An Embarrassment of Riches (Harry/Neville)
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.
Title: An Embarrassment of Riches
Rating: PG/R or however you rate for implied pre-slash
Pairing/Character(s): Harry/Neville
Warnings: None except for aforementioned slash overtone.
Summary: Neville and Harry are beginning to feel the strain of what Harry has to face. They just want to save them all.
Author's Notes: Several metaphorical things going on at once here, but there are a lot of plants involved. ;) It’s quite gen, I think.
Neville stood at the end of the gravel walk, and gaped.
Five years of careful attendance, five years of going on pure faith, and it had finally happened. Just like the book said it would.
Thirty-seven rows of Tiger’s Eye Iris in full bloom.
The plants were up over his head as he wrestled the rusty gate open to “Project NL 375”. The flowers arched and curled like translucent butterflies at the top of their stalks. He touched the petals, admiring the intricate dark veining that marbled the deep honey gold of the petals.
Seemed a shame to mow them all down, but he really needed the roots.
~*~
The pile of leaves and flowers at his feet was knee deep and ran the length of the greenhouse table by the time he fastened the lid of the last jar with a preserving spell. He set it in the box with hundreds of other, identical containers. Madame Pomfrey would be thrilled, and hopefully Professor Sprout would give him excellent marks. He felt he’d earned them, for perseverance, if nothing else. Not many people had a NEWT project that they’d started five years ago.
All that was left now was clean-up. He brought in a wheelbarrow and regarded the heap of vegetation on the ground in front of him. The flowers fluttered innocently in the breeze. He couldn’t do it. It seemed wrong, somehow, to just toss them all on the compost pile, after they had waited so long to bloom. And he was going home for the weekend tomorrow, he could always take some to his mother.
So although he was already exhausted, he took out a pair of cutting shears, and set to work, cutting the blossoms a short distance down the stalk with a few leaves attached, and tossing the remainder into the wheelbarrow.
He was interrupted several minutes in by a presence lingering in the doorway. He glanced up, half-expecting to see some nervous First Year waiting to get his attention. For some reason half the school seemed to be tip-toeing around him these days - indeed, around anyone remotely in the orbit of the Trio. He was quite surprised to see Harry himself standing there.
“Missed you at lunch,” Harry said. “We were afraid the potted dragonsnap might’ve got you.” He grinned to show he was only kidding. Neville knew Harry wasn’t really expressing any doubts on his ability to navigate the greenhouse safely, but he was a little oversensitive on the subject of competency, and a little overtired.
“I’ll get a sandwich later,” Neville said shortly, picking up another bunch of greenery and hacking at it with the shears. “I’ve still got some work to do.”
It took him a moment to realize Harry was still standing there. “Was there something else?” Neville asked.
“Yeah. Can I … help? It looks like a lot.”
“Well, sure, if you want,” he said in surprise. “Thanks.”
Harry got another pair of shears, and they worked together in a comfortable silence that was broken only by the soft, crisp noise of snipping. Neville occasionally left to empty the wheelbarrow or fill another steel bucket with water from the fountain. He didn’t know how this had turned into such a project, he’d started out intending to cut a few for a small bouquet, and found he couldn’t stop. They were just so beautiful, he didn’t want to leave a single one to be abandoned, crushed, or thrown away before its time. He was also enjoying Harry’s company, he so rarely got time alone with any of his friends. Everyone always seemed to congregate in herds these days, and Neville tended to fade into the background of any group larger than two.
Harry didn’t complain about the monumental task, didn’t beg off from boredom, and Neville knew he was missing Quidditch practice.
Finally the task was completed. There seemed to be about a million flowers in the row of buckets on the table, and Neville swept up the last bit of debris with an old broom.
“I think we managed to save them all, Neville,” Harry said quietly.
“Yeah,” Neville agreed, a little concerned by the weight he heard in Harry’s voice. “I think we did.”
~*~
Neville gave the first batch to Professor Sprout, at her request. She had admired the rare blossoms, cut one apart with a knife to study the interior, discussed the botanical properties at great length, and then proceeded to embarrass him half to death by inquiring if he had a girlfriend, and reminding him that gifts of flowers were an excellent way to set the female heart aflutter.
He took two more batches home for his mother and grandmother the following afternoon. Floo was a terrible way to transport flowers, they had to be charmed ten ways ‘til Tuesday to survive the trip, and wrapped in damp salamander-grade coverings. By the time he’d arranged the packaging to his satisfaction he’d barely fit in the Floo.
His grandmother had sighed and asked if they were going to shed pollen all over her antique tablecloth like the last ones he’d brought home. His mother hadn’t seemed to notice them at all.
It still left him with hundreds of flowers.
He took some up to Professor Trelawny, who called him ‘dear boy’ about 12 times, carried on about the mystical meaning applied to iris in the language of flowers, and then offered to pull all the petals off and reveal the identity of his true love. He’d declined, and took off before she could come up any other reason to pluck anything apart.
He brought some over to Madame Pomfrey, who thanked him but was far happier about the vials of diced roots he’d delivered earlier.
There were still a lot of flowers left.
He gave some to Hermione, who seemed worried this might indicate he still had a crush on her and made all kinds of noises about him finding a more suitable recipient for such a romantic gift. After an awkward explanation about the unintended floral bonanza he was trying to off-load, he finally got her to take them.
He gave some to Ginny, who’d pretty much given him the same speech except she had an actual list of girls who might be happy to get a bouquet and a bit of his attention, a list that spanned three houses and two Years. He saw her in front of the mirror in the Common Room later, trying one in her hair, but the mirror felt it clashed with the red, and Ginny apparently agreed because she took it out again.
He gave some to Luna, who’d waxed poetic about how the petals were the exact color of a cat she’d had when she was nine, and how trying it was that her current boyfriend preferred dogs.
He sent some to Mrs. Weasley, although not too many because he didn’t want to weigh down the owl. When he was a child, she’d sent him enough candy to fill a barge, so he supposed he owed her a few flowers by now at the least. With a note, explaining how rare they were, and why he was sending them. He didn’t want to make Mr. Weasley mad.
He still had a bucketful left.
After some debate and a bit of nerve-steeling, he took them over to McGonagall. As expected, she had all kinds of reservations about the appropriateness of accepting gifts from students, but in the end, when he told her irritably that their next stop was the compost heap, she’d relented and put them on the corner of her desk.
Neville wandered back to the greenhouse, rinsed out the now-empty buckets and cleaned the table and bench and floor.
He found one single blossom that had fallen off the back of the table and was lying against the wall. He had to get down and crawl under the table for it. It was perfect, still fresh from the charm he’d put on it several days ago, he couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride at that.
Not knowing what to do with this last one, he just carried it absently with him as he left the greenhouse, and followed the track up toward the castle. He spotted Harry then, sitting alone on the stone steps that ran down from the kitchens to the vegetable garden. Neville wandered over, and sat down next to Harry. On a complete impulse, he handed Harry the flower.
Even as he was doing so he realized this could be construed as a very odd gesture, and he was already imagining several terrifying outcomes to the action, some of which involved the flower on the ground, and some that involved Neville squarely decked and on the ground next to it.
But Harry accepted it with a small smile. “It’s brilliant, Neville. Thank you.”
Well, that went better than expected, Neville thought.
“So you waited five years for these, huh?” Harry asked, pulling the silken edges gently between his thumb and middle finger.
Neville nodded. Oh, glib, Longbottom. “I, uh, don’t mind waiting,” he said at last. Then added, “Sometimes things, uh, take a while, to, well, you know... “
Harry seemed to be yielding over to a slow grin. “Bloom? ” he supplied helpfully.
Neville turned red, nodded.
Harry’s outburst of amused laugher startled Neville. He might’ve been offended, if it hadn’t been the first time he’d seen his friend’s face light up in months. As it was, he was just glad he’d done or said something to bring it about, whatever that might have been.
“M’sorry, I’m not making fun of you,” Harry assured him. “It’s just that I always found Herbology sort of an awkward class to take in mixed company, you know? All that talk about pollinating and seeding and burgeoning pods. Does that make sense?”
“Not really,” Neville said honestly. “You seemed to handle it all right when those Hippogriffs started mating in the middle of Magical Creatures class.”
Harry burst out laughing at the memory, shaking with the force of it. “Remember Hermione?” he gasped. Neville did, and was soon laughing almost as hard.
“And Hagrid shoving us all off the path to look at tree beetles instead,” Neville added.
Harry nodded, almost sobbing.
After a while they both managed to calm down, Harry reached under the lower curve of his glasses to wipe his face.
“Oh, Merlin, Neville,” Harry sighed. “Do you ever feel your life is very strange?”
“Every day.”
“Why did you give me this?” Harry asked, staring down at the iris in his hand.
“I don’t know. Why did you take it?”
Harry was silent for a long moment. He turned the flower by its long stem. “We’ve got to save them all, Neville,” Harry said quietly, another tear sliding down his face as they sat together in the long shadow of the castle.
“I know,” Neville said quietly. “We will.”
Title: An Embarrassment of Riches
Rating: PG/R or however you rate for implied pre-slash
Pairing/Character(s): Harry/Neville
Warnings: None except for aforementioned slash overtone.
Summary: Neville and Harry are beginning to feel the strain of what Harry has to face. They just want to save them all.
Author's Notes: Several metaphorical things going on at once here, but there are a lot of plants involved. ;) It’s quite gen, I think.
Neville stood at the end of the gravel walk, and gaped.
Five years of careful attendance, five years of going on pure faith, and it had finally happened. Just like the book said it would.
Thirty-seven rows of Tiger’s Eye Iris in full bloom.
The plants were up over his head as he wrestled the rusty gate open to “Project NL 375”. The flowers arched and curled like translucent butterflies at the top of their stalks. He touched the petals, admiring the intricate dark veining that marbled the deep honey gold of the petals.
Seemed a shame to mow them all down, but he really needed the roots.
~*~
The pile of leaves and flowers at his feet was knee deep and ran the length of the greenhouse table by the time he fastened the lid of the last jar with a preserving spell. He set it in the box with hundreds of other, identical containers. Madame Pomfrey would be thrilled, and hopefully Professor Sprout would give him excellent marks. He felt he’d earned them, for perseverance, if nothing else. Not many people had a NEWT project that they’d started five years ago.
All that was left now was clean-up. He brought in a wheelbarrow and regarded the heap of vegetation on the ground in front of him. The flowers fluttered innocently in the breeze. He couldn’t do it. It seemed wrong, somehow, to just toss them all on the compost pile, after they had waited so long to bloom. And he was going home for the weekend tomorrow, he could always take some to his mother.
So although he was already exhausted, he took out a pair of cutting shears, and set to work, cutting the blossoms a short distance down the stalk with a few leaves attached, and tossing the remainder into the wheelbarrow.
He was interrupted several minutes in by a presence lingering in the doorway. He glanced up, half-expecting to see some nervous First Year waiting to get his attention. For some reason half the school seemed to be tip-toeing around him these days - indeed, around anyone remotely in the orbit of the Trio. He was quite surprised to see Harry himself standing there.
“Missed you at lunch,” Harry said. “We were afraid the potted dragonsnap might’ve got you.” He grinned to show he was only kidding. Neville knew Harry wasn’t really expressing any doubts on his ability to navigate the greenhouse safely, but he was a little oversensitive on the subject of competency, and a little overtired.
“I’ll get a sandwich later,” Neville said shortly, picking up another bunch of greenery and hacking at it with the shears. “I’ve still got some work to do.”
It took him a moment to realize Harry was still standing there. “Was there something else?” Neville asked.
“Yeah. Can I … help? It looks like a lot.”
“Well, sure, if you want,” he said in surprise. “Thanks.”
Harry got another pair of shears, and they worked together in a comfortable silence that was broken only by the soft, crisp noise of snipping. Neville occasionally left to empty the wheelbarrow or fill another steel bucket with water from the fountain. He didn’t know how this had turned into such a project, he’d started out intending to cut a few for a small bouquet, and found he couldn’t stop. They were just so beautiful, he didn’t want to leave a single one to be abandoned, crushed, or thrown away before its time. He was also enjoying Harry’s company, he so rarely got time alone with any of his friends. Everyone always seemed to congregate in herds these days, and Neville tended to fade into the background of any group larger than two.
Harry didn’t complain about the monumental task, didn’t beg off from boredom, and Neville knew he was missing Quidditch practice.
Finally the task was completed. There seemed to be about a million flowers in the row of buckets on the table, and Neville swept up the last bit of debris with an old broom.
“I think we managed to save them all, Neville,” Harry said quietly.
“Yeah,” Neville agreed, a little concerned by the weight he heard in Harry’s voice. “I think we did.”
~*~
Neville gave the first batch to Professor Sprout, at her request. She had admired the rare blossoms, cut one apart with a knife to study the interior, discussed the botanical properties at great length, and then proceeded to embarrass him half to death by inquiring if he had a girlfriend, and reminding him that gifts of flowers were an excellent way to set the female heart aflutter.
He took two more batches home for his mother and grandmother the following afternoon. Floo was a terrible way to transport flowers, they had to be charmed ten ways ‘til Tuesday to survive the trip, and wrapped in damp salamander-grade coverings. By the time he’d arranged the packaging to his satisfaction he’d barely fit in the Floo.
His grandmother had sighed and asked if they were going to shed pollen all over her antique tablecloth like the last ones he’d brought home. His mother hadn’t seemed to notice them at all.
It still left him with hundreds of flowers.
He took some up to Professor Trelawny, who called him ‘dear boy’ about 12 times, carried on about the mystical meaning applied to iris in the language of flowers, and then offered to pull all the petals off and reveal the identity of his true love. He’d declined, and took off before she could come up any other reason to pluck anything apart.
He brought some over to Madame Pomfrey, who thanked him but was far happier about the vials of diced roots he’d delivered earlier.
There were still a lot of flowers left.
He gave some to Hermione, who seemed worried this might indicate he still had a crush on her and made all kinds of noises about him finding a more suitable recipient for such a romantic gift. After an awkward explanation about the unintended floral bonanza he was trying to off-load, he finally got her to take them.
He gave some to Ginny, who’d pretty much given him the same speech except she had an actual list of girls who might be happy to get a bouquet and a bit of his attention, a list that spanned three houses and two Years. He saw her in front of the mirror in the Common Room later, trying one in her hair, but the mirror felt it clashed with the red, and Ginny apparently agreed because she took it out again.
He gave some to Luna, who’d waxed poetic about how the petals were the exact color of a cat she’d had when she was nine, and how trying it was that her current boyfriend preferred dogs.
He sent some to Mrs. Weasley, although not too many because he didn’t want to weigh down the owl. When he was a child, she’d sent him enough candy to fill a barge, so he supposed he owed her a few flowers by now at the least. With a note, explaining how rare they were, and why he was sending them. He didn’t want to make Mr. Weasley mad.
He still had a bucketful left.
After some debate and a bit of nerve-steeling, he took them over to McGonagall. As expected, she had all kinds of reservations about the appropriateness of accepting gifts from students, but in the end, when he told her irritably that their next stop was the compost heap, she’d relented and put them on the corner of her desk.
Neville wandered back to the greenhouse, rinsed out the now-empty buckets and cleaned the table and bench and floor.
He found one single blossom that had fallen off the back of the table and was lying against the wall. He had to get down and crawl under the table for it. It was perfect, still fresh from the charm he’d put on it several days ago, he couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride at that.
Not knowing what to do with this last one, he just carried it absently with him as he left the greenhouse, and followed the track up toward the castle. He spotted Harry then, sitting alone on the stone steps that ran down from the kitchens to the vegetable garden. Neville wandered over, and sat down next to Harry. On a complete impulse, he handed Harry the flower.
Even as he was doing so he realized this could be construed as a very odd gesture, and he was already imagining several terrifying outcomes to the action, some of which involved the flower on the ground, and some that involved Neville squarely decked and on the ground next to it.
But Harry accepted it with a small smile. “It’s brilliant, Neville. Thank you.”
Well, that went better than expected, Neville thought.
“So you waited five years for these, huh?” Harry asked, pulling the silken edges gently between his thumb and middle finger.
Neville nodded. Oh, glib, Longbottom. “I, uh, don’t mind waiting,” he said at last. Then added, “Sometimes things, uh, take a while, to, well, you know... “
Harry seemed to be yielding over to a slow grin. “Bloom? ” he supplied helpfully.
Neville turned red, nodded.
Harry’s outburst of amused laugher startled Neville. He might’ve been offended, if it hadn’t been the first time he’d seen his friend’s face light up in months. As it was, he was just glad he’d done or said something to bring it about, whatever that might have been.
“M’sorry, I’m not making fun of you,” Harry assured him. “It’s just that I always found Herbology sort of an awkward class to take in mixed company, you know? All that talk about pollinating and seeding and burgeoning pods. Does that make sense?”
“Not really,” Neville said honestly. “You seemed to handle it all right when those Hippogriffs started mating in the middle of Magical Creatures class.”
Harry burst out laughing at the memory, shaking with the force of it. “Remember Hermione?” he gasped. Neville did, and was soon laughing almost as hard.
“And Hagrid shoving us all off the path to look at tree beetles instead,” Neville added.
Harry nodded, almost sobbing.
After a while they both managed to calm down, Harry reached under the lower curve of his glasses to wipe his face.
“Oh, Merlin, Neville,” Harry sighed. “Do you ever feel your life is very strange?”
“Every day.”
“Why did you give me this?” Harry asked, staring down at the iris in his hand.
“I don’t know. Why did you take it?”
Harry was silent for a long moment. He turned the flower by its long stem. “We’ve got to save them all, Neville,” Harry said quietly, another tear sliding down his face as they sat together in the long shadow of the castle.
“I know,” Neville said quietly. “We will.”