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in
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FIC: Neville Longbottom and the 'American Exchange Student' (Neville Longbottom/msmoocow, Crack)
Title: Neville Longbottom and the 'American Exchange Student'
Author: shiiki
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Neville Longbottom/OC (Mary Moo, aka msmoocow)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 1,159
Warnings: Contains innuendos and references to obscure conversations. This is crackfic, and therefore intended to be over-the-top.
Summary: Crackfic set post-DH, specially written for msmoocow's birthday.
Neville Longbottom always found it rather ironic that these days, he now stood at the front of his greenhouses every September the second, addressing a group of first-years who looked every bit as intimidated of him as he once was of Severus Snape.
It was hardly surprising - his scarred countenance hardly inspired comfort at first glance. However, mindful of how his most-admired teacher had once conducted lessons, he never failed to welcome his students with a smile, and this usually reassured them that he wasn’t about to bite their heads off.
Six years into the job, he pretty much had his start-of-term speech memorised:
‘Welcome to Herbology. I’m Professor Longbottom, and before we begin, I’m going to let you raise any questions you may have for me - whether it’s related to the subject or not. Here’s your chance, and you’ll only get it once in all your seven years here, so don’t be shy, and fire away!’
First-years were quite predictable; they tended to be fascinated by the rumours that flew around the school about their Herbology teacher - that he was a war hero - that he’d spat in the face of the Darkest wizard ever lived - that he knew Harry Potter - that he’d fought in the epic battle for Hogwarts. A question about that battle would invariably pop up, and that was when Neville would pounce.
‘Yes, interesting that you ask, really, because what I did in that battle will relate very much to Herbology.’ This usually elicited a murmur of excitement from the students, who didn’t seem to have imagined before that the study of plants - magic or not - could be very interesting. ‘It is important that you understand magical plants,’ he would continue, ‘as this knowledge could just save your life.’ This was when the examples he prepared for the class came in, along with some student participation. ‘Can anyone name the plants here?’
Practically every class had its own Hermione Granger. It never failed to give Neville a stab of nostalgia to see these eager students thrust their hands into the air. He always let them have the first go at answering.
‘Yes, that’s right, Polly. Dittany - a perfect salve for wounds, as you will learn in Potions.’
‘Precisely, Timothy, Bubotubers - their pus can harm or heal, depending on it’s used.’
‘Very good, Ben, Mandrakes - no, I’m not going to pull it out now, that could be dangerous. They’re potentially lethal (and a pretty good weapon against Death Eaters, I might add) - but they can save lives as well.’
He always made sure he had more than one example, though, for the benefit of the next person to answer - this time chosen by him. He would scan the class and look carefully for a glimpse of the student he himself had once been. Shy, quiet, a student lacking not the answers but the courage to volunteer.
It was during such a search of this year’s Hufflepuff class that he spotted her right at the back of the greenhouse, looking a bit awkward, as though she didn’t quite belong. A closer examination told him why - her face didn’t have the bright, childish features of an eleven-year-old. No, this girl was much more mature than that. In fact, he would have pegged her as a seventh-year. What was she doing in here?
‘Um - you at the back - I’m sorry, your name is …?’ She should have been one of his students at some point, if she was in seventh-year. Not for the first time, Neville wished his memory were better.
‘Mary,’ she said in a clear, distinct voice, slightly accented - though he couldn’t quite place what region it was from. Was she even British?
And then he looked down and saw her name, right there on his class register. Why, she was supposed to be here after all. Transfer student from America, he read, neatly printed next to her name and picture. Well, that explained things, didn’t it?
‘Can you tell me about this plant, Mary?’ he asked quickly, hoping to cover up his gaffe. He noticed, with some consternation, that his other students were looking bemused.
‘Certainly,’ said Mary. Her eyes, warm and adoring - no, wait, that was rubbish, how could she possibly be looking at him so? He had to be imagining things - were fixed upon him as she continued, ‘It’s a Mimbulus Mimbletonia.’
‘C-correct,’ Neville found himself stammering. ‘Mary - um - see me after the lesson, will you?’
‘Yes sir,’ she said, a little coyly, and looked down again. Had she just fluttered her eyelashes?
With considerable effort, he managed to tear his eyes back to the rest of his students, who were watching this exchange with a great deal of bewilderment by now. ‘Herbology,’ he said, ‘is the study of magical plants and their properties …’
By the end of the lesson, he was wondering if he was dreaming. Yes, that had to be it. Only in his wildest dreams would such a student wander into his greenhouse and stare at him with such intensity and fervour that he should lose his thread of thought every time he glanced in her direction. When all the rest of the students had filed out and the dream should by right end, she was still there, waiting for him.
‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ she said, a hopeful note in her melodious voice. American accent, thought Neville, surprised to find himself warming towards it.
‘Yes - ah - Mary.’ He did a quick glance at the class list again. ‘Miss Moo. Unusual surname you have.’
She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. ‘Yeah, don’t you think? I wouldn’t mind a more common one, like yours, for example.’ She smiled that intriguing smile once more, and Neville found himself involuntarily drawing closer to her.
A student! he reminded himself. But she was quickly penetrating all his defences.
‘You’re definitely not a first-year.’ Brilliant, Longbottom, stating the obvious!
‘Actually, I’m not even in seventh,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not really an exchange student. But it’s my birthday, and the shiiki network granted me a surprise wish to be here with you and I touched the Portkey and … here I am.’
Neville found it hard to register all this at once. He did grasp, however, that it was her birthday. ‘Happy … nineteenth?’ he chanced a guess at her age.
‘That’s right!’ she said happily, and Neville relaxed, no longer fighting the sense of propriety that had been holding him back.
‘Seeing as it’s your birthday,’ he said, stepping closer to her, ‘I’m sure we can manage a present. Anything you’d enjoy in particular?’
‘We-ell,’ she considered, ‘I always did want to know more about your lethal pants.’ She raised a hand to smack her forehead as she realised her slip. 'Plants. Lethal plants. Though, actually, if you do have lethal pants …’
Neville laughed. With a quick flick to lock the greenhouse door securely, he told her impishly, ‘I suppose you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?’
Author: shiiki
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Neville Longbottom/OC (Mary Moo, aka msmoocow)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 1,159
Warnings: Contains innuendos and references to obscure conversations. This is crackfic, and therefore intended to be over-the-top.
Summary: Crackfic set post-DH, specially written for msmoocow's birthday.
Neville Longbottom always found it rather ironic that these days, he now stood at the front of his greenhouses every September the second, addressing a group of first-years who looked every bit as intimidated of him as he once was of Severus Snape.
It was hardly surprising - his scarred countenance hardly inspired comfort at first glance. However, mindful of how his most-admired teacher had once conducted lessons, he never failed to welcome his students with a smile, and this usually reassured them that he wasn’t about to bite their heads off.
Six years into the job, he pretty much had his start-of-term speech memorised:
‘Welcome to Herbology. I’m Professor Longbottom, and before we begin, I’m going to let you raise any questions you may have for me - whether it’s related to the subject or not. Here’s your chance, and you’ll only get it once in all your seven years here, so don’t be shy, and fire away!’
First-years were quite predictable; they tended to be fascinated by the rumours that flew around the school about their Herbology teacher - that he was a war hero - that he’d spat in the face of the Darkest wizard ever lived - that he knew Harry Potter - that he’d fought in the epic battle for Hogwarts. A question about that battle would invariably pop up, and that was when Neville would pounce.
‘Yes, interesting that you ask, really, because what I did in that battle will relate very much to Herbology.’ This usually elicited a murmur of excitement from the students, who didn’t seem to have imagined before that the study of plants - magic or not - could be very interesting. ‘It is important that you understand magical plants,’ he would continue, ‘as this knowledge could just save your life.’ This was when the examples he prepared for the class came in, along with some student participation. ‘Can anyone name the plants here?’
Practically every class had its own Hermione Granger. It never failed to give Neville a stab of nostalgia to see these eager students thrust their hands into the air. He always let them have the first go at answering.
‘Yes, that’s right, Polly. Dittany - a perfect salve for wounds, as you will learn in Potions.’
‘Precisely, Timothy, Bubotubers - their pus can harm or heal, depending on it’s used.’
‘Very good, Ben, Mandrakes - no, I’m not going to pull it out now, that could be dangerous. They’re potentially lethal (and a pretty good weapon against Death Eaters, I might add) - but they can save lives as well.’
He always made sure he had more than one example, though, for the benefit of the next person to answer - this time chosen by him. He would scan the class and look carefully for a glimpse of the student he himself had once been. Shy, quiet, a student lacking not the answers but the courage to volunteer.
It was during such a search of this year’s Hufflepuff class that he spotted her right at the back of the greenhouse, looking a bit awkward, as though she didn’t quite belong. A closer examination told him why - her face didn’t have the bright, childish features of an eleven-year-old. No, this girl was much more mature than that. In fact, he would have pegged her as a seventh-year. What was she doing in here?
‘Um - you at the back - I’m sorry, your name is …?’ She should have been one of his students at some point, if she was in seventh-year. Not for the first time, Neville wished his memory were better.
‘Mary,’ she said in a clear, distinct voice, slightly accented - though he couldn’t quite place what region it was from. Was she even British?
And then he looked down and saw her name, right there on his class register. Why, she was supposed to be here after all. Transfer student from America, he read, neatly printed next to her name and picture. Well, that explained things, didn’t it?
‘Can you tell me about this plant, Mary?’ he asked quickly, hoping to cover up his gaffe. He noticed, with some consternation, that his other students were looking bemused.
‘Certainly,’ said Mary. Her eyes, warm and adoring - no, wait, that was rubbish, how could she possibly be looking at him so? He had to be imagining things - were fixed upon him as she continued, ‘It’s a Mimbulus Mimbletonia.’
‘C-correct,’ Neville found himself stammering. ‘Mary - um - see me after the lesson, will you?’
‘Yes sir,’ she said, a little coyly, and looked down again. Had she just fluttered her eyelashes?
With considerable effort, he managed to tear his eyes back to the rest of his students, who were watching this exchange with a great deal of bewilderment by now. ‘Herbology,’ he said, ‘is the study of magical plants and their properties …’
By the end of the lesson, he was wondering if he was dreaming. Yes, that had to be it. Only in his wildest dreams would such a student wander into his greenhouse and stare at him with such intensity and fervour that he should lose his thread of thought every time he glanced in her direction. When all the rest of the students had filed out and the dream should by right end, she was still there, waiting for him.
‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ she said, a hopeful note in her melodious voice. American accent, thought Neville, surprised to find himself warming towards it.
‘Yes - ah - Mary.’ He did a quick glance at the class list again. ‘Miss Moo. Unusual surname you have.’
She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. ‘Yeah, don’t you think? I wouldn’t mind a more common one, like yours, for example.’ She smiled that intriguing smile once more, and Neville found himself involuntarily drawing closer to her.
A student! he reminded himself. But she was quickly penetrating all his defences.
‘You’re definitely not a first-year.’ Brilliant, Longbottom, stating the obvious!
‘Actually, I’m not even in seventh,’ she admitted. ‘I’m not really an exchange student. But it’s my birthday, and the shiiki network granted me a surprise wish to be here with you and I touched the Portkey and … here I am.’
Neville found it hard to register all this at once. He did grasp, however, that it was her birthday. ‘Happy … nineteenth?’ he chanced a guess at her age.
‘That’s right!’ she said happily, and Neville relaxed, no longer fighting the sense of propriety that had been holding him back.
‘Seeing as it’s your birthday,’ he said, stepping closer to her, ‘I’m sure we can manage a present. Anything you’d enjoy in particular?’
‘We-ell,’ she considered, ‘I always did want to know more about your lethal pants.’ She raised a hand to smack her forehead as she realised her slip. 'Plants. Lethal plants. Though, actually, if you do have lethal pants …’
Neville laughed. With a quick flick to lock the greenhouse door securely, he told her impishly, ‘I suppose you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?’