Rowena's Quill

It was Neville's worst nightmare come true. St. Mungo's was a gigantic place - what were the odds? And Gran - how could she embarrass him like that in front of his friends? It was so unfair. He wasn't ashamed. He knew his parents were heroes. But that didn't mean that people weren't judgmental. Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione might have been the four people at Hogwarts most likely to be sympathetic, but none of them, not even Harry, could understand this.

He felt like yelling at Gran right there in the hallway but of course, he wouldn't dare. She'd had so much grief in her life, he couldn't possibly cause her more, at least not deliberately. Telling everyone that he just didn't measure up to Dad was her way of preparing herself for another one of life's disappointments, but it still hurt.

Swallowing his anger, he asked, "May I visit the greenhouses?" The vulture on her hat bobbed as she considered it.

"C'mon, Gran," he thought. "We need a few minutes away from each other. You know it as well as I do."

"Very well," she sighed. "I'll wait for you in the tearoom. Don't be long."

Neville held the stairwell door open for her and they parted ways. Neville tore down the stairs to the Potions and Plants Department, ran past the wards where the patients were, past the potioneers' laboratory until he reached the glass doors to the greenhouse.

Peace overtook Neville the moment he entered. It was a separate world from the rest of the hospital and indeed from Muggle London and its bustle three storeys below. There was no noise here, nor sickness. Only life - growing, thriving, healthy life.

Being Xmas, most of the herbologists were at home, which disappointed Neville. He'd gotten to know most of them quite well over the years. Seeing them and their plants were what made his visits to St. Mungo's bearable.

Neville headed toward the back of the greenhouse to his favorite section: the experimental hybrids. Here the herbologists grafted and grew plants never seen in the magical world unless, of course, one of the experiments turned out to be a fabulous success. Basil Klover, chief of the department, won several awards for his successful creations. And while Neville was looking over a plant which smelled like gilliflower but whose leaves resembled medrata, he received a friendly pat on the back from Basil Klover himself.

"Neville! Happy Xmas!"

"Happy holidays to you, too, sir," he said, offering his hand.

"How's the Mimbulus mimbletonia?"

"Oh, it's doing very well. Professor Sprout and I designed a special light for it so I could keep it in my room."

"Good old Pomona. I'm glad to hear it. So what year are you in now?"

"Fifth. The O.W.L. year," said Neville, pulling a face.

"Ohhhhh. I remember my daughter's O.W.L. year. She kept sending me letters begging for herbs to improve her memory. But I was firm. 'Hyacinth,' I told her, 'if you want memory enhancers, open up your Herbology textbook and work out how to grow some yourself.' She must have done it, too. She ended up with nine O.W.L.s."

"Wow," said Neville. He knew he didn't stand a chance at getting anything remotely close to nine O.W.L.s. Other than Herbology, he wasn't sure he'd pass even one.

"You get career counseling in fifth year, too, if I recall correctly," said Mr. Klover.

"Oh really?" asked Neville vaguely, hoping they'd soon get off the topic of school.

"Yes. Here, let me show you something."

Neville followed him, much relieved. Now they would begin to talk Herbology. Anticipating some fascinating new hybrid Mr. Klover had concocted, Neville was quite surprised when he was handed a pamphlet.

"That's what we send to Hogwarts. As you see, it's all about careers here in St. Mungo's greenhouse."

"Now to have my dreams dashed in one second," thought Neville, but as he read the pamphlet, he looked up in amazement.

"You don't require a N.E.W.T. in Potions?"

"No, just an O.W.L.," said Mr. Klover. "We work quite closely with the Potioneers, but we do recognize that people who can grow healthy herbs aren't necessarily the best at brewing them."

Neville broke out into a grin and began making plans in his mind. "I've got to pass that O.W.L.," he thought. "I'll need Hermione's help, and I'll grow memory enhancers, and . . ."

"You may consider this official recruitment, Neville," said Mr. Klover.

"Huh?" said Neville.

"I'm offering you a job, Neville."

"Me? But I'm . . . I'm only fifteen."

"And how many other fifteen-year-olds can keep a Mimbulus mimbletonia in their dorm room? How many can carry on an intelligent conversation about my hybrids? I've known you for years, Neville, and it would be a pleasure to work with you."

Never had Neville wished so hard for his Gran. What would she say to hearing him praised like this? Would she even believe him if he told her himself?

"Mr. Klover, my Gran - I told her I wouldn't be long. But thank you so much! I'm . . . it's . . ."

For the billionth time in his life, Neville found himself tongue-tied. At least it was out of happiness for once.

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then. I'll see you soon."

"Thank you, sir, thank you," said Neville, and he flew up the stairs to the tearoom.

Panting, he ran up to her. "Gran, guess what, Mr. Klover offered me a job at the greenhouse when I graduate! Look," he said, showing her the pamphlet, "All I need is a N.E.W.T. in Herbology and an O.W.L. in Potions."

"Hmmm," she sniffed. "If you could learn to love visiting your parents as much as you do that greenhouse, I'd say that was an accomplishment. Come now, boy, let's go. Algie is expecting us. Auntie Enid must have spent days in the kitchen, no doubt."

And in fact, the holiday feast was lavish, but other than the food, Neville had little to enjoy. The conversation amongst his elderly relatives was thoroughly boring, and Gran did not relent and admit she was proud of Neville's job offer until she'd gotten a bit of ribbing from her brother and sister-in-law.

"It's not her fault that she's the way she is," Great Uncle Algie said to him privately. "You know she loves you. It's just that you're turning out much more like your Mum than your Dad. She can't help herself from seeing you and wishing for Frank."

Of course, Neville knew all this, and said nothing. It wouldn't do to point out that he was a Gryffindor like Dad, not a Hufflepuff like Mum, because they were sure to draw the wrong conclusion and assume he was ashamed of Mum. Whatever Gran might think or say, he was proud of the ways he resembled his parents. When he'd sat under the Sorting Hat after all the family fears that he wasn't magical enough for Hogwarts, it told him what a strong combination he was of each of them. He was sure he'd remember its words forever:

"Many people are a mix of traits and are difficult to sort, but you're the nearest to equal I've ever seen. So what will it be? Gryffindor or Hufflepuff? You're dedicated to fairness, and you'll work hard for it, but if pushed into a corner, you'd fight like a GRYFFINDOR!"

But of course, until now, Neville had never gotten a chance to prove himself. Earning the ten winning points for standing up to his friends in first year had been a glorious moment for him, but it wasn't the sort of thing that would really impress Gran. And he didn't dare tell her about the D.A. He was afraid she'd tell him to quit, that it was too dangerous for him. But even if it were too dangerous, he had no intention of quitting.

Neville forgave Gran just as he always did. He spent the holiday helping her around the house, tending his plants, and visiting St. Mungo's a few more times. He was happy when the holiday was over and he could return to school. Now with a greater motivation than ever to do well in Potions, he found himself a quiet compartment where he could review his notes alone. He managed about half an hour of studying until a knock came at his door.

It was Ginny. Dumbfounded by his own good luck, he dropped his notes and they scattered to the floor.

"Idiot," he chastised himself, and he scrambled to open the door for her.

"Hi," he squeaked, "Umm . . ."

Together they knelt to the floor and picked up his notes. It was the closest he'd been to her since they'd danced at the Yule Ball a year ago. His heart was racing. Then he thought of the last time he'd seen her, standing in St. Mungo's with her hand over her mouth, horrified at the truth about his parents.

"Please let's not talk about that," thought Neville, as though willing the idea into her mind. She was looking somber, not her usual cheerful self. What should he say to her? If he asked about her Dad, would she ask about his? He didn't want to remind her of anything about that day in St. Mungo's, but wouldn't it be uncaring if he didn't at least ask?

"Um, how's your Dad?" he said very quickly.

"He's much better. He came home just a few days ago. In fact, that's the reason I'm here."

Neville, at a complete loss as to what she meant, said nothing.

"I want to thank you for covering for Ron and Harry the night my Dad got hurt. From the sound of it, you really kept your head."

"How did you -?"

"Luna told me. We were in a compartment just a few doors down. I told her to come in, too, but she saw you were studying and didn't want to disturb you. But I couldn't help myself. I just had to thank you."

Neville stared at Ginny, not knowing whether to rejoice or be embarrassed. His role in the deception wasn't especially flattering. It certainly wasn't the way he wanted Ginny to think of him, even if she was way out of his league.

"Well, since you're studying . . ." said Ginny, getting up.

"No, don't leave!" said Neville urgently, but as he heard the words escape his lips, he could have kicked himself. "Insert foot into mouth again," he thought.

"All right," said Ginny. "I'll go get Luna."

Neville's shoulders slumped as she left the compartment. A threesome wasn't quite what he'd been hoping for. Luna was nice, of course, and more capable of rational conversation than he'd originally thought, but compared to being alone with Ginny . . .

"Hello," said Luna, entering the compartment.

"Um, hi," said Neville. "Good holiday?"

"Yes," said Luna, leaning over to pat Trevor. "How about him? Has he gotten over his fright at Exploding Snap?"

"Yeah, he's all better," laughed Neville. He'd forgotten about that. Bigger things had pushed it right out of his mind.

"Aww, poor Trevor," said Ginny, patting him, too, before sitting down. "Do you think he'd mind if we played a few rounds now?"

"We'll need a fourth person," said Neville.

"You could ask Michael," suggested Luna.

Ginny folded her arms and scowled. Luna said nothing and began to hum "Weasley Is Our King."

After a few bars, Ginny got up resolutely. "You know, I think I'll go get him after all."

"I'm so glad," said Luna when Ginny had gone.

"Did they have a row?" asked Neville.

"Yes. He didn't want Ginny to sit with me. He wanted her all to himself."

Neville could appreciate that.

"It may be a while before she can persuade him to join us, you know," said Luna.

She sighed, leaned back, and began to hum a new tune, the same one she'd sung him last time, the one her mother's quill had sung. It gave Neville the chills. He'd witnessed a death also, but Grandpa's was expected, even merciful. Luna's mother died in an accident, and a meaningless one at that. How could she bear it? Seeing his parents in their permanent state of injury was often too much for him, but he at least had the comfort of knowing they were noble fighters who'd given their all for the safety of the wizarding world. What could Luna comfort herself with? It was no wonder she was so loony.

"'Ditch the loon,'" said Luna suddenly.

"Huh?" said Neville.

"That was what Michael told Ginny so that she would leave my compartment. She didn't like it at all. Neither did I, actually."

"I don't understand," said Neville. "He just insulted you. Why'd you suggest he come in here then?"

Luna smiled dreamily and hummed her song some more. Bizarre as it was, she actually took comfort in it. Finally she said, "I don't want to be the cause of any fights. As a couple, they will not last forever, of course, but they ought to come to that conclusion on their own."

And then Neville remembered something else about Luna. Whenever she seemed to be reaching new heights in her looniness, she'd come out with some pronouncement of reality that nailed down the truth with absolute clarity. Thinking she must be on the verge of another pronouncement, this time about Ginny, Neville was on the edge of his seat waiting for it.

"They're not particularly nargly, of course, but he is rather an ibber geblibbener, if you know what I mean."

Neville did not have the vaguest idea what she meant, but he supposed it didn't really matter. Even if Michael's days with Ginny were numbered, it didn't mean she'd be any more likely to go out with him.

Just then, Ginny led a cowed-looking Michael into the compartment. Sitting beside Luna, she cocked her head toward Neville so that Michael would sit beside him. He did, and she pulled a deck of cards from out of her pocket and began to shuffle.

"How shall we play? Boys against girls or Ravenclaws against Gryffindors?"

"How about you and me against them?" said Michael.

Neville didn't like the mildly contemptuous tone Michael used when he said "them," but he kept his resentment to himself.

"Well, considering the way we're sitting," said Ginny with an arch smile, "I think it ought to be Ravenclaws against Gryffindors."

Of course Ginny had intended this all along, but the pleading look Michael gave her showed how little he was interested in her "uncool" friends. Apparently, he was particularly disdainful of Luna, but she seemed to take no notice. Ginny pretended not to. She dealt the cards.

For his part, Neville intended to play very well. As long as he was playing on Ginny's side, he had every reason to do his best.

Unfortunately, Trevor did not cooperate. He kept jumping away and hiding in the furthest reaches of the compartment. Sometimes Ginny and Luna helped Neville look for him, and sometimes he managed it alone, but all those interruptions did nothing for Neville's game.

"Perhaps you ought to change his diet," said Luna during one such interruption. "Give him something to make him calmer. Bertie Botts makes a lovely wine-flavored jelly bean, and I would guess that it's just the right dose for a toad."

"Get him drunk?" said Neville as he burst out laughing. Leave it to Luna to come up with something so weird. He spotted Trevor, grabbed him with both hands, and returned to his seat again, only to find Luna staring right at him with hurt in her eyes.

"Do not laugh at me," she said darkly.

"I'm sorry," mumbled Neville.

"It's quite all right," she returned with dignity, though she still seemed miffed.

Meanwhile, Ginny was giving Michael meaningful looks warning him not to laugh either. He did not, and that redeemed him in Ginny's eyes. To Neville, it seemed very unfair. Michael had done much more than laugh; he'd actually insulted Luna. Why didn't Luna take offense at that? Why did she have to make him look bad in front of Ginny? And getting Trevor drunk was a ridiculous idea. Anyone would laugh at it.

Neville's concentration was shot, and the Gryffindors lost the game. Ginny did not seem to care, however, and she and Michael left the compartment happily holding hands. As much as Neville knew he didn't stand a chance with Ginny, he couldn't help feeling jealous.

And perhaps he might have gone on wallowing in self-pity for days afterward, but reality brought him back to his senses. On the second day of term, the news broke. Bellatrix Lestrange, his parents' main torturer, had escaped from Azkaban. Suddenly all his worries about Ginny disappeared. Only one thing could matter as long as a maniac like Lestrange was at large. The war was on, and he was going to be ready for it.