Ring a Ring a Roses
I haven't updated in quite a while. This is somewhat remiss of me. The muse has decided to go off to Ibiza or something, so I'm left here re-working old drabbles. Being-mean-to-Neville time again, it seems. Poor guy.
Title: Ring a Ring a Roses
Summary: Till the end of his days, Neville never worked out why they did it.
Rating: PG
Words: 150
Till the end of his days, Neville never worked out why they did it. The nursery was no symbol of Muggle fraternity or Order support, and it definitely wasn’t significant to the war effort. But they still burnt it.
Neville grew flowers. They were in high demand by the widows, the orphans, and those weren’t parents anymore. He was trusted, and respected for his calm graveside manner, and for the warm flush of his hothouse roses.
Above the rubble of the glasshouse, the bright Dark Mark danced and writhed. The scene was picked out in green detail. Light reflected off shattered panes of glass that lay scattered amongst the rubble. Charred wood still held up some of the structure, while under the canopies plant matter smouldered and steamed.
Neville threw down the rose he’d been holding, and absent-mindedly crushed it underfoot as he walked away, shoulders rigid, not looking back.
Title: Ring a Ring a Roses
Summary: Till the end of his days, Neville never worked out why they did it.
Rating: PG
Words: 150
Till the end of his days, Neville never worked out why they did it. The nursery was no symbol of Muggle fraternity or Order support, and it definitely wasn’t significant to the war effort. But they still burnt it.
Neville grew flowers. They were in high demand by the widows, the orphans, and those weren’t parents anymore. He was trusted, and respected for his calm graveside manner, and for the warm flush of his hothouse roses.
Above the rubble of the glasshouse, the bright Dark Mark danced and writhed. The scene was picked out in green detail. Light reflected off shattered panes of glass that lay scattered amongst the rubble. Charred wood still held up some of the structure, while under the canopies plant matter smouldered and steamed.
Neville threw down the rose he’d been holding, and absent-mindedly crushed it underfoot as he walked away, shoulders rigid, not looking back.