In the Orchard

Neville had worked in many gardens over the years, but his favorite, by far, were the orchards at Longbottom House. He'd liked to escape there, growing up, when his Gran became too overbearing. After Gran passed, he'd redone all the gardens at the house, save the orchards. There was something about the long rows of apple trees that he found comforting; perhaps the tart, crunchy taste of fresh Bramley apples, and the golden fluffy pies his Gran used to make with them, or the pink and white flowers that seemed to perfume Spring, or even the green, spreading boughs of Summer.

In short, the orchard was home, much more than Longbottom House itself.

The orchard was his place to meditate. It was where he went to cry after visiting his parents in St. Mungos. It was where he practiced asking Ginny to the Yule Ball, way back in fourth year. It was where he decided that if no one else would stand up to Voldemort, he would.

Sometimes, he liked to think about nothing at all. The orchard was good for that - he had spent countless hours of his youth lying on the grass, viewing the sky through filtered leaves.

It had been some time since he'd done nothing in the orchard. He'd been so busy lately that his trips had been for more pressing reasons. There had been the pruning, and checking for aphids and rot. There had been the afternoon to plan his speech for the awarding of the Order of Merlin, third class. There hadn't been, however, much time since the battle at Hogwarts for Neville to simply relax.

The air still had a touch of chill to it, being April, and the grass was still damp from the previous day's rain, but Neville didn't mind. Stretching himself under his favorite tree - row three, tree eight - he took a moment to breathe in. There was still the faint smell of rain in the air, as well as the manure out in the fields, but the heady smell of apple blossoms dominated.

Neville exhaled slowly, watching a few bees dart from flower to flower. The trees were old but hardy, and it appeared they would still bear fruit for a few more years. It was a comforting thought.

After that, his thoughts drifted. He thought about Gran and his parents for a while, wondering what they would think of his actions at Hogwarts. Thinking of Hogwarts led him to thinking of Harry, which lead him to the D.A., which then lead him back to thinking of Lavender. He'd come out here to avoid thinking of her.

He had seen her once since the battle, and he'd been dismayed. Fenrir Greyback's attack had left scars traveling the left side of her face that disappeared under her collar. As rumor had it, her entire left torso was the same. The scars had bothered him, but it was Lavender, herself, that had upset him. The bubbly girl who had gone out of her way to be nice to him was gone. When he saw Lavender at the presentation of awards, she looked gaunt and self-conscious. There had been dark circles under her eyes, and she flinched whenever she caught members of the audience staring and whispering at her up on the platform.

He'd taken her hand with a quick squeeze, and she had given him a wan smile. Neville had hoped to talk to her afterward, but she'd Disapparated as soon as the presentation was through.

It had to be ironic that as soon as he'd found his courage, Lavender had more important things than dates to worry about. According to Parvati, she wasn't sleeping, and could no longer take Dreamless Sleep Potion because of the threat of addiction. To Neville, it didn't seem fair. He was the one who'd been stupid and shouted "Dumbledore's Army" in Voldemort's face. Lavender hadn't done anything. By rights, he should have been flambéed or scarred or something.

To top it off, he felt like an insensitive clod, because he still wanted to ask her if she wanted to get a Butterbeer sometime. There were other girls he knew he could ask, ones who seemed to make much more of him now that'd he'd beheaded a snake than before. However, it was really Lavender he wanted to ask. She had been the one he'd talked to most seventh year, and he'd grown to like her as they plotted rebellion against Snape and the Carrows.

She was still pretty, too, even with the scars.

Neville sighed. He had a feeling that the last thing on Lavender's mind was boys and dates.

He looked up at the bees again. The branches rustled in the soft breeze and he inhaled. He really did love the scent of apple blossoms. He loved everything about the orchard, really. It was hard to believe it was already Spring. It seemed like it had just been Autumn and he was enjoying apples right off the tree.

It seemed like he'd have to wait an age for more fresh Bramleys. However, the seasons changed quickly, and Neville knew time always passed quicker than anticipated. The apples, too, always seemed better for the wait.

Like Lavender. It wasn't a dawning epiphany that would change the world, but Neville would wait. She would eventually heal from the attack. If there was one thing he had learned from the orchard, it was that everything changed with time.

As a gardener of orchards, he was a patient man.