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FIC: Moments of Brilliance (Lily, Neville, Ginny, Gen)
Title: Moments of Brilliance
Author: shiiki
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Lily Evans, Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, Gen
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 4,684
Summary: Everyone has talents. The magic is in discovering what they are.
Notes: This was written for aggiebell90 for springtime_gen 2010. Thank you to belladonna803 for the beta!
Link to fic at springtime_gen
1. 1970, Lily Evans
Unlike most Muggle-born children, Lily had expected her Hogwarts letter. Her best friend had filled her head with any number of enticing stories about magic and attending school in an honest-to-goodness castle.
When the portly, ginger-moustached man wearing a cloak like the one Sev had shown her once appeared on the doorstep, a green-inked letter in his hand and an inquiry about 'Miss Lily Evans' on his lips, Lily barely managed to keep herself from throwing her arms around his generous middle.
'I'm Lily,' she said excitedly. 'Are you from Hogwarts?'
The man -- wizard, she reminded herself -- blinked at her in surprise, and then said, 'Yes, I am. I must have been mistaken. I was expecting you to be Muggle-born.'
'Oh, I am,' Lily assured him. 'But I've heard all about it, and -- is that my letter? And -- oh! Won't you please come in?' she added quickly, remembering her manners.
Her parents were understandably stunned, when the man introduced himself over tea as Professor Horace W. E. F. Slughorn, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They were even more shocked when Lily bombarded him with informed questions about his subject, the school, and the study of magic.
'Lily, you ... know about this?'
Lily smiled sheepishly at them. 'Sev told me,' she said. 'I couldn't tell you because -- well, he said I couldn't, not until I got my letter. He said there was a law about it.'
'Quite right,' said Professor Slughorn, sounding amused. 'I can see you're going fit right in, young lady.'
+++
When she actually got to Hogwarts, though, fitting in was not as easy as Professor Slughorn made it seem. To start things off, she and Sev were sorted into different houses, and in spite of what Sev had said to the contrary, it seemed to matter a great deal to his house-mates that she was Muggle-born.
'Get lost, Mudblood,' hissed Roderick Mulciber when she approached the Slytherin table at lunch time on the first day, looking for Sev. 'You don't belong here.'
Taken-aback, Lily said, stiffly, 'I'm only looking for Severus Snape.'
Mulciber laughed and gave her a little shove. 'He's not interested. Piss off.'
Unfortunately, when Sev disproved this by coming to her table at dinner, he received very much the same treatment from James Potter and Sirius Black. And to Lily's dismay, when she told them off for it, all her house-mates seemed to think she was being unreasonable.
'He's a Slytherin,' said Potter, as though that explained everything. 'Why would you want to talk to him?'
Then there were the lessons, which were not as fun and simple as Sev had made them sound. While she rather liked Charms and friendly Professor Flitwick, she couldn't help being intimidated by stern Professor McGonagall in Transfiguration. History of Magic had seemed easy when she had read the textbook at home, but the class turned out to be so boring it made her head ache. So was Defence Against the Dark Arts, where Professor Slinkhard droned on about what constituted a dangerous situation and made the entire class fall asleep. She had a hard time distinguishing between magical and mundane plants in Herbology, and staying up late for Astronomy made her cranky the next morning.
The one class that seemed familiar and welcoming was Potions. She had dreaded it at first, knowing it was shared with the Slytherins who hated her for no reason. But she liked the classroom from the moment she walked in. There were no desks like the other classrooms, but benches and tables, laid out in straight lines stretching from one end of the room to the other. It reminded Lily of her father's lab at home, where she had spent many hours helping him measure out chemicals for his experiments. The wave of homesickness that had been lapping at her occasionally washed over her, then ebbed away as she saw Sev beckoning to her from across the room.
Professor Slughorn did not appear to remember her or his words to her when they'd met. However, he was fatherly and jovial and didn't seem to mind anyone making a mistake. She liked the way he structured their lessons: from basic cauldron safety to brewing techniques and the use of different equipments and ingredients, before finally starting on practical work.
For the first couple of weeks, they were put in pairs, but in the first week of October, this changed.
'You'll be starting on your first individual practical assignment today,' said Professor Slughorn when everyone was seated. 'We'll be working on a potion for curing boils.'
'That's an easy one,' whispered Sev. 'I've watched Mum do it before; don't worry, just follow what I'm doing.'
'I think I can manage,' said Lily. 'Just follow the instructions, right?'
'It's not that simple. This is magic, Lily, it isn't like the Muggle baking stuff you used to do.'
Lily rolled her eyes. 'I know that.'
'And I know this potion, I can do it perfectly.'
'Fine,' said Lily testily, 'go on, then.'
'I'm just trying to help --'
'Has it occurred to you that maybe I don't need your help?'
Sev gaped at her as she turned away from him. 'Fine,' he said. 'Don't come to me if it doesn't turn out right, then.'
The instructions appeared on the board then. 'Carry on,' said Professor Slughorn. Without looking at Sev, Lily double-checked the blackboard, then headed for the store cupboard for the ingredients she would need. She'd prove it to Sev: even if it didn't turn out perfect like his, at least she could brew the potion.
As time wore on, Lily discovered something strange. As she chopped, stirred, and stewed over her cauldron, she seemed to find a pleasant rhythm to all the work. Around her, people seemed to be having trouble, but she didn't understand it; the instructions were simple, the ingredients easy to manage. She stewed her horned slugs carefully, then measured exactly two pints of pure water. As she waited for the two to react (two minutes, timed exactly by her watch), she noticed James Potter and Sirius Black across the aisle, carelessly flicking porcupine quills at each other. If they weren't careful, the quills were going to fly into someone else's cauldron. Lily edged hers closer to the other aisle.
She glanced at Sev; he was fully absorbed in his work, hunched over his dried nettles. Lily debated warning him, then decided it'd serve him right if his potion was ruined.
Soon enough, it was time for the final step. Lily killed her fire and carefully shifted her cauldron off it. The instructions said to add the porcupine quills after the cauldron was off the fire; but what if the potion inside was still too hot? Lily decided to try the temperature-checking spell she'd seen in her textbook last week.
A green 91° flashed above her cauldron -- clearly below boiling point. Lily counted out the quills and added them. Her potion sizzled, then turned off-white and emitted a thin layer of steam that hung over the surface.
She'd done it!
Thrilled with her success, Lily snuck another glance at Sev. She noted smugly that he was still busying over his own potion; he'd not doused his fire yet.
Suddenly, a stray porcupine quill sailed over the aisle from Potter and Black's bench, landing with a plop in Sev's cauldron.
Sev looked up, startled. There was a split second where only he and Lily noticed the wisp of pale green rising from his cauldron. Then with a loud hiss, clouds of green smoke emerged, drawing everyone's attention to their table.
'Move!' yelped Sev, pushing Lily aside. As they stumbled away from the bench, Lily realised in horror that Sev's potion was seeping out of the base of his cauldron, which was melting. It seemed to be a sort of acid, as it ate away at the legs of Sev's chair.
'Evanesco!' Professor Slughorn hurried over and vanished the mess on the ground. He cleared the smoke and fire as well, leaving only a melted, twisted cauldron and an unbalanced chair missing the ends of two legs. 'Not to worry, Mr Snape,' he said bracingly, 'it's an understandable mistake.'
'I didn't make a mistake!' protested Sev. 'I don't know what ...'
He looked completely bewildered; clearly he had not seen where the stray quill had flown from. Lily looked at James Potter. His hands had flown to his mouth as though in shock, but his eyes betrayed amusement.
Should she tell Slughorn Potter had flung the quill into Sev's cauldron? It might have been an honest accident, after all. And Sev had been rather insufferable earlier.
'Never mind, never mind,' said Slughorn. 'The best of us mess up on occasion. The important thing is that you're unhurt. And you, Miss Evans -- you weren't splashed, were you?'
'No, Professor.'
He smiled genially at her, then his gaze fell on her cauldron. 'Ah,' he said, 'your potion looks complete. And perfectly done, too.' He summoned a flagon, ladled some into it, and held it up for inspection. 'Remarkable consistency,' he murmured. 'In fact ... I would wager you added a flick on your seventh stir, did you not? That's a level of instinct I'd expect of much more experienced brewers. Very well done, Miss Evans. Full marks.'
Lily beamed. On one side of the room, she caught sight of the Slytherins, their expressions a mixture of disgust and frustration; her fellow Gryffindors looked impressed. Sev was staring at her with grudging admiration. It was the first time since she'd arrived at Hogwarts that she felt that she'd really shone at something and it was a giddy, heady feeling.
+++
10 years later
'I'm not sure what happened exactly,' said Alice ruefully. Baby Neville fretted in her arms, his face red and puckered, tiny red boils standing out painfully on his cheeks. 'We had him out in the garden, but it can't be an allergic reaction to the magical plants, can it? He's been out there many times before without mishap.'
Lily ran a quick diagnostic charm over the one-year-old. Neville glowed as the golden light of her spell washed over him, pooling at his face. It formed a bright patch around his nose. Lily examined that closely and realised that the swelling red spot there was not, in fact, a boil, but a nasal mutation.
'Do you have Jarveys in your garden?'
Alice frowned. 'It's possible. I may have heard some swearing ... it's an allergy, then? To Jarveys?'
'I think so. See, he's taking on a Jarvey nose -- that's usually the extent of it with most allergic kids, but Neville seems to be having a stronger reaction. Nothing to worry about. It should all wear off on its own within twenty-four hours, though that's a long time for him to suffer the boils.'
'Would a boil-cure potion help? Should I make one?'
'That's all right; I can whip it up in no time.'
'Of course,' said Alice. 'You're the resident Potions expert.'
Lily laughed. 'You don't have to be an expert for a simple boil-cure potion.'
'True. But you know your brewing is invaluable to the Order. Frank swears he owes his life to your Felix Felicis.'
'I can't imagine Moody thinks much of that.'
'Well, you know Moody.' Alice deepened her voice, imitating his growl. 'I don't care how much lucky potion you have, you need to practise constant vigilance! I suppose he's right. There are some things luck can't help with.'
It took Lily a quarter hour to finish the potion and administer it to Neville, who quietened once his boils subsided. Alice laid him next to Harry in his cot and the two mothers stood over it for a while, watching their children sleep.
'You don't know how grateful I am for this, Lily,' said Alice. 'I couldn't possibly go to St Mungo's, not now ... well, you understand.'
Lily did. She gazed at her own son, who was every bit as young and every bit as hunted as Neville Longbottom. So young, and so full of promise. What would they be like as boys, as young men, as adults? What talents would they discover and develop?
'We use our gifts however we can,' she said softly to Alice. 'It'll be worth it, just to see them grow up.'
2. 1991, Neville Longbottom
Three weeks into the school term, Neville was nearly ready to give up. He had not expected lessons to be quite this difficult. He was going to be bottom in every class, he just knew it.
Hardly any of his spells came out right. He had only just mastered Lumos and all the rest of his classmates had managed it in the first week. He was the only one in Gryffindor who had yet to turn his matchstick into a needle in Transfiguration, and in Potions ... well, every lesson was an unmitigated disaster, starting from the first where he had ended up covered in boils and crying -- disgracing the name of Gryffindor and Longbottom, as Gran might say.
Everybody else seemed to find it so easy. Even -- or especially -- Hermione Granger, who hadn't known about magic at all before coming to Hogwarts, knew all the answers almost before the teachers finished the questions. Neville was often partnered with her, which was good because she usually got them through whatever task the teachers had set, but demoralising because he felt he couldn't do a thing to help.
They were paired off today again, working on the same Moonsilker in Herbology. The assignment was to harvest the seeds, which was relatively simple. The Moonsilker pods, when stroked softly, inched open to reveal the bubble-like seeds they were supposed to collect.
'Here,' said Hermione authoritatively, 'you hold the bucket, Neville, and I'll fill it.'
Neville obliged, and so Hermione rolled up her sleeves and ran one finger along the fuzzy green pod's surface. It shuddered and creaked open slowly, but before she could reach in to collect the seeds, it snapped shut again. Hermione exchanged one bewildered look with Neville before attempting it again.
Although it trembled, the pod remained firmly shut. It seemed frightened. Neville's instinct was to back off. He tugged on Hermione's sleeve.
'Hermione, I don't think ...'
'What?'
'I think this Moonsilker isn't quite right. Let's ask Professor Sprout.'
Hermione tossed her head. 'I'm sure we can do it, Neville. Look, everyone's having a bit of trouble with their pods, too. Have some confidence.'
Neville looked around. While their classmates were also struggling with their pods, their troubles didn't seem to be quite like his and Hermione's. Professor Sprout was admonishing several Hufflepuffs for heavy-handedness; Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were poking rather than stroking their pod; and Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had got theirs to open, but neither seemed able to draw the seeds out. No one else's pod was shivering away at their touch.
Hermione turned her attention back to the pod and gave it another stroke. Now the entire thing reared back on its stem, looking like a whip about to crack. Neville's eyes followed that stem and noticed that this pod was connected to a nest of vines, on which a poisonous-looking flower rested lazily. Suddenly fearful, he grabbed Hermione's arm as she reached out determinedly for the pod again.
'Hermione, I don't think this is a proper Moonsilker!' he said.
Professor Sprout overheard and turned her attention to them just as the pod struck. Its vine-like stem circled around Hermione's wrist and pulled, jerking her off her feet. Neville leapt onto her and cupped the pod.
'Stop!' he told it. 'Let her go!'
The pod opened then and snapped at his fingers. It caught his second and third fingers and latched on like a baby sucking its tongue. The vines unwrapped themselves from Hermione's arm.
Wincing, Neville used his free hand to stroke the outside of the pod. The sucking didn't hurt, but his fingers felt numb.
'Goodness!' said Professor Sprout. With a quick Severing Charm, she beheaded the pod from the vine, which snapped back and retreated towards the bright flower. Once disconnected, the pod eased open at Neville's touch. He withdrew his fingers. At their tips, thin as a bubble, round and perfect, were two Moonsilker seeds. Only, Neville wasn't so sure they were purely Moonsilker seeds. Something was definitely strange about this Moonsilker pod.
The seeds rolled off his fingers into their discarded bucket, but Neville's fingers stayed numb. He found he couldn't move them. Hermione's arm now had red marks from where the vines had grabbed her and she complained that they were smarting.
'You'd better get up to the hospital wing,' said Professor Sprout. 'Yes, you go with him, Miss Granger. I can't think why this pod's behaved as it has, unless ...'
'Is it a cross-breed?' said Neville hesitantly.
Professor Sprout looked surprised. 'That would be my best explanation, yes,' she said.
'That flower there did something to the Moonsilker,' said Neville, pointing.
'Ah ...' said Professor Sprout. She smiled at him. 'Very astute, Mr Longbottom. Now run along. Tell Madam Pomfrey to watch for traces of Tentacula venom.'
'How did you know that?' said Hermione, as they climbed the stairs to the hospital wing. She sounded ... admiring. Neville couldn't quite believe his ears.
'I ... know what?'
'What you told Professor Sprout. And you knew that the pod wasn't normal. But it looked like all the others.'
Neville shrugged. 'Well, it was scared. And we were treating it the way a real Moonsilker would want to be treated, so there had to be something else wrong.'
'Oh.' Hermione considered this. 'Have you worked with Moonsilkers before?'
'No.'
'How do you know a Moonsilker wouldn't act like that one did, then?'
'I just ...' Neville scratched his head with his uninjured hand. 'I don't know. I just did.'
They arrived at the hospital wing then, Madam Pomfrey had Hermione's arm healed in a trice, but she asked Neville to dip his fingers in a salve for five minutes. As Neville did so, he wondered.
He had known about the Moonsilker when Hermione Granger -- who all the teachers were already calling the cleverest witch in their year -- hadn't. He didn't need to read and remember facts that refused to stay in his head to understand the plant. Professor Sprout hadn't thought his theory about the cross-breeding silly; she's said it was her best guess, too. She'd called him astute.
Might it be that he, Neville Longbottom, could be good in Herbology? Neville felt a sense of pride; for the first time since coming to school, he thought that here, at last, was a subject where he could possibly shine.
It was a magnificent feeling.
+++
6 years later
'Maybe we should sneak a Mandrake into Carrow's office,' said Ginny, throwing a dark look at the row of pots inside which Professor Sprout's baby Mandrakes slept. 'They'd knock him out.'
Neville laughed grimly. 'Mandrakes aren't the only plants that can do the trick.'
'Yeah,' said Ginny. 'Got any Devil's Snare around? That's a bit permanent, I suppose, but I'm all for it.'
'Professor Sprout accidentally cross-bred a Moonsilker with a Venomous Tentacula in my first year,' said Neville. 'Well, it was accidental pollination, really.'
Ginny raised her eyebrows, indicating that he should get to the point.
'I got my fingers trapped in the pod of one and they came out numb and paralysed. Later on she confirmed that it was a combination of the Moonsilker's soothing properties and the Tentacula poison that did it. The seeds are something special -- an anaesthesia powerful enough to put a grown wizard to sleep for the whole night.'
'Oh,' said Ginny. 'Oh.'
Neville gestured towards the big yellow flower resting on a nest of vines. Its stem stretched long and thin, away from it, and a pod dangled off the end.
'I remember this -- stroke the pod, right?' said Ginny.
'Not quite.' Neville grasped the stem and quickly lopped off the pod. The decapitated stem slunk back towards the mass of vines. 'Now you can.'
Ginny gaped at him. 'I hope there's plenty of seeds in there.'
'Only a few, but enough for tonight. A new pod grows every month.'
Gently, Ginny stroked the pod, which opened to reveal the round, fragile seeds. 'Who'd've thought,' she said wryly, 'your talent with Herbology would be this important. I should have stuck with it for N.E.W.T.s.'
'Every talent is important,' said Neville. 'Everyone has skills we can use.'
3. 1995, Ginny Weasley
Ginny swung her leg over the old Shooting Star she'd pulled from the broom shed and kicked off, hard. The broom's take-off was slow and jerky, but she'd launched herself up with enough force for a decent climb.
Snow was swirling down around her; the air was frosty against her cheeks and visibility was poor, but Ginny didn't care. It wasn't as though she was going on a long trip over the Forbidden Forest; she just needed to be out in the air, flying in the cold until she was numb enough not to march straight into that bitch's office and Bat-Bogey Hex her.
Which, from what Ginny had heard about Umbridge's detentions, would be a decidedly stupid move.
So here she was, soaring in circles around the Quidditch pitch. When she was younger, she'd used to go flying when she was angry at her brothers, mostly out of spite. Stealing their brooms to do the one thing they refused to teach her made her feel powerful, even when she fell or crashed or lost control.
Of course, she could actually fly now, after years of practice, and she wasn't stealing a broom. Nevertheless, the feeling of rebellion still remained.
There was a Dungbomb in Ginny's pocket. She pulled it out and let it fall, imagining Umbridge standing below. Then she dived to catch it before it actually exploded. Dungbomb in hand again, she inched the Shooting Star upwards again, and once she was at the level of the hoops, she imagined the sickening toad-like face in one of the hoops and lobbed it through, hard.
After several cycles of launching the Dungbomb at an imaginary Umbridge and retrieving it again, Ginny was warm and panting despite the cold evening air. She brought the Shooting Star in for a landing and was surprised when she heard someone clap.
'Who's there?' Her head snapped round, eyes honing in to the figure standing in the shadow of the Gryffindor stands.
'It's Angelina,' said the girl, stepping forward.
'Oh. Hi.'
'Ginny, you have to try out for Seeker,' said Angelina without preamble.
Ginny blinked. 'What?'
'We need new Seekers and Beaters and we need them fast. You know that.'
'But ...' Seeker. She'd be replacing Harry -- there was no way she was good enough to do that. Everyone knew Harry was a natural. Ginny was ... well, she was a decent flier, who could possibly be a good Chaser. 'I can't replace Harry.'
'Obviously not,' said Angelina. 'He's one of a kind. But you obviously can fly.' She gave Ginny an imploring look. 'I'm going to hold try-outs in two weeks, be there, okay?'
It wasn't the most inspiring recommendation, thought Ginny. But then, what did she have to lose?
+++
They were fifty points up. The crowd was going crazy -- every Gryffindor had marched out to the pitch today looking utterly dejected; they'd known their team was at the lowest it had been in all her four years at Hogwarts. Their loss to Hufflepuff had proven that.
But they were winning today, and damn it, Ginny was not going to let victory slip through their fingers if she could help it. She had trained in all weathers for months now and she was good.
Maybe she wasn't a natural like Harry, maybe she wasn't even at his level yet, but that did not mean she was not a good flier; it did not mean she was not a good Quidditch player; hell, it did not even mean she was not a good Seeker.
She didn't have to compare with Harry to know now that she was good at Quidditch.
Ginny glanced briefly at Cho Chang. The other girl was watching her carefully. Cho was good at marking her opponents; Ginny had watched her tail Harry in a match two years ago and admired her plucky grin as she set herself to do the impossible task of trailing a Firebolt with a Comet.
There was no smile on Cho's face today, only fierce concentration. And Ginny had no advantage in terms of broom quality. To win, she would have to outmanoeuvre Cho.
What's her strategy? wondered Ginny. The last time Ravenclaw played Gryffindor, Cho had blocked Harry, attempting to prevent him getting the Snitch for as long as she could. She must have known he'd get it eventually, but hoped to hold him off for long enough in the hope that Ravenclaw's Chasers would score enough goals for it not to matter.
It made sense for the Ravenclaws to follow that strategy again, especially after seeing Ron's performance in previous matches.
Only Ron had already pulled off a few spectacular saves. It would still come down to the Snitch if Ron could just keep it up.
'And Weasley does it again!' yelled Lee Jordan, his voice booming across the pitch in ecstasy.
Cho's head turned to the Gryffindor goalposts, where Ron had just blocked Roger Davies's shot. To Ginny's horror, the Snitch came flitting into sight, pausing just inches from Cho. If Cho turned a bit more, she'd see it.
'Well done, Ron!' Ginny screamed, diverting Cho's attention back to her. Ginny dipped her broom, ducking down, and Cho followed immediately. Quickly, Ginny brought her broom up again, but the Snitch changed direction, and now Cho had seen it, too. Cho brought her broom round so fast, she was just below the Snitch; it darted about her nose ... Cho's arm came up ...
Ginny flung herself forward and swiped at it. Her heart felt like it was going to jump right out of her chest when her fingers closed around something hard, with battering wings.
'No!' Cho's hand knocked uselessly into Ginny's fist. Ginny snatched her hand away and held it up high, victorious.
A second later the world closed in on her, all shouting and punching the air. She landed in a mess of scarlet and gold, the entire Gryffindor team pressed together in the sheer madness of having overcome the odds and won the Cup.
+++
5 years later
The chase for the Snitch was on, but Ginny was focused on only one thing: getting the Quaffle in her hand through the goalpost. They were a hundred and fifty points up and she wouldn't put much money on their new Seeker getting the better of the Falcon's experienced one. But once she made the shot, they would win. And make no mistake, she would do it.
The Quaffle sailed through the Falcon's left hoop.
The Falcon's Seeker's hand closed around the Snitch.
Every Harpies fan in the stands went crazy with glee.
The reporters crowded round her later, demanding to know if she had been nervous about getting that last shot in, clamouring for her opinion on being Top Scorer in her very first season, and a million other questions that she could not make out.
'I didn't think about it,' said Ginny. 'I like scoring goals and I'm good at it.'
'They're probably going to twist your words,' said Harry, when they were at last alone together.
Ginny shrugged. 'There's always a disgruntled reporter out there. I suppose they'll call me arrogant and attack me when I miss a goal the next season ... it's bound to happen. It doesn't matter.'
Harry raised his eyebrows.
'It's the truth, after all -- I like what I'm doing and I'm good at it. We all have something we're good at and there's no point pretending otherwise.'
Author: shiiki
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Lily Evans, Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, Gen
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 4,684
Summary: Everyone has talents. The magic is in discovering what they are.
Notes: This was written for aggiebell90 for springtime_gen 2010. Thank you to belladonna803 for the beta!
Link to fic at springtime_gen
1. 1970, Lily Evans
Unlike most Muggle-born children, Lily had expected her Hogwarts letter. Her best friend had filled her head with any number of enticing stories about magic and attending school in an honest-to-goodness castle.
When the portly, ginger-moustached man wearing a cloak like the one Sev had shown her once appeared on the doorstep, a green-inked letter in his hand and an inquiry about 'Miss Lily Evans' on his lips, Lily barely managed to keep herself from throwing her arms around his generous middle.
'I'm Lily,' she said excitedly. 'Are you from Hogwarts?'
The man -- wizard, she reminded herself -- blinked at her in surprise, and then said, 'Yes, I am. I must have been mistaken. I was expecting you to be Muggle-born.'
'Oh, I am,' Lily assured him. 'But I've heard all about it, and -- is that my letter? And -- oh! Won't you please come in?' she added quickly, remembering her manners.
Her parents were understandably stunned, when the man introduced himself over tea as Professor Horace W. E. F. Slughorn, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They were even more shocked when Lily bombarded him with informed questions about his subject, the school, and the study of magic.
'Lily, you ... know about this?'
Lily smiled sheepishly at them. 'Sev told me,' she said. 'I couldn't tell you because -- well, he said I couldn't, not until I got my letter. He said there was a law about it.'
'Quite right,' said Professor Slughorn, sounding amused. 'I can see you're going fit right in, young lady.'
+++
When she actually got to Hogwarts, though, fitting in was not as easy as Professor Slughorn made it seem. To start things off, she and Sev were sorted into different houses, and in spite of what Sev had said to the contrary, it seemed to matter a great deal to his house-mates that she was Muggle-born.
'Get lost, Mudblood,' hissed Roderick Mulciber when she approached the Slytherin table at lunch time on the first day, looking for Sev. 'You don't belong here.'
Taken-aback, Lily said, stiffly, 'I'm only looking for Severus Snape.'
Mulciber laughed and gave her a little shove. 'He's not interested. Piss off.'
Unfortunately, when Sev disproved this by coming to her table at dinner, he received very much the same treatment from James Potter and Sirius Black. And to Lily's dismay, when she told them off for it, all her house-mates seemed to think she was being unreasonable.
'He's a Slytherin,' said Potter, as though that explained everything. 'Why would you want to talk to him?'
Then there were the lessons, which were not as fun and simple as Sev had made them sound. While she rather liked Charms and friendly Professor Flitwick, she couldn't help being intimidated by stern Professor McGonagall in Transfiguration. History of Magic had seemed easy when she had read the textbook at home, but the class turned out to be so boring it made her head ache. So was Defence Against the Dark Arts, where Professor Slinkhard droned on about what constituted a dangerous situation and made the entire class fall asleep. She had a hard time distinguishing between magical and mundane plants in Herbology, and staying up late for Astronomy made her cranky the next morning.
The one class that seemed familiar and welcoming was Potions. She had dreaded it at first, knowing it was shared with the Slytherins who hated her for no reason. But she liked the classroom from the moment she walked in. There were no desks like the other classrooms, but benches and tables, laid out in straight lines stretching from one end of the room to the other. It reminded Lily of her father's lab at home, where she had spent many hours helping him measure out chemicals for his experiments. The wave of homesickness that had been lapping at her occasionally washed over her, then ebbed away as she saw Sev beckoning to her from across the room.
Professor Slughorn did not appear to remember her or his words to her when they'd met. However, he was fatherly and jovial and didn't seem to mind anyone making a mistake. She liked the way he structured their lessons: from basic cauldron safety to brewing techniques and the use of different equipments and ingredients, before finally starting on practical work.
For the first couple of weeks, they were put in pairs, but in the first week of October, this changed.
'You'll be starting on your first individual practical assignment today,' said Professor Slughorn when everyone was seated. 'We'll be working on a potion for curing boils.'
'That's an easy one,' whispered Sev. 'I've watched Mum do it before; don't worry, just follow what I'm doing.'
'I think I can manage,' said Lily. 'Just follow the instructions, right?'
'It's not that simple. This is magic, Lily, it isn't like the Muggle baking stuff you used to do.'
Lily rolled her eyes. 'I know that.'
'And I know this potion, I can do it perfectly.'
'Fine,' said Lily testily, 'go on, then.'
'I'm just trying to help --'
'Has it occurred to you that maybe I don't need your help?'
Sev gaped at her as she turned away from him. 'Fine,' he said. 'Don't come to me if it doesn't turn out right, then.'
The instructions appeared on the board then. 'Carry on,' said Professor Slughorn. Without looking at Sev, Lily double-checked the blackboard, then headed for the store cupboard for the ingredients she would need. She'd prove it to Sev: even if it didn't turn out perfect like his, at least she could brew the potion.
As time wore on, Lily discovered something strange. As she chopped, stirred, and stewed over her cauldron, she seemed to find a pleasant rhythm to all the work. Around her, people seemed to be having trouble, but she didn't understand it; the instructions were simple, the ingredients easy to manage. She stewed her horned slugs carefully, then measured exactly two pints of pure water. As she waited for the two to react (two minutes, timed exactly by her watch), she noticed James Potter and Sirius Black across the aisle, carelessly flicking porcupine quills at each other. If they weren't careful, the quills were going to fly into someone else's cauldron. Lily edged hers closer to the other aisle.
She glanced at Sev; he was fully absorbed in his work, hunched over his dried nettles. Lily debated warning him, then decided it'd serve him right if his potion was ruined.
Soon enough, it was time for the final step. Lily killed her fire and carefully shifted her cauldron off it. The instructions said to add the porcupine quills after the cauldron was off the fire; but what if the potion inside was still too hot? Lily decided to try the temperature-checking spell she'd seen in her textbook last week.
A green 91° flashed above her cauldron -- clearly below boiling point. Lily counted out the quills and added them. Her potion sizzled, then turned off-white and emitted a thin layer of steam that hung over the surface.
She'd done it!
Thrilled with her success, Lily snuck another glance at Sev. She noted smugly that he was still busying over his own potion; he'd not doused his fire yet.
Suddenly, a stray porcupine quill sailed over the aisle from Potter and Black's bench, landing with a plop in Sev's cauldron.
Sev looked up, startled. There was a split second where only he and Lily noticed the wisp of pale green rising from his cauldron. Then with a loud hiss, clouds of green smoke emerged, drawing everyone's attention to their table.
'Move!' yelped Sev, pushing Lily aside. As they stumbled away from the bench, Lily realised in horror that Sev's potion was seeping out of the base of his cauldron, which was melting. It seemed to be a sort of acid, as it ate away at the legs of Sev's chair.
'Evanesco!' Professor Slughorn hurried over and vanished the mess on the ground. He cleared the smoke and fire as well, leaving only a melted, twisted cauldron and an unbalanced chair missing the ends of two legs. 'Not to worry, Mr Snape,' he said bracingly, 'it's an understandable mistake.'
'I didn't make a mistake!' protested Sev. 'I don't know what ...'
He looked completely bewildered; clearly he had not seen where the stray quill had flown from. Lily looked at James Potter. His hands had flown to his mouth as though in shock, but his eyes betrayed amusement.
Should she tell Slughorn Potter had flung the quill into Sev's cauldron? It might have been an honest accident, after all. And Sev had been rather insufferable earlier.
'Never mind, never mind,' said Slughorn. 'The best of us mess up on occasion. The important thing is that you're unhurt. And you, Miss Evans -- you weren't splashed, were you?'
'No, Professor.'
He smiled genially at her, then his gaze fell on her cauldron. 'Ah,' he said, 'your potion looks complete. And perfectly done, too.' He summoned a flagon, ladled some into it, and held it up for inspection. 'Remarkable consistency,' he murmured. 'In fact ... I would wager you added a flick on your seventh stir, did you not? That's a level of instinct I'd expect of much more experienced brewers. Very well done, Miss Evans. Full marks.'
Lily beamed. On one side of the room, she caught sight of the Slytherins, their expressions a mixture of disgust and frustration; her fellow Gryffindors looked impressed. Sev was staring at her with grudging admiration. It was the first time since she'd arrived at Hogwarts that she felt that she'd really shone at something and it was a giddy, heady feeling.
+++
10 years later
'I'm not sure what happened exactly,' said Alice ruefully. Baby Neville fretted in her arms, his face red and puckered, tiny red boils standing out painfully on his cheeks. 'We had him out in the garden, but it can't be an allergic reaction to the magical plants, can it? He's been out there many times before without mishap.'
Lily ran a quick diagnostic charm over the one-year-old. Neville glowed as the golden light of her spell washed over him, pooling at his face. It formed a bright patch around his nose. Lily examined that closely and realised that the swelling red spot there was not, in fact, a boil, but a nasal mutation.
'Do you have Jarveys in your garden?'
Alice frowned. 'It's possible. I may have heard some swearing ... it's an allergy, then? To Jarveys?'
'I think so. See, he's taking on a Jarvey nose -- that's usually the extent of it with most allergic kids, but Neville seems to be having a stronger reaction. Nothing to worry about. It should all wear off on its own within twenty-four hours, though that's a long time for him to suffer the boils.'
'Would a boil-cure potion help? Should I make one?'
'That's all right; I can whip it up in no time.'
'Of course,' said Alice. 'You're the resident Potions expert.'
Lily laughed. 'You don't have to be an expert for a simple boil-cure potion.'
'True. But you know your brewing is invaluable to the Order. Frank swears he owes his life to your Felix Felicis.'
'I can't imagine Moody thinks much of that.'
'Well, you know Moody.' Alice deepened her voice, imitating his growl. 'I don't care how much lucky potion you have, you need to practise constant vigilance! I suppose he's right. There are some things luck can't help with.'
It took Lily a quarter hour to finish the potion and administer it to Neville, who quietened once his boils subsided. Alice laid him next to Harry in his cot and the two mothers stood over it for a while, watching their children sleep.
'You don't know how grateful I am for this, Lily,' said Alice. 'I couldn't possibly go to St Mungo's, not now ... well, you understand.'
Lily did. She gazed at her own son, who was every bit as young and every bit as hunted as Neville Longbottom. So young, and so full of promise. What would they be like as boys, as young men, as adults? What talents would they discover and develop?
'We use our gifts however we can,' she said softly to Alice. 'It'll be worth it, just to see them grow up.'
2. 1991, Neville Longbottom
Three weeks into the school term, Neville was nearly ready to give up. He had not expected lessons to be quite this difficult. He was going to be bottom in every class, he just knew it.
Hardly any of his spells came out right. He had only just mastered Lumos and all the rest of his classmates had managed it in the first week. He was the only one in Gryffindor who had yet to turn his matchstick into a needle in Transfiguration, and in Potions ... well, every lesson was an unmitigated disaster, starting from the first where he had ended up covered in boils and crying -- disgracing the name of Gryffindor and Longbottom, as Gran might say.
Everybody else seemed to find it so easy. Even -- or especially -- Hermione Granger, who hadn't known about magic at all before coming to Hogwarts, knew all the answers almost before the teachers finished the questions. Neville was often partnered with her, which was good because she usually got them through whatever task the teachers had set, but demoralising because he felt he couldn't do a thing to help.
They were paired off today again, working on the same Moonsilker in Herbology. The assignment was to harvest the seeds, which was relatively simple. The Moonsilker pods, when stroked softly, inched open to reveal the bubble-like seeds they were supposed to collect.
'Here,' said Hermione authoritatively, 'you hold the bucket, Neville, and I'll fill it.'
Neville obliged, and so Hermione rolled up her sleeves and ran one finger along the fuzzy green pod's surface. It shuddered and creaked open slowly, but before she could reach in to collect the seeds, it snapped shut again. Hermione exchanged one bewildered look with Neville before attempting it again.
Although it trembled, the pod remained firmly shut. It seemed frightened. Neville's instinct was to back off. He tugged on Hermione's sleeve.
'Hermione, I don't think ...'
'What?'
'I think this Moonsilker isn't quite right. Let's ask Professor Sprout.'
Hermione tossed her head. 'I'm sure we can do it, Neville. Look, everyone's having a bit of trouble with their pods, too. Have some confidence.'
Neville looked around. While their classmates were also struggling with their pods, their troubles didn't seem to be quite like his and Hermione's. Professor Sprout was admonishing several Hufflepuffs for heavy-handedness; Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were poking rather than stroking their pod; and Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had got theirs to open, but neither seemed able to draw the seeds out. No one else's pod was shivering away at their touch.
Hermione turned her attention back to the pod and gave it another stroke. Now the entire thing reared back on its stem, looking like a whip about to crack. Neville's eyes followed that stem and noticed that this pod was connected to a nest of vines, on which a poisonous-looking flower rested lazily. Suddenly fearful, he grabbed Hermione's arm as she reached out determinedly for the pod again.
'Hermione, I don't think this is a proper Moonsilker!' he said.
Professor Sprout overheard and turned her attention to them just as the pod struck. Its vine-like stem circled around Hermione's wrist and pulled, jerking her off her feet. Neville leapt onto her and cupped the pod.
'Stop!' he told it. 'Let her go!'
The pod opened then and snapped at his fingers. It caught his second and third fingers and latched on like a baby sucking its tongue. The vines unwrapped themselves from Hermione's arm.
Wincing, Neville used his free hand to stroke the outside of the pod. The sucking didn't hurt, but his fingers felt numb.
'Goodness!' said Professor Sprout. With a quick Severing Charm, she beheaded the pod from the vine, which snapped back and retreated towards the bright flower. Once disconnected, the pod eased open at Neville's touch. He withdrew his fingers. At their tips, thin as a bubble, round and perfect, were two Moonsilker seeds. Only, Neville wasn't so sure they were purely Moonsilker seeds. Something was definitely strange about this Moonsilker pod.
The seeds rolled off his fingers into their discarded bucket, but Neville's fingers stayed numb. He found he couldn't move them. Hermione's arm now had red marks from where the vines had grabbed her and she complained that they were smarting.
'You'd better get up to the hospital wing,' said Professor Sprout. 'Yes, you go with him, Miss Granger. I can't think why this pod's behaved as it has, unless ...'
'Is it a cross-breed?' said Neville hesitantly.
Professor Sprout looked surprised. 'That would be my best explanation, yes,' she said.
'That flower there did something to the Moonsilker,' said Neville, pointing.
'Ah ...' said Professor Sprout. She smiled at him. 'Very astute, Mr Longbottom. Now run along. Tell Madam Pomfrey to watch for traces of Tentacula venom.'
'How did you know that?' said Hermione, as they climbed the stairs to the hospital wing. She sounded ... admiring. Neville couldn't quite believe his ears.
'I ... know what?'
'What you told Professor Sprout. And you knew that the pod wasn't normal. But it looked like all the others.'
Neville shrugged. 'Well, it was scared. And we were treating it the way a real Moonsilker would want to be treated, so there had to be something else wrong.'
'Oh.' Hermione considered this. 'Have you worked with Moonsilkers before?'
'No.'
'How do you know a Moonsilker wouldn't act like that one did, then?'
'I just ...' Neville scratched his head with his uninjured hand. 'I don't know. I just did.'
They arrived at the hospital wing then, Madam Pomfrey had Hermione's arm healed in a trice, but she asked Neville to dip his fingers in a salve for five minutes. As Neville did so, he wondered.
He had known about the Moonsilker when Hermione Granger -- who all the teachers were already calling the cleverest witch in their year -- hadn't. He didn't need to read and remember facts that refused to stay in his head to understand the plant. Professor Sprout hadn't thought his theory about the cross-breeding silly; she's said it was her best guess, too. She'd called him astute.
Might it be that he, Neville Longbottom, could be good in Herbology? Neville felt a sense of pride; for the first time since coming to school, he thought that here, at last, was a subject where he could possibly shine.
It was a magnificent feeling.
+++
6 years later
'Maybe we should sneak a Mandrake into Carrow's office,' said Ginny, throwing a dark look at the row of pots inside which Professor Sprout's baby Mandrakes slept. 'They'd knock him out.'
Neville laughed grimly. 'Mandrakes aren't the only plants that can do the trick.'
'Yeah,' said Ginny. 'Got any Devil's Snare around? That's a bit permanent, I suppose, but I'm all for it.'
'Professor Sprout accidentally cross-bred a Moonsilker with a Venomous Tentacula in my first year,' said Neville. 'Well, it was accidental pollination, really.'
Ginny raised her eyebrows, indicating that he should get to the point.
'I got my fingers trapped in the pod of one and they came out numb and paralysed. Later on she confirmed that it was a combination of the Moonsilker's soothing properties and the Tentacula poison that did it. The seeds are something special -- an anaesthesia powerful enough to put a grown wizard to sleep for the whole night.'
'Oh,' said Ginny. 'Oh.'
Neville gestured towards the big yellow flower resting on a nest of vines. Its stem stretched long and thin, away from it, and a pod dangled off the end.
'I remember this -- stroke the pod, right?' said Ginny.
'Not quite.' Neville grasped the stem and quickly lopped off the pod. The decapitated stem slunk back towards the mass of vines. 'Now you can.'
Ginny gaped at him. 'I hope there's plenty of seeds in there.'
'Only a few, but enough for tonight. A new pod grows every month.'
Gently, Ginny stroked the pod, which opened to reveal the round, fragile seeds. 'Who'd've thought,' she said wryly, 'your talent with Herbology would be this important. I should have stuck with it for N.E.W.T.s.'
'Every talent is important,' said Neville. 'Everyone has skills we can use.'
3. 1995, Ginny Weasley
Ginny swung her leg over the old Shooting Star she'd pulled from the broom shed and kicked off, hard. The broom's take-off was slow and jerky, but she'd launched herself up with enough force for a decent climb.
Snow was swirling down around her; the air was frosty against her cheeks and visibility was poor, but Ginny didn't care. It wasn't as though she was going on a long trip over the Forbidden Forest; she just needed to be out in the air, flying in the cold until she was numb enough not to march straight into that bitch's office and Bat-Bogey Hex her.
Which, from what Ginny had heard about Umbridge's detentions, would be a decidedly stupid move.
So here she was, soaring in circles around the Quidditch pitch. When she was younger, she'd used to go flying when she was angry at her brothers, mostly out of spite. Stealing their brooms to do the one thing they refused to teach her made her feel powerful, even when she fell or crashed or lost control.
Of course, she could actually fly now, after years of practice, and she wasn't stealing a broom. Nevertheless, the feeling of rebellion still remained.
There was a Dungbomb in Ginny's pocket. She pulled it out and let it fall, imagining Umbridge standing below. Then she dived to catch it before it actually exploded. Dungbomb in hand again, she inched the Shooting Star upwards again, and once she was at the level of the hoops, she imagined the sickening toad-like face in one of the hoops and lobbed it through, hard.
After several cycles of launching the Dungbomb at an imaginary Umbridge and retrieving it again, Ginny was warm and panting despite the cold evening air. She brought the Shooting Star in for a landing and was surprised when she heard someone clap.
'Who's there?' Her head snapped round, eyes honing in to the figure standing in the shadow of the Gryffindor stands.
'It's Angelina,' said the girl, stepping forward.
'Oh. Hi.'
'Ginny, you have to try out for Seeker,' said Angelina without preamble.
Ginny blinked. 'What?'
'We need new Seekers and Beaters and we need them fast. You know that.'
'But ...' Seeker. She'd be replacing Harry -- there was no way she was good enough to do that. Everyone knew Harry was a natural. Ginny was ... well, she was a decent flier, who could possibly be a good Chaser. 'I can't replace Harry.'
'Obviously not,' said Angelina. 'He's one of a kind. But you obviously can fly.' She gave Ginny an imploring look. 'I'm going to hold try-outs in two weeks, be there, okay?'
It wasn't the most inspiring recommendation, thought Ginny. But then, what did she have to lose?
+++
They were fifty points up. The crowd was going crazy -- every Gryffindor had marched out to the pitch today looking utterly dejected; they'd known their team was at the lowest it had been in all her four years at Hogwarts. Their loss to Hufflepuff had proven that.
But they were winning today, and damn it, Ginny was not going to let victory slip through their fingers if she could help it. She had trained in all weathers for months now and she was good.
Maybe she wasn't a natural like Harry, maybe she wasn't even at his level yet, but that did not mean she was not a good flier; it did not mean she was not a good Quidditch player; hell, it did not even mean she was not a good Seeker.
She didn't have to compare with Harry to know now that she was good at Quidditch.
Ginny glanced briefly at Cho Chang. The other girl was watching her carefully. Cho was good at marking her opponents; Ginny had watched her tail Harry in a match two years ago and admired her plucky grin as she set herself to do the impossible task of trailing a Firebolt with a Comet.
There was no smile on Cho's face today, only fierce concentration. And Ginny had no advantage in terms of broom quality. To win, she would have to outmanoeuvre Cho.
What's her strategy? wondered Ginny. The last time Ravenclaw played Gryffindor, Cho had blocked Harry, attempting to prevent him getting the Snitch for as long as she could. She must have known he'd get it eventually, but hoped to hold him off for long enough in the hope that Ravenclaw's Chasers would score enough goals for it not to matter.
It made sense for the Ravenclaws to follow that strategy again, especially after seeing Ron's performance in previous matches.
Only Ron had already pulled off a few spectacular saves. It would still come down to the Snitch if Ron could just keep it up.
'And Weasley does it again!' yelled Lee Jordan, his voice booming across the pitch in ecstasy.
Cho's head turned to the Gryffindor goalposts, where Ron had just blocked Roger Davies's shot. To Ginny's horror, the Snitch came flitting into sight, pausing just inches from Cho. If Cho turned a bit more, she'd see it.
'Well done, Ron!' Ginny screamed, diverting Cho's attention back to her. Ginny dipped her broom, ducking down, and Cho followed immediately. Quickly, Ginny brought her broom up again, but the Snitch changed direction, and now Cho had seen it, too. Cho brought her broom round so fast, she was just below the Snitch; it darted about her nose ... Cho's arm came up ...
Ginny flung herself forward and swiped at it. Her heart felt like it was going to jump right out of her chest when her fingers closed around something hard, with battering wings.
'No!' Cho's hand knocked uselessly into Ginny's fist. Ginny snatched her hand away and held it up high, victorious.
A second later the world closed in on her, all shouting and punching the air. She landed in a mess of scarlet and gold, the entire Gryffindor team pressed together in the sheer madness of having overcome the odds and won the Cup.
+++
5 years later
The chase for the Snitch was on, but Ginny was focused on only one thing: getting the Quaffle in her hand through the goalpost. They were a hundred and fifty points up and she wouldn't put much money on their new Seeker getting the better of the Falcon's experienced one. But once she made the shot, they would win. And make no mistake, she would do it.
The Quaffle sailed through the Falcon's left hoop.
The Falcon's Seeker's hand closed around the Snitch.
Every Harpies fan in the stands went crazy with glee.
The reporters crowded round her later, demanding to know if she had been nervous about getting that last shot in, clamouring for her opinion on being Top Scorer in her very first season, and a million other questions that she could not make out.
'I didn't think about it,' said Ginny. 'I like scoring goals and I'm good at it.'
'They're probably going to twist your words,' said Harry, when they were at last alone together.
Ginny shrugged. 'There's always a disgruntled reporter out there. I suppose they'll call me arrogant and attack me when I miss a goal the next season ... it's bound to happen. It doesn't matter.'
Harry raised his eyebrows.
'It's the truth, after all -- I like what I'm doing and I'm good at it. We all have something we're good at and there's no point pretending otherwise.'