville and Harry had exchanged a number of letters. Hellebore had had his work cut out for him, with letters to Hermione and Ron, Luna, Ginny, Seamus, Dean, and Gran, of course. But Harry’s letters had been the longest and most detailed. Ginny didn’t write about Harry in her letters, but Harry confessed all to Neville. And when Harry suggested they attend a game together, Neville was happy to travel halfway across England.
Harry had never before held his hand in public. Sure they’d played about together in the dormitory. It had been nothing serious and Neville had chalked it up long ago to natural experimentation. He had tried to keep it physical only; he’d shared a room with Harry for his first six years at Hogwarts and shared a room with Ginny for the seventh. But Harry’s assurances that he and Ginny were taking it slow while she was off playing Quidditch put Neville at ease. And Harry’s hand in Neville’s made all of his doubts swiftly disappear. ‘Doubt? What doubt?’
The game lasted forever. Every time Puddlemere United scored the Pride of Portree turned right around and scored as well. The points were so consistently even that whoever caught the snitch would win without question. But the snitch was elusive and by the third hour, it looked like Oliver Wood might leave his goal to go looking for the snitch himself. Neville was thrilled, however. He loved the action on the pitch and he loved Harry squeezing his hand and whispering little comments into his ear. Harry was not only his companion but his personal commentator.
As the sun began to set, the summer evening began to cool off. Neville faked a shiver.
“Cold?” Harry asked concernedly.
Not wanting to lie outright to Harry, Neville shrugged noncommittally.
Harry put his arm around Neville’s shoulders and scooted right up against him on the bench. Neville had a difficult time paying attention to the match after that. In fact, when the Puddlemere finally caught the snitch, Neville and Harry were in mid-snog and missed the whole thing.
“Shit, is that it? It’s over?” Neville asked, watching the two teams landing to applause. Besides the fact that the team they were rooting for won, this was hands down the best match Neville had ever attended and he was sad to see it over so soon.
Harry nodded, licking his lips. “Looks like. Did you have fun?”
“Best professional match I’ve ever seen.” Neville grinned.
“C’mon. Wood’ll be expecting us to stop by.” Wood had been expecting Harry, because he’d been the one to get Harry the tickets. He hadn’t been expecting Neville so much, but was so excited from the team’s victory that he’d caught them both up in the tightest of hugs.
“Join me and the mates at the pub afterwards?” Wood requested. “We’ve got some fun after-match rituals.”
“Sorry,” Harry said. “I’ve got an early day tomorrow. But cheers, Wood.” He clapped the man on the back, and Neville was suddenly jealous of the touch as well as disappointed. He definitely did not want this evening to end.
But Harry had lied. Or, at the least, he had pretended to care about how much sleep he needed. Because as soon as they were out of earshot, Harry whispered something inappropriate to Neville and nibbled at his ear. Then, suddenly, Neville felt like the luckiest man in the world.
They Apparated to Neville’s flat and made it only as far as the sofa. Harry pinned Neville down on the sofa, kissing Neville’s neck so hard it would leave a mark within an hour. Harry pulled at Neville’s shirt, and Neville tugged at Harry’s belt buckle. Clothes were forced off only between kisses and gropes, the sensations rising through them so quickly.
Neville hooked his legs around the backs of Harry’s thighs and held on tightly, bucking instinctively and excitedly. Merlin, it had been so long. Too long. He had to have Harry in him now. He whimpered and thrust his hands into Harry’s shorts, grabbing and pulling. “Please. Harry love, please!”
Harry’s mouth, busy kissing, twitched into a smile. “Been a while since I’ve heard those words.”
‘Been a while since I’ve said them, too.’ Neville repeated, “You like that, Harry love?”
The smile became a sheepish grin. “That’s it,” he said. “Except... Neville… it’s been so long since… do you think… like we used to… would you mind?”
Neville could hardly refuse the prospect of fucking Harry. After all this time, and considering Harry could have anyone he wanted, Neville’s heart leapt at the chance to do this. “You want me to take you?” Neville asked, just to be sure. The eager nod from Harry made Neville’s body tingle all over with anticipation. Now they weren’t just two boys playing. They were men, nearly twenty years old now, wise, brave, and excited to have each other.
They rolled over, onto the floor, at which point, Neville Apparated them out of their clothes and to the bedroom.
Afterwards, they lay together on Neville’s bed, the sheets beneath them slightly damp and but cool enough. Since the pillows had been used for other things, Harry had his head pillowed on his arm and Neville was resting his head on Harry’s abdomen. Both chests rose and fell slowly, but neither man was asleep quite yet.
“Are you happy, Neville?” Harry asked into the dark silence.
Neville closed his eyes, feeling Harry’s fingertips brushing against the revealing, red blotch the on Neville’s sensitive neck so lightly and soothingly. “Perfectly happy.” Decent job, decent flat, decent company, decent fun, decent shag—what more could he want?
“Truly? Even about your job?”
Neville nodded again. “Yeah. It’s great.” Then he cocked his head curiously. “Wait. Why do you ask?”
* 5.
Neville was not prepared for how it felt to walk back into Hogwarts again. When they had been rebuilding the school, he had stayed mostly on the grounds, working on the greenhouses and the landscape. And when reconstruction was finished, he and the others had toured through, checking each nook and cranny. Things would never be exactly as they had once been, but Neville supposed that even buildings changed over time the way plants and people did. This was a different Hogwarts, with a different history, different professors, and a different headmaster.
Upon arriving, Neville hadn’t counted on being so overwhelmed with emotion. He felt, suddenly, as though he were finally in the right place. He ran a hand up and down one stone column, finding it smooth and cool against his fingertips, expecting it to move closer, the way his owl and some of his plants did when they were petted. It was almost as if it had been just waiting for this, waiting for him to arrive.
To Neville, it was as though the entire school had turned into a giant, castle-sized Room of Requirements, reading his mind just as he expected it to, and delivering to him exactly what he needed. ‘I have to get this job.’
He made his way through the deserted corridors, listening to his footfalls echoing like he was the only one there. But the stone gargoyles slid aside when he spoke the password and he made his way up the stairs to the headmaster’s office. Luckily, he remembered not to visibly fidget with nervousness in his seat. “I believe I would be the right candidate for the position of Herbology Teacher, Professor McGonagall,” he said, concluding his argument after she had asked him why he had applied.
“And you think you can handle students? There’s more to teaching than just knowing your subject, Mister Longbottom.”
“I understand that. And, yes, I am confident in my ability to lead and instruct students. I… have had some experience leading in the past.” It was difficult to know exactly how to put things on a job application, but Professor McGonagall had been there and knew much of the story.
Neville suddenly realized his leg was bouncing up and down, and he made an effort to stop it. He desperately wanted this job, it was true. But he liked his current job all right. Sure it paid next to nothing and wasn’t the least bit exciting, but at least he was out in the field working with plants instead of working as a dishwasher somewhere or something. His world wouldn’t end with this rejection. His world was just beginning. The only place it could go from here was up. There was nothing to lose and everything to be gained.
“Look, Professor, I realize I am young. I’ll be twenty in just a few days, in fact. But I’m qualified and eager. And I’m as dedicated to the school and its students as anyone could be. I want to teach this subject. Moreover, I want to teach here at Hogwarts.”
The headmistress said nothing for a while. She held some papers up in front of her face and studied them closely through her glasses. His formal work experience was minimal but his marks had been excellent in the subject. And he’d received letters of recommendation from quite a few people who held some sway—Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Professor Sprout included—though he did not know precisely what the letters contained. He felt he had a pretty decent shot. Professor McGonagall must have thought so, too, if she’d asked him there to interview instead of rejecting his application straightaway.
When the headmistress lowered the papers, Neville saw she was smiling. “Hogwarts would be lucky to have you back.”
“Really?” His face lit up and his heart might have burst from his chest if that were possible. His leg was bouncing again, though all nerves were gone. He felt like racing out of the office, flying down the stairs, and screaming the news out to the whole of the Wizarding World.
“Yes. Though I feel it fair to warn you that the first year with new teachers is always a trial period. After that, you will be evaluated and asked to move on or invited to stay permanently if you so wish.”
“I look forward to that, Professor.”
She regarded him with curiosity, though still smiling. “You certainly have changed, Mister Longbottom. At least in that regard.” She reached over the desk to shake his hand.
He took hers and shook it firmly but excitedly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
* 6.
Neville walked up and down the aisles, hands folded together at the small of his back. Greenhouse Eleven housed some of the most temperamental plants known to wizards, and his N.E.W.T. students were only meant to observe and study today, having spent the first two weeks of the semester reading about them. There were no tables on which to work and no tools at all for fear that the tools might be used the wrong way… on the students.
He looked over the shoulders of the students, approving of the sketches and notes. He tried not to criticize when he noticed some inaccuracy, but instead pointed out the section the student might want to look at a little more closely. And he always tried to find some positive in each student’s work. That was easier to do in the upper levels, of course, and this class was especially bright.
However, they were also teenagers. And with that came the same weaknesses that Neville knew so well from his own childhood at Hogwarts. School wasn’t just about the marks, after all. So when he heard a shriek from the far end of the greenhouse, followed by a terrified yell for help, Neville could make a pretty good guess as to what happened.
Without even giving it a second thought, he fought past his students. He pulled his wand out carefully as he squeezed down the narrow aisles, though could have used a little more space. “Back, back! Everyone get back but mind the other plants!” he instructed. One accident was quite enough to be getting on with today.
The seventh year, Matthew, was pinned against the back wall, held in place by thick, spiky vines. Like Devil’s Snare, the more he tried to fight and free himself, the more it tightened its grip on him. But unlike Devile’s Snare, the plant would not loosen its grip if he relaxed. In fact, there were very few options open.
Several other students had their wands out as well, but Neville motioned for them to lower their defenses. “The Yakaba doesn’t like being threatened,” he said, though he was barely heard over the noise in the greenhouse. Students were screaming and trying to call out suggestions which weren’t the least bit useful at the moment. And poor Matthew had a vine covering his mouth, so he could not make so much as a squeak. In fact, his face was going from peach to pale.
The Yakaba was a most docile plant, normally, but its utterly gorgeous flowers could attract the curious and lure them to their deaths. The boy would have the life squeezed out of him and then, when he was on the verge of death, the thorns would puncture his arteries and bleed him dry so that the plant could drink. In fact, once the Yakaba was in this mode, it was nearly impossible to get the plant out of it. Though they meant well, his students panicking would not help. “Quiet, all!” Neville said, and charged forward.
Knowing full well that the plant could just as easily grab him instead of Matthew, leaving the class teacherless but fully intact, Neville wrapped his hand around one of the thick vines. He did not pull at it, but he held on tightly, warmly, letting it know he was there. With his wand and a simple little spell, he warmed the plant’s core temperature. Then he stroked it to relax it.
At least, that was the plan. There were more ways to fight an opponent than with force, after all. But this strategy wasn’t working as quickly as Neville had hoped. Matthew’s pale face was now turning a horrifying blue. His body no longer wriggled madly in an attempt to get free, but hung limply.
However, Neville did not give up. He pressed his cheek to one of the vines and breathed heavily out against a flower, hoping it sensing the warm heat would help. He stroked as though with affection, as though the plant was not killing one of his students. In fact, one of the sharp spikes was pressing into Matthew’s bare arm already, drawing a few tiny tastes of blood. Neville’s heart skipped a beat but he controlled it. He was patient and calm, and the plant finally sensed that.
It took a few minutes more than he would have liked, it was true. And by then a vine had begun twisting around his ankles, making his feet tingle at the lack of circulation. But then the plant responded just as he’d hoped.
Neville watched as the thorns drooped and the petals of the pointed flowers opened back up again to display their beauty. Slowly but surely, the vines loosened their grips and Neville was free to step forward to catch Matthew before he hit the floor.
Neville cradled the heavy young man in his arms as he carefully carried him outside. He laid Matthew on the ground and pressed a finger to his neck to search for a pulse. At the same time, he spoke a word and his patronus shot out of the end of his wand. The silvery, vaporous, familiar-looking toad quickly hopped its way across the grounds to the hospital wing to summon Madam Promfrey.
Matthew’s breathing was unsteady, but he was alive and opened his eyes, staring up at his professor and the rest of the worried class which had filed out after him. “S-sorry Sir,” Matthew choked out.
At once, Neville hushed the boy. Neville tore off a bit of his sleeve at the cuff and pressed the folded square of fabric to the tiny puncture wound. “You’re going to be just fine, Matthew. No harm done to you at all,” Neville assured him, sliding a knee under Matthew’s head to elevate it a little and make him more comfortable. “Don’t try to talk, all right? Just lie still and try to take small, slow breaths.” Like the plant, it took the young man a few minutes to properly relax. When he did, Neville smiled reassuringly at him. “Now you’ll think twice before ignoring my instructions in order to show off for a pretty girl in my class, won’t you?”
At that, Matthew merely blushed and nodded in agreement.
“Good lad.” He put a hand on Matthew’s shoulder and then raised his hand to address the pale, worried students. “Would you lot please do me a favor now and tell me as many beneficial uses for the Yakaba plant as you can recall from your studies?”
The class sprang into action. When they had exhausted their memories—which was easy to do after the interruption they had just been witness to—Neville prompted them to keep going. The students flipped through whatever textbooks they might have brought out with them and discussed the uses in small groups before shouting out correct answers. There was still another handful at least to be named by the time Madam Pomfrey arrived to look after Matthew, so Neville assigned that as homework.
“All right there, Professor Longbottom?” Madam Pomfrey asked him as soon as the class had headed back up to the castle.
Neville smiled. ‘I could use a good drink at the Leaky Cauldron,’ he answered to himself, but to her he nodded. “Ankles are a bit bruised, but I’ll be fine.”
“Of course you will be,” Madam Pomfrey replied, smiling at him.