Sometimes I feel like I’m wilting, too.
The Chinese Chomping Cabbage wasn’t doing well, and Neville was worried that Professor Sprout would be disappointed in him. He’d convinced her that he was ready to grow it on his own, even though carnivorous plants are difficult to take care of.
He kneeled in the dirt, and gently lifted the leaves, checking the underside for fungus or discoloration, but there wasn't any. He sighed, and spoke soft, encouraging words to it, as if it could understand.
Neville toyed with fertilizers and nutrients, and flipped through One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi fruitlessly until the sky dimmed to violet and orange, reminding him that he would be late for dinner again.
It seems even the sky is frustrated lately.
Like Harry.
I wish this war would end.
After dinner, Neville went to the library to do more research on his cabbages. It was late when he finally returned to Gryffindor Tower.
Harry wasn’t there, but Neville wasn’t surprised. Harry hadn't been around for much of seventh year. Neville knew he hadn't wanted to come back at all, but Professor McGonagall and Mrs Weasley had insisted it was the safest place for him, despite the attack at the tower the previous spring. Neville was glad he had, as they’d grown close lately.
Long after Dean, Seamus and Ron had gone to bed, Neville laid awake. He stared at Harry’s still-made bed through the slit between his curtains, waiting, worrying; but he fell asleep before Harry got back.
Neville woke some time later to the sound of retching in the nearby bathroom. He sat up slowly in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Their roommates were still asleep, and Neville sighed in relief. That meant Harry was back. He tried to stay awake, but fell asleep again to the sound of the shower running without getting a chance to speak to Harry.
I just want to feel safe again, I think.
At breakfast, Harry sat next to Neville, close enough that their elbows touched.
“You weren’t worried last night, were you?” he asked in a way entirely too innocent for a boy who had seen the things Harry had.
“No,” Neville said, but he’d always been a terrible liar.
Harry sighed and squeezed Neville’s hand. “Nothing happened last night. And I’m fine,” he said in a low voice.
Neville nodded, but Harry hasn’t told him the whole truth since he forced Harry to tell him about the prophecy a few months earlier. It had been such a shock that Neville (almost) regretted it (as it could have been him with the lightning scar, and he was sure he’d make a terrible hero.)
Harry moved away slightly when Ron and Hermione sat across from them. It was a small thing, but Neville wished Harry would be more open about... about whatever this was between them - at least, open enough to give it a name, because Neville had fallen hard for Harry, and Harry hardly acknowledged it.
I think Harry feels the same way, but he’s afraid of something.
It’s hard to think of someone so brave being so afraid at the same time.
Neville buried his worries in his studies. He spent as much time in Greenhouse Three as he could, coaxing the Chinese Chomping Cabbages back to health, and weeding. It was a good way to avoid Harry and the war. And in such a desperate, war-torn time, Neville didn’t think it mattered so much to be caring for plants when Harry was out fighting, but he didn’t know what else to do. Regrettably, he wasn’t like his parents.
And everyone was expecting Harry to do something great, but Neville just wanted him alive. He hadn't ever cared about anyone the way he cared about Harry, and he couldn’t lose him.
Neville pulled his hoe through the dirt, then pulled the weeds harder than necessary. He tossed them toward a bucket haphazardly, so only about half of them actually ended up inside. The greenhouse door opened with a squeak, but he ignored the intruder until he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Neville, what’s wrong?”
He stilled at the familiar voice. He dropped the leaves he was holding, and resisted the urge to throw his arms around Harry.
“Nothing.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Neville reluctantly allowed Harry to pull him close, letting his hoe drop to the ground. Harry wrapped his arms around Neville’s waist, but his movements were awkward, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to be so close to him.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I don’t mean to scare you.”
Neville shook his head and clung to Harry’s robes, unable to voice all the things that have been running through his mind. Harry waited patiently for him to speak, stroking his back in a way that was supposed to be comforting.
“You were sick last night,” Neville said. It wasn’t what he meant to say, exactly, but the words he really wanted got stuck in his throat.
After a short pause, Harry asked, “You were awake?”
“Briefly.”
“I... there were... I just didn’t feel well. I’m fine now.”
Neville shook his head again. “There were what?”
Harry hesitated. “Inferi,” he said softly.
Neville tightened his grip on Harry’s robes. He’d never seen an inferi himself, but he was sure he’d be sick too if he did.
There was an awkward silence. Neither boy knew what to say after that. There were words of fear and words of comfort rolling beneath the quiet, but none that would help the situation.
Finally, Neville said, “I need to finish weeding.” He gestured to the hoe on the ground.
“Okay.” Harry looked disappointed, but let Neville go.
I want Harry close to me. I want sweet kisses and affectionate words and things that he isn’t ready to give.
I want this war over so I can have him to myself, and that makes me feel selfish.
Neville struggled with his Charms essay, but it was something he wanted to get right. Healing charms would be quite useful in his gardening. He was so focused that he didn’t notice Harry come through the portrait hole, and was surprised when a sudden weight made the couch cushions beside him sink.
Neville finished his sentence with deliberate slowness, while he tried to put his thoughts together. When the moment had stretched too long, he put his quill down and looked up at Harry. Harry held his arm out, and Neville glanced around the common room before moving into Harry’s embrace. It was late (again) and there were only a few fifth years huddled around the fire.
Neville thought he shouldn’t be nervous about showing a bit of affection, anyway.
Harry pressed his lips against Neville’s forehead in something that was not a kiss. They stayed like that for what felt like a long time.
“Harry?” Neville said shyly.
But Harry didn’t answer, and it wasn’t until after the fifth years went to bed that either of them spoke again.
“I have to go away for a while,” Harry said.
“Why?”
“I just have to, Neville. We’re – I’m going to win this war.” His voice was soft, but determined.
And Neville understood, but that didn’t make it any easier. He put an arm around Harry’s waist and clung tightly to him.
“I don’t mean to scare you, Neville.” Neville couldn’t count the number of times Harry had said that to him. “I... I might not...”
“Don’t say it,” Neville pleaded.
“It’s the truth. The prophecy-“
“I hate the prophecy!” Neville cried. He pulled away from Harry and began to gather his things.
“That doesn’t make it less true.”
“Don’t you see how terrifying this whole thing is for the people who love you?”
And Neville hadn't meant to say love but he couldn’t take it back after that.
Harry blinked stupidly a few times. “I have to do it.”
Neville shoved the last of his things into his bag and stormed off. Harry followed him, and Neville realized that this would have been a more effective move if they didn’t share a room.
Before he opened the door to the dorm, Neville said “You don’t have to be alone!”
“I can’t put anyone else in danger!” Harry snapped back, a bit too harshly.
Neville looked at the floor. He couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t be hurtful, so he bit his lip and entered the room without responding.
I might as well just have said I love him.
He’s so stubborn.
Harry was gone, and Neville hardly ate all day. He was sure something terrible was going to happen. He pushed the food around his plate, thinking no one would notice, but Hermione did. She smiled sadly at him, and he realized suddenly that Ron wasn’t there either.
At least Harry wasn’t alone.
I feel so alone, though;
like I could wither like the cabbages.
A day later, after class and before Neville could escape to the greenhouse, Hermione found him. She stood tall, but her eyes were puffy and conflicted. She clutched a book and parchment to her chest.
“They’ll be all right,” she said, unconvincingly.
Neville shook his head.
“I’m going to find the spell he needs,” Hermione held up the book. “Then this will end, and Harry and Ron will be okay.”
Neville realized that she was trying to convince herself more than him, and he shook his head again. There were no words for times like this, only anger.
“Do you love him?” Hermione asked suddenly, meaning Harry.
He did, but Neville shook his head. It hurt less that way. “No. Do you?” he asked in a whisper, meaning another boy.
Hermione nodded, but she also said, “No.”
The cabbages are doing a little better.
It is so much easier to take care of sick plants than broken people.
Neville sat in the dirt, not caring about the stains on his robes or the mud in his hands. He was upset with the sodding cabbages, with Harry, with himself.
He didn’t think he should be obsessing over this. Harry had made it clear that nothing would come of their relationship, and yet...
And yet...
I’ve been waiting so long for him.
I don’t think I can let Harry go.
Neville found Hermione in the library, nose in a book and scribbling frantically in Latin on parchment. He sat across from her.
“Hermione.”
She gestured for him to wait.
“It’s important.”
Hermione stopped writing and looked up at him. “I need to figure this spell out,” she said through gritted teeth.
It was so unlike her to show frustration like that, and Neville was taken aback. She looked down and resumed writing, and crossing words out, and re-writing. Neville stared at her for a moment, incredulous.
“I need to tell him,” he blurted out.
Hermione slammed her quill down impatiently. “Tell him what, Neville?”
He blushed. “That I love him. And that... that I want to help. You know where he is, you just have to tell me.” The more he spoke, the less sure of this whole thing he was.
Hermione smiled sadly and shook her head. She picked up her quill and ignored Neville. He was still a bit self-conscious, but her smile riled something in him.
“Stop doing that,” Neville said.
“What?” She didn’t even look up.
“Giving me pitying looks. I can help.”
“Neville, it’s a sweet thought. How are your Chinese Chomping Cabbages?”
“That... that’s entirely irrelevant,” Neville said, frustrated.
“It’s what you’re good at,” Hermione pointed out.
“I helped at the Department of Mysteries,” Neville reminded her.
Hermione stopped writing, but still didn’t look at him. “That was different. It was supposed to be a rescue mission. We weren’t supposed to fight like that.”
“This is a different kind of rescue mission,” Neville said softly. “Just tell me, Hermione.”
She set her lips in a firm line and didn't answer. Neville’s heart sank. She went back to writing, and it was clear the conversation was over.
I’ve never felt so helpless, or so rejected.
I want Harry back.
Was he even mine in the first place?
Neville was trying not to sulk as he read (or rather, pretended to read) about research on Humdinger fertilizer in the Quibbler (which Luna had thoughtfully given to him.) Mostly, he’d been staring at the words and flipping the pages idly, while his mind wandered elsewhere.
Neville thought that most people didn’t think very highly of him. He wasn’t a powerful wizard (even though he should have been, considering who his parents were) and that made him even more self-conscious at school than he was with Gran (and that was saying a lot.)
Hermione, though, had always been supportive before.
Neville realized that he was sulking, and he slammed the magazine closed. He left it on his bed with the intention of going to the greenhouse, even though he’d already spent most of the day there. He hadn’t even stepped outside, however, when Hermione stopped him.
“Neville!” She rushed to him, a magically sealed scroll clutched in her hand. “Are you going to the greenhouse?”
He nodded, not trusting his voice just then. She smiled slightly and shoved the scroll into his hand. “Take this with you.”
“Um... what is it? How do I open it?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Just go.” She gave him a small push toward the door.
Confused, Neville nodded and continued walking, staring more at the scroll in his hand than at the path he was taking. Besides, he knew the way to the greenhouse by heart.
I don’t think I understand Hermione, or people in general.
Don’t they see me wilting?
He stopped in the storage shed to get a hoe (even though there probably weren’t any more weeds, considering the amount of time he’d spent there lately) then entered Greenhouse Three.
He glanced around, wondering what Hermione expected him to do with the scroll. His eyes landed on a familiar figure bent over the Fluxweed.
“Harry.”
At his name, Harry stood and smiled. “Hey, Neville.”
“You’re back,” Neville said pointlessly.
Harry smiled. “Briefly.” He took a few tentative steps toward Neville. “Hermione says you missed me.”
“That’s not... um. Yes, but it’s more than that.” Neville closed the remaining distance between them in a few steps. He took Harry’s hands in his, but didn’t meet his eyes. This was difficult to say, especially because he knew he would probably be turned down. “I’d rather be with you, helping, than here, alone.”
“I see,” Harry said, smiling. “In that case, I think I can use some help.”
It was sudden and almost unexpected when Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips to Neville’s. Neville was too shocked to kiss back properly. His eyes widened and he tightened his grip on the hoe.
Harry pulled back, cheeks tinged pink. “Neville?”
“Um... yeah,” Neville laughed. “Sorry, I was just... surprised. In a good way.” He wrapped his arms lightly around Harry’s waist, and kissed him properly.
When they broke apart, Harry smiled sheepishly. “I have to admit, this is all Hermione’s doing. That I’m here, I mean. She said that pushing you away isn’t protecting you, and I think she’s right.”
“I’ll have to thank her,” Neville said. Then he remembered the scroll. “Oh, um... this is from her.”
Harry opened the scroll with a whispered spell and looked it over. When he was done, he showed it to Neville. There were more Latin words, and a scribbled explanation. At the bottom, in capital letters, Hermione had written (and kiss him!)
“This is how I win,” Harry whispered conspiratorially to Neville, then resealed and pocketed the scroll. “And I don’t want you with me, but I can’t stop you from coming.”
That was terrifying in a way, but it was what Neville wanted. He leaned against Harry and kissed him again.
We caught him – Voldemort – by surprise. I helped, a little.
Now, Harry is mine, and I am his.
He is still a little broken, and I am still a bit wilted; but we are getting better.
Please let me know what you think!