An Ironic Title

Chapter 5: What He Saw

"Neville, pass me another rose, would you?" Professor Sprout asks me. I don't react at first, continuing to pat the dirt absentmindedly where I've planted a new rose, although the dirt is already thoroughly flattened. I can't believe that he's finally gone.

"Neville!" Professor Sprout says, bringing me out of my trance.

"Oh? What?" I ask, wiping some sweat off of my brow.

"Can you pass a new rose?" she says, gesturing at the flowers ready to be put into the moist earth near the Quidditch Pitch, right near the bleachers.

"Oh, sure," I say, still half in a daze as I hand her a tray of roses to be planted in the moist earth near the monument. The monument that was built for Harry, depicting him as the type of wizard shown in the now destroyed Fountain of Magical Brethren, the one with the cheesy smile and raised wand which would probably have a ton of girls fawning around him if he were real. Of course, they're all fawning around his casket now, wiping pretend tears from their eyes and giving huge, fake smiles (interspersed with sad hiccups), to the photographers and reporters for the Daily Prophet.

It was all paid for by the Ministry of course, wanting to make Harry their posthumous poster-boy, showing how great the Ministry was for allowing the prestigious school of Hogwarts to continue running to train great young wizards such as this (who died much too young as the eulogizer is explaining it, as if he knew Harry) or some other type of bullshit.

I knew that if we - Harry's friends - had been allowed to make the monument (or at least decide the design of it - Dean might make the monument), it would be a Harry with his wand in his back pocket ("you could lose your buttocks that way!" Moody would say). A broomstick would be in his right hand and he might be doing a rude hand gesture at Snape or Malfoy (who would be out of the scene), with the other. He might even be tripping over his robes, who knows? But it would be a real Harry, not a phony one.

However, I've forgotten something, it wouldn't be only Harry on the monument, he would have his friends surrounding him; and not only that, but not under him as the witch, centaur, goblin, and house-elf were in the Fountain of Magical Brethren, but at an equal level. There would be Ron, giving a cocky smile and waving, perhaps with Keepers gloves on and holding his broomstick (he's ecstatic about the Firebolt that Harry gave him), under one arm. Hermione, with a somewhat worried expression about her grades (before Dumbledore read the will, she thought that we had all been called, because of our OWL grades) and holding a thick tome of some sort under one arm while her bushy brown air seemed to fly around her in disarray, though it would be carved in marble. Then, there might be Ginny, being her spunky self - lifting her head high like a horse and her bright red hair streaming around her, as if caught in a high wind. She was running just a little while ago, I saw her run past, she looked to be crying, now she looks a bit calmer now, her mum's talking to her.

But I'm being narrow-minded, not thinking of Harry's other friends, there would be Remus, probably, the worry lines around his face less creased than they are now, so happy to get to be with Harry. I know that he would welcome that now, even if he were to spend evermore as a statue. There would be Seamus, Dean, and I, simply grinning; Seamus and Dean with their arms around Parvati and Lavender, Parvati who would have her twin, Padma, next to her. Those two are nearly as close as Fred and George, though their being in different Houses hinders it. And then Hagrid, grabbing the collar of some creature with Fang at his heels or maybe trying to leap on one of the many people in the area. And some of the teachers, of course, McGonagall gazing over her square spectacles less sternly than usual, Flitwick, his face wreathed in smiles, and perhaps even Professor Sprout. Probably not Snape, though, although it does amaze me that Harry . . . liked him somewhat.

Yet Harry always tried to see the best in everyone, he would give everyone a chance before judging them - I guess that that's one of the things that Dumbledore taught him - though he seemed to be trying to renounce all those teachings in his will. Nevertheless, he's done it, seen Ron more than the youngest son of the entire Weasley clan, seen Hermione more than a know-it-all (though I saw Ron and her kissing a while ago, guess they were meant for each other. I always thought that Harry and Hermione would end up together). He saw Ginny for more than the rabid fan-girl and actually loved her (that really ended my hopes for the Harry/Hermione romance), and saw me as. . . .

This is the part that surprises me even now, Harry thinks I have potential to be something besides a shy boy that's horrible at Potions. He said that I was not nothing! He believes in me. Me! I can remember what he wrote as vividly as if the words are right in front of me:

You excel in Herbology . . . You have real skill to be a talented Auror, Neville, just like your dad, you were really brave in the Department of Mysteries . . . and you can grow up to be really talented, no matter what anyone says about you. . . .

He really did believe in me, the clumsy Neville Longbottom, he thought I could be someone, even someone as great as my father! In fact, Gran says that there's hope for me, after all, especially after she heard my role in the Department of Mysteries, she even bought me a new wand. Even my OWL scores weren't that bad (well, except for Potions which I got a D in, but who needs that anyway, according to Harry?). Gran was really proud of my O in Herbology and Es in Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. She says that my mum was good in Herbology and my dad was good in DADA.

I guess there's hope for me yet to turn out like my parents and I'll be willing to fight for the Order in the remainder of this war (because with Voldemort gone the Dark side can't hold out much longer), and give my life for the Order, because that's what dad would have done (and nearly did - insanity is worse than death, I think) and what Harry did. And Harry believes in me, believes in all of his friends, believes that they can do anything as long as they put their mind to it, and encourages them with every particle of his mind, heart, and soul. I guess he put about half of those particles into encouraging me - I naturally have a low self-esteem from everything I've heard from Snape and Gran. And I know what I have to do, it's like I've been preparing for this since the second I was born, and now it's finally here.

"Neville. We're done here," Professor Sprout informs me.

I look up, and realize that I've been staring and awkwardly patting the same piece of dirt for quite a while; not only that, but my cheeks are wet, I've been crying. I sigh and get up, no one said that this was going to be easy.

However, mustering my nerves I walk over to him - the greasy-haired, sallow-skinned, hook-nosed g- . . . what if he hears me? I know he's taught Harry Occlumency and is able to use Legilimency - or read minds - on others. I sigh and continue on, mentally berating myself for being such a wimp, and, finally, my two protesting feet come to place me next to Professor Severus Snape.

"Yes, Longbottom?" he asks, without even looking up.

Now that the moment's finally here, I feel myself becoming nauseous. "Um . . . I, um. . . ." I trail off and Snape turns to me, raising an eyebrow. "I . . . just want you to know that I'm not continuing with Potions next year because I didn't achieve the right OWL."

Snape snorts. "I knew that, Longbottom. What did you get, a T?"

I blush scarlet. "No, a . . . a D."

"Well, that's an improvement."

I gape, is that some form of a compliment from Snape? I must be dreaming! I pinch myself - hard - but I'm still here.

"A very small improvement, but an improvement," Snape amends. Ah, there we go. "What else did you want to tell me?"

"What?"

Snape rolls his eyes. "Unfortunately, you haven't left yet so you must want to tell me something. What . . . is . . . it?"

"Oh." I blush again. "I . . . I'd just like to tell you that even though one Gryffindor may . . . like you somewhat, that doesn't mean I do. I still think you're a very biased, greasy-haired, sallow-skinned, hook-nosed git." I end my tirade of sorts with a great breath, my ears flushing red in my embarrassment.

To my utter surprise, Snape's mouth actually twitches at the corners, and he actually seems to . . . lo and behold! Did Snape smile? "That's good to hear, Longbottom," he says, still doing that . . . thing with his mouth curving upwards a bit, so it kind of, sort off looks like he's smiling.

"Why?" I ask, dumbfounded. I would have thought that I'd be in detention till I graduated after I said that to him. That is, if Snape hadn't killed me first.

"Think, Longbottom," Snape says. "If all Gryffindors . . . liked me somewhat, then that would ruin my reputation as the biased, greasy-haired, sallow-skinned, hook-nosed git to them, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose so, sir."

"I'm glad that Potter taught you something," Snape finally says.

"What did he teach me, sir?"

"Do you think you would have really done that before, Longbottom?"

"No."

"Well, then, think. I know that that's difficult for you, but do it, please." He then turns away and I see the faintest hint of bloodshot eyes as if he's been crying. I gape at him and then turn to leave. I never thought I'd say this but . . . Snape's right! Harry taught me to believe in myself, and, I may have only done a small thing, but it was important to Harry and I, and I knew that to Harry, it made all the difference in the world.