Post-war fic!
Well, the recent JKR interview was going to be the starting point for a discussion I've been having with myself about the various endings it's possible to have for favourite characters - do we always want the happy ending? However, I was then going to end up with a fic which has already taken me a ridiculously long time to finish, given that it was meant to be a simple sketch (conceived in the really hot spell a few weeks back) which I'd get done in an afternoon as practice in getting ideas down quickly, and it then proceeded to eat up all my spare time this evening as well (time in which I was also meant to be tidying up and cooking sorrel soup for dinner tomorrow) So I'll just have to say for now that if anything happens to make this fic totally impossible, I'll be really, really upset...
Wrackspurts and Watering Cans
The sun had almost sunk below the line of the old trees sheltering the garden, but the evening was still oppressively hot; the air heavy with the scent of flowers, almost too sweet. Neville could feel his robes sticking to his back as he hefted his grandmother’s battered old watering can yet again. If he had been on his own, he would have been tempted to shower a quick drench of water over his head and neck, but given his companions he thought it better not. One might still respond with extreme enthusiasm and who could tell where that would end, the other - Neville didn’t know him well, and the last thing he wanted was to see ridicule, however carefully concealed, flash in those pale eyes and carry him back to school. Too much had happened for that.
Luna wandered towards him up the slope, out of the shadows gathering beneath the fruit trees. “Would you like any help?”
“It’s all right, thanks, I’m nearly finished. I like checking up on the plants anyway - there’s a Self-Watering Charm I could use, but it’s better to see how they’re all doing…What’s the matter?” She had seemed suddenly distracted, flapping her hand before her.
“Nothing…”
Neville heard the deckchair by the roses behind him creak sharply but didn’t turn.
“You’re sure?”
There was a moment more of hesitation. “Well…” she said, deliberately, “I thought I felt a Wrackspurt.”
He hoped for a second that the grin on his face wasn’t as broad as it felt, then let it spread anyway. “It was probably a midge. It’s getting dark, and they’ve always been a nuisance here. Do you want to try this?” He dug about in his pocket, found the small vial of potion he wanted. “I haven’t got it quite right, but I’ve been trying to mix up something to keep them away. You don’t need to put much on. I was wondering why we never got bothered by them at school - thought perhaps it was something they put in the food - but now I think it must have been house elf magic because I couldn’t find anything in Professor Sprout’s notes about it, and they’re so full and detailed…”
He caught himself, glanced nervously at Luna, but she showed no sign of being disturbed by his words, merely taking the potion and splashing it about herself with abandon. “That’s very clever. Would you like some, Theodore?”
Without waiting for a reply, she extended her energetic distribution of Neville’s midge repellent to the third member of their party.
“Luna, no, not on my book!” Startled into dangerously abrupt motion, long limbs flailing, Theodore Nott nearly had the deckchair collapse under him. Neville heard the sharp intake of breath and took a step forward to help, but was stopped short by the expression on Theodore’s face as he managed to right himself. “What’s in this stuff, Longbottom? It smells foul.”
Neville thought he might have blushed if he hadn’t been so hot already. “I know. Sorry. Various things, but the worst are valerian and Stinksap. I haven’t found a way of masking the smell yet. It does keep the midges off though, I promise.” He kicked at the turf, annoyed that despite all his best intentions he was still letting himself be cowed.
“You shouldn’t be so dismissive of people’s inventions,” said Luna. “Thank you, Neville. I wouldn’t be surprised if this kept Wrackspurts away as well. You should sell it to libraries - you get a lot of them there.”
Theodore put down his book. “What are these Wrackspurts?”
“They’re tiny invisible things. They fly into your brain and eat your thoughts so that you completely lose track of your ideas. I had one in my head for a whole hour and a quarter once.”
“Really? That sounds like Amory Doge’s explanation for the workings of the Imperius curse, you know - he suggests that there are tiny particles in the air that can be harnessed and sent into another’s mind to immobilise their thoughts. The theory’s been discredited - people now prefer to talk about actualising the will, but it might well be worth reviving it and looking into the connection…”
The mention of the curse was a punch to Neville’s stomach, a sickness that chilled despite the heat. His first instinct was to get away: if he continued his progress along the border, he might even be able to conceal his reaction. But he forced himself to stay beside Luna, who was listening calmly with her head tilted, birdlike, to one side.
“Very interesting,” she said, when Theodore had finished. “But I think Wrackspurts are a bit different. If you manage to catch enough of them, you see, and put them in the right kind of vessel, my fa- I’ve heard - that you can use them, to store thoughts. It doesn’t sound as if you’d be able to do that with your little particles.” She frowned. “I think your watering can might be just the right shape, Neville. Would you mind very much if I borrowed it for a while? I’ve realised recently that there are things I need to keep hold of. ”
Neville handed it over wordlessly, and she set off down towards the orchard again. The only sounds she left behind were the drip of water as it fell from the broad leaves of the Arbitrary Arums Neville had just attended to, and the soft hiss as the parched earth drank it in. He risked a look at Theodore’s face; it was tense and closed. A pulse of anger was still thudding at the back of his brain, trying to find a way in, but it frightened him. He had seen where anger led; it wanted to destroy, and so much had already been broken beyond repair. He found himself, instead, wanting to reach across the silence.
“I haven’t heard her talk like that for ages,” he ventured, finally.
After what seemed like a long internal battle, Theodore leant back in the chair and sighed. “That was stupid of me.”
The words, the implied apology, were as unexpected and freshening as spring rain. Neville’s wish to reassure came wholeheartedly. “No, it’s all right, I think. She’s talking again, isn’t she? You didn’t stop her.”
“I’m glad you think so. The last thing I want to do is to spoil this for her. She likes it here.” Another pause. “As do I. It’s good of you to let me stay. I appreciate it.”
He hadn’t thought he’d have this conversation at all, certainly not so soon. He lowered himself to the ground beside the deck chair, pulled at a few dandelion leaves that had crept into the lawn. After the flurry of emotions of the last few minutes, what was simplest was what remained: the reason, when it came down to it, that they were here now. “I’ve known Luna for a while...”
Theodore, surprisingly, looked fiercely embarrassed. “We’re not… you know…”
Neville hitched up a shoulder.
“I wasn’t going to say that. Just that it’s rare she’s wrong about people she knows. I don’t pretend to understand what she’s going on about half of the time, mind - but that much I do. And she likes you. I said stay as long as you like, and I mean it. I'm glad of the company."
They sat for a while. A blackbird volleyed low across the lawn. Theodore’s fingers tapped an absent rhythm upon the cover of his book. The moon, a thin pale crescent, showed itself above the house. Neville got to his feet, stretched. “Shall we go and see where she is? Then think about something to eat?”
He extended a hand to help Theodore up out of the deckchair. There was a moment’s uncertainty, then the other's grasp, cool and firm, told him that the offer had been accepted.
note
The midges question owes much to a discussion with nineveh_uk. I started writing them in because they were nibbling away merrily on the hot evening when I was writing this, and only remembered midway that the Hogwarts precautions had been a topic she'd devoted much thought to...
Wrackspurts and Watering Cans
The sun had almost sunk below the line of the old trees sheltering the garden, but the evening was still oppressively hot; the air heavy with the scent of flowers, almost too sweet. Neville could feel his robes sticking to his back as he hefted his grandmother’s battered old watering can yet again. If he had been on his own, he would have been tempted to shower a quick drench of water over his head and neck, but given his companions he thought it better not. One might still respond with extreme enthusiasm and who could tell where that would end, the other - Neville didn’t know him well, and the last thing he wanted was to see ridicule, however carefully concealed, flash in those pale eyes and carry him back to school. Too much had happened for that.
Luna wandered towards him up the slope, out of the shadows gathering beneath the fruit trees. “Would you like any help?”
“It’s all right, thanks, I’m nearly finished. I like checking up on the plants anyway - there’s a Self-Watering Charm I could use, but it’s better to see how they’re all doing…What’s the matter?” She had seemed suddenly distracted, flapping her hand before her.
“Nothing…”
Neville heard the deckchair by the roses behind him creak sharply but didn’t turn.
“You’re sure?”
There was a moment more of hesitation. “Well…” she said, deliberately, “I thought I felt a Wrackspurt.”
He hoped for a second that the grin on his face wasn’t as broad as it felt, then let it spread anyway. “It was probably a midge. It’s getting dark, and they’ve always been a nuisance here. Do you want to try this?” He dug about in his pocket, found the small vial of potion he wanted. “I haven’t got it quite right, but I’ve been trying to mix up something to keep them away. You don’t need to put much on. I was wondering why we never got bothered by them at school - thought perhaps it was something they put in the food - but now I think it must have been house elf magic because I couldn’t find anything in Professor Sprout’s notes about it, and they’re so full and detailed…”
He caught himself, glanced nervously at Luna, but she showed no sign of being disturbed by his words, merely taking the potion and splashing it about herself with abandon. “That’s very clever. Would you like some, Theodore?”
Without waiting for a reply, she extended her energetic distribution of Neville’s midge repellent to the third member of their party.
“Luna, no, not on my book!” Startled into dangerously abrupt motion, long limbs flailing, Theodore Nott nearly had the deckchair collapse under him. Neville heard the sharp intake of breath and took a step forward to help, but was stopped short by the expression on Theodore’s face as he managed to right himself. “What’s in this stuff, Longbottom? It smells foul.”
Neville thought he might have blushed if he hadn’t been so hot already. “I know. Sorry. Various things, but the worst are valerian and Stinksap. I haven’t found a way of masking the smell yet. It does keep the midges off though, I promise.” He kicked at the turf, annoyed that despite all his best intentions he was still letting himself be cowed.
“You shouldn’t be so dismissive of people’s inventions,” said Luna. “Thank you, Neville. I wouldn’t be surprised if this kept Wrackspurts away as well. You should sell it to libraries - you get a lot of them there.”
Theodore put down his book. “What are these Wrackspurts?”
“They’re tiny invisible things. They fly into your brain and eat your thoughts so that you completely lose track of your ideas. I had one in my head for a whole hour and a quarter once.”
“Really? That sounds like Amory Doge’s explanation for the workings of the Imperius curse, you know - he suggests that there are tiny particles in the air that can be harnessed and sent into another’s mind to immobilise their thoughts. The theory’s been discredited - people now prefer to talk about actualising the will, but it might well be worth reviving it and looking into the connection…”
The mention of the curse was a punch to Neville’s stomach, a sickness that chilled despite the heat. His first instinct was to get away: if he continued his progress along the border, he might even be able to conceal his reaction. But he forced himself to stay beside Luna, who was listening calmly with her head tilted, birdlike, to one side.
“Very interesting,” she said, when Theodore had finished. “But I think Wrackspurts are a bit different. If you manage to catch enough of them, you see, and put them in the right kind of vessel, my fa- I’ve heard - that you can use them, to store thoughts. It doesn’t sound as if you’d be able to do that with your little particles.” She frowned. “I think your watering can might be just the right shape, Neville. Would you mind very much if I borrowed it for a while? I’ve realised recently that there are things I need to keep hold of. ”
Neville handed it over wordlessly, and she set off down towards the orchard again. The only sounds she left behind were the drip of water as it fell from the broad leaves of the Arbitrary Arums Neville had just attended to, and the soft hiss as the parched earth drank it in. He risked a look at Theodore’s face; it was tense and closed. A pulse of anger was still thudding at the back of his brain, trying to find a way in, but it frightened him. He had seen where anger led; it wanted to destroy, and so much had already been broken beyond repair. He found himself, instead, wanting to reach across the silence.
“I haven’t heard her talk like that for ages,” he ventured, finally.
After what seemed like a long internal battle, Theodore leant back in the chair and sighed. “That was stupid of me.”
The words, the implied apology, were as unexpected and freshening as spring rain. Neville’s wish to reassure came wholeheartedly. “No, it’s all right, I think. She’s talking again, isn’t she? You didn’t stop her.”
“I’m glad you think so. The last thing I want to do is to spoil this for her. She likes it here.” Another pause. “As do I. It’s good of you to let me stay. I appreciate it.”
He hadn’t thought he’d have this conversation at all, certainly not so soon. He lowered himself to the ground beside the deck chair, pulled at a few dandelion leaves that had crept into the lawn. After the flurry of emotions of the last few minutes, what was simplest was what remained: the reason, when it came down to it, that they were here now. “I’ve known Luna for a while...”
Theodore, surprisingly, looked fiercely embarrassed. “We’re not… you know…”
Neville hitched up a shoulder.
“I wasn’t going to say that. Just that it’s rare she’s wrong about people she knows. I don’t pretend to understand what she’s going on about half of the time, mind - but that much I do. And she likes you. I said stay as long as you like, and I mean it. I'm glad of the company."
They sat for a while. A blackbird volleyed low across the lawn. Theodore’s fingers tapped an absent rhythm upon the cover of his book. The moon, a thin pale crescent, showed itself above the house. Neville got to his feet, stretched. “Shall we go and see where she is? Then think about something to eat?”
He extended a hand to help Theodore up out of the deckchair. There was a moment’s uncertainty, then the other's grasp, cool and firm, told him that the offer had been accepted.
note
The midges question owes much to a discussion with nineveh_uk. I started writing them in because they were nibbling away merrily on the hot evening when I was writing this, and only remembered midway that the Hogwarts precautions had been a topic she'd devoted much thought to...